HARMED_First Do No Harm_ Book 1 Read online

  Fuller took a deep breath. “OK, keep us informed.”

  “I think these are all the questions we have for you at this time,” said Quentin. “Get back to us when you complete your research. We’ll have a meeting every morning at eight-thirty at the main police headquarters. You’re welcome to come anytime you have some information, Doctor.”

  “You can call me Jack.”

  “Fair enough. I’m Susan and this is Herb. Our cell numbers are on the card, if you come up with something.”

  Quentin and Fuller gave Jack their business cards, and Jack reciprocated.

  “Incidentally, Jack, we need you to keep the details of our conversations private,” said Quentin.

  “I think we’re a tiny bit closer to finding out what happened in that CCU cubicle this morning,” said Fuller. “Let’s keep working it.”

  And the cops departed the office.

  CHAPTER 14

  Jack was thrilled to be involved with the investigation, but at the same time, being included provided a continuous reminder of his loss. It would keep the wound open. But he would do it. He would be strong and get the job done. He owed this to his best friend. He would find out what happened.

  Before leaving the hospital, Jack swung by Dr. Thomas Lindsborg’s office. If he was going to take time to help the police, first he would have to get permission from his boss. Arriving on the tenth floor, Jack first noticed that the door to Lindsborg’s office was closed. An extravagant and overstated sign read: “Dr. Thomas Lindsborg, Medical Director, Head of Department of Internal Medicine & Cardiology.”

  Gina, Lindsborg’s secretary, had already left. Her desk was positioned gracefully to the left of the director’s elegant dark mahogany door. Jack walked over to her desk and sat down. The counter was impeccably clean and organized. Not a thing out of place. He took out his pen from his breast pocket and started to write a note for her, requesting a meeting with Dr. Lindsborg in the morning. As he began writing the words, he realized there was a conversation going on between two men in the director’s office. One was definitely Dr. Lindsborg. The other voice sounded vaguely familiar. Straining to make out the words, Jack recognized that the second man was Rupert.

  “Of course, this is stressful. For everyone. For you, too,” Rupert said.

  “How can we help the staff? Besides psychological assistance, of course? I already spoke to Joel Garrison. He will make all his psychiatry residents and psychologists available as necessary to help our staff,” Lindsborg said.

  “Give them some time off,” said Rupert. “I gave my research staff two weeks off. They will want to be with their families and friends and process this. Some may want to transfer to another facility. I told them I would support their decision.”

  “Of course, the research lab can stop awhile. In the hospital, with sick patients, the show must go on,” Lindsborg said.

  “You know the offer stands. Anytime. Just let me know. The place is very relaxing and soothing. I, myself, spend a lot of time there.”

  The voices were closer now, and Jack realized the two men inside the office were approaching the exit door.

  “I may take you up on that. Let me talk to my wife and see what she says. I’ll let you know. A weekend in the mountains may be exactly what we need,” Lindsborg said.

  There was a short pause as the door to the director’s office slowly opened.

  “The cabin’s all yours this weekend, if you want to go up there,” said Rupert.

  Lindsborg nodded his head but stopped when he realized Jack was sitting at his secretary’s chair. “Oh, hi there.”

  “I was just leaving a note for Gina to arrange a meeting with you tomorrow morning,” said Jack, getting up.

  “I’m so sorry about John. And Heather. Come in; let’s talk now.”

  Jack walked into the spacious and ostentatious office. As he was entering the office, Lindsborg turned to Rupert behind him. “We’ll probably take you up on your offer to use your cabin. I’ll give you a call later this evening.” The two men shook hands.

  By then, Jack was inside the office. Lindsborg sat on his captain’s chair behind his desk, gesturing for Jack to sit. “I told Gina to go home early,” Lindsborg said. “I saw no reason to have her stay here, given today’s events. What a mess, huh? Are you doing OK? I know you were close to John Connor.”

  “I’m angry about his senseless death, but I’m coping all right.”

  “Give yourself time to heal,” said Lindsborg. “I’d like you and all the staff to see a psychologist and talk this through.”

