Nothing Lasts Forever By SIDNEY SHELDON

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 Wal-ters 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
Pres-ley. 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 slen-der, with eyes
that were a startling dark brown in her pale face. A
disinterested observer would have dis-missed 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
kill-ers.

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 Amer-ican 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 mis-trust.
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 per-suade 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 cold-blooded 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 irre-futable 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-blooded-ness 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 defen-dant 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 be-tween Dr.
Taylor and John Cronin?"
"Objection!" Alan Penn was on his feet. "He's call-ing 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 an-swer 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 insu-lin 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 hospi-tal
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 pulmo-nary
embolus.' "
"And in layman's language?"
"The report says that the patient died of a heart
at-tack."
"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 re-cess."

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 immedi-ately 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 be-lieved
in Dr. Taylor. The way Samson believed in Deli-lah. 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 opti-mistic.


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 de-fense
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 class-
plane, hotel. And I believe she was interested in charter-ing
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 Lon-don 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 Rog-ers?"
"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," contin-ued
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 permis-sion."
"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 disap-pointed.
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 suffer-ing 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 sur-geon in
the world."
"Were you present in the operating room on the morn-ing
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. Tay-lor."
"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 peo-ple 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 excite-ment
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 conversa-tions
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 over-whelming.
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 an-other rabbit out of his
hat?
Paige Taylor was on the witness stand, being ques-tioned
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. Ven-able, 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 prob-lems 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 scrib-bling. 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 prose-cutor.
"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 wit-ness.
"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 defen-dant. "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 cardiovas-cular
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 medi-cal
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 de-manded
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 for-ever.
Nothing. How could everything have gone so wrong . . . so
wrong . . . so wrong . . .




Book I
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 pa-tients 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 person-nel. 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 resi-dents
in July, Dr. Benjamin Wallace, the hospital ad-ministrator,
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 supervi-sion 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 pa-tients 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 tomor-row.
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 to-gether.

"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 bed-rooms."
"Any one of them is fine with me," Honey said softly.
They examined the three bedrooms. The master bed-room 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 Organiza-tion. 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 any-one?"
"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 chat-ted 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 appli-cation. Unfortunately our
enrollment is complete at this time."
"In view of your background, perhaps we might sug-gest
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 back-ground."
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 auto-mobile accidents, the
wounded in flesh and spirit, the homeless and the unwanted,
the ebb and flow of human-ity 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, get-ting
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 de-lighted 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. Mar-garet 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 battle-ship
than a woman, heavyset and stern-looking, with a brusque
manner. She was busy behind the nurses' sta-tion 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 op-erating
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 at-tending 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 morn-ing," he said.
"I'm Dr. Radnor." He was soft-spoken, with sparkling blue
eyes. Each resident introduced him-self.
"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 re-sponsible
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 every-thing 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 dur-ing 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, fa-cial,
auditory, glossopharyngeal, vagus, spinal, and hypoglossal.

The students used mnemonics to help them remem-ber. 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
inter-esting, with courses in internal medicine, surgery,
pedi-atrics, 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 cur-tains 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 run-ning 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 pa-tient."
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 ex-plained
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 commit-tee
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 ma-chines that dispensed stale sandwiches and
bitter cof-fee.

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
under-stand."
"I hear you had a little problem in the doctors' dress-ing
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 doc-tor."
"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 tele-phone 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 pa-tient'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 awak-ened 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 hap-pen to me, Paige
vowed.

The pressure was unrelenting. At the end of one of Paige's
shifts, thirty-six grueling hours, she was so ex-hausted that
she had no idea where she was. She stum-bled 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 re-turning from Africa
soon. Soon.

At breakfast one morning before rounds, Paige and Kat
talked about the sexual harassment they were expe-riencing.

"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 up-stairs
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, ortho-pedics,
urology, and surgery.

Paige learned that it was dangerous to go into a train-ing
hospital in the summer for any serious illness, be-cause 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 op-erating
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 gangre-nous 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 eleva-tor. 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 hospi-tal 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 fuck-ing
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 stepfa-ther 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 becom-ing
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 bath-ing 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,
frustrat-ing life. But to the two children, it was a constant
adventure, living in the land of lions, giraffes, and
ele-phants. 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 chil-dren 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 disap-peared
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 Al-fred
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
life-long emotional intimacy exploded into a new dimen-sion.
At a little village in East Africa, the doctors had been
called away on an emergency, because of an epi-demic, 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 disap-peared, 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 epi-demic. 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 busi-nessman 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 win-dow,
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 ap-plied
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
cor-responded regularly. No matter in what part of the world
he was, Alfred managed to telephone Paige on her birth-day
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, do-ing 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 sug-gested.
"Kind of a 'Welcome to the Groom' party."
"That's a good idea," Kat agreed.
"We'll make it a real celebration-a cake, bal-loons-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 bed-room 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 Satur-day
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 them-selves 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 emer-gency
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 com-mon.

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 any-more 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 automo-biles, 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 peace-ful."
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? Every-thing 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 hospi-tal 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 poison-ing?"
"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 differ-ent
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 distur-bances, 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
pa-tient'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 be-come a doctor?"
Honey looked down for a moment, then said softly, "I had a
younger brother who was injured in an acci-dent. 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
expen-sively, 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 acquit-ted, 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 mur-der trial failed
to appear?"
"Certainly I can explain it," Dinetto said. "They were
honest citizens who decided not to perjure them-selves."
"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 ex-amined
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 dis-eases. 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 exam-ined
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 bed-side 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 visi-tors'
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 hospi-tal.
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
sand-wich 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 any-thing
else?"
"I ... er ... no. That's all."
Kat walked out of the office.

