Richard Mabry - Medical Error

"Don't worry," Nick said. "I'm not afraid of those guys."

"Well, you should be. They scare me to death."

At the door, Nick turned back toward Anna, but before he could say anything, her cell phone chimed the theme from Law and Order.

"I'm so sorry. That's Ross's ring. I have to take this." Anna pulled the phone from her pocket. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Nick closed the door a bit more firmly than was necessary and trudged toward his car, wondering if Anna had assigned a special ring to his number as well. If Donovan was Law and Order, what had she given to him-maybe the theme from Friends?

Ross Donovan leaned back in his desk chair and cradled the phone between his neck and shoulder. He crumpled the Snickers wrapper and tossed it toward the wastebasket, missing by about a foot, before shifting the phone back to his hand."You say that Green and Dowling are checking on Hatley's cause of death. How do you know this?"

Anna's voice seemed a mile away, as though by talking softly she could lessen the significance of what she was saying. "I can't tell you my source. I promised I'd keep his name out of this. They threatened him if he discussed a case that's under active investigation."

Ross snorted. "They were throwing their weight around. At this point, they don't even have a case. Besides, how hard would it be for me to find out who signed the death certificate? I'm your attorney. Don't start playing games with me."

"All right. They went to Nick Valentine. He's a pathologist at the medical center, and during this investigation we've become friends."

Ross wondered what Anna's definition of "friend" was, but he decided to let it slide for now. "So we know they weren't bluffing when they talked with us. Tell you what. There's a private detective I've used in the past-good man, knows how to find things out without making waves. He has some contacts in the local police department. I may ask him to make a few discreet inquiries."

Anna's voice got louder. "Is that necessary? I'm not sure I can afford any more fees."

"He owes me a few favors, so I can probably get him to do a little preliminary digging offthe clock. If it begins to look like we're trying to keep you from being charged with murder… at that point I suspect we can work out handling his fees."

Ross waited for Anna to respond, but there was only silence on the other end of the line. Finally he said, "Anna, are you there?"

The little girl voice was back again, hushed and fearful. "Yes. I was thinking how simple my life was a couple of weeks ago. I can't help asking God, 'Why? Why me?' "

Ross shifted in his chair. "If it's any comfort, I've had that same conversation with Him. I've asked the question when I couldn't stop drinking, when my wife divorced me, when I almost lost my license to practice law. Wish I had an answer for you."

"Oh, there's an answer," Anna said. "But only God has it. Then again-"

"What?"

"Maybe you're the answer."

After the conversation ended, Ross cradled the phone and stared at the ceiling. It was hard enough not to drink. It was hard enough to defend Anna against charges that seemed to worsen day by day. It was hard enough to remain professional in the face of the feelings he was developing for her. Now, out of the blue, she'd told him God might be using him. Ross began to chuckle. Maybe God really does have a sense of humor.

Mike Simpson opened the chart and fixed her with eyes the color of polished steel. "Anna, how do you feel?"

The response was automatic. "Fine."

Simpson shook his head. "No, don't just say 'fine.' You know what I mean. Any headaches?"

"Some, but Tylenol takes care of them."

"Vision?"

"That's all clear now. No fuzziness, no double vision."

Simpson flipped a page, although Anna knew the checklist was in his head, not on the chart. "Weakness? Incoordination? Falling?"

"Nope."

Simpson eased onto the stool at the foot of the exam table on which Anna sat. "How's the thinking? Able to concentrate? I guess you know that's usually the last thing to clear after a severe concussion like you had."

Anna pursed her lips. If she told the truth-that she could think clearly now-that opened the door for Green and Dowling to put her on the hot seat and grill her some more. But to say otherwise would be a lie. Did God allow a little white lie if it kept her out of jail?

Simpson saved her. "I see you're having to think about that one, so maybe we'd better not rush it. Let's give it another week before you go back to work. I'll call Neil and let him know. I'm sure he'd want you to be one hundred percent before you get back in the OR."

Anna swallowed a couple of times, wishing she'd accepted the water the nurse had offered her. "Mike, I… I need to tell you something, but it's embarrassing."

Simpson's expression was neutral as granite. "I think I've heard just about everything at one time or another, Anna, so I doubt that you'll shock me. And it won't go outside this room."

"You may be getting a call from some detectives who'll want to know whether I've recovered from my concussion. They had me in for questioning, but my lawyer put a stop to it until I was in full possession of my faculties, as he put it."

"What's this about?"

"They're accusing me of deliberately giving a patient a drug he was allergic to, then easing up on treating the anaphylaxis so he'd die. They say they're going to charge me with murder."

Simpson closed the chart, marking his spot with a finger."Well, I just thought I'd heard it all until now. Anna, that's the most far-fetched thing I've ever heard of. What does your lawyer say?"

"He tells me not to worry, but things seem to be coming at us faster and faster."

"Who do you have? I can recommend someone if you're not satisfied with this one."

Anna took a deep breath but still felt like she couldn't get enough air. "It's Ross Donovan."

Simpson frowned. "Name's familiar. Isn't that Laura Ernst's ex?"

Anna nodded.

"Didn't he…? Wasn't there…? I mean… He's practicing again?" Simpson rushed on, apparently trying to get past an awkward moment. "I recall Laura telling me once that her husband was a good lawyer. At least, he was then. But let me know if you need another name."

"Anna, sit down." Neil Fowler half-rose and motioned Anna to the visitor's chair across from his desk. "How are you doing?"

"Did Mike Simpson call you?" Anna asked.

"No, but I just got out of surgery." A faint line on Fowler's forehead from the elastic band of a surgical head cover and the wrinkles in his scrub suit confirmed this.

"Well, he just examined me. He thinks maybe I should be offanother week, because of my concussion."

Fowler frowned. "I was counting on your coming back to work sooner than that." He pulled a pad toward him and scribbled a note. "I guess I can change around some of the staffing schedules. You take your time and get well."

He shoved the notepad aside and leaned forward. "Anna, how are things in general? I mean, I got a call from the DEA and they've pretty much cleared you. Your new permit and number should be on your desk when you come back. But how about the other stuff? Your identity theft, for instance."

Anna ran her hand through her hair. "I haven't had time to deal with that. Now the Dallas police are threatening to charge me with Eric Hatley's murder. They say I gave him a drug I knew he was allergic to, then held back treatment so he'd die of anaphylaxis."

"That's nonsense!"

"Not the way they put it together. They say I was supplying him with Vicodin 'scripts, and he'd threatened to go to the police and blow the whistle."

Fowler seemed calm, but she noticed that his knuckles were white on the arms of his chair. "That's absolutely ridiculous. I hope you have a good lawyer."