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Harvey shot a quick glance toward Sara. “And highly confidential patients are also kept on the third floor,” he said. “We normally keep no more than one or two patients up here.”
“Was Bradley Jenkins one such patient?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.” Max put his pencil into his mouth and looked up at the ceiling. “So the prowler may have been trying to find out names of patients or the prognosis of a patient.”
Harvey sat up. “Could have been,” he said, swinging his feet onto the floor.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to check my files.”
“Wait a second,” Max said, snapping his fingers. “Was there any patient recently admitted? Was there anybody whose identity you wanted to keep confidential?”
Harvey stopped.
“You can tell him,” Sara said.
“Tell me what?”
It was Sara who responded. “Michael was admitted today. He has AIDS.”
NOT too far from where Sara, Max, and Harvey were talking, Janice Matley, the Sidney Pavilion’s most trusted nurse, knew something was wrong the moment she opened the door. She sensed it. There was something about the stillness of the bed, the way the sheet was twisted around the body, the way the head lolled limply off the pillow. Janice felt a creeping dread in the pit of her stomach.
She knew.
Janice Matley was a heavyset black woman in her mid-fifties. She had been a nurse for the better part of thirty years and had worked for Dr. Riker and Dr. Grey for the past decade. She had been crushed when Dr. Grey committed suicide, absolutely devastated. Such a lovely man, poor thing. And a great doctor. He and Dr. Riker had been perfect partners, complementing each other like no other two men could. Dr. Grey was the heart, the team player, the one with the good bedside manner, the one who felt for every patient. Dr. Riker was the brains, the leader, the drive, the one who would do what had to be done and blind himself to the personal price.
And Dr. Eric Blake? Janice was not sure where she would place him. He was a bit of a paradox, that one. He too was dedicated, spending all his time in the clinic like Dr. Riker, but somehow he seemed distant, aloof. Oh, he cared about his patients immensely and Janice knew that Dr. Blake would follow Dr. Riker to the ends of the earth and back, but he still seemed so . . . unfeeling. Maybe that wasn’t fair. Just because she could not warm up to him did not mean he was not a nice man. He was a fine person, a fine doctor, and smart as they come. His patients and colleagues respected him greatly. He just wasn’t . . . warm, that’s all.
Janice stepped toward the patient with the blank facial expression of an experienced nurse. Inside, she could feel something tremble. She reached the bed and flicked on the reading lamp. Her knees went wobbly. The patient’s eyes, glassy and uncomprehending, looked straight through her. His lips were parted and frozen. His arms felt almost brittle, like the branches on an old tree that would break rather than bend.
Janice ran for the door.
MAX stared at Sara. “Michael has AIDS?”
She nodded.
He collapsed into a chair. “I don’t know what to say, Sara.”
“He’ll be fine,” Sara said firmly.
He nodded, unsure what to say next. “Who knows about Michael’s condition?”
“Aside from us,” Harvey replied, “just Eric and maybe one of the hospital nurses.”
“Maybe?”
“There is a good chance that the nurse might recognize his face.”
“Who’s the nurse?”
“Her name is Janice Matley.”
“You trust her?”
“Completely.”
He shook his head. “I don’t care how much security you have around here. There is no way you’re going to be able to keep this a secret.”
“We know that,” Sara said. “Michael has scheduled a press conference for tomorrow evening. It’ll be covered live on NewsFlash.”
Bernstein’s eyes squinted into small slits. “Are you trying to tell me that Michael is going to tell the world he has AIDS?”
Sara nodded.
“And then you’re going to do the report on SR1?”
“Not me,” Sara corrected. “I’m too close to this now. Donald Parker is going to do it.”
“And what exactly is Parker going to cover?” Max asked. “The AIDS cure? The Gay Slasher connection? Senator Jenkins’ kid being treated at the clinic?”
“All of it,” Sara replied.
Max took the pencil out of his mouth and let go a whistle. “That’s going to be one hell of a story. The whole country is already talking about the Gay Slasher story. Wait till John Q. Public finds out that the murders are connected to a clinic that’s found a cure for AIDS. And then add the fact that Michael Silverman has AIDS and is being treated at the same clinic.” Bernstein shook his head again. “It’s going to be unbelievable.”
No one said anything for a moment.
“Okay,” Max said, “switch gears with me a second, Doc. You said the lab door was locked when you tried the knob, right?”
“Right.”
“Who has a key besides you?”
“Eric and Winston O’Connor, the chief lab technician.”
“Does this O’Connor know about Michael?”
“No,” Harvey replied, “Winston doesn’t know the names of any of the patients in here. Like I said before, the test results are coded. The people in the lab never see the names, only numbers. In other words Winston O’Connor sees the test results, but he is ‘blind’ as to whom it involves. We even change their code numbers weekly so that they cannot be traced down.”
“You’re a cautious man, Dr. Riker.”
“Almost paranoid, right?”
Bernstein was about to answer when they heard a shout. Janice Matley stuck her head through the doorway.
“Dr. Riker, come quick!” Janice shouted, though she knew it was much too late.
“What is it?”
“Code blue! A patient’s arrested!”
12
JENNIFER Riker scanned the contents in the packet. Little of it made sense. First, there were the files.
Being a doctor’s wife, Jennifer had seen plenty of patient files before but these were considerably more vague than most. Specifics were not jotted down—more like Bruce’s overall opinions and thoughts on the patient. A journal almost. She read the neatly typed name on the label of the first file: Trian, Scott. She jumped back to the beginning of the file and saw a whole slew of numbers:1/9 897a83