Benjamin Wallace sat there stunned. Women doc-tors.
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 argu-ment. Kat
stepped inside the room.

Mrs. Molloy was in bed, heavily sedated, but con-scious.
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 pa-tient, who
was in a full body cast, with his legs sus-pended 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 perfor-mance 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 vol-unteered 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 recom-mendation."
"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.




Chapter Eight




Honey Taft had the bad fortune to have been born into a
family of overachievers. Her handsome father was the founder
and president of a large computer company in Memphis,
Tennessee, her lovely mother was a genetic scientist, and
Honey's older twin sisters were as attractive, as brainy, and
as ambitious as their parents. The Tafts were among the most
prominent families in Memphis.

Honey had inconveniently come along when her sis-ters were
six years old.
"Honey was our little accident," her mother would tell
their friends. "I wanted to have an abortion, but Fred was
against it. Now he's sorry."

Where Honey's sisters were stunning, Honey was plain.
Where they were brilliant, Honey was average.

Her sisters had started talking at nine months. Honey had
not uttered a word until she was almost two.

"We call her 'the dummy,' " her father would laugh.
"Honey is the ugly duckling of the Taft family. Only I
don't think she's going to turn into a swan."

It was not that Honey was ugly, but neither was she
pretty. She was ordinary-looking, with a thin, pinched face,
mousy blond hair, and an unenviable figure. What Honey did
have was an extraordinarily sweet, sunny disposition, a
quality not particularly prized in a family of competitive
overachievers.

From the earliest time Honey could remember, her greatest
desire was to please her parents and sisters and make them
love her. It was a futile effort. Her parents were busy with
their careers, and her sisters were busy winning beauty
contests and scholarships. To add to Honey's misery, she was
inordinately shy. Consciously or unconsciously, her family
had implanted in her a feeling of deep inferiority.

In high school, Honey was known as the Wallflower. She
attended school dances and parties by herself, and smiled and
tried not to show how miserable she was, because she did not
want to spoil anyone's fun. She would watch her sisters
picked up at the house by the most popular boys at school,
and then she would go up to her lonely room to struggle with
her homework.
And try not to cry.
On weekends and during the summer holidays, Honey made
pocket money by baby-sitting. She loved taking care of
children, and the children adored her.
When Honey was not working, she would go off and explore
Memphis by herself. She visited Graceland, where Elvis
Presley had lived, and walked down Beale Street, where the
blues started. She wandered through the Pink Palace Museum,
and the Planetarium, with its roaring, stomping dinosaur. She
went to the aquarium.

And Honey was always alone.
She was unaware that her life was about to change
drastically.


Honey knew that many of her classmates were having love
affairs. They discussed it constantly at school.
"Have you gone to bed with Ricky yet? He's the best... !"
"Joe is really into orgasms ..."
"I was out with Tony last night. I'm exhausted. What an
animal! I'm seeing him again tonight ..."
Honey stood there listening to their conversations, and
she was filled with a bittersweet envy, and a feeling that
she would never know what sex was like. Who would want me?
Honey wondered.


One Friday night, there was a school prom. Honey had no
intention of going, but her father said, "You know, I'm
concerned. Your sisters tell me that you're a wallflower, and
that you're not going to the prom because you can't get a
date."
Honey blushed. "That's not true," she said. "I do have a
date, and I am going." Don't let him ask who my date is,
Honey prayed.
He didn't.
Now Honey found herself at the prom, seated in her usual
corner, watching the others dancing and having a wonderful
time.
And that was when the miracle occurred.

Roger Merton, the captain of the football team and the
most popular boy at school, was on the dance floor, having a
fight with his girlfriend. He had been drinking. "You're a
no-good, selfish bastard!" she said. "And you're a dumb
bitch!" "You can go screw yourself." "I don't have to screw
myself, Sally. I can screw somebody else. Anyone I want to."
"Go ahead!" She stormed off the dance floor. Honey could
not help but overhear. Merton saw her looking at him. "What
the hell are you staring at?" He was slurring his words.
"Nothing," Honey said.
"I'll show the bitch! You think I won't show her?" "I ...
yes."
"Damn right. Let's have a li'l drink." Honey hesitated.
Merton was obviously drunk. "Well, I don't ..."
"Great. I have a bottle in the car." "I really don't think
I ..." And he had Honey's arm and was steering her out of the
room. She went along because she did not want to make a scene
and embarrass him.

Outside, Honey tried to pull away. "Roger, I don't think
this is a good idea. I . . ." "What the hell are
you-chicken?" "No, I ..." "Okay, then. Come on."
He led her to his car and opened the door. Honey stood
there a moment. "Get in."
"I can only stay a moment," Honey said.
She got in the car because she did not want to upset
Roger. He climbed in beside her.
"We're going to show that dumb broad, aren't we?" He held
out a bottle of bourbon. "Here."
Honey had had only one drink of alcohol before and she had
hated it. But she did not want to hurt Roger's feelings. She
looked at him and reluctantly took a small sip.

