John Gapper - A Fatal Debt

Back at ground level, Hodge pulled aside the metal elevator door and watched me as I walked back to my car. My fingers were shaking as I tried to put the key in the ignition, and I managed it only at the third attempt.

Duncan’s assistants were buried in their work when I obeyed her summons to her office two days later, as if they’d been stuck in that position since I’d last seen them. The clicking of keyboards was interrupted briefly by one of them opening a can of Coke Zero with a hiss while the other waved me to a chair to wait.

My feelings about her, never warm, had worsened since Greene’s death. If she hadn’t interfered, if she’d left me to treat Harry, I could have averted this disaster. I’d have kept him in York East until the drugs had started to work and he was less dangerous. He’d fooled me about the person he’d intended to kill-I’d believed it was himself and not Greene-but I’d known he was dangerous and we ought not to risk freeing him in that condition. Although I was angry at the way he’d blamed the whole thing on the drugs and his condition, it would carry weight with a judge. He’d been my patient and I hadn’t done my duty.

After my ten-minute quarantine was up, Duncan once again peered around the door and ushered me into her room.

“Well,” she said, offering me a tight grimace as she stood and looked at me, “this is a mess, isn’t it?”

Her expression was a cocktail-one measure of sympathy to three measures of iron determination that if anyone at Episcopal ended up suffering as a result of Greene’s death, it wouldn’t be her.

“It’s very unfortunate. I-”

“I’ve had a call from the insurers,” she said, cutting me off and walking to a window. “They’re expecting a lawsuit, of course. There’s always one of those.”

I tensed for the worst. “Who’s going to sue?”

“The victim’s family. Maybe the Shapiros. Wrongful death, malpractice. There’s a range of possibilities.” She paused briefly. “This has been very upsetting. Nora is my friend and I can only imagine what she’s suffering, but I must put my own feelings aside.”

I didn’t imagine she’d find that too difficult-they would fit comfortably into a small box. Anyway, what about my feelings? I thought. She didn’t seem bothered about them. She strode back and sat opposite me on the sofa.

“You’ll get your own lawyer-our insurer will pay for it. They’re not expecting a civil suit until the criminal case is settled, but you’ll need to be prepared. Have you been through this kind of thing before?”

“Nothing like this.”

A couple of patients had launched halfhearted malpractice suits against me-those were impossible to avoid in New York-but they had not bothered me too much. The cases were weak and the hospital’s lawyer had hardly broken a sweat as he’d swatted them away. They’d mainly been legal therapy for troubled souls.

“There is one question I must ask,” she said. “Did Mr. Shapiro give any indication of homicidal intent? I’ve looked over the notes, but there’s not much there.”

That could have been a neutral observation, but she managed to make it sound like an allegation of professional misconduct.

“I admitted him because I believed he was a danger to self,” I said carefully. “That was why Mrs. Shapiro brought him to the hospital, as you know. There were no indications that he was a danger to others.”

“That’s good. I’m sorry to ask, but I must be clear. There are some aspects of the case that I don’t feel fully informed about.” She reached forward to brush a piece of fluff from her skirt. “Nonetheless, I want you to know we’re right behind you. You’ve got our full support.”

I didn’t like the turn the conversation was taking. What was this about me needing to be prepared and Episcopal being behind me? Surely it should be right beside me, or out in front, given her involvement. I decided I couldn’t simply sit there passively and allow her to evade responsibility.

“I hope this case won’t affect the hospital too much. You mentioned that Mrs. Shapiro was considering making a large donation to the hospital. To build the new cancer wing, you said.”

My reminder of how she had pushed me into obeying Harry made her blink a couple of times, like a computer pausing to absorb data. She regarded me impassively, as if from a long distance.

“I don’t recall that,” she said.

The brazenness of the lie shocked me-she didn’t appear at all embarrassed by it. It was as if she’d managed to rewrite the past so quickly and so neatly in her mind that there was no memory left. Professionally, I would have called it adaptive, the ability to suppress threatening reality.

“But we talked about-”

“What I remember,” she cut in, “is that Nora spoke to me as a friend about her husband’s distress, and we discussed it. At no time did I instruct you, or place you under pressure, to discharge Mr. Shapiro. In fact, I specifically emphasized that it was a matter of medical judgment, for you alone to decide.”

We gazed at each other for a few seconds and I saw nothing but cold determination in those gray eyes. Fuck you , I thought. That’s why you got me up here so fast. Not to reassure me or stand behind me, but to force this false version of the past on me and to wriggle out of responsibility .

“That’s not how I remember it,” I said.

She stared at me and the room temperature seemed to drop several degrees. She spoke slowly, as if she’d rehearsed what she had to say. “I’ve gone back over the events since then, and I’m confident I acted correctly. I’m sure that once you’ve had a chance to reflect, you’ll realize that’s true. You wouldn’t want to place any wild accusations on record, I’m sure, Dr. Cowper. That wouldn’t help your career.”

Her threat was as blatant as her original lie, and I had to struggle not to lose my temper. “I wouldn’t say anything untrue about Mr. Shapiro’s case. I’d tell the truth.”

Duncan opened her mouth as if about to say something more but seemed to have second thoughts. Instead, she leaned back and breathed out, deciding not to take the confrontation any further. She’d let me know how tough she was prepared to get. Instead, she rose and walked back to her desk, resting the fingers of both hands stiffly on the surface.

“Don’t be upset about this, Dr. Cowper,” she said, as if it were my intemperate nature rather than her lie that had caused the trouble. “The insurers will be in touch and hopefully it won’t get to court. We have a strong defense.”

“Yes, Mrs. Duncan,” I said, getting up. I wondered whether we were supposed to shake hands, but she didn’t make a move in my direction. After a couple of seconds, I retreated to the door in confusion.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, gazing at a file on her desk rather than at me and reaching for her phone. On the way out I passed her two assistants still rooted to their spots, unwilling to look up.

There was a plop as Felix drew the cork on a bottle of red wine. He poured out two glasses, then took one and rolled the wine around before taking a gulp.

“It’s a 2005 Pomerol. Not a great year, but good enough for pizza. A purist would insist on beer, but I’m not one of those. I brought two bottles because I reckon we deserve it. Cheers,” he said.

We were in my kitchen and I was putting out plates, knives, and forks on the table for the food Felix had brought. He’d called earlier in the day to suggest that we meet, and I’d told myself it was important to find out more about Greene’s death. But as the day had worn on, and I’d straphanged my way back home from the hospital on the 6 train, I’d realized I also wanted his company. Most people at Episcopal had stopped talking to me except for a few pleasantries, out of embarrassment or suspicion, and Rebecca had left me at precisely the moment that I turned out to need her. The people who had talked to me at length-Harry, Pagonis, and Duncan-had all made me feel worse than before.