Coma

Finding a hoard of drugs like this is a pretty serious business, considering all the rigmarole you have to go through to get a narcotic in the first place. Because of my locker list, you will probably be contacted by the hospital administration. For obvious reasons they are not excited about letting this information out, especially with the recertification deal corning up. So keep it under your hat. And for God’s sake, get your student interested in something else besides anesthesia complications.”

Bellows emerged from Chandler’s cubicle with a strange feeling. He wasn’t surprised about hearing that he was being associated with Susan’s activities. He was already afraid of that. But the news about the drugs found in a locker to which he was assigned, that was a different story.

His mind conjured up an image of Walters oozing around the OR area. He questioned why anyone would hoard drugs like that. Then there was the suggestion of association. Susan had used the words supernatural and sinister. Bellows wondered exactly what kind of drugs were stored in locker 338. He also wondered if he should tell Susan about the discovery.

Tuesday, February 24, 2:36 P.M.

Susan allowed her eyes to wander around the Chief of Surgery’s office.

It was spacious and exquisitely decorated. Large windows occupying most of two walls afforded a splendid view of Charleston in one direction and a corner of Boston and the North End in the other. The Mystic River bridge was partially concealed by gray snow clouds. The wind had shifted from the sea and was now blowing in from the northwest with arctic air.

Stark’s teak desk, with its white marble top, was situated eater-corner in the northwest section of the office. The wall behind and to the right of the desk was mirrored from floor to ceiling. The fourth wall contained the door from the reception room and carefully constructed, recessed bookshelves. A section of the shelves was hinged; partly ajar, it revealed gleaming glasses, bottles, and a small refrigerator.

In the southeast corner, where the huge expanse of windows met the bookshelves, there was a low, glass-topped table surrounded by molded fiberglass chairs. Their leather cushions were made of bright colors ranging through the oranges and greens.

Stark himself was seated behind his massive desk. His image was recreated a hundred times in the mirror to the right thanks to the reflection from the tinted window glass to his left The Chief of Surgery had his feet propped up on the corner of his desk so that daylight fell over his shoulder onto the paper he was reading.

He was impeccably dressed in a beige suit tailored to fit close to his lean body, accented by an orange silk scarf in his left breast pocket. His graying hair was moderately long and brushed back from his high forehead, just covering the tops of his ears. His face was aristocratic, with sharp features and a thin nose. He wore executive half-glasses framed in delicate reddish tortoiseshell. His green eyes rapidly scanned back and forth across the sheet of paper in his hand.

Susan would have been greatly intimidated by a combination of the impressive surroundings and Stark’s awe-inspiring reputation as a surgical genius had it not been for his initial smile and his seemingly incongruous posture. The fact that he had his feet up on the corner of the desk made Susan feel more comfortable, as if Stark really didn’t take his power position within the hospital too seriously. Susan correctly surmised that his skill as a surgeon and his ability as a medical administrator-businessman made it possible for Stark to ignore conventional executive posturing. Stark finished reading the paper and looked up at Susan sitting in front of him.

“That, young lady, is very interesting. Obviously I am totally aware of the surgical cases, but I had no idea a similar problem was occurring on the medical floors. Whether they are indeed related is uncertain but I must give you credit for coming up with the idea that they may be related. And these two recent respiratory arrests and deaths; associating them is ... well, both far-out and brilliant at the same time. It gives food for thought. You have related them because you feel that depression of respiration is the common ground for all the cases. My first reaction to that—now, this is just my first reaction—is that it does not explain the anesthesia cases because in that circumstance, the respiratory pattern is being artificially maintained. You suggest some previous encephalitis or brain infection making people more susceptible to complications during anesthesia ... let me see.”

Stark swung his feet from his desk and turned toward the window.

Unconsciously he took his reading glasses from his nose and lightly chewed one of the earpieces. His eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Parkinsonism has now been related to previous unsuspected viral insult, so I suppose your theory is possible. But how could it be proved?”

Stark rotated around, facing Susan.