False Accusations (25 page)

“Who are those people?” he asked as he walked into his office and hung up his raincoat.

“There are a couple of NAACP signs out there. But from what I could see, most of them are with the Homeless Advocate Society.”

Madison walked behind the large, granite reception desk. “The people I’m accused of killing worked for that organization.”

He sat down in his office. Files were piled higher than his line of sight. He pushed them aside against a stack of partially read journals, and picked up the phone to call Hellman. He got through immediately.

He answered in a flurry, speaking quickly. “I’m about to go into a deposition, so we’ve gotta make it fast.”

Madison related what was going on outside his office.

“Yeah, and why do I want to know this?” Hellman asked.

“Because they’re blocking my entrance and won’t allow my patients in to see me. And because they damn near assaulted me as I tried to get into the building. I think I even saw Harding in the crowd.”

“Have you called the police?”

“No, you’re my first call. I didn’t know what to do.”

“People have a right to protest, so you can’t move them based on the fact that they’re there. But they don’t have a right to use physical violence or force on anyone. I’ll make a call and get that taken care of.”

“What about Harding? What the hell was she doing there?”

“Strange as this may seem, she’s got a right to be there, too. Thicken your hide, don’t let all this extraneous bullshit get to you. In a few weeks, we’ll have you cleared and you can get on with your life.”

“And until then?”

“Stiff upper lip, my friend. Meantime, let me make that call and get those people dispersed.”

By the time Madison had returned a few calls, the police had arrived and informed the crowd that if they wanted to protest, they had the right—but they could not obstruct business, accost people, or prevent them from entering or exiting the building. The shouting continued for another hour, but the pouring rain helped to discourage them from maintaining their onslaught.

A few of the morning’s patients were rescheduled for the afternoon; Madison’s referrals had dropped off dramatically since the murder charges were brought, so any additional loss of patients was eating away at an already crumbling dam. Problem was, each time he plugged a hole, another two seemed to pop open. Unfortunately, as he was soon to find out, there were more weak spots lurking beneath the surface.

And the dam was about to burst.

UPON RETURNING FROM LUNCH, Madison noticed a message on his voicemail: it was John Stevens at the hospital. He had something very important to discuss and could not do it over the phone. He needed him to come by tonight if possible. He’d wait there for him if necessary.

Madison phoned Stevens and informed his secretary that seven was the earliest he could be there; then he called Leeza to apologize. Since he had been home often lately, the time away from the house this evening did not seem to loom as significantly as it had in the past.

Stevens’s office was the only one of the entire administrative suite that was still aglow by the time Madison walked in at 7:05 P.M. Stevens was sitting at his desk, his room lit by a single desk lamp that cast a warm, orange hue. Judging by the look on his friend’s face, however, there was nothing cozy or comfortable on his mind.

“Phil, please sit down,” he said, motioning Madison to the seat in front of his desk. Usually, when Madison had come to speak with Stevens in his office; he would direct him to the sofa against the far wall, where they would sit next to each other while chatting. This meeting had a very formal air to it. This was all business.

“What’s on your mind, John? Something’s bugging you.”

Stevens nodded, his gaze lost somewhere amongst the papers on his blotter. He placed his tremulous right hand on the desk and covered it with his left. “You know I’ve always hated administrators because of what their focus was—money. The bottom line. Income and expenses. Risks and exposure.” He paused on this last sentence, then looked up at Madison. “Risks and exposure are what the board is most concerned with at the moment. With increased risk comes greater exposure, and with greater exposure comes increased risk.”

“You’re talking in circles, John. What the hell are you saying?”

Stevens wiggled a bit uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m talking about increased risk of lawsuits. Of risking this hospital’s stellar reputation. Of risking the loss of research grants which are vital to the operation of this institution.”

“Why are we discussing this? What could I possibly do to help you lower the risk the hospital faces?”

Stevens scratched the back of his head, “Phil, there’s been talk.” He looked at Madison. “Talk of a loss of research funds if we don’t relieve you of your privileges.”