"You're okay," he said. "You're new at school, huh?"
Honey was in three of his classes. "No," Honey said. I
..."
He leaned over and began to play with her breasts.
Startled, Honey pulled away.
"Hey! Come on. Don't you want to please me?" he said.
And that was the magic phrase. Honey wanted to please
everybody, and if this was the way to do it . . .

In the uncomfortable backseat of Merton's car, Honey had
sex for the first time, and it opened an incred-ible new
world to her. She did not particularly enjoy the sex, but
that was not important. The important thing was that Merton
enjoyed it. In fact, Honey was amazed by how much he enjoyed
it. It seemed to make him ecstatic. She had never seen anyone
enjoy anything so much. So this is how to please a man, Honey
thought.
It was an epiphany.


Honey was unable to get the miracle of what had occurred
out of her mind. She lay in bed, remembering Merton's hard
maleness inside her, thrusting faster and
faster, and then his moans, "Oh, yes, yes, you're
fantastic, Sally ..."
And Honey had not even minded that. She had pleased the
captain of the football team! The most popu-lar boy in
school! And I really didn't even know what I was doing, Honey
thought. I'll truly learned how to please a man . . .
And that was when Honey had her second epiphany.

The following morning, Honey went to the Pleasure Chest, a
porno bookstore on Poplar Street, and bought half a dozen
books on eroticism. She smuggled them home and read them in
the privacy of her room. She was astounded by what she was
reading.

She raced through the pages of The Perfumed Garden and the
Kama Sutra, the Tibetan Arts of Love, the Al-chemy of
Ecstasy, and then went back for more. She read the words of
Gedun Chopel and the arcane accounts by Kanchinatha.
She studied the exciting photographs of the thirty-seven
positions of lovemaking, and she learned the meaning of the
Half Moon and the Circle, the Lotus Petal, and the Pieces of
Cloud, and the way of churning.

Honey became an expert on the eight types of oral sex, and
the paths of the sixteen pleasures, and the ecstasy of the
string of marbles. She knew how to teach a man to perform
karuna, to intensify his pleasure. In theory, at least.
Honey felt she was now ready to put her knowledge into
practice.
The Kama Sutra had several chapters on aphrodisiacs to
arouse a man, but since Honey had no idea where she could
obtain Hedysarum gangeticum, the kshirika plant, or the
Xanthochymus pictorius, she figured out her own substitutes.
When Honey saw Roger Merton in class the following week,
she walked up to him and said, "I really enjoyed the other
night. Can we do it again?"
It took him a moment to remember who Honey was. "Oh. Sure.
Why not? My folks are out tonight. Why don't you come by
about eight o'clock?"
When Honey arrived at Merton's house that night, she had a
small jar of maple syrup with her.
"What's that for?" Merton asked.
"I'm going to show you," Honey said.
She showed him.
The next day, Merton was telling his buddies at school
about Honey.
"She's incredible," he said. "You wouldn't believe what
she can do with a little warm syrup!"

That afternoon, half a dozen boys were asking Honey for
dates. From that time on, she started going out every night.
The boys were very happy, and that made Honey very happy.
Honey's parents were delighted by their daughter's sudden
popularity.
"It took our girl a little while to bloom," her father
said proudly, "but now she's turned into a real Taft!"
Honey had always had poor grades in mathematics, and she
knew she had failed badly on her final test. Her mathematics
teacher, Mr. Janson, was a bachelor and lived near the
school. Honey paid him a visit one eve-ning. He opened the
door and looked at her in surprise.
"Honey! What are you doing here?"
"I need your help," Honey said. "My father will kill me if
I fail your course. I brought some math prob-lems, and I
wonder if you would mind going over them with me."
He hesitated a moment. "This is unusual, but . . . very
well."
Mr. Janson liked Honey. She was not like the other girls
in his class. They were raucous and indifferent, while Honey
was sensitive and caring, always eager to please. He wished
that she had more of an aptitude for mathematics.
Mr. Janson sat next to Honey on the couch and began to
explain the arcane intricacies of logarithms.

Honey was not interested in logarithms. As Mr. Jan-son
talked, Honey moved closer and closer to him. She started
breathing on his neck and into his ear, and before he knew
what was happening, Mr. Janson found that his pants were
unzipped.

He was looking at Honey in astonishment. "What are you
doing?"
"I've wanted you since the first time I saw you," Honey
said. She opened her purse and took out a small can of
whipped cream.
"What's that?"
"Let me show you ..."
Honey received an A in math.

It was not only the accessories Honey used that made her
so popular. It was the knowledge she had gleaned from all the
ancient books on erotica she had read. She delighted her
partners with techniques they had never even dreamed of, that
were thousands of years old, and long forgotten. She brought
a new meaning to the word "ecstasy."

Honey's grades improved dramatically, and she was suddenly
even more popular than her sisters had been in their high
school days. Honey was dined at the Private Eye and the
Bombay Bicycle Club, and taken to the Ice Capades at the
Memphis Mall. The boys took her skiing at Cedar Cliff and sky
diving at Landis Airport.

Honey's years at college were just as successful
so-cially. At dinner one evening, her father said, "You'll be
graduating soon. It's time to think about your future. Do you
know what you want to do with your life?"
She answered immediately. "I want to be a nurse."
Her father's face reddened. "You mean a doctor."
"No, Father. I . . ."
"You're a Taft. If you want to go into medicine, you'll be
a doctor. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Father."
Honey had meant it when she told her father she wanted to
be a nurse. She loved taking care of people, helping them and
nurturing them. She was terrified by the idea of becoming a
doctor, and being responsible for people's lives. But she
knew that she must not disap-point her father. You're a Taft.

