Sidney Sheldon - " Nothing Lasts Forever "

The Incomparable Sidney Sheldon Best known today for his
exciting, blockbuster novels, Sidney Sheldon is the author of
The Stars Shine Down, The Doomsday Conspiracy, Memories of
Midnight, The Sands of Time, Windmills of the Cods, If
Tomorrow Comes, Master of the Came, Rage of Angels,
Bloodline, A Stranger in the Mirror, and The Other Side of
Midnight. All have been number one international bestsellers.
His first and only other book, The Naked Face, was acclaimed
by the New York Times as "the best first mystery of the
year." Most of his novels have become major feature films or
TV mini-series, and there are 150 million copies of his books
in print throughout the world. However, before he ever
authored a book Sidney Sheldon had won a Tony Award for
Broadway's Redhead and an Academy Award for The Bachelor and
the Bobby Soxer. He wrote the screenplays for twenty-three
motion pictures including
Easter Parade (with Judy Garland)
and Annie Cet Your Cun. In addition, he penned six other
Broadway hits and created four long-running television series
including "Hart to Hart" and "I Dream of Jeannie," which he
also produced and directed. A writer who has delighted
millions
with his award-winning plays, movies, novels, and
television shows, Sidney Sheldon reigns as one of the most
popular storytellers of all time.
SIDNEY SHELDON

NOTHING
LASTS
FOREVER

To Anastasia and Roderick Mann, with love


The author wishes to express his deep appreciation to the
many doctors, nurses, and medical technicians who were
generous enough to share their expertise with him.


What cannot be cured with medicaments is cured by the
knife, what the knife cannot cure is cured with the searing
iron, and whatever this cannot cure must be considered
incurable.

-Hippocrates, circa 480 b.c.


There are three classes of human beings: men, women, and
women physicians.

