Michael Palmer - Natural Causes

"That's it, Kristen. A couple of Band-Aids and you're off to recovery," Sarah said. "Thank you all. Thank you very much."

There were a few mumbled replies, but no praise for a job that was, in fact, exceptionally well done. Sarah stripped off her gloves and rushed into the nurses' locker room, feeling quite alone and perilously close to tears. She still felt committed to staying at work and to seeing things through-more so than ever since Andrew's death. But it was doubtful she would ever again feel comfortable at MCB. Being up on pedestals the way most M.D.s were made them easy targets. She would never have believed how fragile a physician's reputation and professional respect could be. It was incredibly painful to realize that more than two years of consistently good work-of always staying the extra hour, of always helping out when help was needed-were no real match for baseless rumor and innuendo.

She changed into fresh scrubs and her clinic coat, and stopped by the mail room to check her cubby. Among the pathology reports and copies of operative dictations, there was a note from Rosa Suarez, dated that morning, asking Sarah to get in touch with her. There was also a letter from the chairman of the hospital board of trustees, sent out via a computer-generated mailing sticker. The envelope was indistinguishable from those she frequently received announcing a staff/trustee tea, or requesting an update on her continuing education activities. The contents of the envelope, however, were hardly routine. The letter, signed by some typist in lieu of the board chairman, politely informed Sarah that due to the confusion and uncertainty surrounding her and her future, the professional conduct subcommittee of the board had requested OB/Gyn department head Dr. Randall Snyder to submit an alternate recommendation for the position of next year's chief resident.

"Damn!" Sarah shoved the letter in her clinic coat pocket and pounded her fist on the counter.

"Damn what?"

Eli Blankenship, his massive pate gleaming beneath the fluorescent light, smiled down at her. The sight of him immediately softened Sarah's anger. Throughout her ordeal, the medical chief had been one of the few constants at the hospital-always upbeat and encouraging; always applying his incredible intellect to her problems. There was no doubt, he had told her, that the story she and Matt told about Tommy Sze-to and Andrew Truscott was perfectly true. Any real student of mysteries would have known that, he said. Their account was simply too far out, too rough around the edges, to be anything other than fact.

"Mornin', Dr. Blankenship," the mail clerk said, handing over a huge stack of announcements, lab reports, journals, and magazines.

"G'morning to you, Tate. How's the Mrs.?"

"Still doin' great, thanks to you."

Blankenship smiled his pleasure and led Sarah away from the window.

"What's going on?" he asked.

She pulled out the letter from the hospital trustees and passed it over.

Blankenship read it in seconds.

"This is ridiculous," he exclaimed. "Rob McCormick and the rest of those fops on the board of trustees spend so much time worrying about appearances that they forget about accomplishments. Ergo, they have none. Idiots. Sarah, don't we have a meeting scheduled with you and your lawyer?"

"Yes, sir. Tomorrow evening."

"Well, I promise you I shall have spoken with McCormick by then. I can't guarantee you a reversal of his position, but I can be very persuasive when I must be. I also promise you a lengthy dissertation on DIC. I've become quite an expert on the condition. I feel strongly that some force other than or in addition to your prenatal supplements is at work. And I swear, we're going to find out what it is." He studied the anger and frustration in her eyes. "Sarah, you must keep your chin up through all this. You have a good deal more support around this hospital than you might think, including, as far as I can tell, Dr. Snyder. I'd be surprised if he had anything to do with this letter."

"How could he not?" Sarah asked. "Just a few months ago he was offering me a partnership. Now he's as chilly and formal as can be. I get the feeling that most folks around here, including Dr. Snyder, would be happy if I would just dry up and blow away."

"But you're not going to, right?"

"No, Dr. Blankenship, I'm not. I'm not because regardless of what most people seem to be thinking, I don't believe I've done anything wrong-not to those three women, and not to Andrew."

Blankenship put a reassuring arm around her shoulders.

"We are going to get to the bottom of all this," he said with firm conviction. "We are going to find out what afflicted those women, and we are going to find out who was responsible for Andrew Truscott's death. Something is going to break for us soon, Sarah. I sense it in my gut." He patted his sumo wrestler's midsection. "Which, incidentally, is hardly the most sensitive part of me. And meanwhile, I intend to do what I can to ensure that no one in this hospital takes action against you because of what they believe might be true."

"Thank you," Sarah said. "Thank you for everything."

"Okay, then," Blankenship said. "I'll see you tomorrow evening-hopefully with some good news from that damn board of trustees. Where are you headed now?"

"To give Rosa Suarez a call. Apparently she's got something she wants to talk to me about."

"Well, you can report on whatever it is tomorrow night," Blankenship said. "Or better still, perhaps you can talk our secretive epidemiologist into coming and reporting to us herself."

"Perhaps I can," Sarah mused, feeling more centered and determined than she had in weeks. "Perhaps I can at that."

"Rosa, what do you mean you've been taken off the investigation?"

Seated on a maple rocker by the foot of the bed in Rosa Suarez's room, Sarah stared at the older woman incredulously.

"I told you before that my supervisor and I don't see eye to eye much of the time."

"That study you did in San Francisco."

"Precisely."

"But your data were altered."

"He doesn't believe that. Anyhow, he's cited my lack of progress and the absence of any further cases of DIG, and he's sent me back to the library until my retirement in four months. For the time being, I will not be replaced on the project."

"That's terrible." Sarah felt a knot of panic in her chest. She had hoped, believed, that the impressive, diligent little woman would somehow solve the mystery that was threatening her career. "After the things you told me, I really had high hopes for some sort of breakthrough. Now you're leaving. I just-"

Rosa Suarez stopped her with a raised hand. She then sat down on the edge of the bed, her gaze leveled at Sarah.

"There has been a breakthrough, Sarah," she said. "And I am most assuredly not leaving."

"But-"

"I had about six weeks' worth of unused sick time. So as of today, I am on medical leave, recuperating from a slipped disk. An orthopedic friend of ours who owed me a favor has kindly supplied the official documentation of my plight."

Sarah's emotional roller coaster began another upward swing.

"Thank you," she said hoarsely. "Thank you for not giving up. But I don't understand. How can your department head stop the investigation if there's been a breakthrough?"

"Because," Rosa said grinning, "he doesn't know about it. And he won't know about it until it is airtight and backed up twice over. I sense that while the U.S. military doesn't seem to be involved here as it was in San Francisco, some very powerful and resourceful folks might be."

"Tell me."

"The problem you have faced is two-pronged. First, there have been no DIC cases found that are unrelated to you. And second, the three DIC cases from your hospital have no major risk factors in common other than your herbal supplement."