  “I’ll see Claire tonight—”

  “You should see a different psychologist, Jack. Professionally. I know Claire will tell you the same thing. She can help you, too, but I want you to know that there are mental-health personnel available to help you. Please avail yourself of their services. Don’t take this for granted.” Lindsborg’s face was serious and exuded concern.

  “OK, I’ll do it,” said Jack. “The police asked for my help with the case. They asked me to do some medical research for them. This may be the best therapy for me. If I’m helping with the investigation, I’ll feel better about the whole thing.”

  “The police interviewed me at length this morning,” said Lindsborg. “One of the things they felt was important to their investigation was to have someone from the hospital helping them. I thought of you and told them so. I do agree that could be therapeutic for you. Are you willing to do it? And more importantly, are you up for it?”

  “I think so.”

  “OK, then do it. Keep me informed and let me know how I can help. Meanwhile, I’m giving most of the staff two weeks off. I will ask the attendings to do all the rounds. We will hold off on all elective procedures and surgeries until the smoke clears.”

  “I appreciate that. Thank you.” Jack sat up, paralleling the director’s movements. “One of the early theories is that the patient may have been given a drug that faked a heart attack. The patient’s EKG showed significant changes, and he did rule in for a small heart attack. Can you think of a way to fake this? ”

  “Faking a heart attack? I don’t think so.”

  “I’m considering the possibility of a research drug. Are you aware of any research drugs being investigated here at Newton that may fit the bill?”

  “Do you think our research department is out killing people?” said Lindsborg, walking slowly toward the door, Jack right behind him.

  Jack smirked. “No, of course not. I think I’m tired and not thinking straight.”

  “I understand. We all have had a tiresome day.”

  As he drove off the hospital campus, Jack reflected. I need to think outside the box. But he quickly realized he was emotionally spent and physically exhausted. Any fruitful speculation would have to wait until he had a good night’s sleep and some food.

  CHAPTER 15

  Jack entered his home and searched for Claire. They embraced for a long moment. Jack felt some relief in Claire’s arms; he felt anchored.

  “I’m so sorry about John,” Claire said, her eyes tearful, her tone serious. Jack remained quiet, tears flowing down his cheeks. She took his hand and guided him into the living room. They sat on the large couch, wordlessly commiserating their loss.

  “Tell me what you know,” said Claire, turning to face Jack.

  Jack explained the events of the day. How Butterworth, seemingly unprovoked, created a murderous mayhem, the likes of which fitted more a James Bond movie than the peaceful existence that had dominated Newton Memorial Hospital. “Four people dead. And why?”

  “Where did he get the gun?” asked Claire.

  “No one knows. Nobody saw the gun until he used it this morning.”

  “Agitated and paranoid? Did he have a history of psych disorders?”

  Jack shook his head. “No. No history of any disturbances. Everything appeared normal until he started shooting.”

  “How strange,” said Claire. “How senseless.”

  “The co
ps want my help. I’m researching the possibility that the man might have taken or been given a drug that caused the whole ordeal.”

  “Is that feasible?”

  “I spent all day today researching and came up empty handed. I’ll go to the medical-school library and do a more extensive search there. There is a meeting tomorrow morning at the police station. I’m going to go and see if I can help out.”

  A long moment of silence overcame the room. Jack bit his lower lip.

  “Jack, I’m not supposed to tell you about my patients. But I’m seeing a woman in therapy who lost her parents and brother about three months ago. The father was healthy, physically and psychologically. He was admitted at Newton Memorial overnight with chest pains. A heart catheterization showed his heart was normal. He was discharged in great condition. Less than twenty-four hours later, he suddenly became agitated and confused and shot his wife and son and then dropped dead of a heart attack. The daughter was not home at the time but found them later. All of them dead. She’s been in therapy ever since.”

  “Bizarre,” said Jack. “Just like John and Heather’s killer. And that other patient I told you about who went home after checking out just fine and then died suddenly and unexpectedly.”

  “Yes, I think so, too,” said Claire. “My patient told me her father’s doctors believe the stress of being in the hospital caused his psychiatric disturbance, but it seemed odd to me.”