-Sir William Osler


Prologue

San Francisco Spring 1995
District Attorney Carl Andrews was in a fury. "What the
hell is going on here?'' he demanded. "We have three doctors
living together and working at the same hospital. One of them
almost gets an entire hospital closed down, the second one
kills a patient for a million dollars, and the third one is
murdered."
Andrews stopped to take a deep breath. "And they're all
women! Three goddam women doctors! The media is treating them
like celebrities. They're all over the tube. 60 Minutes did a
segment on them. Barbara Walters
did a special on them. I
can't pick up a newspaper or magazine without seeing their
pictures, or reading about them. Two to one, Hollywood is
going to make a movie about them, and they'll turn the
bitches into some kind of heroines! I wouldn't be surprised
if the government put their faces on postage stamps, like
Presley.
Well, by God, I won't have it!" He slammed a fist
down against the photograph of a woman on the cover of Time
magazine. The caption read: "Dr. Paige Taylor- Angel of Mercy
or the Devil's Disciple?"
"Dr. Paige Taylor." The district attorney's voice was
filled with disgust. He turned to Gus Venable, his chief
prosecuting attorney. "I'm handing this trial over to you,
Gus. I want a conviction. Murder One. The gas chamber."
"Don't worry," Gus Venable said quietly. "I'll see to it."
Sitting in the courtroom watching Dr. Paige Taylor, Gus
Venable thought: She's jury-proof. Then he smiled to himself.
No one is jury-proof. She was tall and slender,
with eyes
that were a startling dark brown in her pale face. A
disinterested observer would have dismissed
her as an
attractive woman. A more observant one would have noticed
something else-that all the different phases of her life
coexisted in her. There was the happy excitement of the
child, superimposed onto the shy uncertainty of the
adolescent and the wisdom and pain of the woman. There was a
look of innocence about her. She's the kind of girl, Gus
Venable thought cynically, a man would be proud to take home
to his mother. If his mother had a taste for cold-blooded
killers.
There was an almost eerie sense of remoteness in her eyes,
a look that said that Dr. Paige Taylor had retreated deep
inside herself to a different place, a different time, far
from the cold, sterile courtroom where she was trapped.
The trial was taking place in the venerable old San
Francisco Hall of Justice on Bryant Street. The building,
which housed the Superior Court and County Jail, was a
forbidding-looking edifice, seven stories high, made of
square gray stone. Visitors arriving at the courthouse were
funneled through electronic security checkpoints. Upstairs,
on the third floor, was the Superior Court. In Courtroom 121,
where murder trials were held, the judge's bench stood
against the rear wall, with an American
flag behind it. To
the left of the bench was the jury box, and in the center
were two tables separated by an aisle, one for the
prosecuting attorney, the other for the defense attorney.
The courtroom was packed with reporters and the type of
spectators attracted to fatal highway accidents and murder
trials. As murder trials went, this one was spectacular. Gus
Venable, the prosecuting attorney, was a show in himself. He
was a burly man, larger than life, with a mane of gray hair,
a goatee, and the courtly manner of a Southern plantation
owner. He had never been to the South. He had an air of vague
bewilderment and the brain of a computer. His trademark,
summer and winter, was a white suit, with an old-fashioned
stiff-collar shirt.
Paige Taylor's attorney, Alan Penn, was Venable's
opposite, a compact, energetic shark, who had built a
reputation for racking up acquittals for his clients.
The two men had faced each other before, and their
relationship was one of grudging respect and total mistrust.
To Venable's surprise, Alan Penn had come to see him the week
before the trial was to begin.
"I came here to do you a favor, Gus."
Beware of defense attorneys bearing gifts. "What did you
have in mind, Alan?"
"Now understand-I haven't discussed this with my client
yet, but suppose-just suppose-I could persuade
her to plead
guilty to a reduced charge and save the State the cost of a
trial?"
"Are you asking me to plea-bargain?"
"Yes."
Gus Venable reached down to his desk, searching for
something. "I can't find my damn calendar. Do you know what
the date is?"
"June first. Why?"
"For a minute there, I thought it must be Christmas
already, or you wouldn't be asking for a present like that."
"Gus . . ."
Venable leaned forward in his chair. "You know, Alan,
ordinarily, I'd be inclined to go along with you. Tell you
the truth, I'd like to be in Alaska fishing right now. But
the answer is no. You're defending a coldblooded
killer who
murdered a helpless patient for his money. I'm demanding the
death penalty."
"I think she's innocent, and I-"
Venable gave a short, explosive laugh. "No, you don't. And
neither does anyone else. It's an open-and-shut case. Your
client is as guilty as Cain."
"Not until the jury says so, Gus."
"They will." He paused. "They will."
After Alan Penn left, Gus Venable sat there thinking about
their conversation. Penn's coming to him was a sign of
weakness. Penn knew there was no chance he could win the
trial. Gus Venable thought about the irrefutable
evidence he
had, and the witnesses he was going to call, and he was
satisfied.
There was no question about it. Dr. Paige Taylor was going
to the gas chamber.
It had not been easy to impanel a jury. The case had
occupied the headlines for months. The cold-bloodedness
of
the murder had created a tidal wave of anger.
The presiding judge was Vanessa Young, a tough, brilliant
black jurist rumored to be the next nominee for the United
States Supreme Court. She was not known for being patient
with lawyers, and she had a quick temper. There was an adage
among San Francisco trial lawyers: If your client is guilty,
and you're looking for mercy, stay away from Judge Young's
courtroom.
The day before the start of the trial, Judge Young had
summoned the two attorneys to her chambers.
"We're going to set some ground rules, gentlemen. Because
of the serious nature of this trial, I'm willing to make
certain allowances to make sure that the defendant
gets a
fair trial. But I'm warning both of you not to try to take
advantage of that. Is that clear?"
"Yes, your honor."
"Yes, your honor."
Gus Venable was finishing his opening statement. "And so,
ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the State will prove-yes,
prove beyond a reasonable doubt-that Dr. Paige Taylor killed
her patient, John Cronin. And not only did she commit murder,
she did it for money . . . a lot of money. She killed John
Cronin for one million dollars.
"Believe me, after you've heard all the evidence, you will
have no trouble in finding Dr. Paige Taylor guilty of murder
in the first degree. Thank you."
The jury sat in silence, unmoved but expectant.
Gus Venable turned to the judge. "If it please your honor,
I would like to call Gary Williams as the State's first
witness."
When the witness was sworn in, Gus Venable said, "You're
an orderly at Embarcadero County Hospital?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Were you working in Ward Three when John Cronin was
brought in last year?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell us who the doctor in charge of his case
was?"
"Dr. Taylor."
"How would you characterize the relationship between
Dr.
Taylor and John Cronin?"
"Objection!" Alan Penn was on his feet. "He's calling
for
a conclusion from the witness."
"Sustained."
"Let me phrase it another way. Did you ever hear any
conversations between Dr. Taylor and John Cronin?"
"Oh, sure. I couldn't help it. I worked that ward all the
time."
"Would you describe those conversations as friendly?"
"No, sir."
"Really? Why do you say that?"
"Well, I remember the first day Mr. Cronin was brought in,
and Dr. Taylor started to examine him, he said to keep her .
. ."He hesitated. "I don't know if I can repeat his
language."
"Go ahead, Mr. Williams. I don't think there are any
children in this courtroom."
"Well, he told her to keep her fucking hands off him."
"He said that to Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes, sir."
"Please tell the court what else you may have seen or
heard."
"Well, he always called her 'that bitch.' He didn't want
her to go near him. Whenever she came into his room, he would
say things like 'Here comes that bitch again!' and 'Tell that
bitch to leave me alone' and 'Why don't they get me a real
doctor?' "
Gus Venable paused to look over to where Dr. Taylor was
seated. The jurors' eyes followed him. Venable shook his
head, as though saddened, then turned back to the witness.
"Did Mr. Cronin seem to you to be a man who wanted to give a
million dollars to Dr. Taylor?"
Alan Penn was on his.feet again. "Objection! He's calling
for an opinion again."
Judge Young said, "Overruled. The witness may answer
the
question."
Alan Penn looked at Paige Taylor and sank back in his
seat.
"Hell, no. He hated her guts."
* * *
Dr. Arthur Kane was in the witness box. Gus Venable said,
"Dr. Kane, you were the staff doctor in charge when it was
discovered that John Cronin was mur..." He looked at Judge
Young. "... killed by insulin
being introduced into his IV.
Is that correct?"
"It is."
"And you subsequently discovered that Dr. Taylor was
responsible."
"That's correct."
"Dr. Kane, I'm going to show you the official hospital
death form signed by Dr. Taylor." He picked up a paper and
handed it to Kane. "Would you read it aloud, please?"
Kane began to read. "John Cronin. Cause of Death:
Respiratory arrest occurred as a complication of myocardial
infarction occurring as a complication of pulmonary
embolus.' "
"And in layman's language?"
"The report says that the patient died of a heart
attack."
"And that paper is signed by Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes."
"Dr. Kane, was that the true cause of John Cronin's
death?"
"No. The insulin injection caused his death."
"So, Dr. Taylor administered a fatal dose of insulin and
then falsified the report?"
"Yes."
"And you reported it to Dr. Wallace, the hospital
administrator, who then reported it to the authorities?"
"Yes. I felt it was my duty." His voice rang with
righteous indignation. "I'm a doctor. I don't believe in
taking the life of another human being under any
circumstances."
The next witness called was John Cronin's widow. Hazel
Cronin was in her late thirties, with flaming red hair, and a
voluptuous figure that her plain black dress failed to
conceal.
Gus Venable said, "I know how painful this is for you,
Mrs. Cronin, but I must ask you to describe to the jury your
relationship with your late husband."
The widow Cronin dabbed at her eyes with a large lace
handkerchief. "John and I had a loving marriage. He was a
wonderful man. He often told me I had brought him the only
real happiness he had ever known."
"How long were you married to John Cronin?"
"Two years, but John always said it was like two years in
heaven."
"Mrs. Cronin, did your husband ever discuss Dr. Taylor
with you? Tell you what a great doctor he thought she was? Or
how helpful she had been to him? Or how much he liked her?"
"He never mentioned her."
"Never?"
"Never."
"Did John ever discuss cutting you and your brothers out
of his will? '
"Absolutely not. He was the most generous man in the
world. He always told me that there was nothing I couldn't
have, and that when he died ..." Her voice broke. "... that
when he died, I would be a wealthy woman, and ..." She could
not go on.
Judge Young said, "We'll have a fifteen-minute recess."
Seated in the back of the courtroom, Jason Curtis was
filled with anger. He could not believe what the witnesses
were saying about Paige. This is the woman I love, he
thought. The woman I'm going to marry.
Immediately after Paige's arrest, Jason Curtis had gone to
visit her in jail.
"We'll fight this," he assured her. "I'll get you the best
criminal lawyer in the country." A name immediately
sprang
to mind. Alan Penn. Jason had gone to see him.
"I've been following the case in the papers," Penn said.
"The press has already tried and convicted her of murdering
John Cronin for a bundle. What's more, she admits she killed
him."
"I know her," Jason Curtis told him. "Believe me, there's
no way Paige could have done what she did for money."
"Since she admits she killed him," Penn said, "what we're
dealing with here then is euthanasia. Mercy killings are
against the law in California, as in most states, but there
are a lot of mixed feelings about them. I can make a pretty
good case for Florence Nightingale listening to a Higher
Voice and all that shit, but the problem is that your lady
love killed a patient who left her a million dollars in his
will. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Did she know
about the million before she killed him, or after?"
"Paige didn't know a thing about the money," Jason said
firmly.
Penn's tone was noncommittal. "Right. It was just a happy
coincidence. The DA is calling for Murder One, and he wants
the death penalty."
"Will you take the case?"
Penn hesitated. It was obvious that Jason Curtis believed
in Dr. Taylor. The way Samson believed in Delilah.
He looked
at Jason and thought: I wonder if the poor son of a bitch had
a haircut and doesn't know it.
Jason was waiting for an answer.
"I'll take the case, as long as you know it's all uphill.
It's going to be a tough one to win."
Alan Penn's statement turned out to be overly optimistic.
When the trial resumed the following morning, Gus Venable
called a string of new witnesses.
A nurse was on the stand. "I heard John Cronin say, 'I
know I'll die on the operating table. You're going to kill
me. I hope they get you for murder.' "
An attorney, Roderick Pelham, was on the stand. Gus
Venable said, "When you told Dr. Taylor about the million
dollars from John Cronin's estate, what did she say?"
"She said something like 'It seems unethical. He was my
patient.' "
"She admitted it was unethical?"
"Yes."
"But she agreed to take the money?"
"Oh, yes. Absolutely."
Alan Penn was cross-examining.
"Mr. Pelham, was Dr. Taylor expecting your visit?"
"Why, no, I . . ."
"You didn't call her and say, 'John Cronin left you one
million dollars'?"
"No. I ..."
"So when you told her, you were actually face-to-face with
her?"
"Yes."
"In a position to see her reaction to the news?"
"Yes."
"And when you told her about the money, how did she
react?"
"Well-she-she seemed surprised, but ..." "Thank you, Mr.
Pelham. That's all."
The trial was now in its fourth week. The spectators and
press had found the prosecuting attorney and defense
attorney fascinating to watch. Gus Venable was dressed in
white and Alan Penn in black, and the two of them had moved
around the courtroom like players in a deadly, choreographed
game of chess, with Paige Taylor the sacrificial pawn.
Gus Venable was tying up the loose ends.
"If the court please, I would like to call Alma Rogers to
the witness stand."
When his witness was sworn in, Venable said, "Mrs. Rogers,
what is your occupation?"
"It's Miss Rogers."
"I do beg your pardon."
"I work at the Corniche Travel Agency."
"Your agency books tours to various countries and makes
hotel reservations and handles other accommoda-i tions for
your clients?"
"Yes, sir."
"I want you to take a look at the defendant. Have you ever
seen her before?"
"Oh, yes. She came into our travel agency two or three
years ago."
"And what did she want?"
"She said she was interested in a trip to London and Paris
and, I believe, Venice."
"Did she ask about package tours?"
"Oh, no. She said she wanted everything first classplane,
hotel. And I believe she was interested in chartering
a yacht."
The courtroom was hushed. Gus Venable walked over to the
prosecutor's table and held up some folders. "The police
found these brochures in Dr. Taylor's apartment. These are
travel itineraries to Paris and London
and Venice, brochures
for expensive hotels and airlines, and one listing the cost
of chartering a private yacht."
There was a loud murmur from the courtroom.
The prosecutor had opened one of the brochures.
"Here are some of the yachts listed for charter," he read
aloud. "The Christina O . . . twenty-six thousand dollars a
week plus ship's expenses ... the Resolute Time, twenty-four
thousand five hundred dollars a week ... the Lucky Dream,
twenty-seven thousand three hundred dollars a week." He
looked up. "There's a check mark after the Lucky Dream. Paige
Taylor had already selected the
twenty-seven-thousand-three-hun-dred-a-week yacht. She just
hadn't selected her victim yet.
"We'd like to have these marked Exhibit A." Venable turned
to Alan Penn and smiled. Alan Penn looked at Paige. She was
staring down at the table, her face pale. "Your witness."
Penn rose to his feet, stalling, thinking fast.
"How is the travel business these days, Miss Rogers?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I asked how business was. Is Corniche a large travel
agency?"
"It's quite large, yes."
"I imagine a lot of people come in to inquire about
trips."
"Oh, yes."
"Would you say five or six people a day?"
"Oh, no!" Her voice was indignant. "We talk to as many as
fifty people a day about travel arrangements."
"Fifty people a day?" He sounded impressed. "And the day
we're talking about was two or three years ago. If you
multiply fifty by nine hundred days, that's roughly
forty-five thousand people."
"I suppose so."
"And yet, out of all those people, you remembered Dr.
Taylor. Why is that?"
"Well, she and her two friends were so excited about
taking a trip to Europe. I thought it was lovely. They were
like schoolgirls. Oh, yes. I remember them very clearly,
particularly because they didn't look like they could afford
a yacht."
"I see. I suppose everyone who comes in and asks for a
brochure goes away on a trip?"
"Well, of course not. But-"
"Dr. Taylor didn't actually book a trip, did she?"
"Well, no. Not with us. She--"
"Nor with anyone else. She merely asked to see some
brochures."
"Yes. She-"
"That's not the same as going to Paris or London, is it?"
"Well, no, but-"
"Thank you. You may step down."
Venable turned to Judge Young. "I would like to call Dr.
Benjamin Wallace to the stand. ..."
"Dr. Wallace, you're in charge of administration at
Embarcadero County Hospital?"
"Yes."
"So, of course, you're familiar with Dr. Taylor and her
work?"
"Yes, I am."
"Were you surprised to learn that Dr. Taylor was indicted
for murder?"
Penn was on his feet. "Objection, your honor. Dr.
Wallace's answer would be irrelevant."
"If I may explain," interrupted Venable. "It could be very
relevant if you'll just let me ..."
"Well, let's see what develops," said Judge Young. "But no
nonsense, Mr. Venable."
"Let me approach the question differently," continued
Venable. "Dr. Wallace, every physician is required to take
the Hippocratic Oath, is that not so?"
"Yes."
"And part of that oath is"-the prosecutor read from a
paper in his hand-" 'that I shall abstain from every act of
mischief or corruption'?"
"Yes."
"Was there anything Dr. Taylor did in the past that made
you believe she was capable of breaking her Hippocratic
Oath?"
"Objection."
"Overruled."
"Yes, there was."
"Please explain what it was."
"We had a patient who Dr. Taylor decided needed a blood
transfusion. His family refused to grant permission."
"And what happened?"
"Dr. Taylor went ahead and gave the patient the
transfusion anyway." "Is that legal?"
"Absolutely not. Not without a court order." "And then
what did Dr. Taylor do?" "She obtained the court order
afterward, and changed the date on it."
"So she performed an illegal act, and falsified the
hospital records to cover it up?"
"That is correct."
Alan Penn glanced over at Paige, furious. What the hell
else has she kept from me? he wondered.
If the spectators were searching for any telltale sign of
emotion on Paige Taylor's face, they were disappointed.
Cold as ice, the foreman of the jury was thinking.
Gus Venable turned to the bench. "Your honor, as you know,
one of the witnesses I had hoped to call is Dr. Lawrence
Barker. Unfortunately, he is still suffering
from the
effects of a stroke and is unable to be in this courtroom to
testify. Instead I will now question some of the hospital
staff who have worked with Dr. Barker."
Penn stood up. "I object. I don't see the relevance. Dr.
Barker is not here, nor is Dr. Barker on trial here. If. . ."
Venable interrupted. "Your honor, I assure you that my
line of questioning is very relevant to the testimony we have
just heard. It also has to do with the defendant's competency
as a doctor."
Judge Young said skeptically, "We'll see. This is a
courtroom, not a river. I won't stand for any fishing
expeditions. You may call your witnesses."
"Thank you."
Gus Venable turned to the bailiff. "I would like to call
Dr. Matthew Peterson."
An elegant-looking man in his sixties approached the
witness box. He was sworn in, and when he took his seat, Gus
Venable said, "Dr. Peterson, how long have you worked at
Embarcadero County Hospital?"
"Eight years."
"And what is your specialty?"
"I'm a cardiac surgeon."
"And during the years you've been at Embarcadero County
Hospital, did you ever have occasion to work with Dr.
Lawrence Barker?"
"Oh, yes. Many times."
"What was your opinion of him?"
"The same as everyone else's. Aside, possibly, from
DeBakey and Cooley, Dr. Barker is the best heart surgeon
in
the world."
"Were you present in the operating room on the morning
that Dr. Taylor operated on a patient named ..." He pretended
to consult a slip of paper. "... Lance Kelly?"
The witness's tone changed. "Yes, I was there." "Would you
describe what happened that morning?" Dr. Peterson said
reluctantly, "Well, things started
to go wrong. We began losing the patient." "When you say
'losing the patient . . . ' " "His heart stopped. We were
trying to bring him back, and ..."
"Had Dr. Barker been sent for?"
"Yes."
"And did he come into the operating room while the
operation was going on?"
"Toward the end. Yes. But it was too late to do anything.
We were unable to revive the patient."
"And did Dr. Barker say anything to Dr. Taylor at that
time?"
"Well, we were all pretty upset, and ..."
"I asked you if Dr. Barker said anything to Dr. Taylor."
"Yes."
"And what did Dr. Barker say?"
There was a pause, and in the middle of the pause, there
was a crack of thunder outside, like the voice of God. A
moment later, the storm broke, nailing raindrops to the roof
of the courthouse.
"Dr. Barker said, 'You killed him.' "
The spectators were in an uproar. Judge Young slammed her
gavel down. "That's enough! Do you people
live in caves? One
more outburst like that and you'll all be standing outside in
the rain."
Gus Venable waited for the noise to die down. In the
hushed silence he said, "Are you sure that's what Dr. Barker
said to Dr. Taylor? 'You killed him'?"
"Yes."
"And you have testified that Dr. Barker was a man whose
medical opinion was valued?"
"Oh, yes."
"Thank you. That's all, doctor." He turned to Alan Penn.
'' Your witness.''
Penn rose and approached the witness box.
"Dr. Peterson, I've never watched an operation, but I
imagine there's enormous tension, especially when it's
something as serious as a heart operation."
"There's a great deal of tension."
"At a time like that, how many people are in the room?
Three or four?"
"Oh, no. Always half a dozen or more."
"Really?"
"Yes. There are usually two surgeons, one assisting,
sometimes two anesthesiologists, a scrub nurse, and at least
one circulating nurse."
"I see. Then there must be a lot of noise and excitement
going on. People calling out instructions and so on."
"Yes."
"And I understand that it's a common practice for music to
be playing during an operation."
"It is."
"When Dr. Barker came in and saw that Lance Kelly was
dying, that probably added to the confusion."
"Well, everybody was pretty busy trying to save the
patient."
"Making a lot of noise?"
"There was plenty of noise, yes."
"And yet, in all that confusion and noise, and over the
music, you could hear Dr. Barker say that Dr. Taylor had
killed the patient. With all that excitement, you could have
been wrong, couldn't you?"
"No, sir. I could not be wrong."
"What makes you so sure?"
Dr. Peterson sighed. "Because I was standing right next to
Dr. Barker when he said it."
There was no graceful way out.
"No more questions."
The case was falling apart, and there was nothing he could
do about it. It was about to get worse.
Denise Berry took the witness stand.
"You're a nurse at Embarcadero County Hospital?"
"Yes."
"How long have you worked there?"
"Five years."
"During that time, did you ever hear any conversations
between Dr. Taylor and Dr. Barker?"
"Sure. Lots of times."
"Can you repeat some of them?"
Nurse Berry looked at Dr. Taylor and hesitated. "Well, Dr.
Barker could be very sharp ..."
"I didn't ask you that, Nurse Berry. I asked you to tell
us some specific things you heard him say to Dr. Taylor."
There was a long pause. "Well, one time he said she was
incompetent, and ..."
Gus Venable put on a show of surprise. "You heard Dr.
Barker say that Dr. Taylor was incompetent?"
"Yes, sir. But he was always ..."
"What other comments did you hear him make about Dr.
Taylor?"
The witness was reluctant to speak. "I really can't
remember."
"Miss Berry, you're under oath."
"Well, once I heard him say ..." The rest of the sentence
was a mumble.
"We can't hear you. Speak up, please. You heard him say
what?"
"He said he ... he wouldn't let Dr. Taylor operate on his
dog."
There was a collective gasp frorn the courtroom.
"But I'm sure he only meant ..."
"I think we can all assume that Dr. Barker meant what he
said."
All eyes were fixed on Paige Taylor.
The prosecutor's case against Paige seemed overwhelming.
Yet Alan Penn had the reputation of being a master magician
in the courtroom. Now it was his turn to present the
defendant's case. Could he pull another
rabbit out of his
hat?
Paige Taylor was on the witness stand, being questioned
by Alan Penn. This was the moment everyone had been waiting
for.
"John Cronin was a patient of yours, Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes, he was."
"And what were your feelings toward him?" "I liked him. He
knew how ill he was, but he was very courageous. He had
surgery for a cardiac tumor." "You performed the heart
surgery?"
"Yes."
"And what did you find during the operation?" "When we
opened up his chest, we found that he had melanoma that had
metastasized."
"In other words, cancer that had spread throughout
his body."
"Yes. It had metastasized throughout the lymph glands."
"Meaning that there was no hope for him? No heroic
measures that could bring him back to health?"
"None."
"John Cronin was put on life-support systems?"
"That's correct."
"Dr. Taylor, did you deliberately administer a fatal dose
of insulin to end John Cronin's life?"
"I did."
There was a sudden buzz in the courtroom.
She's really a cool one, Gus Venable thought. She makes it
sound as though she gave him a cup of tea.
"Would you tell the jury why you ended John Cronin's
life?"
"Because he asked me to. He begged me to. He sent for me
in the middle of the night, in terrible pain. The medications
we were giving him were no longer working." Her voice was
steady. "He said he didn't warn to suffer anymore. His death
was only a few days away He pleaded with me to end it for
him. I did."
"Doctor, did you have any reluctance to let him die? Any
feelings of guilt?"
Dr. Paige Taylor shook her head. "No. If you could have
seen . . . There was simply no point to letting him go on
suffering.'
"How did you administer the insulin?"
"I injected it into his IV."
"And did that cause him any additional pain?"
"No. He simply drifted off to sleep."
Gus Venable was on his feet. "Objection! I think the
defendant means he drifted off to his death! I-"
Judge Young slammed down her gavel. "Mr. Venable,
you're
out of order. You'll have your chance to cross-examine the
witness. Sit down."
The prosecutor looked over at the jury, shook his head,
and took his seat.
"Dr. Taylor, when you administered the insulin to John
Cronin, were you aware that he had put you in his will for
one million dollars?"
"No. I was stunned when I learned about it."
Her nose should be growing, Gus Venable thought.
"You never discussed money or gifts at any time, or asked
John Cronin for anything?''
A faint flush came to her cheeks. "Never!"
"But you were on friendly terms with him?"
"Yes. When a patient is that ill, the doctor-patient
relationship changes. We discussed his business problems
and
his family problems."
"But you had no reason to expect anything from him?"
"No."
"He left that money to you because he had grown to respect
you and trust you. Thank you, Dr. Taylor." Penn turned to Gus
Venable. "Your witness."
As Penn returned to the defense table, Paige Taylor
glanced toward the back of the courtroom. Jason was seated
there, trying to look encouraging. Next to him was Honey. A
stranger was sitting next to Honey in the seat that Kat
should have occupied. If she were still alive. But Kat is
dead, Paige thought. I killed her, too.
Gus Venable rose and slowly shuffled over to the witness
box. He glanced at the rows of press. Every seat was filled,
and the reporters were all busily scribbling.
I'm going to
give you something to write about, Venable thought.
He stood in front of the defendant for a long moment,
studying her. Then he said casually, "Dr. Taylor . . . was
John Cronin the first patient you murdered at Embarcadero
County Hospital?''
Alan Penn was on his feet, furious. "Your honor, I-!"
Judge Young had already slammed her gavel down. "Objection
sustained!" She turned to the two attorneys. "There will be a
fifteen-minute recess. I want to see counsel in my chambers."
When the two attorneys were in her chambers, Judge Young
turned to Gus Venable. "You did go to law school, didn't you,
Gus?"
"I'm sorry, your honor. I-"
"Did you see a tent out there?"
"I beg your pardon?"
Her voice was a whiplash. "My courtroom is not a circus,
and I don't intend to let you turn it into one. How dare you
ask an inflammatory question like that!"
"I apologize, your honor. I'll rephrase the question and-"
"You'll do more than that!" Judge Young snapped. "You'll
rephrase your attitude. I'm warning you, you pull one more
stunt like that and I'll declare a mistrial."
"Yes, your honor."
When they returned to the courtroom, Judge Young said to
the jury, "The jury will completely disregard the
prosecutor's last question." She turned to the prosecutor.
"You may go on."
Gus Venable walked back to the witness box. "Dr. Taylor,
you must have been very surprised when you were informed that
the man you murdered left you one million dollars."
Alan Penn was on his feet. "Objection!"
"Sustained." Judge Young turned to Venable. "You're trying
my patience."
"I apologize, your honor." He turned back to the witness.
"You must have been on very friendly terms with your patient.
I mean, it isn't every day that an almost complete stranger
leaves us a million dollars, is it?"
Paige Taylor flushed slightly. "Our friendship was in the
context of a doctor-patient relationship."
"Wasn't it a little more than that? A man doesn't cut his
beloved wife and family out of his will and leave a million
dollars to a stranger without some kind of persuasion. Those
talks you claimed to have had with him about his business
problems ..."
Judge Young leaned forward and said warningly, "Mr.
Venable ..." The prosecutor raised his hands in a gesture of
surrender. He turned back to the defendant.
"So you and John
Cronin had a friendly chat. He told you personal things about
himself, and he liked you and respected you. Would you say
that's a fair summation, doctor?"
"Yes."
"And for doing that he gave you a million dollars?"
Paige looked out at the courtroom. She said nothing. She
had no answer.
Venable started to walk back toward the prosecutor's
table, then suddenly turned to face the defendant again.
"Dr. Taylor, you testified earlier that you had no idea
that John Cronin was going to leave you any money, or that he
was going to cut his family out of his will."
"That's correct."
"How much does a resident doctor make at Embar-cadero
County Hospital?"
Alan Penn was on his feet. "Objection! I don't see..."
"It's a proper question. The witness may answer."
"Thirty-eight thousand dollars a year." Venable said
sympathetically, "That's not very much these days, is it? And
out of that, there are deductions and taxes and living
expenses. That wouldn't leave enough to take a luxury
vacation trip, say, to London or Paris or Venice, would it?"
"I suppose not."
"No. So you didn't plan to take a vacation like that,
because you knew you couldn't afford it." "That's correct."
Alan Penn was on his feet again. "Your honor ..."
Judge Young turned to the prosecutor. "Where is this
leading, Mr. Venable?"
"I just want to establish that the defendant could not
plan a luxury trip without getting the money from someone."
"She's already answered the question."
Alan Penn knew he had to do something. His heart wasn't in
it, but he approached the witness box with all the good cheer
of a man who had just won the lottery.
"Dr. Taylor, do you remember picking up these travel
brochures?"
"Yes."
"Were you planning to go to Europe or to charter a yacht?"
"Of course not. It was all sort of a joke, an impossible
dream. My friends and I thought it would lift our spirits. We
were very tired, and ... it seemed like a good idea at the
time." Her voice trailed off.
Alan Penn glanced covertly at the jury. Their faces
registered pure disbelief.
Gus Venable was questioning the defendant on
reex-amination. "Dr. Taylor, are you acquainted with Dr.
Lawrence Barker?"
She had a sudden memory flash. I'm going to kill Lawrence
Barker. I'll do it slowly. I'll let him suffer first. . .
then I'll kill him. "Yes. I know Dr. Barker."
"In what connection?"
"Dr. Barker and I have often worked together during the
past two years."
"Would you say that he's a competent doctor?"
Alan Penn jumped up from his chair. "I object, your honor.
The witness ..."
But before he could finish or Judge Young could rule,
Paige answered, "He's more than competent. He's brilliant."
Penn sank back in his chair, too stunned to speak.
"Would you care to elaborate on that?"
"Dr. Barker is one of the most renowned cardiovascular
surgeons in the world. He has a large private practice, but
he donates three days a week to Embarcadero County Hospital."
"So you have a high regard for his judgment in medical
matters?"
"Yes."
"And do you feel he would be capable of judging another
doctor's competence?"
Penn willed Paige to say I don't know.
She hesitated. "Yes."
Gus Venable turned to the jury, "You've heard the
defendant testify that she had a high regard for Dr. Barker's
medical judgment. I hope she listened carefully to Dr.
Barker's judgment about her competence ... or the lack of
it."
Alan Penn was on his feet, furious. "Objection!"
"Sustained."
But it was too late. The damage had been done.
During the next recess, Alan Penn pulled Jason into the
men's room.
"What the hell have you gotten me into?" Penn demanded
angrily. "John Cronin hated her, Barker hated her. I insist
on my clients telling me the truth, and the whole truth.
That's the only way I can help them. Well, I can't help her.
Your lady friend has given me a snow job so deep I need skis.
Every time she opens her mouth she puts a nail in her coffin.
The fucking case is in free fall!"
That afternoon, Jason Curtis went to see Paige.
"You have a visitor, Dr. Taylor."
Jason walked into Paige's cell.
"Paige ..."
She turned to him, and she was fighting back tears. "It
looks pretty bad, doesn't it?"
Jason forced a smile. "You know what the man said-'It's
not over till it's over.' "
"Jason, you don't believe that I killed John Cronin for
his money, do you? What I did, I did only to help him."
"I believe you," Jason said quietly. "I love you."
He took her into his arms. I don't want to lose her, Jason
thought. I can't. She's the best thing in my life.
"Everything is going to be all right. I promised you we would
be together forever.''
Paige held him close and thought, Nothing lasts forever.
Nothing. How could everything have gone so wrong . . . so
wrong . . . so wrong . . .

