that
sudden decision, he turned his thoughts again to the Lewis case.
He had not been exaggerating when he'd said that if Vangie
Lewis had not delivered her baby soon, she wouldn't have needed
cyanide. How many women got into that same condition under the
Westlake Maternity Concept? Had there been anything unusual
about the ratio of deaths among Westlake's patients? Richard
asked his secretary to come in.
Marge was in her mid-fifties, an excellent secretary who thoroughly
enjoyed the drama of the department.
"Marge," he said, "I want to do some unofficial investigating of
Westlake Hospital's maternity section. I'd like to know how many
patients died either in childbirth or from complications during
pregnancy. I also want to know the ratio of deaths to the number
of patients treated there. Do you know anybody at Westlake who
might look at the hospital records for you on the quiet?"
His secretary frowned. "Let me work on it."
"Good. And check into any malpractice suits that have been filed
against either of the doctors."
Satisfied at getting the investigation under way, Richard dashed
home to shower and change. Seconds after he left his office a call
came for him from Dr. David Broad at Mount Sinai Hospital.
Marge took the message asking Richard to contact Dr. Broad in
the morning. The matter was urgent.
KATIE was a few minutes early for her appointment with Dr.
Highley. The other receptionist, Mrs. Fitzgerald, was coolly pleasant,
but when Katie asked about Edna's illness, the woman seemed
nervous. "It's just a virus," she replied stiffly.
A buzzer sounded. The receptionist picked up the phone. "Mrs.
DeMaio, Dr. Highley will see you now," she said.
Katie walked quickly down the corridor to Dr. Highley's office.
She knocked, then opened the door and stepped inside. The office
had the air of a comfortable study. Bookshelves lined one wall;
pictures of mothers with babies nearly covered another. A club
chair was placed near the doctor's elaborately carved desk. The
doctor stood up to greet her. "Mrs. DeMaio." His tone was courteous,
the faint British accent barely perceptible. His face was
round and smooth-skinned. Thinning sandy hair, streaked with
gray, was carefully combed in a side part. Eyebrows and lashes,
the same sandy shade, accentuated protruding steel-gray eyes. Not
an attractive man, but authoritative.
As they sat down, Katie thanked him for the phone call.
He dismissed her gratitude. "If you had told the emergency-
room doctor that you were my patient, he would have given you
a room in the west wing. Far more comfortable, I assure you. And
about the same view."
Katie fished in her shoulder bag and took out her notebook and
pen. She looked up quickly. "Anything would be better than the
view I thought I had the other night. . . ." She stopped. She was
here on official business, not to talk about her nightmares. "Doctor,
if you don't mind, let's talk about Vangie Lewis." She smiled. "I
guess our roles are reversed for a few minutes. I get to ask the
questions."
His expression became somber. "That poor girl. I've thought
of little else since I heard the news."
Katie nodded. "When was the last time you saw her?"
He leaned back in the chair. His fingers interlocked under his
chin. "It was last Thursday evening. I'd been having Mrs. Lewis
come in weekly since the halfway point of her pregnancy."
"How was she," Katie asked, "physically and emotionally?"
"Her physical condition was a worry. There was danger of toxic
pregnancy, which I was watching very closely. But every additional
day she carried increased the baby's chance of survival."
"Could she have carried the baby to full term?"
"Impossible. In fact, I warned Mrs. Lewis last Thursday that
we'd have to bring her in soon and induce labor."
"How did she respond to that news?"
He frowned. "I expected her to
sudden decision, he turned his thoughts again to the Lewis case.
He had not been exaggerating when he'd said that if Vangie
Lewis had not delivered her baby soon, she wouldn't have needed
cyanide. How many women got into that same condition under the
Westlake Maternity Concept? Had there been anything unusual
about the ratio of deaths among Westlake's patients? Richard
asked his secretary to come in.
Marge was in her mid-fifties, an excellent secretary who thoroughly
enjoyed the drama of the department.
"Marge," he said, "I want to do some unofficial investigating of
Westlake Hospital's maternity section. I'd like to know how many
patients died either in childbirth or from complications during
pregnancy. I also want to know the ratio of deaths to the number
of patients treated there. Do you know anybody at Westlake who
might look at the hospital records for you on the quiet?"
His secretary frowned. "Let me work on it."
"Good. And check into any malpractice suits that have been filed
against either of the doctors."
Satisfied at getting the investigation under way, Richard dashed
home to shower and change. Seconds after he left his office a call
came for him from Dr. David Broad at Mount Sinai Hospital.
Marge took the message asking Richard to contact Dr. Broad in
the morning. The matter was urgent.
KATIE was a few minutes early for her appointment with Dr.
Highley. The other receptionist, Mrs. Fitzgerald, was coolly pleasant,
but when Katie asked about Edna's illness, the woman seemed
nervous. "It's just a virus," she replied stiffly.
A buzzer sounded. The receptionist picked up the phone. "Mrs.
DeMaio, Dr. Highley will see you now," she said.
Katie walked quickly down the corridor to Dr. Highley's office.
She knocked, then opened the door and stepped inside. The office
had the air of a comfortable study. Bookshelves lined one wall;
pictures of mothers with babies nearly covered another. A club
chair was placed near the doctor's elaborately carved desk. The
doctor stood up to greet her. "Mrs. DeMaio." His tone was courteous,
the faint British accent barely perceptible. His face was
round and smooth-skinned. Thinning sandy hair, streaked with
gray, was carefully combed in a side part. Eyebrows and lashes,
the same sandy shade, accentuated protruding steel-gray eyes. Not
an attractive man, but authoritative.
As they sat down, Katie thanked him for the phone call.
He dismissed her gratitude. "If you had told the emergency-
room doctor that you were my patient, he would have given you
a room in the west wing. Far more comfortable, I assure you. And
about the same view."
Katie fished in her shoulder bag and took out her notebook and
pen. She looked up quickly. "Anything would be better than the
view I thought I had the other night. . . ." She stopped. She was
here on official business, not to talk about her nightmares. "Doctor,
if you don't mind, let's talk about Vangie Lewis." She smiled. "I
guess our roles are reversed for a few minutes. I get to ask the
questions."
His expression became somber. "That poor girl. I've thought
of little else since I heard the news."
Katie nodded. "When was the last time you saw her?"
He leaned back in the chair. His fingers interlocked under his
chin. "It was last Thursday evening. I'd been having Mrs. Lewis
come in weekly since the halfway point of her pregnancy."
"How was she," Katie asked, "physically and emotionally?"
"Her physical condition was a worry. There was danger of toxic
pregnancy, which I was watching very closely. But every additional
day she carried increased the baby's chance of survival."
"Could she have carried the baby to full term?"
"Impossible. In fact, I warned Mrs. Lewis last Thursday that
we'd have to bring her in soon and induce labor."
"How did she respond to that news?"
He frowned. "I expected her to
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