Robin Cook - Fever

“Any news?” asked Cathryn, directing her question to the evening charge nurse. There were now a half dozen nurses sitting around the station chatting casually.

“Not yet,” said the nurse, interrupting a discussion with a colleague. “Security has checked all the stairwells. I’m still waiting for a call from radiology. I’m sure Martel was the name of the child radiology came and picked up.”

“It’s been almost a half hour,” said Cathryn. “I’m terrified. Could you call radiology again?”

Not bothering to hide her irritation, the nurse called again and told Cathryn that the radiology technician had not come back from the OR but that he’d call when he did.

Cathryn turned away from the nurses’ station, acutely aware how the medical people intimidated her. She was furious at the hospital, yet was unable to show her anger no matter how justified she thought it was. Instead she thanked the nurse and wandered back down to Michelle’s empty room. Absentmindedly she looked into the bathroom again, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. Next to the bathroom was the closet, and Cathryn looked inside. She had the door almost closed when she reopened it and stared, dumbfounded.

Running back to the nurses’ station, she tried to get the charge nurse’s attention. The nurses from the evening shift who were going off duty and the night nurses who were coming on duty were grouped around the center of the nurses’ station having their inviolable report. It was a time when emergencies were proscribed, medical or otherwise. Cathryn had to yell to get attention.

“I just discovered my daughter’s clothes are missing,” said Cathryn anxiously.

There was silence.

The charge nurse cleared her throat. “We’ll be finished here in a few moments, Mrs. Martel.”

Cathryn turned away angrily. Obviously her emergency wasn’t as important as the ward routine, but if Michelle’s clothes were gone, she had probably left the hospital.

The phone call must have been from Charles, and its purpose was to get Cathryn out of Michelle’s room. All at once the image of the man pushing the child to surgery flashed before Cathryn’s eyes. He was the correct height, the right build. It had to have been Charles! Cathryn rushed back to the nurses’ station. Now she was sure that Michelle had been abducted.

“Now let me get it straight,” said the stocky Boston police officer. Cathryn had noticed his name tag said William Kerney. “You were sleeping in here when a nurse tapped you on the shoulder.”

“Yes! Yes!” shouted Cathryn, exasperated at the slow pace of the investigation. She’d hoped that calling the police would speed up the whole affair. “I’ve told you ten times exactly what happened. Can’t you go out and try to find the child?”

“We have to finish our report,” explained William. He held a weather-beaten clipboard in the crook of his left arm. In his right hand he struggled with a pencil, licking the end every so often.

The group was standing in Michelle’s vacant room. It included Cathryn, two Boston police officers, the evening charge nurse, and the assistant administrator. The administrator was a tall, handsome man, dressed in an elegant gray business suit. He had a curious habit of smiling after each sentence, reducing his eyes to narrow slits. His face was gloriously tan as if he’d just returned from a vacation in the Caribbean.

“How long were you out of the room?” asked William.

“I told you,” snapped Cathryn. “Five minutes… ten minutes. I don’t know exactly.”

“Uh huh,” murmured William, printing the answer.

Michael Grady, the other Boston police officer, was reading the temporary guardianship papers. When he finished, he handed them to the administrator. “It’s a child-snatching case. No doubt about it.”

“Uh huh,” murmured William, moving up to the top of the form to print “Child Snatching.” He didn’t know the code number for the offense and made a mental note to look it up when he got back to the station.

In desperation, Cathryn turned to the administrator. “Can’t you do something? I’m sorry I can’t remember your name.”

“Paul Mansford,” said the administrator before flashing a smile. “No need to apologize. We are doing something. The police are here.”

“But I’m afraid something is going to happen to the child with all this delay,” said Cathryn.

“And you saw a man pushing a child to surgery?” asked William.

“Yes!” shouted Cathryn.

“But no child went to surgery,” said the nurse.

William turned to the nurse. “What about the man with the X-ray form? Can you describe him?”

The nurse looked up toward the ceiling. “Medium height, medium build, brown hair…”

“That’s not too specific,” said William.

“What about his blue eyes?” asked Cathryn.

“I didn’t notice his eyes,” said the nurse.

“What was he wearing?” asked William.

“Oh God!” exclaimed Cathryn in frustration. “Please do something.”

“A long white coat,” said the nurse.

“Okay,” said William. “Someone calls, gets Mrs. Martel out of the child’s room, presents a bogus X-ray request, then wheels the child off as if he’s going to surgery. Right?”

Everyone nodded except Cathryn who had put a hand to her forehead to try to control herself.

“Then, how long before security was notified?” asked William.

“Just a couple of minutes,” said the nurse.

“That’s why we think they are still in the hospital,” said the administrator.

“But her clothes are gone,” said Cathryn. “They’ve left the hospital. That’s why you have to do something before it’s too late. Please!”

Everyone looked at Cathryn as if she were a child. She returned their stares then threw up her hands in exasperation. “Jesus Christ.”

William turned to the administrator. “Is there someplace in the hospital someone could take a child?” he asked.

“There are lots of temporary hiding places,” agreed the administrator. “But there’s no place they won’t be found.”

“All right,” said William. “Suppose it was the father who took the child. Why?”

“Because he didn’t agree with the treatment,” said Cathryn. “That’s why the temporary guardianship was granted: so that the treatment would be maintained. Unfortunately my husband has been under a lot of stress, not just the child’s illness, but his job.”

William whistled. “If he didn’t like the treatment here,” he said, “what was he interested in? Laetrile, something like that?”

“He didn’t say,” said Cathryn, “but I know he wasn’t interested in Laetrile.”

“We’ve had a few of those Laetrile cases,” said William, ignoring Cathryn’s last statement. Turning to his partner, Michael Grady, he said: “Remember that kid that went to Mexico?”

“Sure do,” said Michael.

Turning back to the group, William said: “We’ve had some experience with parents seeking unorthodox treatment for their kids. I think we’d better alert the airport. They might be on their way out of the country.”

Dr. Keitzman arrived in a whirlwind of nervous motion. Cathryn was tremendously relieved to see him. He immediately dominated the small gathering and demanded to be told everything. Paul Mansford and the charge nurse teamed up to give him a rapid report.

“This is terrible!” said Dr. Keitzman, nervously adjusting his rimless glasses. “It sounds to me like Dr. Charles Martel has definitely had some sort of breakdown.”

“How long will the little girl live without treatment?” asked William.

“Hard to say. Days, weeks, a month at most. We have several more drugs to try on the child, but it has to be sooner rather than later. There is still a chance for remission.”