Chapter One

San Francisco ]uly 1990

Hunter, Kate." "Here."
"Taft, Betty Lou." "I'm here." "Taylor, Paige." "Here."
They were the only women among the large group of incoming
first-year residents gathered in the large, drab auditorium
at Embarcadero County Hospital.
Embarcadero County was the oldest hospital in San
Francisco, and one of the oldest in the country. During the
earthquake of 1989, God had played a joke on the residents of
San Francisco and left the hospital standing.
It was an ugly complex, occupying more than three square
blocks, with buildings of brick and stone, gray with years of
accumulated grime.
Inside the front entrance of the main building was a large
waiting room, with hard wooden benches for patients
and
visitors. The walls were flaking from too many decades of
coats of paint, and the corridors were worn and uneven from
too many thousands of patients in wheelchairs and on crutches
and walkers. The entire complex was coated with the stale
patina of time.
Embarcadero County Hospital was a city within a city.
There were over nine thousand people employed at the
hospital, including four hundred staff physicians, one
hundred and fifty part-time voluntary physicians, eight
hundred residents, and three thousand nurses, plus the
technicians, unit aides, and other technical personnel.
The
upper floors contained a complex of twelve operating rooms,
central supply, a bone bank, central scheduling, three
emergency wards, an AIDS ward, and over two thousand beds.
Now, on the first day of the arrival of the new residents
in July, Dr. Benjamin Wallace, the hospital administrator,
rose to address them. Wallace was the quintessential
politician, a tall, impressive-looking man with small skills
and enough charm to have ingratiated his way up to his
present position.
"I want to welcome all of you new resident doctors this
morning. For the first two years of medical school, you
worked with cadavers. In the last two years, you have worked
with hospital patients under the supervision
of senior
doctors. Now, it's you who are going to be responsible for
your patients. It's an awesome responsibility, and it takes
dedication and skill."
His eyes scanned the auditorium. "Some of you are planning
to go into surgery. Others of you will be going into internal
medicine. Each group will be assigned to a senior resident
who will explain the daily routine to you. From now on,
everything you do could be a matter of life or death."
They were listening intently, hanging on every word.
"Embarcadero is a county hospital. That means we admit
anyone who comes to our door. Most of the patients
are
indigent. They come here because they can't afford a private
hospital. Our emergency rooms are busy twenty-four hours a
day. You're going to be overworked and underpaid. In a
private hospital, your first year would consist of routine
scut work. In the second year, you would be allowed to hand a
scalpel to the surgeon, and in your third year, you would be
permitted to do some supervised minor surgery. Well, you can
forget all that. Our motto here is 'Watch one, do one, teach
one.'
"We're badly understaffed, and the quicker we can get you
into the operating rooms, the better. Are there any
questions?"
There were a million questions the new residents wanted to
ask.
"None? Good. Your first day officially begins tomorrow.
You will report to the main reception desk at five-thirty
tomorrow morning. Good luck!"
The briefing was over. There was a general exodus toward
the doors and the low buzz of excited conversations. The
three women found themselves standing together.
"Where are all the other women?" "I think we're it."
"It's a lot like medical school, huh? The boys' club. I
have a feeling this place belongs to the Dark Ages." The
person talking was a flawlessly beautiful black woman, nearly
six feet tall, large-boned, but intensely graceful.
Everything about her, her walk, her carriage, the cool,
quizzical look she carried in her eyes, sent out a message of
aloofness. "I'm Kate Hunter. They call me Kat."
"Paige Taylor." Young and friendly, intelligent-looking,
self-assured.
They turned to the third woman.
"Betty Lou Taft. They call me Honey." She spoke with a
soft Southern accent. She had an open, guileless face, soft
gray eyes, and a warm smile.
"Where are you from?" Kat asked.
"Memphis, Tennessee."
They looked at Paige. She decided to give them the simple
answer. "Boston."
"Minneapolis," Kat said. That's close enough, she thought.
Paige said, "It looks like we're all a long way from home.
Where are you staying?"
"I'm at a fleabag hotel," Kat said. "I haven't had a
chance to look for a place to live."
Honey said, "Neither have I."
Paige brightened. "I looked at some apartments this
morning. One of them was terrific, but I can't afford it. It
has three bedrooms ..."
They stared at one another. "If the three of us shared..."
Kat said.
The apartment was in the Marina district, on Filbert
Street. It was perfect for them. 3Br/2Ba, nu cpts, lndry,
prkg, utils pd. It was furnished in early Sears Roebuck, but
it was neat and clean.
When the three women were through inspecting it, Honey
said, "I think it's lovely."
"So do I!" Kat agreed.
They looked at Paige.
"Let's take it."
They moved into the apartment that afternoon. The janitor
helped them carry their luggage upstairs.
"So you're gonna work at the hospital," he said. "Nurses,
huh?"
"Doctors," Kat corrected him.
He looked at her skeptically. "Doctors? You mean, like
real doctors?"
"Yes, like real doctors," Paige told him.
He grunted. "Tell you the truth, if I needed medical
attention, I don't think I'd want a woman examining my body."
"We'll keep that in mind."
"Where's the television set?" Kat asked. "I don't see
one."
"If you want one, you'll have to buy it. Enjoy the
apartment, ladies-er, doctors." He chuckled.
They watched him leave.
Kat said, imitating his voice, "Nurses, eh?" She snorted.
"Male chauvinist. Well, let's pick out our bedrooms."
"Any one of them is fine with me," Honey said softly.
They examined the three bedrooms. The master bedroom
was
larger than the other two.
Kat said, "Why don't you take it, Paige? You found this
place."
Paige nodded. "All right."
They went to their respective rooms and began to unpack.
From her suitcase, Paige carefully removed a framed
photograph of a man in his early thirties. He was attractive,
wearing black-framed glasses that gave him a scholarly look.
Paige put the photograph at her bedside, next to a bundle of
letters.
Kat and Honey wandered in. "How about going out and
getting some dinner?"
"I'm ready," Paige said.
Kat saw the photograph. "Who's that?"
Paige smiled. "That's the man I'm going to marry. He's a
doctor who works for the World Health Organization.
His name
is Alfred Turner. He's working in Africa right now, but he's
coming to San Francisco so we can be together."
"Lucky you," Honey said wistfully. "He looks nice."
Paige looked at her. "Are you involved with anyone?"
"No. I'm afraid I don't have much luck with men."
Kat said, "Maybe your luck will change at Embarcadero."
The three of them had dinner at Tarantino's, not far from
their apartment building. During dinner they chatted
about
their backgrounds and lives, but there was a restraint to
their conversation, a holding back. They were three
strangers, probing, cautiously getting to know one another.
Honey spoke very little. There's a shyness about her,
Paige thought. She's vulnerable. Some man in Memphis probably
broke her heart.
Paige looked at Kat. Self-confident. Great dignity. I like
the way she speaks. You can tell she came from a good family.
Meanwhile, Kat was studying Paige. A rich girl who never
had to work for anything in her life. She's gotten by on her
looks.
Honey was looking at the two of them. They're so
confident, so sure of themselves. They're going to have an
easy time of it.
They were all mistaken.
When they returned to their apartment, Paige was too
excited to sleep. She lay in bed, thinking about the future.
Outside her window, in the street, there was the sound of a
car crash, and then people shouting, and in Paige's mind it
dissolved into the memory of African natives yelling and
chanting, and guns being fired. She was transported back in
time, to the small jungle village in East Africa, caught in
the middle of a deadly tribal war.
Paige was terrified. "They're going to kill us!"
Her father took her in his arms. "They won't harm us,
darling. We're here to help them. They know we're their
friends."
And without warning, the chief of one of the tribes had
burst into their hut. . . .
Honey lay in bed thinking, This is sure a long way from
Memphis, Tennessee, Betty Lou. I guess I can never go back
there. Never again. She could hear the sheriffs voice saying
to her, "Out of respect for his family, we're going to list
the death of the Reverend Douglas Lipton as a 'suicide for
reasons unknown,' but I would suggest that you get the fuck
out of this town fast, and stay out. ..."
Kat was staring out the window of her bedroom, listening
to the sounds of the city. She could hear the raindrops
whispering, You made it. . . you made it. . . I showed them
all they were wrong. You want to be a doctor? A black woman
doctor? And the rejections from medical schools. "Thank you
for sending us your application.
Unfortunately our
enrollment is complete at this time."
"In view of your background, perhaps we might suggest
that you would be happier at a smaller university.''
She had top grades, but out of twenty-five schools she had
applied to, only one had accepted her. The dean of the school
had said, "In these days, it's nice to see someone who comes
from a normal, decent background."
If he had only known the terrible truth.

