Sidney Sheldon - Nothing lasts forever

Bowman laughed. “If you have to ask, you can't afford it.”

But Paige wasn't listening. She was staring at the car, and thinking about the penthouse, the lavish parties, and the boat. I was smart enough to have a clever father. He left all his money to me. And yet Bowman worked at a county hospital. Why?

Ten minutes later, Paige was in the personnel office, talking to Karen, the secretary in charge of records.

“Do me a favor, will you, Karen? Just between us, Harry Bowman has asked me to go out with him and I have a feeling he's married. Would you let me have a peek at his personnel file?”

“Sure. Those horny bastards. They never get enough, do they? You're darn right I'll let you look at his file.” She went over to a cabinet and found what she was looking for. She brought some papers back to Paige.

Paige glanced through them quickly. Dr. Harry Bowman's application showed that he had come from a small university in the Midwest and, according to the records, had worked his way through medical school. He was an anesthesiologist.

His father was a barber.

Honey Taft was an enigma to most of the doctors at Embarcadero County Hospital. During the morning rounds, she appeared to be unsure of herself. But on the afternoon rounds, she seemed like a different person. She was surprisingly knowledgeable about each patient, and crisp and efficient in her diagnoses.

One of the senior residents was discussing her with a colleague.

“I'll be damned if I understand it,” he said. “In the morning, the complaints about Dr. Taft keep piling up. She keeps making mistakes. You know the joke about the nurse who gets everything wrong? A doctor is complaining that he told her to give the patient in Room 4 three pills, and she gave the patient in Room 3 four pills, and just as he's talking about her, he sees her chasing a naked patient down the hall, holding a pan of boiling water. The doctor says, 'Look at that! I told her to prick his boil!' ”

His colleague laughed.

“Well, that's Dr. Taft. But in the afternoon she's absolutely brilliant. Her diagnoses are correct, her notes are wonderful, and she's as sharp as hell. She must be taking some kind of miracle pill that only works afternoons.” He scratched his head. “It beats the hell out of me.”

Dr. Nathan Ritter was a pedant, a man who lived and worked by the book. While he lacked the spark of brilliance, he was capable and dedicated, and he expected the same qualities from those who worked with him.

Honey had the misfortune to be assigned to his team.

Their first stop was a ward containing a dozen patients. One of them was just finishing breakfast. Ritter looked at the chart at the foot of the bed. “Dr. Taft, the chart says this is your patient.”

Honey nodded. “Yes.”

“He's having a bronchoscopy this morning.”

Honey nodded. “That's right.”

“And you're allowing him to eat?” Dr. Ritter snapped. “Before a bronchoscopy?”

Honey said, '“'The poor man hasn't had anything to eat since—”

Nathan Ritter turned to his assistant. “Postpone the procedure.” He started to say something to Honey, then controlled himself. “Let's move on.”

The next patient was a Puerto Rican who was coughing badly. Dr. Ritter examined him. “Whose patient is this?”

“Mine,” Honey said.

He frowned. “His infection should have cleared up before now.” He took a look at the chart. “You're giving him fifty milligrams of ampicillin four times a day?”

“That's right.”

“That's not right. It's wrong. That's supposed to be five hundred milligrams four times a day. You left off a zero.”

“I'm sorry, I …”

“No wonder the patient's not getting any better! I want it changed immediately.”

“Yes, doctor.”

When they came to another patient of Honey's, Dr. Ritter said impatiently, “He's scheduled for a colonoscopy. Where is the radiology report?”

“The radiology report? Oh. I'm afraid I forgot to order one.”

Ritter gave Honey a long, speculative look.

The morning went downhill from there.

The next patient they saw was moaning tearfully. “I'm in such pain. What's wrong with me?”

“We don't know,” Honey said.

Dr. Ritter glared at her. “Dr. Taft, may I see you outside for a moment?”

In the corridor, he said, “Never, never tell a patient that you don't know. You're the one they're looking to for help! And if you don't know the answer, make one up. Do you understand?”

“It doesn't seem right to …”

“I didn't ask you whether it seemed right. Just do as you're told.”

They examined a hiatal hernia, a hepatitis patient, a patient with Alzheimer's disease, and two dozen others. The minute the rounds were over, Dr. Ritter went to Benjamin Wallace's office.

“We have a problem,” Ritter said.

“What is it, Nathan?”

“It's one of the residents here. Honey Taft.”

Again? “What about her?”

“She's a disaster.”

“But she had such a wonderful recommendation.”

“Ben, you'd better get rid of her before the hospital gets in real trouble, before she kills a patient or two.”

Wallace thought about it for a moment, then made his decision. “Right. She'll be out of here.”

Paige was busy in surgery most of the morning. As soon as she was free, she went to see Dr. Wallace, to tell him of her suspicions about Harry Bowman.

“Bowman? Are you sure? I mean … I've seen no signs of any addiction.”

“He doesn't use it,” Paige explained. “He sells it. He's living like a millionaire on a resident's salary.”

Ben Wallace nodded. “Very well. I'll check it out. Thank you, Paige.”

Wallace sent for Bruce Anderson, head of security. “We may have identified the drug thief,” Wallace told him. “I want you to keep a close watch on Dr. Harry Bowman.”

“Bowman?” Anderson tried to conceal his surprise. Dr. Bowman was constantly giving the guards Cuban cigars and other little gifts. They all loved him.

“If he goes into the dispensary, search him when he comes out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry Bowman was headed for the dispensary. He had orders to fill. A lot of orders. It had started as a lucky accident. He had been working in a small hospital in Ames, Iowa, struggling to get by on a resident's salary. He had champagne taste and a beer pocketbook, and then Fate had smiled on him.

One of his patients who had been discharged from the hospital telephoned him one morning.

“Doctor, I'm in terrible pain. You have to give me something for it.”

“Do you want to check back in?”

“I don't want to leave the house. Couldn't you bring something here for me?”

Bowman thought about it. “All right. I'll drop by on my way home.”

When he visited the patient, he brought with him a bottle of fentanyl.

The patient grabbed it. “That's wonderful!” he said. He pulled out a handful of bills. “Here.”

Bowman looked at him, surprised. “You don't have to pay me for that.”

“Are you kidding? This stuff is like gold. I have a lot of friends who will pay you a fortune if you bring them this stuff.”

That was how it had begun. Within two months, Harry Bowman was making more money than he had ever dreamed possible. Unfortunately, the head of the hospital got wind of what was going on. Fearing a public scandal, he told Bowman that if he left quietly, nothing would appear on his record.

I'm glad I left, Bowman thought. San Francisco has a much bigger market.

He reached the dispensary. Bruce Anderson was standing outside. Bowman nodded to him. “Hi, Bruce.”

“Good afternoon, Dr. Bowman.”

Five minutes later when Bowman came out of the dispensary, Anderson said, “Excuse me. I'm going to have to search you.”