  “It does seem odd. Do you think there’s a connection?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “What’s that patient’s name?”

  “I don’t know,” said Claire. “The daughter is Peggy Snyder. I’ll find out what his name was.”

  The possibility was intriguing. If these events were connected, were these men assassination puppets? thought Jack. But who is the marionette master? And how is he pulling the strings?

  CHAPTER 16

  Jack arrived at the Evansville Police Department Headquarters. The old ornate building also served as Evansville’s municipal building, containing all city functions, including the courthouse and the mayor’s office. In front of the magnificent art-deco edifice were several marble steps. To the sides sprouted tall, beautifully sculptured columns, giving the structure a facade of stylish sophistication and elegance. Walking up the front stairs, Jack couldn’t help feeling both insignificant and prominent. He kept his head high and pushed through the main door.

  Inside, the large foyer highlighted an elegant marble stairway leading upstairs. A graceful chandelier hung high overhead. To the left, another door was labeled Evansville Police Headquarters. Jack pushed the door open and entered. Multiple people were waiting, some sitting, others standing in line, to see an older police officer with gray hair sitting behind a tall countertop. Multiple conversations echoed in Jack’s ears. He scanned behind the counter, hoping to see a familiar face. Jack heard a voice he recognized and looked in that direction.

  “Good morning, Jack,” said Quentin coming from behind him. She shook his hand and led him to the conference room. When the door opened, Jack could see several people inside, some dressed in blue police uniforms and others dressed in plain clothes. The room itself was much like the conference room where Jack and the others met every day for morning report. A podium and blackboard were positioned at the front of the large room. There were several chairs, each with a small desktop just large enough for a notepad.

  “I think we’re all here now. Please have a seat,” said Fuller. Immediately, the pandemonium in the room simmered down. “First, some introductions are in order,” continued Fuller. “We have with us, as part of this investigative team, Agent Mike Ganz from the FBI. He’s helped us with a few of our big cases. Most of you know him. He’s here to assist us with this one.”

  Mike stood up and waved hello to all, a grin on his face. Jack soon learned that Ganz was assigned to the Evansville branch of the Indiana FBI territory. He was in his early thirties, with blond hair and blue eyes, and was well built and incredibly well dressed. Not only did Ganz have the looks, he appeared to be very bright.

  Fuller continued. “Also, Dr. Jack Norris from Newton Memorial has agreed to help in the investigation. Suzy and I felt an inside source was necessary to expedite our data gathering as far as the hospital is concerned. Welcome, Dr. Norris, and thank you for coming.” Fuller pointed and gestured at Jack, who stood and looked all around the room. People lobbed nods and grins at him.

  “Happy to help,” said Jack, as he sat back down.

  Fuller proceeded to summarize the case for the audience. When he described the possibility that the patient might have had a true heart attack, Ganz interrupted and looked at Jack.

  “Doctor, is there any question about the heart attack? How solid is your opinion on this?”

  “I’m still investigating research-type drugs,” said Jack. “But in my opinion, it’s very likely he did indeed suffer a heart attack.”

  After a short moment, Fuller continued. “The way I figure it, if Butterworth was acting alone, he either came in to kill somebody or decided to kill somebody after being in the hospital. If he really had a heart attack, the latter is more probable. Then the question is, why would he want to kill those people? I have interviewed the family and friends, and I can’t get any prior connection to any of the people murdered.”

  “Where did he get the gun?” said Ganz.

  “And that my friends, is the million-dollar question,” said Fuller. “It seems he didn’t have it on arrival at the hospital.”

  “Who brought the patient to the hospital?” asked another cop Jack didn’t know. “Did he have any visitors after his arrival?”

  “He came in by ambulance,” said Quentin. “Mrs. Butterworth and his daughter visited him in the hospital for an hour. They say he never had a gun. He was totally opposed to guns. The wife told me a story about the time his father took him hunting when he was a little boy. The father shot a rabbit. The sight of this bunny shot to death created a psychological issue with guns. All his life, the man detested anything to do with weapons. The family assured me that the patient would never have anything to do with any killing or guns. Jim is checking into that, but I believe the family. I don’t think we’ll find any reason why this guy would want to kill anybody.”