chapter two

At five-thirty the following morning, when the new
residents checked in, members of the hospital staff were
standing by to guide them to their various assignments. Even
at that early hour, the bedlam had begun.
The patients had been coming in all night, arriving in
ambulances, and police cars, and on foot. The staff called
them the "F and J's"-the flotsam and jetsam that streamed
into the emergency rooms, broken and bleeding, victims of
shootings and stabbings and automobile
accidents, the
wounded in flesh and spirit, the homeless and the unwanted,
the ebb and flow of humanity
that streamed through the dark
sewers of every large city.
There was a pervasive feeling of organized chaos, frenetic
movements and shrill sounds and dozens of unexpected crises
that all had to be attended to at once.
The new residents stood in a protective huddle, getting
attuned to their new environment, listening to the arcane
sounds around them.
Paige, Kat, and Honey were waiting in the corridor when a
senior resident approached them. "Which one of you is Dr.
Taft?"
Honey looked up and said, "I am."
The resident smiled and held out his hand. "It's an honor
to meet you. I've been asked to look out for you. Our chief
of staff says that you have the highest medical school grades
this hospital has ever seen. We're delighted
to have you
here."
Honey smiled, embarrassed. "Thank you."
Kat and Paige looked at Honey in astonishment. I wouldn't
have guessed she was that brilliant, Paige thought.
"You're planning to go into internal medicine, Dr. Taft?"
"Yes."
The resident turned to Kat. "Dr. Hunter?"
"Yes."
"You're interested in neurosurgery."
"I am."
He consulted a list. "You'll be assigned to Dr. Lewis."
The resident looked over at Paige. "Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes."
"You're going into cardiac surgery."
"That's right."
"Fine. We'll assign you and Dr. Hunter to surgical rounds.
You can report to the head nurse's office. Margaret
Spencer.
Down the hall."
"Thank you."
Paige looked at the others and took a deep breath. "Here I
go! I wish us all luck!"
The head nurse, Margaret Spencer, was more a battleship
than a woman, heavyset and stern-looking, with a brusque
manner. She was busy behind the nurses' station
when Paige
approached.
"Excuse me ..."
Nurse Spencer looked up. "Yes?"
"I was told to report here. I'm Dr. Taylor."
Nurse Spencer consulted a sheet. "Just a moment." She
walked through a door and returned a minute later with some
scrubs and white coats.
"Here you are. The scrubs are to wear in the operating
theater and on rounds. When you're doing rounds, you put a
white coat over the scrubs."
"Thanks."
"Oh. And here." She reached down and handed Paige a metal
tag that read "Paige Taylor, M.D." "Here's your name tag,
doctor."
Paige held it in her hand and looked at it for a long
time. Paige Taylor, M.D. She felt as though she had been
handed the Medal of Honor. All the long hard years of work
and study were summed up in those brief words. Paige Taylor,
M.D.
Nurse Spencer was watching her. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." Paige smiled. "I'm just fine, thank you. Where
do I . . .?"
"Doctors' dressing room is down the corridor to the left.
You'll be making rounds, so you'll want to change."
"Thank you."
Paige walked down the corridor, amazed at the amount of
activity around her. The corridor was crowded with doctors,
nurses, technicians, and patients, hurrying to various
destinations. The insistent chatter of the public address
system added to the din.
"Dr. Keenan ... OR Three. ... Dr. Keenan . . . OR Three."
"Dr. Talbot . . . Emergency Room One. Stat. . . . Dr.
Talbot . . . Emergency Room One. Stat."
"Dr. Engel . . . Room 212. ... Dr. Engel . . . Room 212."
Paige approached a door marked doctors' dressing room and
opened it. Inside there were a dozen doctors in various
stages of undress. Two of them were totally naked. They
turned to stare at Paige as the door opened.
"Oh! I... I'm sorry," Paige mumbled, and quickly closed
the door. She stood there, uncertain about what to do. A few
feet down the corridor, she saw a door marked nurses'
dressing room. Paige walked over to it and opened the door.
Inside, several nurses were changing into their uniforms.
One of them looked up. "Hello. Are you one of the new
nurses?"
"No," Paige said tightly. "I'm not." She closed the door
and walked back to the doctors' dressing room. She stood
there a moment, then took a deep breath and entered. The
conversation came to a stop.
One of the men said, "Sorry, honey. This room is for
doctors."
"I'm a doctor," Paige said.
They turned to look at one another. "Oh? Well, er . . .
welcome."
"Thank you." She hesitated a moment, then walked over to
an empty locker. The men watched as she put her hospital
clothes into the locker. She looked at the men for a moment,
then slowly started to unbutton her blouse.
The doctors stood there, not sure what to do. One of them
said, "Maybe we should-er-give the little lady some privacy,
gentlemen."
The little lady "Thank you," Paige said. She stood there,
waiting, as the doctors finished dressing and left the room.
Am I going to have to go through this every dayl she
wondered.
In hospital rounds, there is a traditional formation that
never varies. The attending physician is always in the lead,
followed by the senior resident, then the other residents,
and one or two medical students. The attending
physician
Paige had been assigned to was Dr. William Radnor. Paige and
five other residents were gathered in the hallway, waiting to
meet him.
In the group was a young Chinese doctor. He held out his
hand. "Tom Chang," he said. "I hope you're all as nervous as
I am."
Paige liked him immediately.
A man was approaching the group. "Good morning,"
he said.
"I'm Dr. Radnor." He was soft-spoken, with sparkling blue
eyes. Each resident introduced himself.
"This is your first day of rounds. I want you to pay close
attention to everything you see and hear, but at the same
time, it's important to appear relaxed."
Paige made a mental note. Pay close attention, but appear
to be relaxed.
"If the patients see that you're tense, they're going to
be tense, and they'll probably think they're dying of some
disease you aren't telling them about."
Don't make patients tense.
"Remember, from now on, you're going to be responsible
for the lives of other human beings."
Now responsible for other lives. Oh, my God! The longer
Dr. Radnor talked, the more nervous Paige became, and by the
time he was finished, her self-confidence had completely
vanished. I'm not ready for this. she thought. I don't know
what I'm doing. Who ever said I could be a doctor! What if I
kill somebody!
Dr. Radnor was going on, "I will expect detailed notes on
each one of your patients-lab work, blood, electrolytes,
everything. Is that clear?"
There were murmurs of "Yes, doctor."
"There are always thirty to forty surgical patients here
at one time. It's your job to make sure that everything
is
properly organized for them. We'll start the morning rounds
now. In the afternoon, we'll make the same rounds again."
It had all seemed so easy at medical school. Paige thought
about the four years she had spent there. There had been one
hundred and fifty students, and only fifteen women. She would
never forget the first day of Gross Anatomy class. The
students had walked into a large white tiled room with twenty
tables lined up in rows, each table covered with a yellow
sheet. Five students were assigned to each table.
The professor had said, "All right, pull back the sheets."
And there, in front of Paige, was her first cadaver. She had
been afraid that she would faint or be sick, but she felt
strangely calm. The cadaver had been preserved, which somehow
removed it one step from humanity.
In the beginning the students had been hushed and
respectful in the anatomy laboratory. But, incredibly to
Paige, within a week, they were eating sandwiches during
the
dissections, and making rude jokes. It was a form of
self-defense, a denial of their own mortality. They gave the
corpses names, and treated them like old friends. Paige tried
to force herself to act as casually as the other students,
but she found it difficult. She looked at the cadaver she was
working on, and thought: Here was a man with a home and a
family. He went to an office every day, and once a year he
took a vacation with his wife and children. He probably loved
sports and enjoyed movies and plays, and he laughed and
cried, and he watched his children grow up and he shared
their joys and their sorrows, and he had big, wonderful
dreams. I hope they all came true. ... A bittersweet sadness
engulfed her because he was dead and she was alive.
In time, even to Paige, the dissections became routine.
Open the chest, examine the ribs, lungs, pericar-dial sac
covering the heart, the veins, arteries, and nerves.
Much of the first two years of medical school was spent
memorizing long lists that the students referred to as the
Organ Recital. First the cranial nerves: olfactory, optic,
oculomotor, trochlear, trigeminal, abducens, facial,
auditory, glossopharyngeal, vagus, spinal, and hypoglossal.
The students used mnemonics to help them remember.
The
classic one was "On old Olympus's towering tops, a French and
German vended some tops." The modern male version was "Oh,
oh, oh, to touch and feel a girl's vagina-such heaven."
The last two years of medical school were more
interesting,
with courses in internal medicine, surgery,
pediatrics,
and obstetrics, and they worked at the local
hospital. I remember the time . . . Paige was thinking.
"Dr. Taylor ..." The senior resident was staring at her.
Paige came to with a start. The others were already
halfway down the corridor.
"Coming," she said hastily.
The first stop was at a large, rectangular ward, with rows
of beds on both sides of the room, with a small stand next to
each bed. Paige had expected to see curtains
separating the
beds, but here there was no privacy.
The first patient was an elderly man with a sallow
complexion. He was sound asleep, breathing heavily. Dr.
Radnor walked over to the foot of the bed, studied the chart
there, then went to the patient's side and gently touched his
shoulder. "Mr. Potter?"
The patient opened his eyes. "Huh?"
"Good morning. I'm Dr. Radnor. I'm just checking to see
how you're doing. Did you have a comfortable night?"
"It was okay."
"Do you have any pain?"
"Yeah. My chest hurts."
"Let me take a look at it."
When he finished the examination, he said, "You're doing
fine. I'll have the nurse give you something for the pain."
"Thanks, doctor."
"We'll be back to see you this afternoon."
They moved away from the bed. Dr. Radnor turned to the
residents. "Always try to ask questions that have a yes or no
answer so the patient doesn't tire himself out. And reassure
him about his progress. I want you to study his chart and
make notes. We'll come back here this afternoon to see how
he's doing. Keep a running
record of every patient's chief
complaint, present illness, past illnesses, family history,
and social history. Does he drink, smoke, etc.? When we make
the rounds again, I'll expect a report on the progress of
each patient."
They moved on to the bed of the next patient, a man in his
forties.
"Good morning, Mr. Rawlings."
"Good morning, doctor."
"Are you feeling better this morning?"
"Not so good. I was up a lot last night. My stomach's
hurting."
Dr. Radnor turned to the senior resident. "What did the
proctoscopy show?"
"No sign of any problem."
"Give him a barium enema and an upper GI, stat."
The senior resident made a note.
The resident standing next to Paige whispered in her ear,
"I guess you know what stat stands for. 'Shake that ass,
tootsie!' "
Dr. Radnor heard. " 'Stat' comes from the Latin, statim.
Immediately."
In the years ahead, Paige was to hear it often.
The next patient was an elderly woman who had had a bypass
operation.
"Good morning, Mrs. Turkel."
"How long are you going to keep me in here?"
"Not very long. The procedure was a success. You'll be
going home soon."
And they moved on to the next patient.
The routine was repeated over and over, and the morning
went by swiftly. They saw thirty patients. After each
patient, the residents frantically scribbled notes, praying
that they would be able to decipher them later.
One patient was a puzzle to Paige. She seemed to be in
perfect health.
When they had moved away from her, Paige asked, "What's
her problem, doctor?"
Dr. Radnor sighed. "She has no problem. She's a gomer. And
for those of you who forgot what you were taught in medical
school, gomer is an acronym for 'Get out of my emergency
room!' Gomers are people who enjoy poor health. That's their
hobby. I've admitted her six times in the last year."
They moved on to the last patient, an old woman on a
respirator, who was in a coma.
"She's had a massive heart attack," Dr. Radnor explained
to the residents. "She's been in a coma for six weeks. Her
vital signs are failing. There's nothing more we can do for
her. We'll pull the plug this afternoon."
Paige looked at him in shock. "Pull the plug?"
Dr. Radnor said gently, "The hospital ethics committee
made the decision this morning. She's a vegetable. She's
eighty-seven years old, and she's brain-dead. It's cruel to
keep her alive, and it's breaking her family financially.
I'll see you all at rounds this afternoon."
They watched him walk away. Paige turned to look at the
patient again. She was alive. In a few hours she will be
dead. We'll pull the plug this afternoon.
That's murder! Paige thought.


