Robin Cook - Death Benefit

George was horrified, but his first instinct was one of skepticism.

“Did you recognize the men at all?”

“They had ski masks on. But they were dressed as hospital security. Shit, George, maybe they were hospital security, you know? That would mean the hospital is covering it up. Spaulding, the dean, Springer, all those guys . . .” Pia stood up as if she wanted to flee.

“Oh, come on, Pia. This is New York City. In America. Maybe in a movie or some Third World dictatorship they kill off their own doctors and beat up medical students, but not here. I can’t believe you could think that. Get a grip.”

“Well, someone did this!” Pia said, pointing at her face, shaking, partly with rage, partly with fear. “I know what institutions can do, George, what people can do to someone they’re supposed to be looking after. If you grew up in the system I grew up in, maybe you’d be a little more cynical. I know one thing: Everyone has their own agenda. If you’re in the way, things like this happen to you.” Pia sobbed once and her shoulders heaved.

“Okay, Pia.” George stood and reached out to Pia, and she went into his arms. He held her tightly.

“I think we should call the police. You need an ambulance as well-”

“No!” Pia pushed George away. “I need to think about what this means. If we call the police, they’ll call the administration and security here, and for all I know, they were the ones who attacked me. I need to think.” Pia grabbed both sides of her head and shook herself. “The drug, I can’t think straight.”

“Maybe we should go to my room,” George said.

“They know all about you, George. It won’t be any safer there. They won’t do anything now, I’m just sitting in my room.”

George looked around. “You think they’re watching you that closely?”

“Well, think about it. Every time we moved, we got caught. It happened twice in the lab.”

“One time it didn’t.”

“But we didn’t find anything important then, remember? And we were allowed to go through the morgue just fine because there wasn’t anything there to find.”

“I’m having a hard time believing all these people are in on a conspiracy. Bourse, Springer . . . Dr. De Silva, who was treating Rothman. Why, Pia? What are they conspiring about? And there’s no proof the deaths were anything other than accidents.”

“Let me remind you again. You have no idea how much people hated Rothman. I saw it every day I was in his lab. No one liked him-he was rude, disrespectful, mean. And they were all jealous of him, how he got special treatment from the hospital, how he got a Nobel and might well get another. He had a lot of enemies, all sorts of reasons, including people in his own lab.”

“Okay, but you don’t kill someone because you don’t like them. It’s too much, it’s so theatrical!”

“Well, how do you explain this?” Pia gestured to herself. “I was attacked,” she yelled. “I was ordered to stay away. Now I’m sure Rothman was killed. His death wasn’t accidental, it was deliberate. The only thing I’m not sure of is why they didn’t kill me too last night rather than just warn me. They must be more afraid of how people would react to my disappearing than afraid that I wouldn’t respond to the warning. As they said, if I keep quiet, all this goes away. If I disappear, they talk to you and find out what I was thinking.”

George felt a sudden chill. If Pia was right, he might be next in line for a visit. But how could she be right? It was so far-fetched. George needed some time to think too.

“Can I get you some ice for your face? I’ll just be down the hall.”

“Sure, thanks.”

George went to the ice machine at the end of Pia’s corridor, but it was out of order. He could go down to the cafeteria where he knew ice was always available, but that meant leaving Pia on her own in her room for a few minutes. George walked back to her door and opened it, startling Pia.

“Shit, George, can’t you knock?” she said.

“Sorry. The ice machine’s out. I’m going downstairs to get some. I’ll be right back.”

COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER NEW YORK CITY MARCH 25, 2011, 11:20 A.M.

George returned with the ice. Pia was sitting at her desk, writing furiously on yellow legal paper, trying to make sense of what had happened in the past forty-eight hours. George took some ice and wrapped it in a towel for Pia to hold to her face. The rest he put in her sink. He then sat on the bed and watched her write on page after page.

Pia tested her prodigious memory, trying to isolate fact from speculation. She worked backward from the undeniable fact that she’d been attacked and threatened in her own dorm room. That was obviously a criminal act-but what else of all the events of the past two days had constituted unlawful activity? While she worked on the what, she also worked on the who. She tried to piece together a cast of characters using the information she was certain about. There had been two men in her room-but who else was involved and how broad was the conspiracy she now knew existed?

After an hour, Pia stopped.

“This is getting me nowhere. It could be anyone. And there’s so much that’s happened, and I bet we don’t know the half of it.”

“What about trying to establish a timeline? Isn’t that what they do in those cop shows on TV? They use a whiteboard: ‘six forty-two P.M., suspect seen in O’Leary’s bar . . .’ ”

“But we don’t know who the suspects are unless we just include everyone. And we can’t really investigate anything. Say we think Springer was involved somehow. The only times we know what he was doing are when I was with him. I can’t pick up the phone and demand he answer any questions about his whereabouts at any other time.”

“This is why we should call the police,” George said. “They can investigate to their heart’s content and ask him anything they please.”

“Given that there’s a conspiracy, one of the things we don’t know is why.”

“Only, as you keep saying, Rothman was hated by half the human race. Of course that raises the question, why kill Yamamoto as well? He wasn’t unpopular, was he?”

“Not at all, people loved him. He was devoted to Rothman. They were like two peas in a pod, working together. If they weren’t working together in either the biosafety unit or the organ bath unit, Yamamoto was in Rothman’s office. They even ate together if they took time out for lunch, which wasn’t always the case. Yamamoto was the only one Rothman allowed to use his private coffee machine or drink the bottled mineral water from his private office fridge. They were like Siamese twins.”

“So there’s much more we don’t know than we do know, as far as what other people were thinking and what they were doing,” George said. “So what do we know, other than the fact that you were attacked last night and told to stop involving yourself in this?”

Pia turned back to her desk and picked up her pen and underscored a couple of lines on the page.

George looked at his watch. He was concerned about getting back over to the hospital but decided he was more worried about Pia. The resident to whom he’d been assigned for the day was rather laid-back, to say the least, and probably didn’t even realize George wasn’t around. Besides, George wanted to stay and humor Pia for a while. He was worried that she might have a concussion from the attack, and he wanted to make sure her mental status didn’t change. In addition, he reasoned, she couldn’t get into any more trouble while they were there in her room.

Suddenly Pia turned back around. “You know what we know the most about?”