Heartless: a Derek Cole Mystery Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 1) (4 page)

When Straus announced to his “confidence team” that Ward C would be opening again, he had little fear that news would spread.

“Our patient is coming to us from a hospital in Chicago where the doctors there are unable to care for the baby,” Straus started.

“A baby?” Michelle Pettingall, Straus’s favorite nurse to look at asked. “Ward C isn’t set up to care for an infant. Wouldn’t the patient be better cared for in the pediatric wing?”

“In most cases, yes, Michelle,” Straus smiled. “But this patient, according to the report I received via telephone, has some very unique healthcare concerns.”

“Something contagious?” asked Jacob Curtis, a psychologist who was better at kissing Straus’s ass than at treating patients.

“Unknown but doubtful.”

“Can you share the ‘unique concerns’ with us?” asked Brian Lucietta. Brian was five years out of medical school and shared Straus’s interest in “alternate means of treatment.”

“Speculation at this point, Brian. What I was told seems too difficult to believe. I think it best that we each examine the patient independently and share our findings as a team.”

“When will the patient arrive?” asked Jacob Curtis.

“Two doctors from Chicago, my old friend Peter Adams and a surgeon named Stanley Mix left Chicago very late last night. I expect them to be here within the hour.”

Straus found no reason to extend the meeting any longer. He had to make sure that Ward C was ready and that his team fully understood how important confidentiality and complete focus to the patient would be.

“We have plenty of things to complete and not much time to do so. Michelle,” he said as he moved as close to her as he felt she would allow. “Have you moved the necessary items to Ward C like I asked?”

“Yes, Doctor Straus. Everything you asked for.”

“Good. And Jacob, did you ensure that the recording and video devices are fully functional in each room?”

“Tested them three times, sir. If a pin drops in any of the rooms, we’ll hear it.”

“Excellent,” Straus said before turning to Brian. “Lastly, has all the lab equipment I requested been reserved and moved to the Ward?”

“Everything,” Brian replied.

“Perfect. Again, I understand that we have some employees here who are more interested in other people’s concerns than they are with their own. That is an unavoidable problem. However, the way they view us is of no concern, at least it shouldn’t be. That being said, I feel compelled to remind each of you that until we know exactly what this patient brings us, that your conversations about this patient are held with the strictest degree of confidentiality. Do I have everyone’s commitment?”

“Yes, Doctor Straus.”

Michelle Pettingall hated her job almost as much as she hated Doctor Straus and his unwelcomed advances, arrogant nature, and the superior attitude he always displayed. Had she the courage or the bank account, she would tell Straus to go “screw himself” right before having a sit-down with a New York State representative to “spill the beans” on what was really going on at Hilburn.

Courage, she had. Money, she didn’t.

Her husband, Kenneth Pettingall, was killed while fighting a fire over three years ago. Michelle thought that since Ken had been a full-fledged firefighter for NYFD that the city would pay her his life insurance and pension. However, after the investigation showed that Ken was not only off-duty when the warehouse fire erupted but also that his blood alcohol level was 1.3, the city needed to make an example out of someone.

“We are very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Pettingall, and wish there was something that the city could do. However, rewarding behaviors like those that the report proves your husband was doing, sends a message to every firefighter in the city. We are sorry for your loss.”

For the last three years, Michelle had put up with Straus, the horrible working conditions at Hilburn, and the loneliness of losing the only man she had ever loved. She put up with it all without the support of friends or family. Her parents were divorced when Michelle was seven, and while she maintained somewhat of a relationship with her mother who lived in Maine, her father had drunk himself to death over eight years ago. As for friends, all of those were the wives of other firefighters that were stationed with Ken. When Ken died, so did the friendships.

When Straus dismissed the team, Michelle turned to walk back up the two flights of dusty stairs to Ward C to make sure nothing was missed. She was no more than ten steps away when she heard Straus call her name.

“It will certainly be nice working so closely with you, Michelle. It will certainly be nice.”

She turned and only offered the briefest of smiles before hurrying her pace towards the assumed security of the stairwell.

“Bastard,” she whispered, being sure that no one could hear, but then double-checking over her shoulder to be absolutely certain that Straus hadn’t heard her whisper.

Straus was still standing in the hallway, admiring the view of her backside as she was walking away from him. Still standing there with a smug smile of ignorant expectation when she reached the stairs.

“Bastard,” she said again, in an even quieter whisper.

Ward C wasn’t a ward at all, at least not in the typical sense. The ward was comprised of only four rooms and a bathroom. The most important room was called “the hub.” It was a semi-circular room with two-way mirrors affording the room’s occupant a clear and private view into the three adjoining rooms. To the east was a small, 15 by 15 foot bedroom. The room was sparsely furnished, and nothing hung from the walls. The only furniture in the room was a 1950’s style baby crib, three fold-up metal chairs, a small, well-worn coffee table, and a large cabinet filled with medical supplies.

To the north, the hub looked into a dimly lit room, much longer than wider, that contained one long, white table. On the table were strewn several notebooks, empty blood vials, several syringes – some in and some outside of their packaging, a coffee pot in dire need of cleaning, and three microscopes. Towards the far end of the room, a small, squared off area contained the only restroom in Ward C.

