Terminal (A Medical Thriller)

March 8

Monday, 11:15 A.M.

Sean preceded Brian through the swinging doors of the Dade County Courthouse and let the sun and cool fresh air wash over him while he waited for Brian to emerge. Sean had been in the lockup overnight after having been arrested and booked the previous evening.

“That was worse than medical school,” Sean said, referring to the night in jail, as he and Brian descended the broad, sundrenched steps.

“You’re eyeball to eyeball with a long prison sentence if this case doesn’t go perfectly smoothly,” Brian said.

Sean stopped. “You’re not serious, are you?” he asked with alarm. “Not after what I’ve told you these Forbes people have been up to.”

“It’s now in the hands of the judicial system,” Brian said with a shrug. “Once it goes to a jury, it’s a crap shoot. And you heard that judge in there at your arraignment. He was none too happy with you despite your giving yourself up and despite the nitroglycerin’s not being nitroglycerin. As long as your captives thought it was nitroglycerin, it makes no difference what it was. You’d better thank me that I took the time and trouble to get your juvenile record sealed. If I hadn’t you probably wouldn’t have gotten out on bail.”

“You could have made sure Kevin Porter told the judge there were extenuating circumstances,” Sean complained.

“An arraignment is not a trial,” Brian explained. “I told you that already. It’s only a time for you to hear the formal charges against you and for you to enter your plea. Besides, Kevin alluded to extenuating circumstances during the bail portion.”

“That’s another thing,” Sean said. “Five hundred thousand dollars bail! My God! Couldn’t he have done better than that? Now we’ve tied up part of our seed capital of Oncogen.”

“You’re lucky to be out on bail, period,” Brian said. “Let’s go over your charges again: conspiracy, grand larceny, burglary, burglary with a deadly weapon, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, false imprisonment, kidnapping, mayhem, and mutilation of a dead body. My God, Sean, why’d you leave out rape and murder?”

“What about the Dade County District Attorney?” Sean asked.

“They call him State’s Attorney down here,” Brian said. “I met with him and with the U.S. District Attorney last night. While you were comfortably sleeping in jail, I was working my butt off.”

“What did they say?”

“They were both interested, obviously,” Brian said. “But without any evidence to present to them other than some circumstantial travel records and copies of hospital charts, they wisely withheld comment.”

“What about Helen Cabot’s brain?” Sean asked. “That’s the evidence.”

“It’s not evidence yet,” Brian said. “The tests you say you ran haven’t been reproduced.”

“Where is the brain itself?” Sean asked.

“It’s been impounded by the police,” Brian said. “But it is in the physical custody of the Dade County Medical Examiner. Remember, it’s stolen property. So that’s an added problem about its status as evidence.”

“I hate lawyers,” Sean said.

“And I have a feeling you’ll be liking them even less by the time this is over,” Brian said. “I heard this morning that in light of your irresponsible and slanderous statements that Forbes has retained one of the country’s most successful and flamboyant lawyers as well as the backup of Miami’s largest firm. A number of powerful people from all over the country are incensed by your allegations and are flooding Forbes with money for legal representation. In addition to the criminal charges, you’ll be facing a blizzard of civil suits.”

“I’m not surprised that important business people are standing behind Forbes,” Sean said. “But these same people will have a change of heart when they learn that the fantastic cure Forbes provided them was for a brain cancer that Forbes caused.”

“You’d better be right about that,” Brian said.

“I’m right,” Sean said. “The tumor I checked had four viral oncogenes. Even finding one in a natural tumor would have been astounding.”

“But that’s only one tumor out of thirty-eight cases,” Brian said.

“Don’t worry,” Sean said. “I’m right about this.”

“But the other evidence has already been thrown into question,” Brian said. “Through its lawyers, Forbes is saying that the fact that Dr. Deborah Levy happened to be in relevant cities the same day subsequent Forbes patients underwent elective surgery was purely coincidental.”

“Oh, sure,” Sean said sarcastically.

