Robin Cook - Coma

Having taken these precautions, and after moving the desk in front of the door, Susan had allowed herself to fall asleep. She had not slept soundly, as her terminal dream demonstrated, but she felt reasonably refreshed.

She remembered the strong words with Bellows the night before and debated about calling him. She regretted the exchange, feeling that it had been totally unnecessary. She also remembered her feelings of paranoia and felt embarrassed. Yet she remembered her hyper state of mind and felt that her reactions were understandable. She was surprised that Bellows had not been more tolerant. But of course he wanted to be a surgeon, and she had to recognize that his career aspirations made it difficult if not impossible for him to view the situation with an open mind. Still, she regretted the split, if for no other reason than the fact that Bellows had played an effective devil’s advocate to her ideas. After all, he was correct that Susan had no idea of motive, and if some large organization was involved, then there must be one.

Maybe the coma victims were the targets of some gangland vendetta? Susan dismissed the idea instantly, remembering Berman and even Nancy Greenly. No, that couldn’t be. Maybe extortion was involved; perhaps the families hadn’t paid off and—wham! But that seemed unlikely. It would be too hard to keep the coma business secret. It would be easier to kill people outright, outside the hospital. There had to be some reason for these comas happening in the hospital. There must be some pattern for each victim, some common denominator.

As Susan mused, she lifted the phone onto the bed. She dialed the medical school and asked for the dean’s office.

“Is this Dr. Chapman’s secretary?… This is Susan Wheeler… that’s right, the infamous Susan Wheeler. Look, I’d like to leave a message for Dr. Chapman. There’s no need to bother him. I was supposed to start a surgery rotation at the V.A. today, but I’ve spent a terrible night and I’ve got some abdominal cramps that won’t quit. I’ll be better by tomorrow morning, I’m sure, and I’ll call if I’m not. Would you please see that Dr. Chapman is informed of this, and the Department of Surgery at the VA.? Thanks.”

Susan replaced the receiver. The time was quarter to ten. She dialed the Memorial and asked for Dr. Stark’s office.

“This is Miss Susan Wheeler calling. I’d like to speak to Dr. Stark.”

“Oh, yes, Miss Wheeler. Dr. Stark expected your call at nine. He’ll be with you shortly. He was worried when you didn’t call.”

Susan waited, twisting the cord to the phone between her thumb and index finger.

“Susan?” Dr. Stark’s voice was concerned. “I’m very glad to hear from you. After what you described happening to you yesterday afternoon, I became concerned when you didn’t call. Are you all right?”

Susan hesitated, wondering if she should use the same cover with Stark as she used for Chapman. Stark might have dealings with Chapman. She decided she’d best be consistent.

“I have some abdominal cramps which have kept me in bed. Otherwise I’m fine.”

“The rest will do you good. As for your requests: I have some good news and some bad news. What do you want first?”

“I’ll take the bad.”

“I’ve talked with Oren, then Harris, and finally Nelson about getting you reinstated here at the Memorial, but I’m afraid they are adamant. Obviously they don’t run the Surgery Department, but we do depend on cooperation around here and, to be truthful, I was not overly insistent. If they had wavered, I would have been more forceful. But they didn’t. You certainly stirred the fire, young lady!”

“I see….” Susan was not surprised.

“Besides, if you came back here, I think it would be hard for you to overcome your reputation. It would follow you. It’s best to let things cool off.”

“I suppose….”

“The V.A. program is a popular affiliated program and you’ll get to do more surgery there than you would here.”

“That may be true, but as for teaching, it’s far inferior to the Memorial.”

“But on your other request about the Jefferson Institute, I had some luck. I managed to speak to the director, and I told him about your special interest in intensive care. I also told him you were particularly interested in visiting his hospital. Well, he has obligingly agreed to allow you to come, if you come after the busiest part of the day, sometime after five. But there are some conditions. You must go alone, since only you will be permitted inside.”

“Of course.”

“And since I have really extended myself and have gone off channels, so to speak, I would prefer that you don’t mention your visit to anyone. I must admit, Susan, that I really had to make an effort to get you invited. I’m telling you this not because I want you to feel indebted or anything, but rather as partial atonement for my not getting you reinstated here at the Memorial. The director of the institute told me categorically that he would not allow any others to visit with you. They do allow group visits when they have time to supervise them. It’s a rather special place, as I believe you’ll see. It would be somewhat embarrassing if you wanted to bring someone else. So you must go alone. You can understand that, I presume.”

“Of course.”

“Well, then, let me know what you think of the facility. I haven’t been there myself yet.”

“Thank you very much, Dr. Stark. Oh, there’s one other thing….” Susan considered telling Stark about the second experience with D’Ambrosio. She decided against it, because he had wanted Susan to go to the police yesterday; now he’d be insistent. Susan did not want the police, not yet. If it were some large organization behind the whole affair, it was naive to think they didn’t have a contingency plan to allow for police probes.

“I’m not sure,” continued Susan, “if it’s significant, but I found a valve on the oxygen line into room No. 8 in the OR. It’s near to the main chase.”

“Near the what?”

“The main chase where all the piping in the hospital courses from floor to floor.”

“Susan, you’re pretty remarkable. How did you find out about that?”

“I went up into the ceiling space and traced the gas lines to the ORs.”

“Ceiling space!” Stark’s voice rose in irritation. “Susan, that’s carrying this affair a bit too far. I cannot condone your climbing around in the ceiling spaces over the operating rooms.”

Susan waited for the ax to fall as it had with McLeary or Harris. Instead there was a pause. Stark broke it. “Anyway, you say you found a valve in the oxygen line to room No. 8.” His voice was almost back to normal.

“That’s right,” said Susan cautiously.

“Well, I think I know what that’s for. I’m chairman of the OR Committee, as you might have guessed. That valve is probably the bleed valve for getting rid of air bubbles when the system is charged up. But one way or another, I’ll have someone check it and make certain. By the way, what is the name of the patient you wanted to see at the Jefferson Institute?”

“Sean Berman.”

“Oh yes, I remember the case. It was just the other day. One of Spallek’s. A meniscus case, as I recall. Tragedy… the man was about thirty. A real shame. Well, good luck. Tell me, are you off to the V.A. today?”

“No, my stomach condition will keep me in bed, at least for the morning. I’m quite sure I’ll be able to get back to work tomorrow, though.”

“I hope so, Susan, for your sake.”

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Stark.”

“Not at all, Susan.”

The line disconnected and Susan hung up.

The soiled gloves fell into the wastebasket beside the sponge rack. On the rack was a group of bloodstained sponges hanging like dirty clothes on a line. A nurse passed behind Bellows and undid the string at the neck of his operating gown. Bellows tossed it into the hamper by the door and left.