“Relieve me?” Madison swallowed hard. “Of my privileges?”

“You’re going to make me spell it out, huh?”

Madison sat there, staring at him.

Stevens heaved a big sigh. “You’ve become too great a risk to the hospital. The board doesn’t want you to be associated with us right now. They’re concerned that your presence here will result in our loss of funds—grants that we can’t afford to lose.”

Madison stood up. “This is absolutely ridiculous.”

“Phil, please sit down.”

“No, I won’t sit down. I demand a better answer than that. How dare you? We’ve worked together how many years? How can you do this to me?”

Stevens remained in his seat. “It’s not my doing. I think you know that. I fought them on this. I fought them hard. They wanted you off the list. Gone, good-bye, never to return, regardless of how your trial turns out.”

“Guilty no matter what, huh?” Madison said, beginning to pace.

“I was able to push something through. They didn’t like it, but I was able to push hard enough to get it through.”

“Guilty. I can’t believe they would do this to me...” he said, his voice trailing off.

“I was able to get them to suspend your privileges temporarily.”

“What a deal. Suspended privileges. How long is ‘temporarily’?”

“Indefinitely.”

“Indefinitely,” he said. “That’s utter bullshit, John, and you know it.”

“It is. But I did the best I could.”

Madison looked up at the ceiling. Tears welled in his eyes. Finally, he composed himself enough to speak. “When this hospital was on the brink of financial ruin, who stepped in and got us the grants to keep our research staff intact? Who was the one who was able to bring our reputation up a notch by performing the first knee replacement surgery in California?

“Who was the one who got the investor group together when we needed to take the hospital public so we could raise the five hundred million cash to purchase all that new equipment down in the OR suites?” He stood and leaned across the desk, two feet from Stevens’s face. “I was. I was the one who saved this hospital several times over. And this is how they repay me? I get falsely accused of a crime and they want to give me the boot out of here?”

“It’s not just a crime you’re accused of. It’s
murder
,” he said in a near whisper. “Double murder.”

“I know what it is! I live it, I breathe it, I can’t get away from it.” Madison sat back down and his gaze again found the ceiling. “You think I’m guilty, John?”

“What I think isn’t important, Phil. It’s what the big boys think that matters.”

“Answer my question.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I had to ask. I need to know where I stand with you.” Madison paused, shook his head. “There were protesters outside my office today. They wouldn’t let any patients in. They assaulted me as I tried to go in through the front doors.”

“I know. That was the last straw for the guys upstairs. They heard about it from a patient of yours who couldn’t get in to see you this morning, so she came over here for a refill of her meds. She told the receptionist about her ordeal, and the receptionist told Nancy Block, the RN who had the hots for you—the one you told in no uncertain terms that you’d never have an affair—she told Scott Smilton, the cardiologist who sits on the board.

“By noon we had our own group of protesters outside the hospital. Only about twenty of them, but they sure made a lot of noise. Stood under the overhang and shouted for two hours until they lost their voices. That was all it took to convene the board for a special session. By three o’clock we were meeting. Twenty minutes later it was all over. And I spoke for fifteen of those twenty minutes, trying to change their minds.”

“John, this just isn’t fair.”

“Fair?” Stevens tilted his head. “Let’s look at this for a moment from the board’s point of view—from a business perspective.”

Madison made a face.

“No, hear me out,” Stevens said, holding up a trembling hand. “Those protesters out there are bad for business. They left for today, but they’ll be back tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. I know for a fact that we’ll lose the grants if you stay on. I really can’t blame the board for their decision. What else could they do? Should they risk all the good that this hospital does for thousands of people just so that we don’t hurt your feelings? Surely you can see that wouldn’t be a defensible position.”

Madison sat down hard on the couch and remained silent a long moment. “Who’s going to perform the surgeries I have scheduled? I’ve got a posterior strut fusion and a three-level fracture of the axis to repair—”

“Your surgeries were assigned to Jim Plankston.”

