Michael Palmer - Side Effects

Stan Willoughby rose and put his arm around her shoulders. "No questions from me, Kate. Just a statement for everybody. I have submitted this woman's name to the search committee as my personal recommendation to succeed me as department chief. It's possible this whole business is someone's way of trying to sabotage that appointment. I want you all to know that I am more committed than ever to seeing that she gets it."

For a moment there was silence. Then diminutive Liu Huang stood and began applauding. Another joined in and then another. Soon all but one were demonstrating their support. "We're behind you, Doc, " a technician called out. The reaction was as enthusiastic and sustained as it was spontaneous. In the back of the room, the lone holdout smiled around clenched teeth and then stiffly joined in the applause. "That was pretty special, wasn't it, " Willoughby said to Kate as the room emptied out.

"Little Looie Huang standing there in his formal, inscrutable way, leading the cheers. I just love im. Are you all right?"

"If you mean am I about to come apart and start bawling like a baby, the answer is yes."

"So bawl, " Willoughby said, taking her by the arm as they followed the last of the meeting-goers from the room. "You know, Stan, I don't understand it. I don't think I ever will."

"What's that? " Willoughby bent over the bubbler he had tried for years to get replaced, and sucked vigorously for a sip of tepid water.

"People, I guess." She shrugged. "You know, you wake up in the morning, you get dressed, you march off for another encounter in the battle of life-all you want to do is grow a little, try your best, and grab some little morsel of peace and contentment along the way. No big deal. Every day you do that, and every day you think that everyone else is doing the same thing, trying for that same smidgen of happiness. It makes so much sense that way."

"Ah, yes, my child, but therein lies the rub. You see, what makes sense and what is are seldom the same thing. The stew you propose cooking up would taste just fine, but it's a bit short on the condiments of reality-greed, envy, bigotry, insecurity, to say nothing of that ol' standby, just plain craziness. No matter who you are, no matter how hard you try to tend your own little garden, no matter how kind you try to be to your fellow man, there's always gonna be someone, somewhere tryin' to stick it to you. You can count on it."

"Terrific."

"It all boils down to priorities."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I know I have the reputation around here for being too passive.

My door is always open. Bring in your troubles and problems whenever you want… as long as you bring in the solutions to them at the same time.

I wasn't always like that, Kate. There was a time when I would have gone to the mat with the toughest of them. And I did.

Many times in the early days before you came on board. Then I started getting the pains beneath the ol' sternum, and started visiting all those eager young cardiologists. Gradually, my priorities began to shift away from playing with the stick-it-to-you fanatics. I went back to basics. My wife, my children, my grandchildren, my health-physical and mental. I couldn't see how a new microscope or an extra technician or a refurnished room could measure up against any of them."

"But Stan, your work is important. It's your job to fight for the department. Don't you agree?"

"Yes."

"Well then, how do you resolve that fact with what you just said?

" Stanley Willoughby leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead.

"I can't, Kate. Don't you see? That's why I'm stepping down. See you at the conference." With a smile that held more wistfulness and sadness than mirth, he turned and entered the office that, if he had his way, Kate would occupy within a few months. Kate's office, half the size of her chief's, was on a side corridor next to the autopsy suite. There was room only for a desk and chair, a file cabinet, a small microscope bench, and two high stools. On one of the stools sat Jared. "Well, hi," she said, crossing to kiss him. "Hi, yourself."

His response was chilly, perfunctory. "How's your belly?"

"As long as I don't try to sit down, get up, or walk, it's only painful as hell, " he said. "But not nearly as painful as this." He slid a handbill across to her. "Copies of this have been circulating all over South Boston and are beginning to work their way up into the city."

"Damn, " she whispered, staring at the paper in disbelief. "Jared, I'm sorry. I really am." The flyer, printed on an orange stock bright enough to offend even the least political Irish Catholic, was headlined PARTNERS IN COMPASSION. Beneath the words were Kate and Jared arm in arm in a photograph she could not remember ever having posed for. It was labeled "Atty. J. Samuels and Dr. K. Bennett." At the bottom of the page was a photograph of Bobby Geary in the midst of his picture-perfect swing. It was captioned simply "Bobby, R. I. P."

"Finn? " she ventured. "Maybe. Maybe not. He's hardly the only Irish Catholic around who'd like to firebomb us. The name Bobby Geary seems set to take its place right next to Chappaquiddick and Watergate in the list of political death knells. For all I know, Mattingly or his sleazy campaign manager decided to make sure I was no problem for them in the next election."

"I'm sorry."

"You already said that."

Kate sighed and sank down on her desk chair. "Jared, things aren't really going very well for me right now. Do you have to make them worse?"

"Things aren't going well for you? Is that all you can think of? "

"Please, honey. I've got this damn news conference in half an hour, I've got a biopsy due from the OR. Don't you remember saying yesterday how you were going to try to be more understanding? " She clenched her teeth against any further outburst. "I remember getting laid out by a policeman I'd never seen before that moment. That's what I remember. My father tells me that Martin Finn is numero uno in power and influence in certain quarters of the BPD. With him for an enemy, it's possible that I might end up having my car towed while it's stopped for a red light."

Kate's eyes narrowed. Suddenly, Jared's appearance in her office made sense. Win Samuels. One of the man's countless sensors, scattered about the city and throughout the media, must have reported that his daughter-in-law was scheduled to meet the press. "Jared, did your father tell you to come here this morning to make sure I didn't disgrace anyone at the news conference?"

"We're just trying to avoid any more of this stuff." He held up the orange handbill. Kate glared at her husband for a moment, then her expression softened. "You know, when you are yourself, you are the funniest, nicest, gentlest, handsomest man I have ever known. I swear you are. Given a build-it-myself husband erector set, I don't think I could have done any better. But when you start operating with that man in the Braxton Building, I swear…"

"Look, let's leave my father out of this, shall we? I'm the one who's watching a political career go down the toilet, not him."

"I'm not so sure."

"What?"

"Nothing, Jared. Look, I've got some work to finish, and any moment I have to diagnose the biopsy of a woman's thyroid gland that one of the other pathologists is having trouble with. I can't talk about this any more right now."

"How about you just…"

His outburst was cut short by the arrival of a technician carrying a stainless steel specimen tray and cardboard slide holder, which she set on the microscope bench. "Please tell Dr. Huang I'll call him in a few minutes with my diagnosis, " Kate said. Jared watched the young woman leave and then checked his watch. "Look, " he said coolly, "I've got to go. I have an appointment with Norton Reese in two minutes."