Honey's college grades were not good enough to get her
into medical school, but her father's influence was. He was a
heavy contributor to a medical school in Knoxville,
Tennessee. He met with Dr. Jim Pearson, the dean.

"You're asking for a big favor," Pearson said, "but I'll
tell you what I'll do. I'll admit Honey on a probation-ary
basis. If at the end of six months we feel she's not
qualified to continue, we'll have to let her go."
"Fair enough. She's going to surprise you."
He was right.

Honey's father had made arrangements for her to stay in
Knoxville with a cousin of his, the Reverend Douglas Lipton.
Douglas Lipton was the minister of the Baptist Church. He
was in his sixties, married to a woman ten years older.
The minister was delighted to have Honey in the house.
"She's like a breath of fresh air," he told his wife.
He had never seen anyone so eager to please.

Honey did fairly well in medical school, but she lacked
dedication. She was there only to please her father.
Honey's teachers liked her. There was a genuine nice-ness
about her that made her professors want her to succeed.
Ironically, she was particularly weak in anatomy. During
the eighth week, her anatomy teacher sent for her. "I'm
afraid I'm going to have to fail you," he said unhappily.
I can't fail, Honey thought. I can't let my father down.
What would Boccaccio have advised"?
Honey moved closer to the professor. "I came to this
school because of you. I had heard so much about you." She
moved closer to him. "I want to be like you." And closer.
"Being a doctor means everything to me." And closer. "Please
help me . . ."
One hour later, when Honey left his office, she had the
answers to the next examination.


Before Honey was finished with medical school, she had
seduced several of her professors. There was a helplessness
about her that they were unable to resist. They were all
under the impression that it was they who were seducing her,
and they felt guilty about taking advantage of her innocence.

Dr. Jim Pearson was the last to succumb to Honey. He was
intrigued by all the reports he had heard about her. There
were rumors of her extraordinary sexual skills. He sent for
Honey one day to discuss her grades. She brought a small box
of powdered sugar with her, and before the afternoon was
over, Dr. Pearson was as hooked as all the others. Honey made
him feel young and insatiable. She made him feel that he was
a king who had subjugated her and made her his slave.

He tried not to think of his wife and children.
Honey was genuinely fond of the Reverend Douglas Lipton,
and it upset her that his wife was a cold, frigid woman who
was always criticizing him. Honey felt sorry for the
minister. He doesn't deserve that, Honey thought. He needs
comforting.

In the middle of the night, when Mrs. Lipton was out of
town visiting a sister, Honey walked into the minister's
bedroom. She was naked. "Douglas . . ."
His eyes flew open. "Honey? Are you all right?"
"No," she said. "Can I talk to you?"
"Of course." He reached for the lamp.
"Don't turn on the light." She crept into bed beside him.
"What's the matter? Aren't you feeling well?"
"I'm worried."
"About what?"
"You. You deserve to be loved. I want to make love to
you."
He was wide awake. "My God!" he said. "You're just a
child. You can't be serious."
"I am. Your wife's not giving you any love. ..."
"Honey, this is impossible! You'd better get back to your
room now, and ..."
He could feel her naked body pressing against his. "Honey,
we can't do this. I'm ..."
Her lips were on his, and her body was on top of him, and
he was completely swept away. She spent the night in his bed.

At six o'clock in the morning, the door to the bed-room
opened and Mrs. Lipton walked in. She stood there, staring at
the two of them, then walked out with-out a word.

Two hours later, the Reverend Douglas Lipton com-mitted
suicide in his garage.
When Honey heard the news, she was devastated, unable to
believe what had happened.
The sheriff arrived at the house and had a talk with Mrs.
Lipton.
When he was through, he went to find Honey. "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."

Honey had gone to Embarcadero County Hospital in San
Francisco.
With a glowing recommendation from Dr. Jim Pear-son.




Chapter Nine




Time had lost all meaning for Paige. There was no
beginning and no end, and the days and nights flowed into one
another in a seamless rhythm. The hospital had become her
whole life. The outside world was a foreign, faraway planet.
Christmas came and went, and a new year began. In the
world outside, U.S. troops liberated Kuwait from Iraq.

There was no word from Alfred. He'll find out he made a
mistake, Paige thought. He'll come back to me.

The early morning crank telephone calls had stopped as
suddenly as they had started. Paige was relieved that no new
mysterious or threatening incidents had befallen her. It was
almost as if they had all been a bad dream . . . except, of
course, they hadn't been.

The routine continued to be frantic. There was no time to
know patients. They were simply gallbladders and ruptured
livers, fractured femurs and broken backs.

The hospital was a jungle filled with mechanical
demons-respirators, heart rate monitors, CAT scan equipment,
X-ray machines. And each had its own pe-culiar sound. There
were whistles, and buzzers, and the constant chatter on the
PA system, and they all blended into a loud, insane
cacophony.

The second year of residency was a rite of passage. The
residents moved up to more demanding duties and watched the
new group come in, feeling a mixture of scorn and arrogance
toward them.

"Those poor devils," Kat said to Paige. "They have no idea
what they're in for."
"They'll find out soon enough."