“Plankston! You’ve gotta be kidding. These aren’t simple procedures.”

Stevens threw up his hands. “What do you want me to say? I did my best.”

“Plankston. Well, they could have done worse, I guess. It could’ve been Caldwell.”

“He’s assisting.”

“Why didn’t they at least assign Fred Oliver—”

“Wasn’t my decision,” Stevens said.

Madison leaned back. “This is what they’d rather have over me?”

Stevens looked down at his desk, avoiding eye contact.

Madison stood up, turned and faced the couch.

“We’ve had a lot of good chats on this sofa, haven’t we, John?”

Stevens rose and moved next to Madison. “And we’ll have a lot more. Maybe this is the best thing anyway. Take the time off. Get your house in order. It’s probably good that you’re not operating under these conditions anyway. Clear your head, spend time with your family, get your legal matters out of the way, and then we’ll get you reinstated. I promise. I’ll make it happen.”

Madison forced a thin smile. “One day this will make for one big joke. We’ll laugh about it, right?”

“Absolutely,” Stevens said, patting him on the back. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Outside, Madison walked down the hall into the bright light. He squinted as a tear came to his eye and ran down his cheek. He looked around, not knowing if he would ever be reinstated to the hospital he helped build into a revered, state-of-the-art teaching institution.

As he punched the elevator button, he suddenly became aware of the pounding pain threatening to explode from his temples.

He never thought it would get to this.

LEEZA WAS STRUGGLING to button Elliott’s coat, but the boy wouldn’t stay still. While he zoomed his plastic spaceship through the air, Leeza managed to get the top button fastened. But as she moved down to the next one, the phone rang.

It was Hellman calling from his car, relieved that he’d caught her before she left to drop the kids off at day care.

“I’ve got something I have to discuss with Phil,” he said.

Leeza told him Madison was in the garage building a toy box for Jonah. “He’s been in there for three hours, since six-thirty this morning, pounding away, taking out his aggressions with a hammer. I guess it’s good therapy for him.”

“Not for a surgeon,” Hellman said. “He’s not supposed to be doing those things. His hands are—”

“Jeffrey, he doesn’t care. And right now, I can’t say that I blame him. The hospital revoked his privileges.”

“Sac General? The one he pulled from the trenches ten years ago?”

She blurted a laugh filled with disbelief. “Is that a kick in the ass?”

“Guess I shouldn’t tell him why I called.”

“Why
did
you call?” she asked, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder so she could button the rest of Elliott’s coat.

“You haven’t seen the
Herald
this morning?”

“No,” she said as Chandler came down the stairs. “Let me guess, more bad stuff.”

“It ain’t good.”

She patted her son on the buttocks and moved the phone away from her mouth. “Ryan, would you get the paper out front?”

“I haven’t read the whole article yet,” Hellman said, “but it covers the protests yesterday, makes some snide remarks about Phil’s still seeing patients and that all he cares about is the money. I just wanted to smooth things over for him.”

“You’re a good friend, Jeffrey. He could use the cheering up,” she said as she and Chandler opened the paper.

“Let me talk to him.”

She walked over to the intercom and buzzed the garage. “Pick up, honey. Jeffrey’s on the phone.”

“I don’t feel like talking.”

The sound of a hammer pounding a nail reverberated through the intercom.

“He needs to talk to you.”

Madison picked up the wood, tossed the hammer aside, and grabbed the phone off the wall. “Yeah.”

“Just heard about the hospital,” Hellman said. “I’m sorry. We’ll get through this, buddy, I promise you.”

“No offense, but I’m not convinced.”

“You forget that we’re about to blow the lid off the prosecution’s case—”

“We better, because I can’t take much more of this. What the hell am I going to do, Jeffrey? If I’m not a surgeon...” He trailed off, ignoring the larger picture, which included a lifetime of incarceration. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“First of all, you’ll get past all this bullshit. We’ll repair the damage once this case fades into the dust.”

“I don’t know if it’ll ever go away. I’m only now beginning to realize that.”