Fredric Stern - The Endorphin Conspiracy

“Yes, tragic,” Geoff replied softly.

Pederson leaned back in the chair and swiveled, looking out his window at the Hudson River. “You know, I never really understood what made Howard Kapinsky tick. On paper, he was a brilliant physician, but he just couldn’t put it all together when it came to people.”

“Except with kids. He was great with kids.” Geoff remembered Kapinsky at Jessica’s bedside, making balloon figures.

“The police are calling it a suicide,” said Pederson, turning and facing Geoff.

“So they told me last night.” Geoff poised to tell him everything. He was like a dam ready to burst. “There’s—”

“Did they ask you any questions about your relationship with Howard?” Pederson looked Geoff squarely in the eye.

Geoff hesitated. He was caught off guard, not sure of Pederson’s intent.

“The way you two argued,” Pederson said.

“No, they didn’t.”

“Of course they would have no reason to ask questions like that. It was a suicide, wasn’t it? Note and all?”

“Yes.” Geoff shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “That’s what it appears to be.”

“Good thing they found that note, or you might still be at the police station answering questions.”

Geoff began to reconsider his plan to share the information with Pederson. He forced a smile and nodded.

Pederson leaned forward in the chair. “What the hell were you doing in the lab on a Monday night?”

Geoff was caught off guard once again. “I was looking for a chart I—”

“Do you realize what a commotion you caused? I know the alarm went off. Someone from security told Balassi the whole thing, and he hit the roof. I’ve spent most of the morning calming him down, telling him you must have had a goddamn good reason for doing that!”

“I did,” Geoff said.

Pederson continued, his face now crimson. He lowered his voice, forcing Geoff to lean uncomfortably close in order to hear. “First, my senior resident wanders into the lab and hangs himself, then my chief resident breaks in like some cat burglar and sets off the alarms. Patients that should be in the rehab unit by now die suddenly, one jumping out the window, the first suicide at the NYTC in years. What the hell kind of department do you think I’m running here? This is the New York Trauma Center, Dr. Davis, not an episode of Grey’s Anatomy!”

“But—”

Pederson put up his hand, his voice a mere whisper. “It hurts me to do this, Geoff, but I have no choice but to put you on probation. You’re suspended for thirty days, effective immediately. Stay home, spend some time in the countryside, get yourself and your priorities together before you come back. It’s the only way to protect the interests and reputation of the department and the medical center. You should consider yourself fortunate to still be in the program.”

Geoff could not believe what he was hearing. He had been wrong to break into the lab, but he was shocked at Pederson’s implication about his having some connection with Kapinsky’s death. Did Pederson really believe Geoff might do something so horrid? Was Balassi behind all of this?

Geoff looked down, his gaze coming to rest on Pederson’s desk: the compulsively arranged desk photos, the Monte Blanc desk set, the Tiffany crystal paper weight. On the far corner, a stack of imaging folders that must have been covered up by the papers now on the floor. The computer generated name on the top folder came into focus.

Geoff closed his eyes, massaged them with his thumb and index finger. He could feel Pederson’s ire from across the desk.

Consider yourself fortunate to still be in the program.

He opened his eyes, it was all a bad dream. Worse than that—it was real. The scan on top was Romero’s.

“Thanks for stopping by, Geoff. I’ve been very worried about you.” Suzanne closed the door behind Geoff, invited him into the living room. The warm, sweet smell of fresh-baked bread filled the air. “When you left the message last night you couldn’t make it over, I knew something bad had happened.”

“It was bad, all right. Pederson placed me on probation today.”

“What? Why would he do that?”

Geoff smiled knowingly. “For breaking into Balassi’s lab. But it was worth it. Except for Kapinsky.”

“ You’re the one who found Howard Kapinsky? That’s awful.” Suzanne touched Geoff’s hand, furrowed her brow in concern. “I’ve never been able to understand a person’s motivation to commit suicide, especially in so gruesome a way as he did. He must have been tormented by inner demons we never appreciated.”

“I think his demons were external,” Geoff said.

“You think he was pushed to the brink?”

“No. I think he was murdered.”

A silent pause. Suzanne appeared momentarily lost in thought. “That’s quite an accusation, Geoff. I have those scans you wanted to review. Can you stay for dinner?”

“I’d love to. It’s been a hell of a day.”

“How about a glass of wine?”

“Sounds great.”

Suzanne walked to the kitchen, grabbed the chardonnay out of the fridge, poured a couple of glasses.

Geoff remained in the living room, standing by a bookshelf. He browsed her CD collection, much of it jazz, then glanced at her framed photographs—the usual collection of graduation and family shots—resting on the shelf below. One in particular caught his attention. A black and white picture set in an antique pewter frame stood alone. A man and a woman smiled, cradled a beautiful, dark-haired baby girl between them. The man looked distinguished, hair dark with streaks of grey at the temples, starched white shirt, thin striped tie, knotted perfectly, stare intense. The woman tall, striking, could have been Suzanne’s older sister, but by the clothes and hairstyles, Geoff dated the photo in the early sixties. He presumed the baby was Suzanne.

Suzanne returned to the living room, handed Geoff his wine.

“These your parents?” Geoff picked up the framed picture.

Suzanne appeared to tense momentarily, her eyes became glassy. She stared at the photograph, seemed to force a smile, took the picture out of Geoff’s hands, and set it back down in its resting place. “My father died not too long after that picture was taken. Unfortunately, I never had a chance to get to know him. Mom’s still alive, in a nursing home. She always told me what a great man he was. He was a political science professor.”

Geoff realized he had over-stepped his bounds. He thought of the pain of his own father’s agonizing death, how lucky he was. Though they had had their differences, he had a father while he was growing up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, I—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Suzanne motioned him towards the couch, touched her glass to his with a clang. “To better days.”

They each took a sip, sat down. “Couldn’t be much worse than the last two,” Geoff said.

Suzanne brushed back her long, auburn hair, extended her arm across the top of the couch in Geoff’s direction. “Tell me about your meeting with Dr. Pederson.”

“Pederson’s in on it,” Geoff said. “I can’t believe it.” He shook his head in disgust. “He had Romero’s scan, the one everyone has denied the existence of. The same one I was able to pull up on Balassi’s computer. That’s the real reason he put me on probation. He probably thinks I’ll get scared and back off.”

Suzanne smiled. “But you won’t, will you? In fact, if he really knew you, he’d understand you’d see his ploy as a challenge.” Geoff knew she was right, but wondered how she knew him so well. He felt suddenly uncomfortable. He stared at her chestnut eyes, searching for any hint of deceit. He was beginning to feel manipulated, but then again, he was using her to get the information he wanted. The thought assuaged him.