Paige and Honey were becoming worried about Kat. She was
losing weight, and seemed depressed. In the middle of
conversations, they would find Kat looking off into space,
her mind preoccupied. From time to time, she would receive a
mysterious phone call, and after each one her depression
seemed to worsen.
Paige and Honey sat down to have a talk with her.

"Is everything all right?" Paige asked. "You know we love
you, and if there's a problem, we'd like to help."
"Thanks. I appreciate it, but there's nothing you can do.
It's a money problem."
Honey looked at her in surprise. "What do you need money
for? We never go anyplace. We haven't any time to buy
anything. We-"
"It's not for me. It's for my brother." Kat had not
mentioned her brother before.
"I didn't know you had a brother," Paige said.
"Does he live in San Francisco?" Honey asked.
Kat was hesitant. "No. He lives back East. In Detroit.
You'll have to meet him one day."
"We'd like to. What does he do?"
"He's kind of an entrepreneur," Kat said vaguely. "He's a
little down on his luck right now, but Mike will bounce back.
He always does." I hope to God I'm right, Kat thought.

Harry Bowman had transferred from a residency pro-gram in
Iowa. He was a good-humored, happy-go-lucky fellow who went
out of his way to be pleasant to every-one.
One day, he said to Paige, "I'm giving a little party
tomorrow night. If you and Dr. Hunter and Dr. Taft are free,
why don't you come? I think you'll have a good time."
"Fine," Paige said. "What shall we bring?"
Bowman laughed. "Don't bring anything."
"Are you sure?" Paige asked. "A bottle of wine, or. . ."
"Forget it! It's going to be at my little apartment."

Bowman's little apartment turned out to be a ten-room
penthouse, filled with antique furniture.
The three women walked in and stared in amazement.
"My God!" Kat said. "Where did all this come from?"
"I was smart enough to have a clever father," Bow-man
said. "He left all his money to me."
"And you're working?" Kat marveled.
Bowman smiled. "I like being a doctor."

The buffet consisted of Beluga Malossol caviar, pate de
campagne, smoked Scottish salmon, oysters on the half shell,
backfin lump crabmeat, crudites with a shal-lot vinaigrette
dressing, and Cristal champagne.

Bowman had been right. The three of them did have a
wonderful time.
"I can't thank you enough," Paige told Bowman at the end
of the evening when they were leaving.
"Are you free Saturday?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I have a little motorboat. I'll take you out for a
spin." "Sounds great."
At four o'clock in the morning, Kat was awakened out of a
deep sleep in the on-call room. "Dr. Hunter, Emergency Room
Three. . . . Dr. Hunter, Emergency Three."
Kat got out of bed, fighting exhaustion. Rubbing sleep
from her eyes, she took the elevator down to the ER.
An orderly greeted her at the door. "He's over on the
gurney in the corner. He's in a lot of pain."
Kat walked over to him. "I'm Dr. Hunter," she said
sleepily.
He groaned. "Jesus, doc. You've got to do somethin'. My
back is killin' me."
Kat stifled a yawn. "How long have you been in pain?"
"About two weeks."
Kat was looking at him, puzzled. "Two weeks? Why didn't
you come in sooner?"
He tried to move, and winced. "To tell you the truth, I
hate hospitals."
"Then why are you coming in now?"
He brightened. "There's a big golf tournament com-ing up,
and if you don't fix my back, I won't be able to enjoy it."
Kat took a deep breath. "A golf tournament."
"Yeah."
She was fighting to control herself. "I'll tell you what.
Go home. Take two aspirins, and if you aren't feeling better
in the morning give me a call." She turned and stormed out of
the room, leaving him gaping after her.

Harry Bowman's little motorboat was a sleek fifty-foot
motor cruiser.
"Welcome aboard!" he said as he greeted Paige, Kat, and
Honey at the dock.
Honey looked at the boat admiringly.
"It's beautiful," Paige said.
They cruised around the bay for three hours, enjoying the
warm, sunny day. It was the first time any of them had
relaxed in weeks.
While they were anchored off Angel Island, eating a
delicious lunch, Kat said, "This is the life. Let's not go
back to shore."
"Good thinking," Honey said.
All in all, it was a heavenly day.
When they returned to the dock, Paige said, "I can't tell
you how much I've enjoyed this."
"It's been my pleasure." Bowman patted her arm.
"We'll do it again. Anytime. You three are always
welcome." What a lovely man, Paige thought.


Honey liked working in obstetrics. It was a ward filled
with new life and new hope, in a timeless, joyful ritual.
The first-time mothers were eager and apprehensive. The
veterans could not wait to get it over with.
One of the women who was about to deliver said to Honey,
"Thank God! I'll be able to see my toes again."

If Paige had kept a diary, she would have marked the
fifteenth of August as a red-letter day. That was the day
Jimmy Ford came into her life.
Jimmy was a hospital orderly, with the brightest smile and
the sunniest disposition Paige had ever seen. He was small
and thin, and looked seventeen. He was twenty-five, and moved
around the hospital corridors like a cheerful tornado.
Nothing was too much trouble for him.
He was constantly running errands for everyone. He had
absolutely no sense of status and treated doctors, nurses,
and janitors alike.
Jimmy Ford loved to tell jokes.
"Did you hear about the patient in a body cast? The fellow
in the bed next to him asked him what he did for a living.
"He said, 'I was a window washer at the Empire State
Building.'
"The other fellow said, 'When did you quit?'
" 'Halfway down.' "
And Jimmy would grin and hurry off to help some-body.