Chapter Three

That afternoon, when the rounds were finished, the new
residents gathered in the small upstairs lounge. The room
held eight tables, an ancient black-and-white television set,
and two vending machines
that dispensed stale sandwiches and
bitter coffee.
The conversations at each table were almost identical.
One of the residents said, "Take a look at my throat, will
you? Does it look raw to you?"
"I think I have a fever. I feel lousy."
"My abdomen is swollen and tender. I know I have
appendicitis."
"I've got this crushing pain in my chest. I hope to God
I'm not having a heart attack!"
Kat sat down at a table with Paige and Honey. "How did it
go?" she asked.
Honey said, "I think it went all right."
They both looked at Paige. "I was tense, but I was
relaxed. I was nervous, but I stayed calm." She sighed. "It's
been a long day. I'll be glad to get out of here and have
some fun tonight."
"Me, too," Kat agreed. "Why don't we have dinner and then
go see a movie?''
"Sounds great."
An orderly approached their table. "Dr. Taylor?"
Paige looked up. "I'm Dr. Taylor."
"Dr. Wallace would like to see you in his office."
The hospital administrator! What have I done? Paige
wondered.
The orderly was waiting. "Dr. Taylor ..."
"I'm coming." She took a deep breath and got to her feet.
"I'll see you later."
"This way, doctor."
Paige followed the orderly into an elevator and rode up to
the fifth floor, where Dr. Wallace's office was located.
Benjamin Wallace was seated behind his desk. He glanced up
as Paige walked in. "Good afternoon, Dr. Taylor."
"Good afternoon."
Wallace cleared his throat. "Well! Your first day and
you've already made quite an impression!"
Paige looked at him, puzzled. "I . . .I don't
understand."
"I hear you had a little problem in the doctors' dressing
room this morning."
"Oh." So, that's what this is all about. Wallace looked at
her and smiled. "I suppose I'll have to make some
arrangements for you and the other girls."
"We're ..." We're not girls, Paige started to say. "We
would appreciate that."
"Meanwhile, if you don't want to dress with the nurses
..."
"I'm not a nurse," Paige said firmly. "I'm a doctor."
"Of course, of course. Well, we'll do something about
accommodations for you, doctor."
"Thank you."
He handed Paige a sheet of paper. "Meanwhile, this is your
schedule. You'll be on call for the next twenty-four hours,
starting at six o'clock." He looked at his watch. "That's
thirty minutes from now."
Paige was looking at him in astonishment. Her day had
started at five-thirty that morning. "Twenty-four hours?"
"Well, thirty-six, actually. Because you'll be starting
rounds again in the morning."
Thirty-six hours! I wonder if I can handle this.
She was soon to find out.
Paige went to look for Kat and Honey.
"I'm going to have to forget about dinner and a movie,"
Paige said. "I'm on a thirty-six-hour call."
Kat nodded. "We just got our bad news. I go on it
tomorrow, and Honey goes on Wednesday."
"It won't be so bad," Paige said cheerfully. "I understand
there's an on-call room to sleep in. I'm going to enjoy
this."
She was wrong.
An orderly was leading Paige down a long corridor. "Dr.
Wallace told me that I'll be on call for thirty-six hours,"
Paige said. "Do all the residents work those hours?"
"Only for the first three years," the orderly assured her.
Great!
"But you'll have plenty of chance to rest, doctor."
"I will?"
"In here. This is the on-call room." He opened the door,
and Paige stepped inside. The room resembled a monk's cell in
some poverty-stricken monastery. It contained nothing but a
cot with a lumpy mattress, a cracked wash basin, and a
bedside stand with a telephone
on it. "You can sleep here
between calls."
"Thanks."
The calls began as Paige was in the coffee shop, just
starting to have her dinner. "Dr. Taylor . . . ER Three. ...
Dr. Taylor . . . ER Three."
"We have a patient with a fractured rib. . . ." "Mr.
Henegan is complaining of chest pains. ..." "The patient in
Ward Two has a headache. Is it all right to give him an
acetaminophen . . .?" At midnight, Paige had just managed to
fall asleep
when she was awakened by the telephone. "Report to ER
One." It was a knife wound, and by the time Paige had taken
care of it, it was one-thirty in the morning. At two-fifteen
she was awakened again. "Dr. Taylor . . . Emergency Room Two.
Stat." Paige said, groggily, "Right." What did he say it
meant? Shake that ass, tootsie. She forced herself up and
moved down the corridor to the emergency room.
A patient had been brought in with a broken leg. He was
screaming with pain.
"Get an X-ray," Paige ordered. "And give him Demerol,
fifty milligrams." She put her hand on the patient's
arm.
"You're going to be fine. Try to relax."
Over the PA system, a metallic disembodied voice said,
"Dr. Taylor . . . Ward Three. Stat."
Paige looked at the moaning patient, reluctant to leave
him.
The voice came on again, "Dr. Taylor . . . Ward Three.
Stat."
"Coming," Paige mumbled. She hurried out the door and down
the corridor to Ward Three. A patient had vomited, aspirated,
and was choking.
"He can't breathe," the nurse said.
"Suction him," Paige ordered. As she watched the patient
begin to catch his breath, she heard her name again on the PA
system. "Dr. Taylor . . . Ward Four. Ward Four." Paige shook
her head and ran down to Ward Four, to a screaming patient
with abdominal spasms. Paige gave him a quick examination.
"It could be intestinal dysfunction. Get an ultrasound,"
Paige said.
By the time she returned to the patient with the broken
leg, the pain reliever had taken effect. She had him moved to
the operating room and set the leg. As she was finishing, she
heard her name again. "Dr. Taylor, report to Emergency Room
Two. Stat."
"The stomach ulcer in Ward Four is having a pain. ..."
At 3:30 a.m.: "Dr. Taylor, the patient in Room 310 is
hemorrhaging. ..."
There was a heart attack in one of the wards, and Paige
was nervously listening to the patient's heartbeat when she
heard her name called over the PA system: "Dr. Taylor . . .
ER Two. Stat. ... Dr. Taylor . . . ER Two. Stat."
I must not panic, Paige thought. I've got to remain calm
and cool. She panicked. Who was more important, the patient
she was examining, or the next patient? "You stay here,'' she
said inanely. "I'll be right back.''
As Paige hurried toward ER Two, she heard her name called
again. "Dr. Taylor . . . ER One. Stat. ... Dr. Taylor . . .
ER One. Stat."
Oh, my Godl Paige thought. She felt as though she were
caught up in the middle of some endless terrifying nightmare.
During what was left of the night, Paige was awakened
to
attend to a case of food poisoning, a broken arm, a hiatal
hernia, and a fractured rib. By the time she stumbled back
into the on-call room, she was so exhausted that she could
hardly move. She crawled onto the little cot and had just
started to doze off when the telephone rang again.
She reached out for it with her eyes closed. "H'lo ..."
"Dr. Taylor, we're waiting for you."
"Wha'?" She lay there, trying to remember where she was.
"Your rounds are starting, doctor."
"My rounds?" This is some kind of bad joke, Paige thought.
It's inhuman. They can't work anyone like thisl But they were
waiting for her.
Ten minutes later, Paige was making the rounds again, half
asleep. She stumbled against Dr. Radnor. "Excuse me," she
mumbled, "but I haven't had any sleep ..."
He patted her on the shoulder sympathetically. "You'll get
used to it."
When Paige finally got off duty, she slept for fourteen
straight hours.
The intense pressure and punishing hours proved to be too
much for some of the residents, and they simply disappeared
from the hospital. That's not going to happen
to me, Paige
vowed.
The pressure was unrelenting. At the end of one of Paige's
shifts, thirty-six grueling hours, she was so exhausted
that
she had no idea where she was. She stumbled
to the elevator
and stood there, her mind numb.
Tom Chang came up to her. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Paige mumbled.
He grinned. "You look like hell."
"Thanks. Why do they do this to us?" Paige asked.
Chang shrugged. "The theory is that it keeps us in touch
with our patients. If we go home and leave them, we don't
know what's happening to them while we're gone."
Paige nodded. "That makes sense." It made no sense at all.
"How can we take care of them if we're asleep on our feet?"
Chang shrugged again. "I don't make the rules. It's the
way all hospitals operate." He looked at Paige more closely.
"Are you going to be able to make it home?"
Paige looked at him and said haughtily, "Of course."
"Take care." Chang disappeared down the corridor. Paige
waited for the elevator to arrive. When it finally came, she
was standing there, sound asleep.
Two days later, Paige was having breakfast with Kat.
"Do you want to hear a terrible confession?" Paige asked.
"Sometimes when they wake me up at four o'clock in the
morning to give somebody an aspirin, and I'm stumbling down
the hall, half conscious, and I pass the rooms where all the
patients are tucked in and having a good night's sleep, I
feel like banging on all the doors and yelling, 'Everybody
wake up!' "
Kat held out her hand. "Join the club."
The patients came in all shapes, sizes, ages, and colors.
They were frightened, brave, gentle, arrogant, demanding,
considerate. They were human beings in pain.
Most of the doctors were dedicated people. As in any
profession, there were good doctors and bad doctors. They
were young and old, clumsy and adept, pleasant and nasty. A
few of them, at one time or another, made sexual advances to
Paige. Some were subtle and some were crude.
"Don't you ever feel lonely at night? I know that I do. I
was wondering ..."
"These hours are murder, aren't they? Do you know what I
find gives me energy? Good sex. Why don't we . . .?"
"My wife is out of town for a few days. I have a cabin
near Carmel. This weekend we could ..."
And the patients.
"So you're my doctor, eh? You know what would cure me . .
.?"
"Come closer to the bed, baby. I want to see if those are
real. ..."
Paige gritted her teeth and ignored them all. When Alfred
and I are married, this will stop. And just the thought of
Alfred gave her a glow. He would be returning
from Africa
soon. Soon.
At breakfast one morning before rounds, Paige and Kat
talked about the sexual harassment they were experiencing.
"Most of the doctors behave like perfect gentlemen, but a
few of them seem to think we're perks that go with the
territory, and that we're there to service them," Kat said.
"I don't think a week goes by but what one of the doctors
hits on me. 'Why don't you come over to my place for a drink?
I've got some great CDs.' Or in the OR, when I'm assisting,
the surgeon will brush his arm across my breast. One moron
said to me, 'You know, whenever I order chicken, I like the
dark meat."
Paige sighed. "They think they're flattering us by
treating us as sex objects. I'd rather they treated us as
doctors."
"A lot of them don't even want us around. They either want
to fuck us or they want to fuck us. You know, it's not fair.
Women are judged inferior until we prove ourselves, and men
are judged superior until they prove what assholes they are."
"It's the old boys' network," Paige said. "If there were
more of us, we could start a new girls' network."
* * *
Paige had heard of Arthur Kane. He was the subject of
constant gossip around the hospital. His nickname was Dr.
007-licensed to kill. His solution to every problem was to
operate, and he had a higher rate of operations than any
other doctor at the hospital. He also had a higher mortality
rate.
He was bald, short, hawk-nosed, with tobacco-stained
teeth, and was grossly overweight. Incredibly, he fancied
himself a ladies' man. He liked to refer to the new nurses
and female residents as "fresh meat."
Paige Taylor was fresh meat. He saw her in the upstairs
lounge and sat down at her table, uninvited.
"I've been keeping an eye on you."
Paige looked up, startled. "I beg your pardon?"
"I'm Dr. Kane. My friends call me Arthur." There was a
leer in his voice.
Paige wondered how many friends he had.
"How are you getting along here?"
The question caught Paige off-guard. "I. . .all right, I
think."
He leaned forward. "This is a big hospital. It's easy to
get lost here. Do you know what I mean?"
Paige said warily, "Not exactly."
"You're too pretty to be just another face in the crowd.
If you want to get somewhere here, you need someone to help
you. Someone who knows the ropes."
The conversation was getting more unpleasant by the
minute.
"And you'd like to help me."
"Right." He bared his tobacco-stained teeth. "Why don't we
discuss it at dinner?"
"There's nothing to discuss," Paige said. "I'm not
interested."
Arthur Kane watched Paige get up and walk away, and there
was a baleful expression on his face.
First-year surgical residents were on a two-month rotation
schedule, alternating among obstetrics, orthopedics,
urology, and surgery.
Paige learned that it was dangerous to go into a training
hospital in the summer for any serious illness, because
many
of the staff doctors were on vacation and the patients were
at the mercy of the inexperienced young residents.
Nearly all surgeons liked to have music in the operating
room. One of the doctors was nicknamed Mozart and another Axl
Rose because of their tastes in music.
For some reason, operations always seemed to make everyone
hungry. They constantly discussed food. A surgeon would be in
the middle of removing a gangrenous
gall bladder from a
patient and say, "I had a great dinner last night at
Bardelli's. Best Italian food in all of San Francisco."
"Have you eaten the crab cakes at the Cypress Club . . .?"
"If you like good beef, try the House of Prime Rib over on
Van Ness."
And meanwhile, a nurse would be mopping up the patient's
blood and guts.
When they weren't talking about food, the doctors talked
about baseball or football scores.
"Did you see the 49ers play last Sunday? I bet they miss
Joe Montana. He always came through for them in the last two
minutes of a game."
And out would come a ruptured appendix.
Kafka, Paige thought. Kafka would have loved this.
At three in the morning, when Paige was asleep in the
on-call room, she was awakened by the telephone.
A raspy voice said, "Dr. Taylor-Room 419-a heart attack
patient. You'll have to hurry!" The line went dead.
Paige sat on the edge of the bed, fighting sleep, and
stumbled to her feet. You have to hurry. She went into the
corridor, but there was no time to wait for an elevator.
She
rushed up the stairs and ran down the fourth-floor corridor
to Room 419, her heart pounding. She flung open the door and
stood there, staring.
Room 419 was a storage room.
Kat Hunter was making her rounds with Dr. Richard Hutton.
He was in his forties, brusque and fast. He spent no more
than two or three minutes with each patient, scanning their
charts, then snapping out orders to the surgical residents in
a machine-gun, staccato fashion.
"Check her hemoglobin and schedule surgery for tomorrow.
..."
"Keep a close eye on his temperature chart. ..."
"Cross-match four units of blood. ..."
"Remove these stitches. ..."
"Get some chest films. ..."
Kat and the other residents were busily making notes on
everything, trying hard to keep up with him.
They approached a patient who had been in the hospital
a
week and had had a battery of tests for a high fever, with no
results.
When they were out in the corridor, Kat asked, "What's the
matter with him?"
"It's a GOK," a resident said. "A God only knows. We've
done X-rays, CAT scans, MRIs, spinal taps, liver biopsy.
Everything. We don't know what's wrong with him."
They moved into a ward where a young patient, his head
bandaged after an operation, was sleeping. As Dr. Hutton
started to unwrap the head dressing, the patient woke up,
startled. "What . . . what's going on?"
"Sit up," Dr. Hutton said curtly. The young man was
trembling.
I'll never treat my patients that way, Kat vowed.
The next patient was a healthy-looking man in his
seventies. As soon as Dr. Hutton approached the bed, the
patient yelled, "Gonzo! I'm going to sue you, you dirty son
of a bitch."
"Now, Mr. Sparolini . . ."
"Don't Mr. Sparolini me! You turned me into a fucking
eunuch."
That's an oxymoron, Kat thought.
"Mr. Sparolini, you agreed to have the vasectomy; and-"
"It was my wife's idea. Damn bitch! Just wait till I get
home."
They left him muttering to himself.
"What's his problem?" one of the residents asked.
"His problem is that he's a horny old goat. His young wife
has six kids and she doesn't want any more."
The next patient was a little girl, ten years old. Dr.
Hutton looked at her chart. "We're going to give you a shot
to make the bad bugs go away."
A nurse filled a syringe and moved toward the little girl.
"No!" she screamed. "You're going to hurt me!"
"This won't hurt, baby," the nurse assured her.
The words were a dark echo in Kat's mind.
This won't hurt, baby. ... It was the voice of her
stepfather whispering to her in the scary dark.
"This will feel good. Spread your legs. Come on, you
little bitch!" And he had pushed her legs apart and forced
his male hardness into her and put his hand over her mouth to
keep her from screaming with the pain. She was thirteen years
old. After that night, his visits became a terrifying nightly
ritual. "You're lucky you got a man like me to teach you how
to fuck," he would tell her. "Do you know what a Kat is? A
little pussy. And I want some." And he would fall on top of
her and grab her, and no amount of crying or pleading would
make him stop.
Kat had never known her father. Her mother was a cleaning
woman who worked nights at an office building near their tiny
apartment in Gary, Indiana. Kat's stepfather
was a huge man
who had been injured in an accident at a steel mill, and he
stayed home most of the time, drinking. At night, when Kat's
mother left for work, he would go into Kat's room. "You say
anything to your mother or brother, and I'll kill him," he
told Kat. / can't let him hurt Mike, Kat thought. Her brother
was five years younger than she, and Kat adored him. She
mothered him and protected him and fought his battles for
him. He was the only bright spot in Kat's life.
One morning, terrified as Kat was by her stepfather's
threats, she decided she had to tell her mother what was
happening. Her mother would put a stop to it, would protect
her.
"Mama, your husband comes to my bed at night when you're
away, and forces himself on me."
Her mother stared at her a moment, then slapped Kat hard
across the face.
"Don't you dare make up lies like that, you little slut!"
Kat never discussed it again. The only reason she stayed
at home was because of Mike. He'd be lost without me, Kat
thought. But the day she learned she was pregnant, she ran
away to live with an aunt in Minneapolis.
The day Kat ran away from home, her life completely
changed.
"You don't have to tell me what happened," her Aunt Sophie
had said. "But from now on, you're going to stop running
away. You know that song they sing on Sesame Street! 'It's
Not Easy Being Green'? Well, honey, it's not easy being
black, either. You have two choices. You can keep running and
hiding and blaming the world for your problems, or you can
stand up for yourself and decide to be somebody important."
"How do I do that?"
"By knowing that you're important. First, you get image in
your mind of who you want to be, child, and what you want to
be. And then you go to work, becoming that person."
I'm not going to have his baby, Kat decided. I want an
abortion.
It was arranged quietly, during a weekend, and it was
performed by a midwife who was a friend of Kat's aunt. When
it was over, Kat thought fiercely, I'm never going to let a
man touch me again. Never!
Minneapolis was a fairyland for Kat. Within a few blocks
of almost every home were lakes and streams and rivers. And
there were over eight thousand acres of landscaped parks. She
went sailing on the city lakes and took boat rides on the
Mississippi.
She visited the Great Zoo with Aunt Sophie and spent
Sundays at the Valleyfair Amusement Park. She went on the hay
rides at Cedar Creek Farm, and watched knights in armor
jousting at the Shakopee Renaissance Festival.
Aunt Sophie watched Kat and thought, The girl has never
had a childhood.
Kat was learning to enjoy herself, but Aunt Sophie sensed
that deep inside her niece was a place that no one could
reach, a barrier she had set up to keep her from being hurt
again.
She made friends at school. But never with boys. Her
girlfriends were all dating, but Kat was a loner, and too
proud to tell anyone why. She looked up to her aunt, whom she
loved very much.
Kat had taken little interest in school, or in reading
books, but Aunt Sophie changed all that. Her home was filled
with books, and Sophie's excitement about them was
contagious.
"There are wonderful worlds in there," she told the young
girl. "Read, and you'll learn where you came from and where
you're going. I've got a feeling that you're going to be
famous one day, baby. But you have to get an education first.
This is America. You can become anybody you want to be. You
may be black and poor, but so were some of our congresswomen,
and movie stars, and scientists, and sports legends. One day
we're going to have a black president. You can be anything
you want to be. It's up to you."
It was the beginning.
Kat became the top student in her class. She was an avid
reader. In the school library one day, she happened to pick
up a copy of Sinclair Lewis's Arrowsmith, and she was
fascinated by the story of the dedicated young doctor. She
read Agnes Cooper's Promises to Keep, and Woman Surgeon by
Dr. Else Roe, and it opened up a whole new world for Kat. She
discovered that there were people on this earth who devoted
themselves to helping others, to saving lives. When Kat came
home from school one day, she said to Aunt Sophie, "I'm going
to be a doctor. A famous one."

