Robin Cook - Harmful Intent

Jeffrey still felt he made the right choice, but now what were his options?

He felt depression threaten to return but he fought against it.

At least Chris Everson had had the fortitude to follow through with his decision, albeit a misguided one. Jeffrey cursed himself again for not having been a better friend. If only he knew then what he knew now, he might have been able to save the man. Only now did Jeffrey have an appreciation of what Chris had been going through. Jeffrey hated himself for not having called the man, and for compounding the oversight by failing to call his young widow, Kelly.

Jeffrey splashed his face with cold water. When he'd regained

some semblance of composure, he picked up his belongings and emerged from the rest room. Despite the bustle of the airport, he felt horribly alone and isolated. The thought of going home to an empty house was oppressive. But he didn't know where else to go. Directionless, he headed for the parking garage.

Reaching his car, Jeffrey put the suitcase in the trunk and the briefcase on the passcngcr-sidc seat. He got in behind the wheel and sat, blankly staring ahead, waiting for inspiration.

For several hours he sat there running through all his failings. Never had he been so low. Obsessed about Chris Everson, he eventually began to wonder what had happened to Kelly Everson. He'd met her on three or four social occasions prior to Chris's death. He could even remember having made some complimentary remarks about her to Carol. Carol hadn't been pleased to hear them at the time.

Jeffrey wondered if Kelly still worked at Valley Hospital, or, for that matter, if she still lived in the Boston vicinity. He remembered her as being about five-four or five, with a slim, athletic build. Her hair had been brown with highlights of red and gold, which she'd wear long, clasped with a single barrette. He recalled her face as being broad with dark brown eyes and small, full features that frequently broke into a bright smile.

But what he remembered most was her aura. She'd had a playfulness that had melded wonderfully with a feminine warmth and sincerity that made people like her instantly.

As Jeffrey's thoughts switched from Chris to Kelly, he found himself thinking that she, more than anyone else, would have some insight into what

Jeffrey was now going through. Having lost a husband through the emotional devastation caused by a malpractice case, she'd probably be acutely sensitive to Jeffrey's emotional plight. She might even have some suggestions for dealing with it. At the very least she might provide some much needed sympathy. And if nothing else, at least his conscience would be assuaged by finally making a call he'd been vaguely meaning to make.

Jeffrey returned to the terminal. At the first bank of phones he came to, he used a directory to look up Kelly Everson. He held his breath as his index finger trailed down the names. He stopped on K. C. Everson in

Brookline. That was promising. He put in his coin and dialed. The phone rang once, twice, then a third time. He was about to hang up when someone at the other end picked up. A cheerful voice came through the receiver.

Jeffrey realized he hadn't given a thought as to how to begin.

Abruptly, he said hello and gave his name. He was so unsure of himself, he was afraid she wouldn't remember him, but before he could offer something to jog her memory, he heard her ebullient "Hello, Jeffrey!" She sounded genuinely glad to hear from him and didn't sound at all surprised.

"I'm so pleased you called," she said. "I'd thought about calling you when

I read about your legal problems, but I just couldn't get myself to do it.

I was afraid you might not even remember me."

Afraid that he wouldn't remember her! Jeffrey assured her that wouldn't have been the case. Taking her lead, he apologized profusely for not having called her sooner as he'd promised.

"You don't have to apologize," she said. "I know tragedies intimidate people, the way cancer does, or used to. And I know that doctors have a hard time dealing with a suicide of a colleague. I didn't expect you to call, but I was moved you'd taken the time to come to the funeral. Chris would have been pleased to know you cared. He really respected you. He once told me that he thought you were the best anesthesiologist he knew. So I was honored you were there. A few of his other friends didn't come. But I understood."

Jeffrey didn't know what to say. Here Kelly was forgiving him completely, even complimenting him. Yet the more she said, the more he felt like a heel. Not knowing how to respond, he changed the subject. He said he was glad to find her home.

"This is a good time to catch me. I just got home from work. I guess you know I don't work at the Valley anymore."

"No, I didn't know that."

"After Chris's death I thought it would be healthy for me to go elsewhere,"

Kelly said. "So I moved into town. I'm working at St. Joe's now. In the intensive care unit. I like it better than recovery. I guess you're still at Boston Memorial?"

"Sort of," Jeffrey said evasively. He felt awkward and indecisive. He was afraid she'd refuse to see him. After all, what did she owe him? She had a life of her own. But he'd gotten this far; he had to try. "Kelly," he said at last, "I was wondering if I could drop by and talk with you for a moment."

"When did you have in mind?" Kelly asked without missing a beat.

"Whenever's good for you. I... I could come by now if you're not too busy."

"Well, sure," Kelly said.

"If it's inconvenient, I could..

"No, no! It's fine. Come on over," Kelly said before Jeffrey had a chance to finish. Then she gave him directions to her house.

Michael Mosconi had Jeffrey's check on his blotter in front of him when he placed the call to Owen Shatterly at the Boston National Bank. He didn't think he'd be nervous, but his stomach filled with butterflies the instant he dialed. He had taken a personal check only once before in his bail bondsman career. That transaction had turned out fine. He hadn't been burned. But Michael had heard horror stories from colleagues. Of course if anything did go wrong, Mosconi's biggest problem was that his underwriting company forbade him to take checks in the first place. As Michael had explained it to Jeffrey, he was putting his ass on the line. He didn't know why he was getting to be- such a soft touch. Then again, it was a unique case. The guy was a doctor, for chrissake. Also, a $45,000 fee came along only once in a blue moon. Michael had not wanted to lose the case to his competition. So, in his way, he'd offered better terms. It had been an executive decision.

Someone at the bank answered, then put Michael on hold. Muzak floated out of the receiver. Michael drummed his fingers on the desk top. It was close to four in the afternoon. All he wanted to do was make sure the doc's check would clear before he deposited it. Shatterly had been a friend for a long time; Michael knew there would be no problem finding out from him.

When Shatterly came on the line, Michael explained the information he needed. He didn't have to say more. Shatterly only said, "Just a sec."

Michael could hear him tapping his computer keys.

"How much is the check?" Shatterly asked.

"Forty-five grand," Michael said.

Shatterly laughed. "The account only has twenty-three dollars and change."

There was a pause. Michael stopped his drumming. He got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "You sure there's been no deposits today?" he asked.

"Nothing like $45,000," Shatterly said.

Michael hung up the phone.

"Trouble?" Devlin O'Shea asked, peering over the top of an old Penthouse magazine. Devlin was a big man who looked more like a sixties-style biker than a former Boston policeman. Dangling from his left earlobe was a small, gold Maltese cross ear-