Death Will Get You Sober: A New York Mystery; Bruce Kohler #1 (Bruce Kohler Series) by Elizabeth Zelvin

I retreated into my own not particularly cheerful thoughts until she turned in at a set of massive gates at the entrance to the hospital campus.
    “That’s it? Looks more like an Art Deco hotel than a hospital.”
    “It’s the balconies,” she said. “It was built as a TB sanitarium back in the Thirties, when the only remedies they had were fresh air and sunshine.” She maneuvered between two gas guzzlers with vanity plates parked way too close together. “Let’s make a left here, maybe it’s not too late to get my favorite parking spot. Oops! Now what?”
    A hospital security guard barred our way, holding up a big gloved hand, palm out. Barbara rolled down the window, stuck her head out, and called, “Good morning! What’s the problem?” To me, she added, “Only an idiot makes enemies in the parking lot.”
    The guard strolled up to the car. He was securely wrapped in heavy fleece-lined leather. A bright red and green scarf circled his neck at least three times. It looked like his elderly mother had knitted it for him for Christmas.
    “Sorry, miss, you’ll hafta wait. We just found a body in the Dumpster over there.” With the chattiness of a born gossip in a job that probably lacked excitement most of the time, he added, “I always say they got some nerve leaving it there permanent like. Takes up half the spaces in that row.”
    “I know what you mean,” Barbara agreed. “How many times have I been late because I had to circle around and around looking for an empty spot? But how awful!” She meant the body. “Who was it? Do they know?”
    “An old guy, musta been out there all night. He musta climbed in there, looking for a place to sleep, maybe. One a them homeless. They’re everywhere these days. Covered with vomit. Nearly upchucked my own breakfast when I went ta take a look.”
    Thank you for sharing, as they say in AA.
    “Not a patient?”
    The guard shrugged. “Had his clothes on, anyhow.”
    “He could have been one of our outpatients,” she told me. “Our clients don’t wear hospital gowns.” To the guard, she said, “Do you know if they’ve identified him?”
    The guard snorted. “Think them high and mighty cops are gonna tell us?” Hospital security ranked lower on the totem pole than the NYPD, and it obviously rankled.
    “Stank a booze, all right.” The guard answered her next question before she asked it. “Pee-yew. I don’t envy the guys who gotta cart that meat away.”
    A Mercedes with MD plates blatted a demand for attention.
    “All right, all right, there, hold your horses!” He swaggered away to engage in a power struggle with the driver. Dr. Big couldn’t see why he should have to wait like us mortals while the ambulance loaded up the dead man and took him away.
    Barbara grinned when security won.
    “Only an idiot or an arrogant doctor,” she said.
    The meeting had already started when we finally got there. A burly, silver-haired, hawk-nosed guy who looked like a kindly banker and talked like a movie mafioso seemed to be leading it.
    “Carlo, the head counselor,” Barbara murmured in my ear. “Drug addict, been in NA for decades, used to be a loan shark.”
    Carlo stopped talking and raised an eyebrow.
    Barbara waved a casual hand at me.
    “My friend Bruce. He’s going down to HR as soon as they open. Okay if he stays till we get clinical?”
    “Sure. Hi, Bruce. Have a donut,” he said.
    I nodded my thanks. Someone handed me a jelly donut and a Christmas napkin. Someone else kicked a chair my way. Barbara had already found a seat. She inched it over so I could squeeze in next to her. Locating the coffee urn across the room, I poured a stiff one for each of us before I sat. I sipped mine gratefully. With luck, I might even wake up soon.
    “Okay, people,” Carlo said, “we’ve got an audit coming up next month. Supervisors, you’d better do a spot check of everybody’s charts. If there are too many gaps, we’ll form a chart review committee to check