He adored Paige. "I'm going to be a doctor one day. I want
to be like you."
He would bring her little presents-candy bars, and stuffed
toys. A joke went with each gift.
"In Houston, a man stopped a pedestrian and asked, 'What's
the quickest way to the hospital?'
" 'Say something bad about Texas.' "
The jokes were terrible, but Jimmy made them sound funny.
He would arrive at the hospital the same time as Paige,
and he would race up to her on his motorcycle.
"The patient asked, 'Will my operation be danger-ous?'
"And the surgeon said, 'No. You can't get a danger-ous
operation for two hundred dollars.' "
And he would be gone.

Whenever Paige, Kat, and Honey were free on the same day,
they went out exploring San Francisco. They visited the Dutch
Mill and the Japanese Tea Garden. They went to Fisherman's
Wharf and rode the cable car. They went to see plays at the
Curran Theater, and had dinner at the Maharani on Post
Street. All the wait-ers were Indian, and to the astonishment
of Kat and Honey, Paige addressed them in Hindi.

"Hum Hindustani bant bahut ocho bolta hi." And from that
moment, the restaurant was theirs.
"Where in the world did you learn to talk Indian?" Honey
asked.
"Hindi," Paige said. She hesitated. "We ... I lived in
India for a while." It was still so vivid. She and Alfred
were at Agra, staring at the Taj Mahal. Shah Jahan built that
for his wife. It took twenty years, Alfred.
I'm going to build you a Taj Mahal. I don't care how long
it takes!
This is Karen Turner. My wife.
She heard her name called, and turned.
"Paige ..." There was a look of concern on Kat's face.
"Are you all right?"
"Fine. I'm fine."

The impossible hours continued. Another New Year's Eve
came and went, and the second year slid into the third, and
nothing had changed. The hospital was un-touched by the
outside world. The wars and famines and disasters of far-off
countries paled by comparison with the life-and-death crises
they coped with twenty-four hours a day.

Whenever Kat and Paige met in the hospital corridors, Kat
would grin and say, "Having a good time?"
"When did you sleep last?" Paige asked.
Kat sighed. "Who can remember?"

They stumbled through the long days and nights, trying to
keep up with the incessant, demanding pres-sure, grabbing
sandwiches when they had time, and drinking cold coffee out
of paper cups.


The sexual harassment seemed to have become a part of
Kat's life. There were the constant innuendos not only from
the doctors, but also from patients who tried to get her into
bed. They got the same response as the doctors. There's not a
man in the world I'll let touch me.

And she really believed it.
In the middle of a busy morning, there was another
telephone call from Mike.
"Hi, sis."
And Kat knew what was coming. She had sent him all the
money she could spare, but deep down inside, she knew that
whatever she sent would never be enough.
"I hate like hell to bother you, Kat. I really do. But I
got into a small jam." His voice sounded strained.
"Mike . . . are you all right?"
"Oh, yeah. It's nothing serious. It's just that I owe
somebody who needs his money back right away, and I was
wondering ..."
"I'll see what I can do," Kat said wearily.
"Thanks. I can always count on you, can't I, sis? I love
you."
"I love you, too, Mike."
One day, Kat said to Paige and Honey, "Do you know what we
all need?"
"A month's sleep?"
"A vacation. That's where we should be, strolling down the
Champs Elysees, looking in all those expen-sive shop
windows."
"Right. First-class all the way!" Paige giggled. "We'll
sleep all day and play all night."
Honey laughed. "Sounds good."
"We have some vacation time coming up in a few months,"
Paige observed. "Why don't we make some plans for the three
of us to go away somewhere?"
"That's a great idea," Kat said enthusiastically.
"Saturday, let's stop in at a travel agency."
They ,, spent the next three days excitedly making plans.
"I'm dying to see London. Maybe we'll run into the queen."
"Paris is where I want to go. It's supposed to be the most
romantic city in the world."
"I want to ride a gondola in the moonlight in Ven-ice."
Maybe we'll go to Venice on our honeymoon, Paige, Alfred
had said. Would you like that?
Oh, yes!
She wondered if Alfred had taken Karen to Venice on their
honeymoon.




Saturday morning the three of them stopped in at the
Corniche Travel Agency on Powell Street.
The woman behind the counter was polite. "What kind of
trip are you interested in?"
"We'd like to go to Europe-London, Paris, Ven-ice . . ."
"Lovely. We have some economical package tours that-"
"No, no, no." Paige looked at Honey and grinned.
"First-class."
"Right. First-class air travel," Kat chimed in.
"First-class hotels," Honey added.
"Well, I can recommend the Ritz in London, the Crillon in
Paris, the Cipriani in Venice, and-"
Paige said, "Why don't we just take some brochures with
us? We can study them and make up our minds."
"That will be fine," the travel agent said.
Paige was looking at a brochure. "You arrange yacht
charters, too?"
"Yes."
"Good. We may be chartering one."
"Excellent." The travel agent collected a handful of
brochures and handed them to Paige. "Whenever you're ready,
just let me know and I'll be happy to make your
reservations."
"You'll hear from us," Honey promised.
When they got outside, Kat laughed and said, "Noth-ing
like dreaming big, is there?"
"Don't worry," Paige assured her. "One day we'll be able
to go to all those places."