“They do have a point,” Brian said. “First of all, her travel did not match all the cases.”

“So they sent someone else,” Sean said. “Like Margaret Richmond. You’ll have to subpoena all their travel records.”

“There’s more to it,” Brian said. “Forbes contends that Dr. Levy is an on-site inspector for the College of American Pathology. I already checked it out. It’s true. She often travels around the country making clinical lab inspections necessary for hospitals to maintain accreditation. I’ve also already checked some of the hospitals. It seems Dr. Levy did make inspections on those specific days.”

“What about the program running at night with the social security numbers?” Sean asked. “That’s pretty incriminating.”

“Forbes has already categorically denied it,” Brian said. “They say that they access insurance companies on a regular basis but purely to process claims. They say they never access precertification files for elective surgery. And what’s more, the insurance companies claim that all their files are secure.”

“Of course the companies would say that,” Sean said. “I’m sure they’re all quaking in their boots that they might be drawn in on the civil side of this. But in regard to the program at Forbes, Janet and I saw it running.”

“It will be tough to prove,” Brian said. “We’d need the program itself, and they certainly aren’t going to give it to us.”

“Well, damn!” Sean said.

“It’s all going to come down to the science and whether we can get a jury to believe it or even understand it,” Brian said. “I’m not sure I do. It’s pretty esoteric stuff.”

“Where’s Janet?” Sean asked. They started walking again.

“She’s in my car,” Brian said. “Her arraignment was much earlier and a bit easier, but she wanted to get out of the courthouse. I can’t blame her. This whole experience has unnerved her. She’s not accustomed to being in trouble the way you are.”

“Very funny,” Sean said. “Is she being charged?”

“Of course she’s being charged,” Brian said. “What do you think, these people down here are morons? She was an accomplice for everything except assault with a deadly weapon and the kidnapping. Fortunately, the judge seemed to believe her biggest crime is associating with you. He didn’t set bail. She was released on her own recognizance.”

As they neared Brian’s rental car, Sean could see Janet sitting in the front seat. She had her head leaning back on the headrest and she appeared to be asleep. But as Sean came alongside the car, her eyes popped open. Seeing Sean, she scrambled out of the car and hugged him.

Sean hugged her back, feeling self-conscious with his brother standing next to them.

“Are you all right?” Janet asked, pulling her head away but keeping her arms around Sean’s neck.

“Fine, and you?”

“Being in jail was an eye-opener,” she admitted. “I guess I got a little hysterical at first. But my parents flew down with a family attorney who speeded up my arraignment.”

“Where are your parents now?” Sean asked.

“Back at a hotel,” Janet said. “They’re mad I wanted to wait for you.”

“I can imagine,” Sean said.

Brian consulted his watch. “Listen, you two,” he said. “Dr. Mason has scheduled a news conference at noon at Forbes. I think we should go. I was worried we’d still be tied up here at the courthouse, but there’s time. What do you say?”

“Why should we go?” Sean asked.

“I’m concerned about this case, as you can tell,” Brian said. “I’m worried about getting a fair trial here in Miami. I’d prefer that this news conference not turn into the public relations bonanza I believe Forbes expects it to be. Your being there will tone down their rhetoric. It will also help establish you as a responsible individual who is serious about his allegations.”

Sean shrugged. “Okay by me,” he said. “Besides, I’m curious what Dr. Mason will say.”

“Okay by me,” Janet said.

Because of traffic, it took more time than Brian expected to drive from the Dade County Courthouse, but they were still on time for the news conference when they finally pulled into the Forbes parking area. The conference was scheduled to be held in the hospital auditorium, and all the parking spaces near the hospital were occupied. Several TV vans were parked in the fire lane near the hospital’s front door. Brian had to drive around by the research building to find a space.

As they walked around to the hospital, Brian commented on how much media attention the affair was getting. “Let me warn you, this is hot. It’s just the kind of case that gets played out in the media as much as it gets played out in the courts. What’s more, it’s being played on the Forbes’s turf. Don’t be surprised if your reception is less than cool.”