Chapter Four

On Monday morning, three of Paige's patients' charts were
missing, and Paige was blamed.
On Wednesday, Paige was awakened at 4:00 a.m. in the
on-call room. Sleepily, she picked up the telephone. "Dr.
Taylor."
Silence.
"Hello . . . hello."
She could hear breathing at the other end of the line. And
then there was a click.
Paige lay awake for the rest of the night.
In the morning, Paige said to Kat, "I'm either becoming
paranoid or someone hates me." She told Kat what had
happened.
"Patients sometimes get grudges against doctors," Kat
said. "Can you think of anyone who . . .?"
Paige sighed. '' Dozens.''
"I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."
Paige wished that she could believe it.
In the late summer, the magic telegram arrived. It was
waiting for Paige when she returned to the apartment late at
night. It read: "Arriving San Francisco noon Sunday. Can't
wait to see you. Love, Alfred."
He was finally on his way back to her! Paige read the
telegram again and again, her excitement growing each time.
Alfred! His name conjured up a tumbling kaleidoscope of
exciting memories . . .
Paige and Alfred had grown up together. Their fathers were
part of a medical cadre of WHO that traveled to Third World
countries, fighting exotic and virulent diseases. Paige and
her mother accompanied Dr. Taylor, who headed the team.
Paige and Alfred had had a fantasy childhood. In India,
Paige learned to speak Hindi. At the age of two, she knew
that the name for the bamboo hut they lived in was basha. Her
father was gorasahib, a white man, and she was nani, a little
sister. They addressed Paige's father as abadhan, the leader,
or baba, father.
When Paige's parents were not around, she drank bhanga, an
intoxicating drink made with hashish leaves, and ate chapati
with ghi.
And then they were on their way to Africa. Off to another
adventure!
Paige and Alfred became used to swimming and bathing
in
rivers that had crocodiles and hippopotamuses. Their pets
were baby zebras and cheetahs and snakes. They grew up in
windowless round huts made of wattle and daub, with packed
dirt floors and conical thatched roofs. Someday, Paige vowed
to herself, I'm going to live in a real house, a beautiful
cottage with a green lawn and a white picket fence.
To the doctors and nurses, it was a difficult,
frustrating
life. But to the two children, it was a constant
adventure, living in the land of lions, giraffes, and
elephants.
They went to primitive cinder-block
school-houses, and when none was available, they had tutors.
Paige was a bright child, and her mind was a sponge,
absorbing everything. Alfred adored her.
"I'm going to marry you one day, Paige," he said when she
was twelve, he fourteen.
"I'm going to marry you, too, Alfred."
They were two serious children, determined to spend the
rest of their lives together.
The doctors from WHO were selfless, dedicated men and
women who devoted their lives to their work. They often
worked under nearly impossible circumstances. In Africa, they
had to compete with wogesha-the native medical practitioners
whose primitive remedies were passed on from father to son,
and often had deadly effects. The Masai's traditional remedy
for flesh wounds was olkilorite, a mixture of cattle blood,
raw meat, and essence of a mysterious root.
The Kikuyu remedy for smallpox was to have children
drive
out the sickness with sticks.
"You must stop that," Dr. Taylor would tell them. "It
doesn't help."
"Better than having you stick sharp needles in our skin,"
they would reply.
The dispensaries were tables lined up under the trees, for
surgery. The doctors saw hundreds of patients a day, and
there was always a long line waiting to see them- lepers,
natives with tubercular lungs, whooping cough, smallpox,
dysentery.
Paige and Alfred were inseparable. As they grew older,
they would walk to the market together, to a village miles
away. And they would talk about their plans for the future.
Medicine was a part of Paige's early life. She learned to
care for patients, to give shots and dispense medications,
and she anticipated ways to help her father.
Paige loved her father. Curt Taylor was the caring,
selfless man she had ever known. He genuim liked people,
dedicating his life to helping those wl needed him, and he
instilled that passion in Paige, spite of the long hours he
worked, he managed to time to spend with his daughter. He
made the discomft of the primitive places they lived in fun.
Paige's relationship with her mother was something else.
Her mother was a beauty from a wealthy social background. Her
cool aloofness kept Paige at a distance, Marrying a doctor
who was going to work in far-off exotic places had seemed
romantic to her, but the harsh reality had embittered her.
She was not a warm, loving woman, and she seemed to Paige
always to be complaining.
"Why did we ever have to come to this godforsaken! place,
Curt?"
"The people here live like animals. We're going catch some
of their awful diseases."
"Why can't you practice medicine in the United States and
make money like other doctors?"
And on and on it went.
The more her mother criticized him, the more Paige adored
her father.
When Paige was fifteen years old, her mother disappeared
with the owner of a large cocoa plantation in Brazil.
"She's not coming back, is she?" Paige asked.
"No, darling. I'm sorry."
"I'm glad!" She had not meant to say that. She was hurt
that her mother had cared so little for her and her father
that she had abandoned them.
The experience made Paige draw even closer to Alfred
Turner. They played games together and went on expeditions
together, and shared their dreams.
"I'm going to be a doctor, too, when I grow up," Alfred
confided. "We'll get married, and we'll work together."
"And we'll have lots of children!"
"Sure. If you like."
On the night of Paige's sixteenth birthday, their
lifelong
emotional intimacy exploded into a new dimension.
At a little village in East Africa, the doctors had been
called away on an emergency, because of an epidemic,
and
Paige, Alfred, and a cook were the only ones left in camp.
They had had dinner and gone to bed. But in the middle of
the night Paige had been awakened in her tent by the faraway
thunder of stampeding animals. She lay there, and as the
minutes went by and the sound of the stampede came closer,
she began to grow afraid. Her breath quickened. There was no
telling when her father and the others would return.
She got up. Alfred's tent was only a few feet away.
Terrified, Paige got up, raised the flap of the tent, and ran
to Alfred's tent.
He was asleep.
"Alfred!"
He sat up, instantly awake. "Paige? Is anything wrong?"
"I'm frightened. Could I get into bed with you for a
while?"
"Sure." They lay there, listening to the animals charging
through the brush.
In a few minutes, the sounds began to die away.
Alfred became conscious of Paige's warm body lying next to
him.
"Paige, I think you'd better go back to your tent." Paige
could feel his male hardness pressing against her.
All the physical needs that had been building up within
them came boiling to the surface.
"Alfred."
"Yes?" His voice was husky.
"We're getting married, aren't we?"
"Yes."
"Then it's all right."
And the sounds of the jungle around them disappeared,
and
they began to explore and discover a world no one had ever
possessed but themselves. They were the first lovers in the
world, and they gloried in the wonderful miracle of it.
At dawn, Paige crept back to her tent and she thought,
happily, I'm a woman now.
From time to time, Curt Taylor suggested to Paige that she
return to the United States to live with his brother in his
beautiful home in Deerfield, north of Chicago.
"Why?" Paige would ask.
"So that you can grow up to be a proper young lady."
"I am a proper young lady."
"Proper young ladies don't tease wild monkeys and try to
ride baby zebras."
Her answer was always the same. "I won't leave you."
When Paige was seventeen, the WHO team went to a jungle
village in South Africa to fight a typhoid epidemic.
Making
the situation even more perilous was the fact that shortly
after the doctors arrived, war broke out between two local
tribes. Curt Taylor was warned to leave.
"I can't, for God's sake. I have patients who will die if
I desert them."
Four days later, the village came under attack. Paige and
her father huddled in their little hut, listening to the
yelling and the sounds of gunfire outside.
Paige was terrified. "They're going to kill us!"
Her father had taken her in his arms. "They won't harm us,
darling. We're here to help them. They know we're their
friends."
And he had been right.
The chief of one of the tribes had burst into the hut with
some of his warriors. "Do not worry. We guard you." And they
had.
The fighting and shooting finally stopped, but in the
morning Curt Taylor made a decision.
He sent a message to his brother. Sending Paige out on
next plane. Will wire details. Please meet her at airport.
Paige was furious when she heard the news. She was taken,
sobbing wildly, to the dusty little airport where a Piper Cub
was waiting to fly her to a town where she could catch a
plane to Johannesburg.
"You're sending me away because you want to get rid of
me!" she cried.
Her father held her close in his arms. "I love you more
than anything in the world, baby. I'll miss you every minute.
But I'll be going back to the States soon, and we'll be
together again."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Alfred was there to see Paige off.
"Don't worry," Alfred told Paige. "I'll come and get you
as soon as I can. Will you wait for me?"
It was a pretty silly question, after all those years.
"Of course I will."
Three days later, when Paige's plane arrived at O'Hare
Airport in Chicago, Paige's Uncle Richard was there to greet
her. Paige had never met him. All she knew about him was that
he was a very wealthy businessman
whose wife had died
several years earlier. "He's the successful one in the
family," Paige's father
always said. Paige's uncle's first words stunned her. "I'm
sorry to tell you this, Paige, but I just received word that
your father was killed in a native uprising."
Her whole world had been shattered in an instant. The ache
was so strong that she did not think she could bear it. I
won't let my uncle see me cry, Paige vowed. I won't. I never
should have left. I'm going back there.
Driving from the airport, Paige stared out the window,
looking at the heavy traffic.
"I hate Chicago."
"Why, Paige?"
"It's a jungle."
Richard would not permit Paige to return to Africa for her
father's funeral, and that infuriated her.
He tried to reason with her. "Paige, they've already
buried your father. There's no point in your going back." But
there was a point: Alfred was there.
A few days after Paige arrived, her uncle sat down with
her to discuss her future.
"There's nothing to discuss," Paige informed him. "I'm
going to be a doctor."
At twenty-one, when Paige finished college, she applied
to ten medical schools and was accepted by all of them. She
chose a school in Boston.
It took two days to reach Alfred by telephone in Zaire,
where he was working part-time with a WHO unit.
When Paige told him the news, he said, "That's wonderful,
darling. I'm nearly finished with my medical courses. I'll
stay with WHO for a while, but in a few years we'll be
practicing together."
Together. The magical word. "Paige, I'm desperate to see
you. If I can get out a few days, could you meet me in
Hawaii?" There wasn't the slightest hesitation. "Yes." And
they had both managed it. Later, Paige could ly imagine how
difficult it must have been for Alfred to make the long
journey, but he never mentioned it.
They spent three incredible days at a small hotel in
Hawaii, called Sunny Cove, and it was as though they had
never been apart. Paige wanted so much to ask Alfred to go
back to Boston with her, but she knew how selfish that would
have been. The work that he was doing was far more important.
On their last day together, as they were getting dressed,
Paige asked, "Where will they be sending you, Alfred?"
"Gambia, or maybe Bangladesh." To save lives, to help
those who so desperately need him. She held him tightly and
closed her eyes. She never wanted to let him go.
As though reading her thoughts, he said, "I'll never let
you get away."
Paige started medical school, and she and Alfred
corresponded
regularly. No matter in what part of the world
he was, Alfred managed to telephone Paige on her birthday
and at Christmas. Just before New Year's Eve, when Paige was
in her second year of school, Alfred telephoned.
"Paige?"
"Darling! Where are you?"
"I'm in Senegal. I figured out it's only eighty-eight
hundred miles from the Sunny Cove hotel."
It took a minute for it to sink in.
"Do you mean . . .?"
"Can you meet me in Hawaii for New Year's Eve?"
"Oh, yes! Yes!"
Alfred traveled nearly halfway around the world to meet
her, and this time the magic was even stronger. Time had
stood still for both of them.
"Next year I'll be in charge of my own cadre at WHO,"
Alfred said. "When you finish school, I want us to get
married. ..."
They were able to get together once more, and when they
weren't able to meet, their letters spanned time and space.
All those years he had worked as a doctor in Third World
countries, like his father and Paige's father, doing
the
wonderful work that they did. And now, at last, he was coming
home to her.
As Paige read Alfred's telegram for the fifth time, she
thought, He's coming to San Francisco!
Kat and Honey were in their bedrooms, asleep. Paige shook
them awake. "Alfred's coming! He's coming! He'll be here
Sunday!"
"Wonderful," Kat mumbled. "Why don't you wake me up
Sunday? I just got to bed."
Honey was more responsive. She sat up and said, "That's
great! I'm dying to meet him. How long since you've seen
him?"
"Two years," Paige said, "but we've always stayed in
touch."
"You're a lucky girl," Kat sighed. "Well, we're all awake
now. I'll put on some coffee."
The three of them sat around the kitchen table.
"Why don't we give Alfred a party?" Honey suggested.
"Kind of a 'Welcome to the Groom' party."
"That's a good idea," Kat agreed.
"We'll make it a real celebration-a cake, balloons-
the
works!"
"We'll cook dinner for him here," Honey said.
Kat shook her head. "I've tasted your cooking. Let's send
out for food."
Sunday was four days away, and they spent all their spare
time discussing Alfred's arrival. By some miracle, the three
of them were off duty on Sunday.
Saturday, Paige managed to get to a beauty salon. She went
shopping and splurged on a new dress.
"Do I look all right? Do you think he'll like it?"
"You look sensational!" Honey assured her. "I hope he
deserves you."
Paige smiled. "I hope I deserve him. You'll love him. He's
fantastic!"
On The Sunday, an elaborate lunch they had ordered was
laid out on the dining-room table, with a bottle of iced
champagne. The women stood around, nervously waiting for
Alfred's arrival.
At two o'clock, the doorbell rang, and Paige ran to the
door to open it. There was Alfred. A bit tired-looking, a
little thinner. But he was her Alfred. Standing next to him
was a brunette who appeared to be in her thirties.
"Paige!" Alfred exclaimed.
Paige threw her arms around him. Then she turned to Honey
and Kat and said proudly, "This is Alfred Turner. Alfred,
these are my roommates, Honey Taft and Kat Hunter."
"Pleased to meet you," Alfred said. He turned to the woman
at his side. "And this is Karen Turner. My wife." The three
women stood there, frozen. Paige said slowly, "Your wife?"
"Yes." He frowned. "Didn't. . . didn't you get my letter?"
"Letter?"
"Yes. I sent it several weeks ago." "No . . ."
"Oh. I ... I'm terribly sorry. I explained it all in my
... but of course, if you didn't get the . . ." His voice
trailed off. . . . "I'm really sorry, Paige. You and I have
been apart so long, that I ... and then I met Karen . . . and
you know how it is ..."
"I know how it is," Paige said numbly. She turned to Karen
and forced a smile. "I ... I hope you and Alfred will be very
happy." "Thank you."
There was an awkward silence. Karen said, "I think we had
better go, darling." "Yes. I think you had," Kat said. Alfred
ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm really sorry, Paige. I
... well . . . goodbye." "Goodbye, Alfred."
The three women stood there, watching the departing newly
weds.
"That bastard!" Kat said. "What a lousy thing to do."
Paige's eyes were brimming with tears. "I ... he didn't
mean to ... I mean ... he must have explained everything in
his letter."
Honey put her arms around Paige. "There ought to be a law
that all men should be castrated."
"I'll drink to that," Kat said.
"Excuse me," Paige said. She hurried to her bedroom
and
closed the door behind her.
She did not come out for the rest of the day.

