Робин Кук - Charlatans

With a wave of his hand to disburse the smell of cordite, George reached out and picked up the laptop and the smartphone. “Let’s take some other crap besides his electronic gear to make it look like a robbery gone bad,” he said.

“Right on,” Keyon said as he pulled on a pair of gloves. He rolled the corpse to the side and got out the man’s wallet. Then he pulled off Gary’s Rolex.

FRIDAY, JULY 7, 10:02 A.M.

Noah walked out of the operating room area by pushing through the double swinging doors and headed into the surgical lounge. He was feeling relatively chipper after having ducked into each OR to check on the residents to see firsthand how they were faring in their surgery assist roles, particularly the first-year residents. Although he was reasonably confident there were no problems, since there had been zero complaints from the attending surgeons or the OR nurses the entire first week, he liked to check himself just to be certain, since he had been the one doing the assignments. There was nothing quite like just wandering into an OR unannounced and listening to the unedited banter between the surgeon and the residents and sensing the atmosphere. A lot could be deduced, especially when it could be augmented by a quick corroborating chat with the circulating nurse. Although a few of the surgeons recognized him out of the corner of their eyes, most didn’t. It was as if he was his own undercover agent.

In the surgical lounge Noah felt relaxed enough to grab a cup of coffee and stand by the window, gazing out at the busy Boston Harbor as he drank it. Although most of the activity on the water was commercial, there were a few pleasure boats with people enjoying the summer weather. For a brief moment he fantasized what it was going to be like once he finished his long, grueling, and totally immersive training in less than a year and attained his long-sought-after goal. Although he loved his role as a surgical resident, he knew he’d been metaphorically imprisoned in the hospital for five years, a fact brought painfully home by Leslie’s regrettable but understandable departure. Outside of the hospital he didn’t have life, and he was in his mind becoming something of a social recluse. After all was said and done, would he be able to resurrect some normal social abilities and enjoy himself like those people out there boating in the sunshine, or was he destined to always be a medical workaholic? He had no idea. It was going to take a lot of effort and maybe a bit of luck. The hope was that he could somehow meet a woman who would not be challenged by his single-minded commitment to medicine.

Noah sighed and turned his back on the outdoor scene and gazed around at the people who populated his reality. With no surgery scheduled, he could take a moment for the first time since he had arrived at the hospital at a quarter past five to reflect on how things were generally going in his isolated world. Professionally, things were remarkably okay. The morning had been busy as per usual, but without incident. The SICU was quiet and Carol Jensen was even complimentary about Lynn Pierce, the new first-year resident. The on-call senior resident had no complaints about the new junior residents during the night. Work rounds had gone well, and even the first-year residents’ presentations were surprisingly coherent and to the point, offering yet another bit of evidence that the Residency Acceptance Committee had done a bang-up job. Even the first basic science lecture that morning at 7:30 was a thumbs-up, according to feedback he’d gotten. And finally, Chief of Service rounds had gone better than he could have imagined. Dr. Hernandez had even given him a pat on the back at the conclusion as a rare but welcome compliment.

Noah felt good enough to treat himself to a second cup of coffee. He couldn’t have imagined the morning going any better, or the first week, even though he’d not been back to his apartment for six days. The only minor bumps in the road were a few quirks in the complicated duty schedule, but he and Candy Wong had worked out the kinks to everyone’s satisfaction. Noah had even had a chance to talk individually to all twenty-four first-year residents, commit their names to memory, get a feel for their aspirations and interests, and assign them appropriate faculty mentors. So even that burden was out of the way.

After rinsing out his mug, Noah planned on taking full advantage of the current unexpected pause in his responsibilities by changing out of his scrubs and heading for the library to read the journal articles he’d selected for Tuesday’s Journal Club meeting. But his plans were quickly undermined when he found himself cornered by the sink. Unbeknown to him, Dawn Williams, the circulating nurse in the Vincent case, had come up behind him, patiently waiting for him to finish with his mug. At almost six feet tall and slightly overweight, she wasn’t one to be lost in the crowd, especially when she was standing so close that her nose was within a foot of Noah’s. He knew her to be a hardworking, opinionated, and candid OR nurse.

“Do you have a moment, Dr. Rothauser?” she asked. Her voice was hushed and clipped, which Noah immediately interpreted as not a good sign.

“I suppose,” Noah said, unsure if he wanted his unexpected tranquillity rattled. The woman was obviously upset. He glanced around. The surgical lounge was busy but not overflowing. At the moment, no one was paying them any heed.

“I wanted to give you my two cents about the Bruce Vincent case,” Dawn continued, keeping her voice low. Noah couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t blinking.

“Should we go somewhere less crowded?” Noah suggested. The mention of Vincent’s name was enough to fire up his own pulse. Here was yet another situation that made him wish he had a private office. It was clear that whatever Dawn had to say was meant for his ears only.

“This is fine,” Dawn said. “No one is listening.”

“Okay. I’m all ears.”

“I know you are going to be presenting the case at next week’s M&M, so I would like to make sure you are aware that Dr. Mason didn’t even appear for about an hour after anesthesia had been started. He wasn’t part of the pre-op huddle. That should not happen, plain and simple, and had he been there, the outcome probably could have been different.”

“I am aware there was some delay,” Noah said diplomatically.

“He had three patients under anesthesia all at the same time,” Dawn snapped, her voice rising. When she realized how loud she’d become, she covered her mouth with her hand and glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Noah said. “I haven’t finished my investigation of the case, but I will be talking with everyone involved, including you if you have more to add. Thank you for coming forward.”

“I know there is an ongoing departmental debate about concurrent surgery,” Dawn continued in her hushed voice. “But this situation with Mr. Vincent was beyond the pale. I just wanted to be sure you knew. I think it has to be brought up.”

“I appreciate your telling me your opinion,” Noah said. “I will be sure to bring up all the facts about the case, including the delay.”

“Thank you for hearing me out,” Dawn said. “Mr. Vincent was a wonderful man. His passing is a tragedy that shouldn’t have happened. At least that is my feeling. I miss him every morning I drive into the hospital garage. Well, thanks for your time. And good luck. A lot of people are upset about this.”

“For good reason,” Noah said. “It is a tragedy when anyone dies in surgery, especially a young, healthy person and a beloved part of the BMH community. Again, thank you for speaking with me.”

“You are welcome.”