A throng of people was milling about in front of the hospital. Many were reporters, and unfortunately several recognized Sean. They mobbed him, fighting with each other to thrust microphones into his face, everyone asking hostile questions at the same time. Flashbulbs flashed; TV camera lights flooded the scene. By the time Sean, Brian, and Janet reached the front door, Sean was angry. Brian had to restrain him from taking a swing at a few of the photographers.

Inside wasn’t much better. News of Sean’s arrival sent ripples through the surprisingly large crowd. As the three entered the auditorium, Sean heard a chorus of boos rise from the members of the Forbes medical staff who were attending.

“I see what you mean about chilly receptions,” Sean said as they found seats. “Hardly neutral territory.”

“It’s a lynch mob mentality,” Brian said. “But this gives you an idea of what you’re up against.”

The booing and hissing directed at Sean ceased abruptly and was replaced by respectful applause when Dr. Randolph Mason appeared from the wings of the small stage. He walked resolutely to the podium, placing a sizable manila envelope on it. Grasping either side of the podium, he looked out over the audience with his head slightly tilted back. His bearing and appearance were commendably professional, his classically graying hair perfectly coiffed. He was dressed in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and subdued tie. The only splash of color was a lavender silk foulard handkerchief in his breast pocket.

“He looks like everyone’s romantic image of a physician,” Janet whispered. “The kind you’d see on TV.”

Brian nodded. “He’s the kind of man juries tend to believe. This is going to be an uphill battle.”

Dr. Mason cleared his throat, then began speaking. His resonant voice easily filled the small auditorium. He thanked everyone for coming and for supporting the Forbes Cancer Center in the face of the recent accusations.

“Will you be suing Sean Murphy for slander?” one of the reporters yelled out from the second row. But Dr. Mason didn’t have to answer. The entire auditorium erupted in a sustained hiss in response to the reporter’s rudeness. The reporter got the message and meekly apologized.

Dr. Mason adjusted the position of the manila envelope as he collected his thoughts.

“These are difficult times for hospitals and research facilities, particularly specialty hospitals which have the dual objectives of patient care and research. Clinical reimbursement schemes based on diagnosis and standard therapy do not work in environments such as Forbes where treatment plans often follow experimental protocols. Treatment of this sort is intensive and therefore expensive.

“The question is, where is the money supposed to come from for this type of care? Some people suggest it should come from research grants since it is part of the research process. Yet our public funding for general research has gone down, forcing us to seek other sources for financial support, like industry, or even, in exceptional cases, foreign industry. But even this source has limits, especially when the global economy is floundering. Where else can we turn but to the oldest method: private philanthropy.”

“I can’t believe this guy,” Sean whispered. “This is like a fund-raiser pep talk.”

A few people turned to glare at Sean.

“I have devoted my life to the relief of suffering,” Dr. Mason continued. “Medicine and the fight against cancer have been my life since the day I entered medical school. I have always kept the good of mankind as my motivating force and goal.”

“Now he sounds like a politician,” Sean whispered. “When is he going to address the issue?”

“Quiet!” a person behind Sean snapped.

“When I took the position as director of the Forbes Center,” Dr. Mason continued, “I knew the institution was in financial difficulty. Restoring the institution to a solid financial basis was a goal consistent with my desire to work for the good of mankind. I’ve given this task my heart and my soul. If I’ve made some mistakes, it is not for lack of altruistic motives.”

There was spotty applause when Dr. Mason paused and fumbled with his manila envelope, undoing the string that held it closed.

“This is a waste of time,” Sean whispered.

“That was just his introduction,” Brian whispered in return. “Pipe down. I’m sure he’s about to get to the meat of the news conference now.”

“At this time I would like to take leave of you,” Dr. Mason said. “To those who have helped me in this difficult period, my heartfelt thanks.”