Chapter Five

During the next few months, Paige saw very little of Kat
and Honey. They would have a hurried breakfast in the
cafeteria and occasionally pass one another in the corridors.
They communicated mainly by leaving notes in the apartment.
"Dinner is in the fridge."
"The microwave is out."
"Sorry, I didn't have time to clean up."
"What about the three of us having dinner out Saturday
night?''
The impossible hours continued to be a punishment, testing
the limits of endurance for all the residents.
Paige welcomed the pressure. It gave her no time to think
about Alfred and the wonderful future they had planned
together. And yet, she could not get him out of her mind.
What he had done filled her with a deep pain that refused to
go away. She tortured herself with the futile game of "what
if?"
What if I had stayed with Alfred in Africa? What if he had
come to Chicago with me? What if he had not met Karen? What
if . . .?
On a Friday when Paige went into the change room to put on
her scrubs, the word "bitch" had been written on them with a
black marker pen.
The following day when Paige went to look for her scut
book, it was gone. All her notes had disappeared. Maybe I
misplaced it, Paige thought
But she couldn't make herself believe it.
The world outside the hospital ceased to exist. Paige was
aware that Iraq was pillaging Kuwait, but that was
overshadowed by the needs of a fifteen-year-old patient who
was dying of leukemia. The day East and West Germany became
united, Paige was busy trying to save the life of a diabetic
patient. Margaret Thatcher resigned as prime minister of
England, but more important, the patient in 214 was able to
walk again.
What made it bearable was the doctors Paige worked with.
With few exceptions, they had dedicated themselves
to
healing others, relieving pain, and saving lives. Paige
watched the miracles they performed every day, and it filled
her with a sense of pride.
The greatest stress was working in the ER. The emergency
room was constantly overcrowded with people suffering every
form of trauma imaginable.
The long hours at the hospital and the pressures placed an
enormous strain on the doctors and nurses who worked there.
The divorce rate among the doctors was extraordinarily high,
and extramarital affairs were common.
Tom Chang was one of those having a problem. He told Paige
about it over coffee.
"I can handle the hours," Chang confided, "but my wife
can't. She complains that she never sees me anymore
and that
I'm a stranger to our little girl. She's right. I don't know
what to do about it."
"Has your wife visited the hospital?"
"No."
"Why don't you invite her here for lunch, Tom? Let her see
what you're doing here and how important it is."
Chang brightened. "That's a good idea. Thanks, Paige. I
will. I would like you to meet her. Will you join us for
lunch?"
"I'd love to."
Chang's wife, Sye, turned out to be a lovely young woman
with a classic, timeless beauty. Chang showed her around the
hospital, and afterward they had lunch in the cafeteria with
Paige.
Chang had told Paige that Sye had been born and raised in
Hong Kong.
"How do you like San Francisco?" Paige asked.
There was a small silence. "It's an interesting city," Sye
said politely, "but I feel as though I am a stranger here. It
is too big, too noisy."
" But I understand Hong Kong is also big and noisy.''
"I come from a small village an hour away from Hong Kong.
There, there is no noise and no automobiles,
and everyone
knows his neighbors." She looked at her husband. "Tom and I
and our little daughter were very happy there. It is very
beautiful on the island of Llama. It has white beaches and
small farms, and nearby is a little fishing village, Sak Kwu
Wan. It is so peaceful."
Her voice was filled with a wistful nostalgia. "My husband
and I were together much of the time, as a family should be.
Here, I never see him."
Paige said, "Mrs. Chang, I know it's difficult for you
right now, but in a few years, Tom will be able to set up his
own practice, and then his hours will be much easier."
Tom Chang took his wife's hand. "You see? Everything
will
be fine, Sye. You must be patient."
"I understand," she said. There was no conviction in her
voice.
As they talked, a man walked into the cafeteria, and as he
stood at the door, Paige could see only the back of his head.
Her heart started to race. He turned around. It was a
complete stranger.
Chang was watching Paige. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Paige lied. I've got to forget him. It's over. And
yet, the memories of all those wonderful years, the fun, the
excitement, the love they had for each other . . . How do I
forget all that'? I wonder if I could persuade any of the
doctors here to do a lobotomy on me.
Paige ran into Honey in the corridor. Honey was out of
breath and looked worried.
"Is everything all right?" Paige asked.
Honey smiled uneasily. "Yes. Fine." She hurried on.
Honey had been assigned to an attending physician named
Charles Isler, who was known around the hospital
as a
martinet.
On Honey's first day of rounds, he had said, "I've been
looking forward to working with you, Dr. Taft. Dr. Wallace
has told me about your outstanding record at medical school.
I understand you're going to practice internal medicine."
"Yes."
"Good. So, we'll have you here for three more years."
They began their rounds.
The first patient was a young Mexican boy. Dr. Isler
ignored the other residents and turned to Honey. "I think
you'll find this an interesting case, Dr. Taft. The patient
has all the classic signs and symptoms: anorexia, weight
loss, metallic taste, fatigue, anemia, hyperirritability, and
uncoordination. How would you diagnose it?" He smiled
expectantly.
Honey looked at him a moment. "Well, it could be several
things, couldn't it?"
Dr. Isler was watching her, puzzled. "It's a clear-cut
case of-"
One of the other residents broke in, "Lead poisoning?"
"That's right," Dr. Isler said.
Honey smiled. "Of course. Lead poisoning."
Dr. Isler turned to Honey again. "How would you treat it?"
Honey said evasively,' 'Well, there are several different
methods of treatment, aren't there?"
A second resident spoke up. "If the patient has had
long-term exposure, he should be treated as a potential case
of encephalopathy."
Dr. Isler nodded. "Right. That's what we're doing. We're
correcting the dehydration and electrolyte disturbances,
and
giving him chelation therapy."
He looked at Honey. She nodded in agreement.
The next patient was a man in his eighties. His eyes were
red and his eyelids were stuck together.
"We'll have your eyes taken care of in a moment," Dr.
Isler assured him. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, not too bad for an old man."
Dr. Isler pulled aside the blanket to reveal the
patient's
swollen knee and ankle. There were lesions on the
soles of his feet.
Dr. Isler turned to the residents. "The swelling is caused
by arthritis." He looked at Honey. "Combined with the lesions
and the conjunctivitis, I'm sure you know what the diagnosis
is."
Honey said slowly, "Well, it could be ... you know . . ."
"It's Reiter's syndrome," one of the residents spoke up.
"The cause is unknown. It's usually accompanied by low-grade
fever."
Dr. Isler nodded. "That's right." He looked at Honey.
"What is the prognosis?"
"The prognosis?"
The other resident replied. ' 'The prognosis is unclear.
It can be treated with anti-inflammation drugs."
"Very good," Dr. Isler said.
They made the rounds of a dozen more patients, and when
they were finished, Honey said to Dr. Isler, "Could I see you
for a moment alone, Dr. Isler?"
"Yes. Come into my office."
When they were seated in his office, Honey said, "I know
you're disappointed in me."
"I must admit that I was a little surprised that you-"
Honey interrupted. "I know, Dr. Isler. I didn't close my
eyes last night. To tell you the truth, I was so excited
about working with you that I... I just couldn't sleep."
He looked at her in surprise. "Oh. I see. I knew there had
to be a reason for ... I mean, your medical school record was
so fantastic. What made you decide to become
a doctor?"
Honey looked down for a moment, then said softly, "I had a
younger brother who was injured in an accident.
The doctors
did everything they could to try to save him ... but I
watched him die. It took a long time, and I felt so helpless.
I decided then that I was going to spend my life helping
other people get well." Her eyes welled up with tears.
She's so vulnerable, Isler thought. "I'm glad we had this
little talk." Honey looked at him and thought, He believed
me.