Chapter Ten




Seymour Wilson, the chief of medicine at Embarcadero
County Hospital, was a frustrated man with an impossible job.
There were too many patients, too few doctors and nurses, and
too few hours in a day. He felt like the captain of a sinking
ship, running around vainly trying to plug up the holes.

At the moment, Dr. Wilson's immediate concern was Honey
Taft. While some doctors seemed to like her a great deal,
reliable residents and nurses kept reporting that Dr. Taft
was incapable of doing her job.

Wilson finally went to see Ben Wallace. "I want to get rid
of one of our doctors," he said. "The residents she makes
rounds with tell me she's incompetent."
Wallace remembered Honey. She was the one who had the
extraordinarily high grades and glowing recom-mendation. "I
don't understand it," he said. "There must be some mistake."
He was thoughtful for a moment. "I'll tell you what we'll do,
Seymour. Who's the meanest son of a bitch on your staff?"
"Ted Allison."
"All right. Tomorrow morning, send Honey Taft out on
rounds with Dr. Allison. Have him give you a report on her.
If he says she's incompetent, I'll get rid of her."
"Fair enough," Dr. Wilson said. "Thanks, Ben."

At lunch, Honey told Paige that she had been assigned to
make the rounds with Dr. Allison the following morn-ing.
"I know him," Paige said. "He has a miserable reputation."
"That's what I hear," Honey said thoughtfully.

At that moment, in another part of the hospital, Sey-mour
Wilson was talking to Ted Allison. Allison was a hard-bitten
veteran of twenty-five years. He had served as a medical
officer in the navy, and he still took pride in "kicking
ass."
Seymour Wilson was saying, "I want you to keep a close eye
on Dr. Taft. If she can't cut it, she's out. Understood?"
"Understood."
He was looking forward to this. Like Seymour Wil-son, Ted
Allison despised incompetent doctors. In addi-tion, he had a
strong conviction that if women wanted to be in the medical
profession, they should be nurses. If it was good enough for
Florence Nightingale, it was good enough for the rest of
them.


At six o'clock the following morning, the residents
gathered in the corridor to begin their rounds. The group
consisted of Dr. Allison, Tom Benson, who was his chief
assistant, and five residents, including Honey Taft.
Now, as Allison looked at Honey, he thought, Okay, sister,
let's see what you've got. He turned to the group. "Let's
go."
The first patient in Ward One was a teenage girl lying in
bed, covered with heavy blankets. She was asleep when the
group approached her.
"All right," Dr. Allison said. "I want you all to take a
look at her chart."
The residents began to study the patient's chart. Dr.
Allison turned to Honey. "This patient has fever, chills,
general malaise, and anorexia. She has a temperature, a
cough, and pneumonia. What's your diagnosis, Dr. Taft?"
Honey stood there, frowning, silent.
"Well?"
"Well," Honey said thoughtfully, "I would say she probably
has psittacosis-parrot fever."
Dr. Allison was looking at her in surprise. "What . . .
what makes you say that?"
"Her symptoms are typical of psittacosis, and I no-ticed
that she works part-time as a clerk in a pet shop.
Psittacosis is transmitted by infected parrots."
Allison nodded slowly. "That's . . . that's very good. Do
you know what the treatment is?"
"Yes. Tetracycline for ten days, strict bed rest, and
plenty of fluids."
Dr. Allison turned to the group, "Did you all hear that?
Dr. Taft is absolutely right."
They moved on to the next patient.
Dr. Allison said, "If you'll examine his chart, you'll
find that he has mesothelial tumors, bloody effusion, and
fatigue. What's the diagnosis?"
One of the residents said, hopefully, "It sounds like some
form of pneumonia."
A second resident spoke up. "It could be cancer."
Dr. Allison turned to Honey. "What is your diagno-sis,
doctor?"
Honey looked thoughtful. "Offhand, I'd say it was fibrous
pneumoconiosis, a form of asbestos poisoning. His chart shows
that he works in a carpet mill."
Ted Allison could not conceal his admiration. "Ex-cellent!
Excellent! Do you happen to know what the therapy is?"
"Unfortunately, no specific therapy is available yet."

It became even more impressive. In the next two hours,
Honey diagnosed a rare case of Reiter's syn-drome, osteitis
deformans polycythemia, and malaria.
When the rounds were over, Dr. Allison shook Honey's hand.
"I'm not easily impressed, doctor, but I want to tell you
that you have a tremendous future!"
Honey blushed. "Thank you, Dr. Allison."
"And I intend to tell Ben Wallace so," he said as he
walked away.
Tom Benson, Allison's senior assistant, looked at Honey
and smiled. "I'll meet you in half an hour, baby."


Paige tried to stay out of the way of Dr. Arthur Kane-007.
But at every opportunity, Kane asked for Paige to assist him
with operations. And each time, he would become more
offensive.
"What do you mean, you won't go out with me? You must be
getting it from someone else."
And, "I may be short, honey, but not everywhere. You know
what I mean?"
She came to dread the occasions she had to work with him.
Time after time, Paige watched Kane perform unnecessary
surgery and take out organs that were healthy.

