Robin Cook - Foreign Body

With the shift changing, the elevator stopped on every floor.

“I’m not going directly back to the bungalow,” Veena said, keeping her eyes glued to the floor indicator. “I’m going to stop in and see Shrimati Kashmira Varini.”

“What on earth for?” Samira questioned in a whisper.

“The granddaughter of my victim came to see me this afternoon, and I found it very uncomfortable having to speak with her. Cal never suggested I’d have to do anything like that. She scares me. She told me she’s not happy about her grandmother’s death and she’s looking into it. I don’t like it.”

The elevator came to a bumpy stop at the lobby level and disgorged its full load of passengers. After only a few steps, Veena came to a halt. Samira did the same.

“Maybe it would be best if you didn’t do anything until we talk with Cal and Durell,” Samira said after making certain no one was listening.

“I want to find out where she is staying in case Cal wants to know. I’m sure the case manager knows.”

“I imagine she does.”

“The granddaughter mentioned your victim as well.”

“In what regard?” Samira asked with increasing alarm.

“She wondered if the same person who’d found Mrs. Hernandez also found Mr. Benfatti.”

“Why would she care?”

“I don’t know.”

“Now you have me concerned,” Samira said.

“I’ll wait for you here,” Samira said, as Veena turned and headed toward the information desk. She merely waved acknowledgment over her shoulder. Rounding the desk, Veena peered beyond Kashmira Varini’s open door. She was hoping the case manager would be alone, and she was.

“Excuse me,” Veena called out, and bowed as Kashmira looked up. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Kashmira replied, returning the greeting.

Veena advanced to the desk. “I spoke with Mrs. Hernandez’s granddaughter, Jennifer, this afternoon.”

“Yes, so Nurse Kumar informed me when she called to let me know she was here. Sit down!” Kashmira pointed with her chin toward one of the free chairs in her office.

Although Veena was planning on staying only for a few moments, she sat down.

“I’m interested in your reaction to her. We are finding her difficult to deal with.”

“In what regard?” Veena asked, feeling progressively more unsettled toward the American.

“In most every regard. We need her simply to stipulate what she wants us to do with her grandmother’s body and be done with it so we can dispose of the body. But she refuses. I’m afraid she has some paranoid notion this tragedy was either a medical error or intentional. She’d even arranged that several American forensic pathologists are coming for heaven knows what. I’ve repeatedly made it clear there is to be no autopsy.”

Veena had reflexively sucked in a bit of air when she’d heard Kashmira say “intentional” and hoped it hadn’t been apparent. Her sense that Jennifer Hernandez was potential trouble had ratcheted up several notches.

“Are you alright?” Kashmira asked, leaning toward Veena.

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s been a long day is all.”

“Do you need a drink of water or anything?”

“I’m fine. Why I stopped in was to find out where Jennifer Hernandez is staying, because I was thinking of calling her. I want to be certain I’ve answered all her questions. When she was here I was very busy, and Nurse Kumar had to interrupt to get me back to my patient.”

“She’s at the Amal,” Kashmira said. “During the time you were talking with her, how did she seem? Was she hostile at all? With me she goes back and forth. I don’t know if it is because she is exhausted or angry.”

“No, not hostile. In fact, the opposite. She acted sympathetic that her grandmother had been my first patient death since my graduation.”

“That seems out of character.”

“But she did specifically say she was unhappy about her grandmother’s death, whatever that meant, and that she was looking into it to a degree. She used those words but quite matter-offactly.”

“If you end up talking with her, please encourage her to decide about her grandmother’s body. It would be an enormous help.”

After promising to put in a good word if the opportunity presented itself about the cremation/embalming issue, Veena bid Shrimati Varini good night and hustled out into the lobby. She found Samira and guided her outside.

“What did you learn?” Samira asked, as they walked down the driveway.

“We have to talk with Cal about this Hernandez woman. She worries me. Even Kashmira Varini is having trouble with her. She said that she believes Jennifer Hernandez suspects the death of her grandmother was either medical error or somehow purposeful. In other words, not natural.”

Samira stopped, suddenly grabbing Veena by the elbow and pulling her up short. “You mean she thinks her grandmother might have been murdered.”

“In so many words,” Veena said.

“I think we better get back to the bungalow.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Despite the pre-rush hour traffic clogging the street, the women were lucky to find a free auto rickshaw. They climbed into the bench backseat, gave the driver the bungalow address, and then held on for dear life.

October 17, 2007

Wednesday, 4:26 p.m.

New Delhi, India

“You got a sec?” Durell asked from the library door. Cal looked up from the spreadsheets of Nurses International expenses. The burn rate was impressive, but with things going so well at the moment, he was not as concerned as he’d been just two to three days before.

“Of course,” Cal said. He leaned back and stretched his arms over his head. He watched Durell saunter in and spread several maps on the library table that Cal used as a desk. There were also photos of a number of vehicles, which he carefully positioned with his large, powerful hands. Durell was dressed in one of his signature stretch black T-shirts, which molded over his muscles as if it had been sprayed on.

“Okay,” Durell said, standing straight and rubbing his hands together with relish. “Here’s what I’ve found.”

Before he could continue, the front door slammed shut in the distance hard enough not only to be heard but also to rattle Cal’s espresso cup in its saucer on his desk. The two men shared a look. “What the hell?” Cal questioned.

“Somebody wants us to know they are home,” Durell said. He looked at his watch. It was almost four-thirty. “Must be one of the nurses who have had a bad day.”

No sooner had the words escaped Durell’s lips than Veena and Samira came through the library door. Both started talking at once.

“Hey!” Cal called out, motioning with both hands for them to calm down. “One at a time, and this better be important. You’ve just interrupted Durell.”

Veena and Samira exchanged glances. Veena spoke. “There’s a possible problem at the Queen Victoria—”

“A possible problem?” Cal questioned, interrupting her.

Veena nodded excitedly.

“Then I think you should show some consideration. Durell was speaking.”

“We can go over this later,” Durell said, gathering up the car photos.

Cal grabbed his wrist to restrain him and made eye contact. “No, continue! They can wait.”

“Are you sure?” Durell said, leaning over to speak directly in Cal’s ear. “I thought this escape stuff was privileged information.”

“It’s okay. If Armageddon arrives, I want them with us anyway. Let them hear. They could help.”

Durell flashed a thumbs-up sign and stood back up.

“Listen up,” Cal said. “Durell has been working on what is called a contingency plan for a worst-case scenario. But it’s privileged information. No telling the others.”