Free Terminal by Robin Cook Page A

alone.”
    “No matter,” said Dr. Mason. He introduced Sean to Margaret Richmond, director of nursing, adding, “Mr. Murphy will be with us for two months.”
    Ms. Richmond shook hands perfunctorily with Sean, mumbling it was a pleasure to meet him. Then she took Dr. Mason by the elbow and steered him outside. The door closed, but the latch didn’t catch, and it drifted open again.
    Sean could not help but overhear, especially with Ms. Richmond’s sharply penetrating voice. Apparently, another patient on standard chemotherapy for breast cancer had unexpectedly died. She’d been found in her bed totally cyanotic, just as blue as the others.
    “This cannot go on!” Margaret snapped. “Someone must be doing this deliberately. There’s no other explanation. It’s always the same shift, and it’s ruining our stats. We have to do something before the medical examiner gets suspicious. And if the media gets ahold of this, it will be a disaster.”
    “We’ll meet with Harris,” Dr. Mason said soothingly. “We’ll tell him he has to let everything else slide. We’ll tell him he has to stop it.”
    “It can’t go on,” Ms. Richmond repeated. “Harris has to do more than run background checks on the professional staff.”
    “I agree,” Dr. Mason said. “We’ll talk to Harris straightaway. Just give me a moment to arrange for Mr. Murphy to tour the facility.”
    The voices drifted away. Sean moved forward on the couch hoping to hear more, but the outer office remained silent until once again the door burst open. Guiltily he sat back as someone else dashed into the room. This time it was an attractive woman in her twenties dressed in a checkered skirt and white blouse. She was tanned, bubbly, and had a great smile. Hospitality had refreshingly returned.
    “Hi, my name’s Claire Barington.”
    Sean quickly learned that Claire helped run the center’s public relations department. She dangled keys in front of his face, saying: “These are to your palatial apartment at the Cow’s Palace.” She explained that the center’s residence had gotten its nickname in commemoration of the size of some of its earlier residents.
    “I’ll take you over there,” Claire said. “Just to make certain it’s all in order and you’re comfortable. But first Dr. Mason told me to give you a tour of our facility. What do you say?”
    “Seems like a good idea to me,” Sean said, pulling himself up from the couch. He’d only been at the Forbes Center for about an hour, and if that hour were any indication of what the two months would be like, it promised to be a curiously interesting sojourn. Provided, of course, he stayed. As he followed the shapely Claire Barington out of Dr. Mason’s office, he began seriously considering calling Dr. Walsh and heading back to Boston. He’d certainly be able to accomplish more there than here if he was to be relegated to busywork involving monoclonal antibodies.
    “This, of course, is our administrative area,” Claire said as she launched into a practiced tour. “Henry Falworth’s office is next to Dr. Mason’s. Mr. Falworth is the personnel manager for all non-professional staff. Beyond his office is Dr. Levy’s. Of course, she has another research office downstairs in the maximum containment lab.”
    Sean’s ears perked up. “You have a maximum containment lab?” he asked with surprise.
    “Absolutely,” Claire said. “Dr. Levy demanded it when she came on board. Besides, the Forbes Cancer Center has all the most up-to-date equipment.”
    Sean shrugged. A maximum containment lab designed to safely handle infectious microorganisms seemed a bit excessive.
    Pointing in the opposite direction, Claire indicated the clinical office shared by Dr. Stan Wilson, chief of the hospital’s clinical staff, Margaret Richmond, director of nursing, and Dan Selenburg, hospital administrator. “Of course, these people all have private offices on the top floor of the hospital