Michael Palmer - Side Effects

Intellectually, I have no reason to believe her abilities have declined from the days when she scored very high marks in the Medical College Admission Test (see p. 1C) and National Medical Boards (also 1C). Her friends, as far as we have been able to determine, are loyal to her and trusting in her loyalty to them. (Statements summarized pp. 2C and 3C.) "She does, however, have some problem areas that we shall continue to explore and that might yield avenues for controlling her actions. She likely has a deep-seated insecurity and confusion regarding her roles as a wife and a professional. A threat against her husband may prove more effective in directing her actions than a threat against herself. Faced with a challenge, it is likely that she would fight rather than back away or seek assistance. "The possibility of influence through blackmail (areas for this being investigated) or extortion seems remote at this time. "Follow-up report in one week or as significant information is obtained. "Estimate of potential for control on Redding index is two or three."

Paquette set the report aside and tried to remember what Norton Reese had been graded on Redding's scale. An eight? And what about himself?

"A ten, " he muttered. "Move over Bo Derek. Here comes Arlen Paquette, an absolute ten." He poured a second drink, this one pure Dewar's, and buried it. In minutes, the amber softness had calmed him enough for him to begin some assessment of the situation. Bennett had sent specialists to the Omnicenter to take cultures. No problem. If they were negative, as he suspected they would be, the clinic had gotten a free, comprehensive microbiology check. If they were positive, investigation would move away from the pharmacy anyhow. She had asked for, and received, samples of the pharmaceuticals dispensed by Horner's Monkeys.

No problem. The samples would prove to be clean. Horner had seen to that. Would she press her investigation further? Stein's report and what he knew of the woman said yes. However, that was before she had become mired down in the baseball player mess. The more he thought about the situation, the more convinced Paquette became that there was no avenue through which Kate Bennett could penetrate the secret of the Omnicenter, especially since all product testing had been suspended. Tenacity or no tenacity, the woman could not keep him away from home for more than a few days. As he mixed another drink, Paquette realized that there was, in fact, a way. It was a twisting, rocky footpath rather than an avenue, but it was a way nonetheless. After a moment of hesitation, he placed a call to the 202 area.

"Good afternoon. Ashburton Foundation."

"Estelle?"

"Yes."

"It's Dr. Thompson."

"Oh. Hi, Doctor. Long time no hear."

"Only a week, Estelle. Everything okay?"

"Fine."

"Any calls?"

"Just this one. I almost jumped out of my skin when the phone rang. I mean days of doing nothing but my nails, I…"

"Any mail?"

"Just the two pieces from Denver I forwarded to you a while ago."

"I got them. Listen, if any calls come in, I don't want you to wait until I check in. Call me through the numbers on the sheet in the desk.

The message will get to me, and I'll call you immediately."

"Okay, but…"

"Thank you, Estelle. Have a good day."

"Good-bye, Dr. Thompson."

To Kate Bennett the scene in Room 6 of the Metropolitan Hospital emergency ward was surreal. Off to one side, two earnest hematology fellows were making blood smears and chatting in inappropriately loud tones. To the other side, Tom Engleson leaned against the wall in grim silence, flanked by a nurse and a junior resident. Kate stood alone by the doorway, alternating her gaze from the crimson-spattered suction bottle on the wall to the activity beneath the bright overhead light in the center of the room. Pete Colangelo, chief of otorhinolaryngology, hunched in front of Ellen Sandler, peering through the center hole of his head mirror at a hyperilluminated spot far within her left nostril. "It's high. Oh, yes, it's high, " he murmured to himself as he strove to cauterize the hemorrhaging vessel that because of its location, was dripping blood out of Ellen's nose and down the back of her throat.

Kate looked at her friend's sheet-covered legs and thought about the bruise, the enormous bruise, which had been a harbinger of troubles to come. Don't let it be serious. Please, if you are anything like a God, please don't let her tests come back abnormal. In the special operating chair, Ellen sat motionless as marble, but her hands, Kate observed, were whitened from her grip on the armrest. Please… "Could you check her pressure? " Colangelo asked. He was a thin, minute man, but his hands were remarkable, especially in the fine, plastic work from which surgical legends were born. Kate was grateful beyond words that she had found him available. Still, she knew that the real danger lay not so much in what was happening as in why. Gruesome images of Beverly Vitale and Ginger Rittenhouse churned in her thoughts. At that moment, in the hematology lab, machines and technicians were measuring the clotting factors in a woman who was no more than a name and hospital number to them. Please… Colangelo's assistant reported Ellen's pressure at one-forty over sixty. No danger there. The jets of blood into the suction bottle seemed to be lessening, and for the first time Kate sensed a slight letup in the tension around the room. "Come to papa,"

Colangelo cooed to the bleeding arteriole. "That's the little fellow.

Come to papa, now."

"What do you think?"

Kate spun to her left. Tom Engleson had moved next to her. "Sorry, " he whispered. "I didn't mean to startle you." The concern she was feeling was mirrored in his face. His brown eyes, dulled somewhat by the continued pressures of his job, were nonetheless wonderfully expressive.

"I think Pete is winning, " she said, "if that's what you're asking."

"It isn't."

"In that case, I don't have an answer. At least not yet. Not until the hematology report comes back." She continued speaking, but turned her gaze back to the center of the room. "If her counts are normal, and you have the time, we can celebrate. I'll buy you a coffee. If they're low, I'd like to-wait, make that need to-talk with you anyhow. Besides Stan Willoughby, you are the only one who knows as much as I do, and I think these past two days Stan has been battered enough by his association with me."

"I'm free for the rest of the day, " Tom said. "If you like, maybe we could have dinner together." The moment the words were out, he regretted saying them. Impetuous, inappropriate, tactless, dumb. Kate responded with a fractional look-far too little for him to get a fix on. "I think Pete's done it, " she said, making no reference to his invitation.

Moments later, Colangelo confirmed her impression. "We've got it, Mrs.

Sandler. You just stay relaxed the way you have been, and we should be in good shape. You are a wonderful patient, believe me you are. I love caring for people who help me to do my best work." He took a step back and waited, the reflected light from his head mirror illuminating the blood-smeared lower half of Ellen's face. Then he turned to Kate, his lips parted in a hopeful half-smile. "Good job, Pete, " she whispered.

"Damn good."

Colangelo nodded and then turned back to his patient. "Mrs. Sandler, I think it best for you to stay overnight here. There are some lab studies that haven't come back yet, and I would also like to be sure that vessel stays cauterized."

"No, " Ellen said. "I mean, I can't. I mean I don't want to if I don't have to. Kate, tell Dr. Colangelo all the things I have to do, and how responsible I am, and how I'll do exactly what he tells me to do if I can go home. Please, Kate. No offense, but I hate hospitals. Hate them.