Chapter Six

Across town, in another part of the city, reporters and TV
crews were waiting in the street for Lou Dinetto as he left
the courtroom, smiling and waving, the greeting of royalty to
the peasants. There were two bodyguards at his side, a tall,
thin man known as the Shadow, and a heavy set man called
Rhino. Lou Dinetto was, as always, dressed elegantly and
expensively,
in a gray silk suit with a white shirt, blue
tie, and alligator shoes. His clothes had to be carefully
tailored to make him look trim, because he was short and
stout, with bandy legs. He always had a smile and a ready
quip for the press, and they enjoyed quoting him. Dinetto had
been indicted and tried three times on charges ranging from
arson to racketeering to murder, and each time had gone free.
Now as he left the courtroom, one of the reporters yelled
out, "Did you know you were going to be acquitted,
Mr.
Dinetto?"
Dinetto laughed. "Of course I did. I'm an innocent
businessman. The government has got nothing better to do than
to persecute me. That's one of the reasons our taxes are so
high."
A TV camera was aimed at him. Lou Dinetto stopped to smile
into it.
"Mr. Dinetto, can you explain why two witnesses who were
scheduled to testify against you in your murder
trial failed
to appear?"
"Certainly I can explain it," Dinetto said. "They were
honest citizens who decided not to perjure themselves."
"The government claims that you're the head of the West
Coast mob, and that it was you who arranged for-"
"The only thing I arrange for is where people sit at my
restaurant. I want everybody to be comfortable." He grinned
at the milling crowd of reporters. "By the way, you're all
invited to the restaurant tonight for a free dinner and
drinks."
He was moving toward the curb, where a black stretch
limousine was waiting for him.
"Mr. Dinetto ..."
"Mr. Dinetto ..."
"Mr. Dinetto ..."
"I'll see you at my restaurant tonight, boys and girls.
You all know where it is."
And Lou Dinetto was in the car, waving and smiling. Rhino
closed the door of the limousine and got into the front seat.
The Shadow slipped behind the wheel.
'That was great, boss!" Rhino said. "You sure know how to
handle them bums."
"Where to?" the Shadow asked. "Home. I can use a hot bath
and a good steak.' The car started off.
"I don't like that question about the witnesses," Dinetto
said. "You sure they'll never . . .?" "Not unless they can
talk underwater, boss." Dinetto nodded. "Good."
The car was speeding along Fillmore Street. Dinetto said,
"Did you see the look on the DA's face when the judge
dismissed . . .?"
A small dog appeared out of nowhere, directly in front of
the limousine. The Shadow swung the wheel hard to avoid
hitting it and jammed on the brakes. The car jumped the curb
and crashed into a lamppost. Rhino's head flew forward into
the windshield.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Dinetto screamed. "You
trying to kill me?"
The Shadow was trembling. "Sorry, boss. A dog ran in front
of the car . . ."
"And you decided his life was more important than mine?
You stupid asshole!"
Rhino was moaning. He turned around, and Dinetto saw blood
pouring from a large cut in his forehead.
"For Christ's sake!" Dinetto screamed. "Look what you've
done!"
"I'm all right," Rhino mumbled. "The hell you are!"
Dinetto turned to the Shadow. "Get him to a hospital." The
Shadow backed the limousine off the curb. "The Embarcadero is
only a couple of blocks down. We'll take him to the emergency
ward there."
"Right, boss."
Dinetto sank back in his seat. "A dog," he said
disgustedly. "Jesus!"
Kat was in the emergency ward when Dinetto, the Shadow,
and Rhino walked in. Rhino was bleeding heavily.
Dinetto called out to Kat, "Hey, you!"
Kat looked up. "Are you talking to me?"
"Who the hell do you think I'm talking to? This man is
bleeding. Get him fixed up right away."
"There are half a dozen others ahead of him," Kat said
quietly. "He'll have to wait his turn."
"He's not waiting for anything," Dinetto told her. "You'll
take care of him now."
Kat stepped over to Rhino and examined him. She took a
piece of cotton and pressed it against the cut. "Hold it
there. I'll be back."
"I said to take care of him now," Dinetto snapped.
Kat turned to Dinetto. "This is an emergency hospital
ward. I'm the doctor in charge. So either keep quiet or get
out."
The Shadow said, "Lady, you don't know who you're talking
to. You better do what the man says. This is Mr. Lou
Dinetto."
"Now that the introductions are over," Dinetto said
impatiently, "take care of my man."
"You have a hearing problem," Kat said. "I'll tell vou
once more. Keep quiet or get out of here. I have work to do."
Rhino said, "You can't talk to-"
Dinetto turned to him. "Shut up!" He looked at again, and
his tone changed. "I would appreciate it if you could get to
him as soon as possible."
"I'll do my best." Kat sat Rhino down on a cot. "Lie down.
I'll be back in a few minutes." She looked at Dinetto. "There
are some chairs over there in the corner.''
Dinetto and the Shadow watched her walk to the other end
of the ward to take care of the waiting patients.
"Jesus," the Shadow said. "She has no idea who you are."
"I don't think it would make any difference. She's got
balls."
Fifteen minutes later, Kat returned to Rhino and examined
him. "No concussion," she announced. "You're lucky. That's a
nasty cut."
Dinetto stood watching as Kat skillfully put stitches in
Rhino's forehead.
When Kat was finished, she said, "That should heal nicely.
Come back in five days, and I'll take out the stitches."
Dinetto walked over and examined Rhino's forehead. "That's
a damn good job."
"Thanks," Kat said. "Now, if you'll excuse me . . ."
"Wait a minute," Dinetto called. He turned to the Shadow.
"Give her a C-note."
The Shadow took a hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket.
"Here."
"The cashier's office is outside."
"This isn't for the hospital. It's for you."
"No, thanks."
Dinetto stared as Kat walked away and began working on
another patient.
The Shadow said, "Maybe it wasn't enough, boss."
Dinetto shook his head. "She's an independent broad. I
like that." He was silent for a moment. "Doc Evans is
retiring, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. I want you to find out everything you can about
this doctor." "What for?" "Leverage. I think she might come
in very handy.

Chapter Seven

Hospitals are run by nurses. Margaret Spencer, the chief
nurse, had worked at Embarcadero County Hospital for twenty
years and knew where all the bodies-literally and
figuratively-were buried. Nurse Spencer was in charge of the
hospital, and doctors who did not recognize it were in
trouble. She knew which doctors were on drugs or addicted to
alcohol, which doctors were incompetent, and which doctors
deserved her support. In her charge were all the student
nurses, registered nurses, and operating room nurses. It was
Margaret Spencer who decided which of them would be assigned
to the various surgeries, and since the nurses ranged from
indispensable to incompetent, it paid the doctors to get
along with her. She had the power to assign an inept scrub
nurse to assist on a complicated kidney removal, or, if she
liked the doctor, to send her most competent nurse to help
him with a simple tonsillectomy. Among Margaret Spencer's
many prejudices was an antipathy to women doctors and to
blacks. Kat Hunter was a black woman doctor.
Kat was having a hard time. Nothing was overtly said or
done, and yet prejudice was at work in ways too subtle to pin
down. The nurses she asked for were unavailable, those
assigned to her were close to incompetent. Kat found herself
frequently being sent to examine male clinic patients with
venereal diseases.
She accepted the first few cases as
routine, but when she was given half a dozen to examine in
one day, she became suspicious.
At a lunch break she said to Paige, "Have you examined
many men with venereal disease?"
Paige thought for a moment. "One last week. An orderly."
I'm going to have to do something about this, Kat thought.
Nurse Spencer had planned to get rid of Dr. Hunter by
making her life so miserable that she would be forced to
quit, but she had not counted on Kat's dedication or her
ability. Little by little, Kat was winning over the people
she worked with. She had a natural skill that impressed her
fellow workers as well as her patients. But the real
breakthrough happened because of what came to be known around
the hospital as the famous pig blood caper.
On morning rounds one day, Kat was working with a senior
resident named Dundas. They were at the bedside
of a patient
who was unconscious.
"Mr. Levy was in an automobile accident," Dundas informed
the younger residents. "He's lost a great deal of blood, and
he needs an immediate transfusion. The hospital is short of
blood right now. This man has a family, and they refuse to
donate any blood to him. It's infuriating."
Kat asked, "Where is his family?" "In the visitors'
waiting room," Dr. Dundas said. "Do you mind if I talk to
them?" Kat asked. "It won't do any good. I've already spoken
to them. They've made up their minds."
When the rounds were over, Kat went into the visitors'
waiting room. The man's wife and grown son and daughter were
there. The son wore a yarmulke and ritual tallis.
"Mrs. Levy?" Kat asked the woman. She stood up. "How is my
husband? Is the doctor going to operate?" "Yes," Kat said.
"Well, don't ask us to give any of our blood. It's much
too dangerous these days, with AIDS and all." "Mrs. Levy,"
Kat said, "you can't get AIDS by donating blood. It's not
poss-"
"Don't tell me! I read the papers. I know what's what."
Kat studied her a moment. "I can see that. Well, it's all
right, Mrs. Levy. The hospital is short of blood right now,
but we've solved the problem."
"Good."
"We're going to give your husband pig's blood."
The mother and son were staring at Kat, shocked.
"What?"
"Pig's blood," Kat said cheerfully. "It probably won't do
him any harm." She turned to leave.
"Wait a minute!" Mrs. Levy cried.
Kat stopped. "Yes?"
"I, uh . . . just give us a minute, will you?"
"Certainly."
Fifteen minutes later, Kat went up to Dr. Dundas. "You
don't have to worry about Mr. Levy's family anymore. They're
all happy to make a blood donation."
The story became an instant legend around the hospital.
Doctors and nurses who had ignored Kat before made a point of
speaking to her.
A few days later, Kat went into the private room of Tom
Leonard, an ulcer patient. He was eating an enormous lunch
that he had had brought in from a nearby delicatessen.
Kat walked up to his bed. "What are you doing?"
He looked up and smiled. "Having a decent lunch for a
change. Want to join me? There's plenty here."
Kat rang for a nurse.
"Yes, doctor?"
"Get this food out of here. Mr. Leonard is on a strict
hospital diet. Didn't you read his chart?"
"Yes, but he insisted on-"
"Remove it, please."
"Hey! Wait a minute!" Leonard protested. "I can't eat the
pap this hospital is giving me!"
"You'll eat it if you want to get rid of your ulcer." Kat
looked at the nurse. "Take it out."
Thirty minutes later, Kat was summoned to the office of
the administrator.
"You wanted to see me, Dr. Wallace?"
"Yes. Sit down. Tom Leonard is one of your patients, isn't
he?"
' "That's right. I found him eating a hot pastrami
sandwich
with pickles and potato salad for lunch today, full
of spices and-"
"And you took it away from him."
"Of course."
Wallace leaned forward in his chair. "Doctor, you probably
were not aware that Tom Leonard is on the hospital's
supervisory board. We want to keep him happy. Do you get my
meaning?"
Kat looked at him and said stubbornly, "No, sir."
He blinked. "What?"
"It seems to me that the way to keep Tom Leonard happy is
to get him healthy. He's not going to be cured if he tears
his stomach apart."
Benjamin Wallace forced a smile. "Why don't we let him
make that decision?"
Kat stood up. "Because I'm his doctor. Is there anything
else?"
"I ... er ... no. That's all."
Kat walked out of the office.
Benjamin Wallace sat there stunned. Women doctors.
Kat was on night duty when she received a call. "Dr.
Hunter, I think you had better come up to 320."
"Right away."
The patient in Room 320 was Mrs. Molloy, a cancer patient
in her eighties, with a poor prognosis. As Kat neared the
door she heard voices inside, raised in argument.
Kat
stepped inside the room.
Mrs. Molloy was in bed, heavily sedated, but conscious.
Her son and two daughters were in the room.
The son was saying, "I say we split the estate up three
ways."
"No!" one of the daughters said. "Laurie and I are the
ones who have been taking care of Mama. Who's been doing the
cooking and cleaning for her? We have! Well, we're entitled
to her money and-"
"I'm as much her flesh and blood as you are!" the man
yelled.
Mrs. Molloy lay in bed, helpless, listening.
Kat was furious. "Excuse me," she said.
One of the women glanced at her. ' 'Come back later,
nurse. We're busy."
Kat said angrily, "This is my patient. I'm giving you all
ten seconds to get out of this room. You can wait in the
visitors' waiting room. Now get out before I call security
and have you thrown out."
The man started to say something, but the look in Kat's
eyes stopped him. He turned to his sisters and shrugged. "We
can talk outside."
Kat watched the three of them leave the room. She turned
to Mrs. Molloy in bed and stroked her head. "They didn't mean
anything by it," Kat said softly. She sat at the bedside,
holding the old woman's hand, and watched her drop off to
sleep.
We're all dying, Kat thought. Forget what Dylan Thomas
said. The real trick is to go gentle into that good night.
Kat was in the middle of treating a patient when an
orderly came into the ward. "There's an urgent call for you
at the desk, doctor."
Kat frowned. "Thank you." She turned to the patient,
who
was in a full body cast, with his legs suspended
on a
pulley. "I'll be right back."
In the corridor, at the nurses' station, Kat picked up the
desk telephone. "Hello?"
"Hi, sis."
"Mike!" She was excited to hear from him, but her
excitement immediately turned to concern. "Mike, I told you
never to call me here. You have the number at the apartment
if-"
"Hey, I'm sorry. This couldn't wait. I have a little
problem."
Kat knew what was coming.
"I borrowed some money from a fellow to invest in a
business ..."
Kat didn't bother asking what kind of business. "And it
failed."
"Yeah. And now he wants his money."
"How much, Mike?"
"Well, if you could send five thousand ..."
"What?"
The desk nurse was looking at Kat curiously.
Five thousand dollars. Kat lowered her voice. "I don't
have that much. I ... I can send you half and the rest in a
few weeks. Will that be all right?"
"I guess so. I hate to bother you, sis, but you " how it
is."
Kat knew exactly how it was. Her brother was twenty two
years old and was always involved in mysterious deals. He ran
with gangs, and God only knew what they were up to, but Kat
felt a deep responsibility toward him. It's all my fault, Kat
thought. If I hadn't run away from home and deserted him . .
. "Stay out of trouble, Mike. I love you."
"Love you, too, Kat."
I'll have to get him that money, somehow, Kat thought.
Mike's all I have in the world.
Dr. Isler had been looking forward to working with Honey
Taft again. He had forgiven her inept performance
and, in
fact, was flattered that she was in such awe of him. But now,
on rounds with her once more, Honey stayed behind the other
residents and never volunteered
an answer to his questions.
Thirty minutes after rounds, Dr. Isler was seated in
Benjamin Wallace's office.
"What's the problem?" Wallace asked.
"It's Dr. Taft."
Wallace looked at him in genuine surprise, "Dr. Taft? She
has the best recommendations I've ever seen."
"That's what puzzles me," Dr. Isler said. "I've been
getting reports from some of the other residents. She's
misdiagnosing cases and making serious mistakes. I'd like to
know what the hell is going on."
"I don't understand. She went to a fine medical school."
"Maybe you should give the dean of the school a call," Dr.
Isler suggested.
"That's Jim Pearson. He's a good man. I'll call him."
A few minutes later, Wallace had Jim Pearson on the
telephone. They exchanged pleasantries, and then Wallace
said, "I'm calling about Betty Lou Taft."
There was a brief silence. "Yes?"
"We seem to be having a few problems with her, Jim. She
was admitted here with your wonderful recommendation."
"Right."
"In fact, I have your report in front of me. It says she
was one of the brightest students you ever had."
"That's right."
"And that she was going to be a credit to the medical
profession."
"Yes."
"Was there any doubt about . . .?"
"None," Dr. Pearson said firmly. "None at all. She's
probably a little nervous. She's high-strung, but if you just
give her a chance, I'm sure she'll be fine."
"Well, I appreciate your telling me. We'll certainly give
her every chance. Thank you."
"Not at all." The line went dead.
Jim Pearson sat there, hating himself for what he had
done.
But my wife and children come first.