  “So why did he?” said Ganz. “Didn’t he have a smoking gun in his hand?”

  “The witnesses at the scene say the man was oriented, calm, and amicable the whole time,” said Fuller. “He was very appreciative of their help. He said, ‘Yes, please, and thank you.’ But suddenly, he became very agitated and paranoid. What is it you doctors call it?” Fuller looked at Jack.

  “Freakin’ crazy?” deadpanned Jack. He paused to allow the laugher to simmer down. “I think you mean acute dissociative delusional disorder.”

  “That’s it,” said Fuller. “The nursing staff couldn’t calm down Butterworth. He became even more agitated. He took out a gun from somewhere and pointed it at the staff. The staff backed off immediately and retreated to a safe place. All except the nurse taking care of him, who got trapped in the room.” Fuller made a gun with his hand. “At gunpoint. He didn’t permit her to leave. One of the doctors went into the room to talk the man down and get the nurse out of there.” Fuller looked through his notes. “His name was—”

  “John Connor,” said Jack, a knot forming in his throat.

  “Thanks, Jack,” said Fuller. His eyes returned to his notes on the podium. “Butterworth shot the nurse, Heather McCormick, first and then Dr. John Connor.” Fuller’s gaze returned to the audience. “The man shot twice more but hit no one. The bullets were recovered from the wall in the adjoining cubicle. Meanwhile, security had been called. A security guard, Mike Huber, responded to the scene. Huber and Butterworth exchanged shots, both being fatally wounded.” Fuller paused, his eyes scanning the addressees.

  Exteriorly, Jack appeared composed. Inwardly, he was mortified and overwhelmed by the factual description of how the life of his best
friend was so coldly and abruptly terminated.

  “So, the number-one question is where he got the gun,” said Quentin.

  “Did the gun come back registered?” asked Ganz.

  “Nah. The serial number was destroyed, and ballistic reports are pending,” said another detective.

  “Keep at it, Jimmy. Let me know when you have something. I think the gun is the key to solving this case,” said Fuller.

  “I can search the FBI database and cast a wider net,” offered Ganz. Jimmy and Fuller nodded.

  “Jack, will you let us know if you come up with any drugs in your search?” said Quentin. “We’ll request a full drug screen, but it’ll take a while for that to come back.” Jack nodded.

  After this, several other people had a chance to speak. Some were part of the Crime Scene Unit and spoke about their findings. Many minutiae were brought up about the microscopic materials found at the scene, the victims’ cars, and the killer’s clothing and belongings, but the gist of it all was that nothing helpful was found. The detectives interviewed all the witnesses, family members, relatives of relatives, friends, and their cousins. Nothing. Nothing important was uncovered. The murders continued to appear unprovoked and senseless.

  Several detectives had interrogated the people who had been in the hospital. This included patients who had been in the CCU-cubicle-turned murder scene before the killer patient. All these detectives and cops had a chance to talk about what they had learned. After endless dissertations by numerous people, the bottom line was the same—no helpful hints or clues. In the midst of the lengthy discussion, someone reported that Dr. Rupert had been seen in CCU about an hour before the murders. That bit sparked Jack’s interest.

  Rupert up and about at five o’clock in the morning? thought Jack. No freakin’ way.

  One of the detectives added that Dr. Connor entered the unit a few minutes before the whole thing went sour.

  Another humongous coincidence, thought Jack. John arrived at the hospital at five in the morning every day, but he wouldn’t be in CCU that early, either. Jack’s mind wandered. Rupert’s presence at the hospital so early had to mean something. It had to mean Rupert was involved. How about John? Why was he there so early? Was John somehow involved? If John was involved in any way, he had to have been tricked. And the trickster had to be Rupert! What if his feelings toward Rupert were biasing his reflections? Was he being fair and impartial? At that moment, Jack vowed to let the evidence lead him where it might.