Робин Кук - Genesis

After the meeting, Carl made it a point not to go directly back to his office. Instead he’d taken the opportunity to walk over to the corner of First Avenue and 34th Street and enter the Kimmel Pavilion. A short time before, he’d used his access to the medical center’s database to check on Laurie Montgomery’s room assignment to make sure it hadn’t changed. It hadn’t. It was still listed to be 838 in the Kimmel Pavilion.

As always, particularly in the late afternoon, the Kimmel lobby was full. Carl was counting on that being the case, as he wanted to blend in with the crowd although not completely. He was, as usual, in his professorial doctor outfit with a long white coat. Dressed in such a fashion, and with his medical center ID in plain sight, he wasn’t bothered by any of the uniformed or plainclothed security personnel. Even the elevator was completely full as he rode up to the eighth floor, and he was pleased when at least a half dozen or so people got out along with him. As far as he was concerned, the more the merrier.

Passing the eighth-floor central desk with several ward clerks busily manning the phones, he continued down the long hallway. As he passed patient rooms on both the right and the left, he saw many obvious visitors. He also saw many nurses, nurses’ aides, and orderlies. It was a busy time for them as well since they were the evening shift, having just come on duty at three P.M. and needing to familiarize themselves with the status of all the patients.

Without so much as altering his stride, he walked all the way down to room 838 and stood for a moment in the doorway. He didn’t go inside because he didn’t need to. He could see all he needed from where he was. The most important observation was that the patient was indeed Laurie Montgomery. He’d reviewed what she looked like with all the PR the OCME put out, which included multiple pictures of the chief medical examiner. The second crucial observation was that she indeed did have an intravenous line in place, and since she’d just had major surgery, Carl knew it would remain in place for at least twenty-four hours post-surgery. From his experience, that was typical. Without it he couldn’t do what he needed to do.

Since there was no one else in the room but the patient, which he didn’t expect, he felt a little disappointed that he hadn’t brought the syringe already loaded with the deadly potassium chloride that was waiting in his desk. Had he brought it with him, and used it, it would have meant that the mildly stressful task would already be over. As good as that sounded, he still thought it was best to wait until 3:30 A.M., during the graveyard shift. He smiled at the appropriateness of that name given to the eleven P.M. to seven A.M. tour, and he knew why. It was in the early-morning hours that the vast majority of hospital deaths occurred, for reasons both known and unknown. Of course, the biggest benefit for him was how easy it was going to be to just disappear in the middle of an attempted resuscitation, whereas at that moment there were people and potential witnesses all around.

“Excuse me, Doctor,” a nurse said as she materialized out of nowhere and squeezed past Carl, carrying some kind of medication for Laurie. He watched her go into the room and begin a conversation, and he smiled. The nurse’s sudden appearance was a corroboration of why he needed to wait until 3:30 A.M. to do what he needed to do. The chances of a nurse or nurse’s aide suddenly appearing at the exact inopportune time were almost nonexistent. “I’ll be back,” Carl mumbled to himself using an Austrian accent, recalling the famous line in the Terminator movie. As he walked away, he had to suppress a smile. By this time tomorrow the nightmare would be over, as there weren’t any more dominoes that could possibly tip over and implicate him.

May 11th

5:48 P.M.

Thank you,” Jack said to the Lyft driver as he alighted from the black Honda Accord at the entrance to the main lobby of the Kimmel Pavilion. It had been an uneventful and pleasant enough ride, but just as long as he feared, and he would have much preferred to have come on his bike as it would have been a hell of a lot faster. For Laurie’s sake, he’d taken the rideshare as he had agreed. Eager to see her, he pushed through one of the revolving doors and quickly headed for the elevators.

JJ had come home while Jack had been on the phone with Laurie, and when Jack had returned to the family room, he’d found his son playing Minecraft . He was sitting on the couch, feet on the edge of the coffee table and his laptop balanced on his knees. Jack took a seat next to him and asked him about his day.

“It was fine,” JJ said.

“Mom’s surgery went well.”

“I know.” JJ’s hands never paused, playing across the keyboard with surprising rapidity. Although Jack wasn’t happy about the amount of time JJ spent playing computer games, he couldn’t help but be impressed with the child’s hand-eye coordination that had developed.

“How did you know the surgery went well?” Jack said. For a moment he’d thought maybe Laurie had called him and hadn’t mentioned it.

“Caitlin told me.”

“Mom will probably be home in just a few of days.”

“Okay, good,” JJ said after a pause. He clearly had been distracted by his gaming.

“Could you stop playing your computer game and talk to me for a moment?” Jack said with a touch of exasperation.

JJ rolled his eyes but reluctantly did as Jack asked.

“Were you worried about her today at school?” Jack asked, ignoring the eye-rolling.

“A little, but it was okay.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you today like I said I would,” Jack said. “What happened is that I didn’t hear anything until really late. I thought I was going to hear earlier. Did that concern you?”

“No,” JJ said.

“Do you want to ask me any questions about anything?”

“No. Except can I go back to Minecraft ?”

Jack smiled when he recalled the conversation. In many ways it was typical, at least since JJ had been in the fourth grade. Getting any information out of him was becoming progressively difficult, especially when he was on his computer.

The elevator was crowded, so much so that Jack was pressed up against the back wall. When the car stopped on the eighth floor, he had to excuse himself and push his way out. As he walked down the corridor, he saw that most of the rooms had visitors. When he got to 838, he paused at the open door. Laurie was asleep in a typical hospital bed with the side rails up. To Jack she looked as beautiful as usual, with her face framed by dark hair that she had obviously taken the time to comb.

Silently Jack stepped inside and glanced around at the rest of the room’s interior. As Laurie had suggested, it was impressive indeed, with an expansive view out over the East River. A good portion of Queens and Brooklyn was plainly visible. The bed was oriented parallel with the large window and faced the wall to the right that contained a strikingly large, built-in flat electronic screen. A news show with talking heads was playing without sound. The rest of the furniture included a bedside table, a loveseat, a desk, and some built-in drawers. There was an open door leading into a bathroom, as well as a closed door that Jack assumed was a closet. Jack had to smile to himself at how different it was from any hospital room he’d ever seen when he was in medical school or when he was a resident.

Silently, so as not to wake Laurie, he tiptoed over to the bedside. Mounted into the wall behind the head of the bed were several flat-screen monitors capable of displaying her vital signs. Only one was functioning, with her ECG playing across the screen in a monotonous but reassuring repetition. The sound associated with the ECG was an equally repetitious, faint beep announcing each heartbeat. The only other noise in the room was the muffled voices drifting in from the hallway.