“Is this whole rigmarole so he can resign?” Sean asked out loud. He was disgusted.

But no one answered Sean’s question. Instead, gasps of horror rippled through the audience when Dr. Mason reached into the envelope and pulled out a nickel-plated .357 magnum revolver.

Murmurs crescendoed as a few people nearest the podium rose to their feet, unsure whether to flee or approach Dr. Mason.

“I don’t mean for people to become upset,” Dr. Mason said. “But I felt…”

It was clear Dr. Mason had more to say, but two reporters in the front row made a move for him. Dr. Mason motioned them to keep away, but the two men edged closer. Dr. Mason took a step back from the podium. He looked panicked, like a cornered deer. All the color had drained from his face.

Then, to everyone’s dismay, Dr. Mason put the barrel of the revolver in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The bullet went through his hard palate, liquified part of his brain stem and cerebellum, and carried away a five-centimeter disk of skull before burying itself deeply into the wooden cornice molding. Dr. Mason fell backward while the gun was propelled forward. The revolver hit the floor and skidded beneath the first row of seats, sending the people still seated there scattering.

A few people screamed, a few cried, most felt momentarily ill. Sean, Janet, and Brian looked away at the moment the gun went off. When they looked again the room was in pandemonium. No one knew quite what to do. Even the doctors and nurses felt helpless; clearly Dr. Mason was beyond help.

All Sean, Janet, and Brian could see of Dr. Mason were his shoes pointing upward and a foreshortened body. The wall behind the podium was splattered as if someone had hurled a handful of ripe red berries against it.

Sean’s mouth had gone dry. He found it difficult to swallow.

A few tears welled in Janet’s eyes.

Brian murmured: “Holy Mary, mother of God!”

Everyone was stunned and emotionally drained. There was little conversation. A few hearty souls, including Sterling Rombauer, ventured up to view Dr. Mason’s corpse. For the moment most people remained where they were—all except for one woman, who got up from her seat and struggled toward an exit. Sean saw her pushing dumbfounded people aside in her haste. He recognized her immediately.

“That’s Dr. Levy,” Sean said, getting to his feet. “Somebody should stop her. I’ll bet she’s planning on fleeing the country.”

Brian grabbed Sean by the arm, preventing him from giving chase. “This is not the time or place for you to play a paladin. Let her go.”

Sean watched as Dr. Levy got to an exit and disappeared from view. He looked down at Brian. “The charade is beginning to unravel.”

“Perhaps,” Brian said evasively. His legal mind was concerned about the sympathy this shocking event was likely to evoke in the community.

Gradually, the crowd began to disperse. “Come on,” Brian said. “Let’s go.”

Brian, Janet, and Sean shuffled out in silence and pushed through the subdued crowd gathered at the hospital entrance. They headed toward Brian’s car. Each struggled to absorb the horrible tragedy they’d just had the misfortune of witnessing. Sean was the first to speak.

“I’d say that was a rather dramatic mea culpa,” he said. “I suppose we have to give him credit for at least being a good shot.”

“Sean, don’t be crude,” Brian said. “Black humor is not my cup of tea.”

“Thank you,” Janet said to Brian. Then to Sean she said: “A man is dead. How can you joke about it?”

“Helen Cabot is dead, too,” Sean said. “Her death bothers me a lot more.”

“Both deaths should bother you,” Brian said. “After all, Dr. Mason’s suicide could be attributed to all the bad publicity Forbes has received thanks to you. The man had reason to be depressed. His suicide wasn’t necessarily an admission of guilt.”

“Wait a second,” Sean said, bringing the party to a halt. “Do you still have any doubts about what I’ve told you concerning this medulloblastoma issue after what we just witnessed?”

“I’m a lawyer,” Brian said. “I’m trained to think in a specific fashion. I try to anticipate the defense.”

“Forget being a lawyer for two seconds,” Sean said. “What do you feel as a human being?”

“Okay,” Brian relented. “I’ll have to admit, it was an extremely incriminating act.”