Richard Mabry: Medical Error

The next words brought Nick out of his chair. "I've got a gun and I'm not afraid to use it." By the time the man finished speaking Nick was halfway out the door of his office. He took the cell phone away from his ear long enough to press the mute button.

His startled administrative assistant looked up as he rushed by.

"I have to leave. Life or death emergency. Call Dr. Rollins and ask him to finish the surgicals from today. I'll explain later."The last words trailed after Nick like the tail of a comet as he dashed down the hall toward the parking lot.

Anna couldn't believe it-didn't want to believe it. Was Nick at the heart of the scheme that had brought her here to the brink of her death? How could that be? Oh, Nick! She felt so foolish. She'd begun to care for the man. Care deeply, in fact.

Harsh words from the mailman interrupted Anna's pity party. "What do you want?"

"I'm looking for Anna McIntyre," Nick said.

Anna saw the mailman move forward to block the doorway and Nick's view of the room. Her captor's hand was already reaching into his mailbag. Anna tried to scream but the tape over her mouth did its job well. All she could produce was a weak, muffled sound that neither man seemed to notice. Well, if she couldn't warn Nick, she'd have to stop the mailman herself.

In a move she'd seen numerous times from the stands while in college but had never tried, she sprang from the sofa and launched herself at her captor in a flying body block. Although she'd never played football, she'd practiced medicine, and she knew where to aim. Her right shoulder took the mailman in the back where the bottom of his rib cage ended, right over the kidney.

By this time, the mailman's gun was clear of its leather hiding place and in his hand, but the unexpected blow sent it flying. Anna, her captor, and Nick all hit the floor. Anna looped her bound hands over the mailman's head from behind and began pulling backward with all the force she could muster. The man struggled and cursed, although the words came out in a strangled whisper. He clawed around for the gun, but Anna spied it a good ten feet away, out of everyone's reach.

"Don't move." Anna looked past the mailman and saw Nick standing in front of them. He held his own gun in a twohanded grip, aimed directly at her captor's chest. "Anna, get back."

Anna disengaged her hands from the chokehold and scrambled away. The mailman moved to stand, but a gesture from Nick stopped him. "Hold it right there. Hands over your head," Nick said. "Anna, come over here and let me see if I can get that tape offyou."

With the gun in his right hand, Nick managed to unwind the tape from Anna's hands with his left. When her hands were free, she steeled herself against the pain and ripped the tape from her mouth.

"Nick, I'm so glad to see you," she said. "But why did you come?"

"I got a call from your phone. Then I heard somebody talking about a gun and not being afraid to use it. You mentioned Shady Lane, so I took offand drove up and down the street until I saw your car. You saw what happened after that."

"I know what must have happened. On my cell, the '9' button dials 911. I was reaching down blindly, trying to push that number, hoping the police operator would hear what was going on and send help. Instead, I must have hit the 'redial' key."

"And you're not angry that I brought my gun along?"

"No, I think it may have saved my life-just like it saved yours once," she said.

"Speaking of guns, how about picking up the one this guy dropped? I don't like the way he keeps looking over at it."

Anna retrieved the automatic and, under Nick's direction, removed the clip. "Toss it all into that wastebasket in the corner. We'll let the police deal with it later," Nick said.

"The police are here." Detective Dowling stood in the open doorway, his badge folder hanging from the breast pocket of his ill-tailored sport coat, a substantial-looking pistol in his hand. Backlit, his gaunt frame looked like a visitation from death.

Anna turned to Nick. "You called the police before you came here?"

"No," the mailman said, getting to his feet. "I did. And you heard me make the call." He glared at Dowling. "Took you long enough. I'd thought you weren't coming."

Dowling pointed at Nick. "Just drop that gun and kick it over here. And in case you or the doc have any ideas about coming after me, this Glock can blow a hole the size of a dinner plate in you."

Nick eased into a crouch, put the gun on the floor, and kicked it away. The mailman took one step toward the gun, but Dowling stopped him. "Don't be in too big a hurry. I've been thinking about this since you called. You're getting to be a liability, so I think it's time to shut this little operation down. And I don't plan to leave any loose ends."

The mailman didn't waste any words. Instead, he launched himself at Dowling, his left hand moving to knock the gun aside as his right hand reached for the detective's throat. There was a single shot and the mailman fell backward, both hands covering his belt buckle. Anna watched as the man's fingers turned red and the stain around them widened.

Anna took a tentative step forward. "Let me see what I can do for him."

A sneer creased Dowling's face. "Don't go all humanitarian on me. I intend for him to die. And you and your boyfriend will be next." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and retrieved Nick's gun. "First, I'll shoot both of you with this gun. Once my former colleague here dies, I'll wrap his hand around it and fire a couple more shots into the wall, to take care of fingerprints and gunpowder residue. Then I'll call it in and take the credit for shooting him, expressing sorrow that I heard shots but didn't get here in time to save you two."

"Don't be too sure of that, Burt. Now drop the gun. This isn't my finger you feel poking you in the back."

Anna's eyes had swiveled between the injured man on the floor and the gun in Dowling's hand. Now she looked behind Dowling and saw the considerable frame of Detective Green filling the doorway, his usual hard expression no longer in place.

"Doctor, I heard the shot as I drove up. I've already called for backup and an ambulance. They should be here pretty quickly, but in the meantime, would you see if there's anything you can do for that man on the floor?"

The small group filled Ross Donovan's office to overflowing. Ross was behind his desk. Anna and Nick were seated across from him in the two client chairs. Detective Green's bulk more than filled the chair Ross had dragged in from his small waiting room.

Anna rubbed the scabs on her wrists. The deep abrasions made by the duct tape as she struggled with her captor were still painful. She wondered how long it would be before they healed. Would they leave scars? And what about the wounds no one could see, the emotional trauma? What kind of scars would that produce?

Ross spoke first. "I thought it would be a good idea for us all to meet and share information." He inclined his head at Detective Green. "I especially appreciate your being here."

Anna looked at the man who'd been both her enemy and her rescuer. "I thought you and Detective Dowling were out to arrest me."

"That was what Burt had in mind," Green said. "Hatley's death, on top of the DEA investigation, was generating too much heat. Putting you in the spotlight would take it off him."

"And you went along with him," Anna said.

"Had to within reason. Burt's been under investigation by Internal Affairs for over a month. We wanted to see if he'd lead us to other members of the little operation he'd set up. And he did."

Nick spoke for the first time. "Well, you took your sweet time getting there."

"So you followed your partner?" Anna asked.

"No, I was responding to Dr. Valentine's call. Lucky for me that Burt had already left the office, so I got the message."