Phillip Margolin: Wild Justice

Justine nodded.

Then you irrigate the wound with hydrogen peroxide before suturing it.

Justine nodded again

The lidocaine and the hydrogen peroxide were in two cups. Dr. Cardoni insisted on filling the syringe himself. He didn't look.

He injected the patient with hydrogen peroxide instead of the lidocaine? Justine asked incredulously.

I tried to tell him that he had it wrong, but he told me to shut up. Then Mrs. Manion, the patient, started complaining that it was stinging, so he injected her again and she started to scream.

I don't believe this, Justine said, shaking her head in disgust. How could he possibly mistake lidocaine for hydrogen peroxide? One of them is clear and the other has bubbles in it. It's like confusing Champagne and water.

I really tried to tell him, but he wouldn't let me. I don't know what would have happened if Dr. Metzler hadn't stopped him. It wasn't my fault. I swear I didn't mix up the cups.

Do you want to report this? I'll back you up.

Sandowski looked startled. No, no. I don't have to, do I?

It's your decision.

Sandowski's eyes were wide with fear. You're not going to report it, are you?

Not if you don't want me to, Justine answered soothingly.

Sandowski's head dropped, and she started to cry again. I hate him. You don't know what he's like, Sandowski sobbed.

Oh, yes, I do, she said. I' m married to that bastard.

Fiori looked surprised.

We're separated, Justine said forcefully.

She handed Sandowski a tissue. Why don't you go home for the rest of the day? Justine suggested. We'll clear everything with the head nurse.

Sandowski nodded, and Fiori used the phone to make arrangements for the nurse to leave.

Something's got to be done about him, Justine said as soon as Sandowski was out of the call room.

Were you serious when you accused Cardoni of operating on drugs?

Justine looked at Fiori. She was flushed.

He can't get through the day without cocaine. He's a malpractice case waiting to happen. I know he's going to kill someone if something isn't done, but I can't say a word. He's an established surgeon. I' m only a resident. I' m also suing him for divorce. No one would take me seriously.

I see what you mean, Fiori answered thoughtfully. It puts you in a tough spot. Especially if Nurse Sandowski won't report him.

I can't ask her to. She's scared to death.

Fiori nodded.

Thank you for stepping in when you did, by the way. I don't know what Vincent would have done if you hadn't been there.

Fiori smiled. You looked like you were handling yourself okay.

Thanks anyway.

Hey, we lowly residents need to stick together. Fiori saw the time on a wall clock. Oops, got to run or I'll be late for a date with a fatty tumor in Lumps and Bumps.

The handsome resident took off down the corridor with a purposeful stride. Justine Castle watched him until he disappeared around a corner.

Chapter 4

Martin Breach's sandy hair was thinning, his drab brown eyes were watery and he had the pale complexion of someone who rarely went outside during the day. He also had dreadful taste in clothes. Breach wore orange or green slacks with garish jackets and loud ties that were unfashionably wide. His outfits made him look silly, but Breach didn't care. By the time his enemies realized that they had underestimated him, they were frequently dead.

Breach had started in the trenches breaking legs for Benny Dee, but he was too intelligent to stay a leg breaker for long. Now Breach ran the most efficient and ruthless criminal organization in the Pacific Northwest. No one knew where to find Benny Dee.

Martin's right-hand man, Art Prochaska, was a giant with thick lips, a broad nose and pencil-thin eyebrows. Rumor had it that in his days as a collector for the mob he had used his huge head to stun debtors as effectively as an electric charge from a Taser. Prochaska had none of Breach's smarts, but he shared his taste for violence. When Martin climbed the ladder of crime, he pulled along the only person in the world he trusted.

Prochaska limped through the door of Breach's office in the rear of the Jungle Club and settled himself across the desk from his boss. He had injured himself when he hit the pavement at the airfield diving to avoid Clifford Grant's car. The office was tiny, and the furniture was rickety and secondhand. Pictures of naked women and a calendar from a motor oil company decorated the paper-thin walls. Raucous music from the strip club made it difficult to hear. Breach wanted the club to look run-down so that the IRS could not get a true picture of the money that flowed through it.

So? Breach asked.

Grant's gone. We checked his place and the hospital. No one's seen him since he split during the raid.

Breach was very quiet. To someone who did not know, he seemed relaxed, but Prochaska was aware that a rage of monumental proportions was building.

This is bad, Arty. I' m out a quarter of a million bucks, I' m out my profit and my reputation has taken a hit because of that quack.

If he hadn't taken off with the heart, we' d have been arrested.

Breach stared at Prochaska long enough to make the giant look down.

Where is he?

No one knows. Eugene and me searched his apartment. We didn't find squat. I got the feeling someone had tossed it before we did, but I couldn't say for sure.

The cops?

No, the place was too neat.

The partner?

Maybe.

Who is he, Arty?

Prochaska answered hesitantly. He always hated to tell Breach bad news. I got one possible lead. My friend at the phone company gave me Grant's records. He made a few calls to a number in the West Hills. The phone belongs to Dr. Vincent Cardoni.

Is he a surgeon?

Yeah, and he works at St. Francis Medical Center.

Breach's eyes narrowed. Clifford Grant had privileges at St. Francis.

The lady across the way from his apartment said that Grant didn't get many visitors, but she saw a woman up there and a man, maybe two. Anyway, the woman was a knockout, so the neighbor kidded Grant about her. She says he got all nervous. He said she was an associate from work named Justine Castle.

So what?

She's a doctor, Arty, a surgeon, and that ain't all. Castle is married to Vincent Cardoni.

Breach thought for a moment while Prochaska shifted nervously in his seat.

Do you think the cops have Grant? Breach asked.

Our people in the Bureau say no.

Do a background check on those two, Arty.

I' m doin' it already.

I want Grant, I want his partner and I want my money back. And once I've got all three, I' m going to get me a replacement for the heart I lost.

Chapter 5

Dr. Carleton Swindell, the hospital administrator for St. Francis Medical Center, won his bid on the computer bridge game, then checked his watch. He' d kept his appointment waiting for twenty minutes. Swindell's thin lips drew into a satisfied smile. Stewing was probably more accurate, if he knew Dr. Cardoni. Well, that was too bad. It would do Cardoni good to learn a little humility.

Swindell clicked his mouse. The bridge game disappeared and was replaced by a screen saver showing Einstein and Leonardo da Vinci playing tennis another game at which Swindell excelled. The hospital administrator went into his private washroom and adjusted his bow tie in the mirror. He believed himself to be a handsome man, still as dapper at forty-five in his tweed sports jacket, blue Oxford shirt and sharply creased slacks as he had been at Yale. His blond hair was growing a bit thin in places and he needed his gold wire-rimmed glasses for reading, but he sculled every morning on the Willamette, so his weight was the same as it had been during his university days.

Carleton returned to his office and glanced at his watch again. Twenty-five minutes. Cardoni would be boiling, he thought with satisfaction. Oh, well, no need to overdo it. He leaned forward and buzzed his secretary.