The room that could be seen when looking westward from the hub was a well-lighted lounge. The couch, four reclining chairs, and solid oak end and coffee tables seemed out of place for an institution struggling to get sufficient funds to improve patient care. This was the only room of the four that was carpeted, clean, and comfortable.

Each room could only be accessed from the hub, and no room had any windows.
 

Only mirrored walls.

The hub was used to closely monitor specific patients in the years that Straus and his team had more “freedom” in their treatment plans. Now, it was to be used to monitor the new patient that was being delivered to them from Chicago.

As Michelle Pettingall checked the medical supply closet, making sure that it was stocked for what Straus had called an “indefinite stay,” she began to wonder what kind of experiments Straus and his team had conducted in Ward C only a few years before. And she wondered what experiments they were planning on the soon-to-be-arriving new patient.

While “the hub” was an excellent place for doctors to closely monitor each and every movement of the patients who once resided in Ward C, Straus realized that it was also an excellent place to monitor Michelle as she was making her final check of the medical supply cabinet.
 

“Looking forward to getting to know you a little bit better,” he said to himself as he moved closer to the two-way mirror. “I know all about what your husband did, and I know exactly what he left behind for you to deal with. A pile of dog crap. But don’t worry, Michelle,” he said as he headed out of the hub before his position was realized, “good old Doctor Straus will take care of you.”

Doctor William Straus was made superintendent of Hilburn Psychiatric at the age of only twenty-seven. In his four years as “the boss,” he was focused on finding something, anything that would get his name in lights.

He knew that sacrifices had to be made in order to achieve the greatness that he deserved and felt that if he was going to make sacrifices, others should as well.
 

“For the betterment of all mankind,” he would say when designing a new treatment plan or adapting one that didn’t produce the expected results.
 

Today, however, if what Peter Adams had told him was true, was the day when his hard work and countless sacrifices would pay off. If the baby he was expecting would reveal its secrets, William Straus would be a certain Nobel Prize winner, and his fame and fortune would be guaranteed.

“This little freak better be what I am expecting,”
he thought as he turned into the stairway and headed back down to the main floor.
 
Before his feet landed on the final step, his pager vibrated. The caller ID displayed by the tiny screen was from Jacob Curtis’s office phone.

Straus walked into the nearest office he could find to dial Curtis’s extension.

“Jacob, it’s William. I got your message,” he said.

“They’re here.”

“At the docks, I trust?”

“At the docks.”

“Five minutes.”

The budget cuts had hit many NY State institutions hard over the years, and Hilburn Psychiatric was one of those hit. In an effort to cut spending, Straus had fired three of the five employees who manned the loading docks and moved the remaining two to part-time positions.

“Our deliveries, or more precisely, or ability to order things to be delivered is a casualty of budget cuts, I’m afraid,” Straus announced to an all employee meeting less than eighteen months earlier. “We need to respond to these cuts while not jeopardizing the care we provide to our patients. With these cuts and our responsibility to our patients in mind, I have made the difficult decision to reduce our logistics team head count. We will only be receiving deliveries twice per week, and the loading docks will now be staffed only on those two days. Please plan accordingly when ordering approved supplies.

“Thank you for your understanding and dedication to our patients.”

Knowing that the docks would be vacant, Straus instructed Peter Adams to “drive all the way around the institution and follow the signs to the loading dock. I’ll have one of my trusted team members waiting for you there. His name is Jacob Curtis. He will page me when you arrive.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you, William? Peter complimented.

“Mostly everything.”

“What the hell took you so long? Henry asked, his gut full of beer.

“It’s a long drive, Henry. And we would have been here an hour earlier if Stanley here hadn’t insisted on seeing where the baby was going to be kept.”

“It didn’t feel right, just dropping the baby off and scurrying off like damn kidnappers. That place gave me the creeps and your friend, Straus, that guy has some issues,” Stanley said before ordering a beer.

“Stanley,” Mark said, “are you comfortable with the arrangements? I mean, are they secure enough?”

“I guess. Who the hell knows,” Stanley said. “I think so. I just don’t trust that Straus character. He was trying to hide his excitement, but he sucks at hiding.”

“What happened?” Henry asked. “Did they find anything out that we missed?”

Peter Adams waited for his single-malt scotch to arrive at the table before answering Henry’s question. “Doctor Straus’s team each examined the patient, and all agreed with our assessment. It has no heart, no more than half of a lung and no reason to be alive.

“Despite Stanley’s reservations, I fully trust William and am very confident that you made the right choice in trusting my judgment. William and his team will have no prying eyes as they figure out the mystery that is keeping the baby alive.” He downed the scotch in one, intentionally delayed, gulp. “And with that, I believe I have fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

“Yes, you have, Peter,” Mark said. “And thank you. Enjoy your sabbatical.”

“I plan to. And, in case you were worried, I’ll arrange for my associate, Doctor Cross, to provide his services full-time at the hospital during my extended absence. Mark, you will, of course, need to move his pay up close to what mine is. Needn’t overlook anything that might raise suspicions.”

“Of course,” Mark said. “Anything else you can think of?”

“Just tell people that I decided to go into private practice. A ‘spur of the moment’ decision. Not that I think anyone will doubt my interest in being on my own, but just in case, let any who are interested know that I am taking time to relax and to prepare.”