One day, as Paige and Kane were walking toward the
operating room, Paige asked, "What are we going to operate
on, doctor?"
"His wallet!" He saw the look on Paige's face. "Just
kidding, honey."
"He should be working in a butcher shop," Paige later said
angrily to Kat. "He has no right to be op-erating on people."
After a particularly inept liver operation, Dr. Kane
turned to Paige and shook his head. "Too bad. I don't know if
he's going to make it."

It was all Paige could do to contain her anger. She
decided to have a talk with Tom Chang.
"Someone should report Dr. Kane," Paige said. "He's
murdering his patients!"
"Take it easy."
"I can't! It's not right that they let a man like that
operate. It's criminal. He should be brought up before the
credentials committee."
"What good would it do? You'd have to get other doctors to
testify against him, and no one would be willing to do that.
This is a close community, and we all have to live in it,
Paige. It's almost impossible to get one doctor to testify
against another. We're all vul-nerable and we need each other
too much. Calm down. I'll take you out and buy you lunch."
Paige sighed. "All right, but it's a lousy system."
At lunch, Paige asked, "How are you and Sye do-ing?"
He took a moment to answer. "I . . . we're having
problems. My work is destroying our marriage. I don't know
what to do."
"I'm sure it will work out," Paige said.
Chang said fiercely, "It had better."
Paige looked up at him.
"I would kill myself if she left me."


The following morning, Arthur Kane was scheduled to
perform a kidney operation. The chief of surgery said to
Paige, "Dr. Kane asked for you to assist him in OR Four."
Paige's mouth was suddenly dry. She hated the thought of
being near him.
Paige said,' 'Couldn't you get someone else to . . .?"
"He's waiting for you, doctor."
Paige sighed. "Right."
By the time Paige had scrubbed up, the operation was
already in progress.
"Give me a hand here, darling," Kane said to Paige.
The patient's abdomen had been painted with an io-dine
solution and an incision had been made in the right upper
quadrant of the abdomen, just below the rib cage. So far, so
good, Paige thought.
"Scalpel!"
The scrub nurse handed Dr. Kane a scalpel.
He looked up. "Put some music on."
A moment later a CD began to play.
Dr. Kane kept cutting. "Let's have something a little
peppier." He looked over at Paige. "Start the bovie,
sweetheart."
Sweetheart. Paige gritted her teeth and picked up a
bovie-an electric cautery tool. She began to cauterize the
arteries to reduce the amount of blood in the abdo-men. The
operation was going well.
Thank God, Paige thought.
"Sponge."
The scrub nurse handed Kane a sponge.
"Good. Let's have some suction." He cut around the kidney
until it was exposed. "There's the little devil," Dr. Kane
said. "More suction." He lifted up the kidney with forceps.
"Right. Let's sew him back up."
For once, everything had gone well, yet something was
bothering Paige. She took a closer look at the kid-ney. It
looked healthy. She frowned, wondering if ...
As Dr. Kane began sewing up the patient, Paige hur-ried
over to the X-ray in the lighted wall frame. She studied it
for a moment and said softly, "Oh, my God!"
The X-ray had been put up backward. Dr. Kane had removed
the wrong kidney.


Thirty minutes later, Paige was in Ben Wallace's office.
"He took out a healthy kidney and left in a diseased one!"
Paige's voice was trembling. "The man should be put in jail!"
Benjamin Wallace said soothingly, "Paige, I agree with you
that it's regrettable. But it certainly wasn't intentional.
It was a mistake, and-"
"A mistake'? That patient is going to have to live on
dial-ysis for the rest of his life. Someone should pay for
that!"
"Believe me, we're going to have a peer review
evaluation."
Paige knew what that meant: a group of physicians would
review what had happened, but it would be done in confidence.
The information would be withheld from the public and the
patient.

"Dr. Wallace ..."
"You're part of our team, Paige. You've got to be a team
player.''
"He has no business working in this hospital. Or any other
hospital."
"You've got to look at the whole picture. If he were
removed, there would be bad publicity and the reputa-tion of
the hospital would be hurt. We'd probably face a lot of
malpractice suits."
"What about the patients?"
"We'll keep a closer eye on Dr. Kane." He leaned forward
in his chair. "I'm going to give you some advice. When you
get into private practice, you're going j to need the
goodwill of other doctors for referrals. With-1 out that,
you'll go nowhere, and if you get the reputation! of being a
maverick and blowing the whistle on your: fellow doctors, you
won't get any referrals. I can prom-ise you that."
Paige rose. "So you aren't going to do anything?"
"I told you, we're going to do a peer review evalua-tion."
"And that's it?" "That's it."
"It's not fair," Paige said. She was in the cafeteria
having lunch with Kat and Honey.
Kat shook her head. "Nobody said life has to be fair."
Paige looked around the antiseptic white-tiled room. "This
whole place depresses me. Everybody is sick."
"Or they wouldn't be here," Kat pointed out.
"Why don't we give a party?" Honey suggested.
"A party? What are you talking about?"
Honey's voice was suddenly filled with enthusiasm. "We
could order up some decent food and liquor, and have a
celebration! I think we could all use a little cheering up."
Paige thought for a second. "You know," she said, "that's
not a bad idea. Let's do it!"
"It's a deal. I'll organize things," Honey told them.
"We'll do it tomorrow after rounds."


Arthur Kane approached Paige in the corridor. There was
ice in his voice. "You've been a naughty girl. Someone should
teach you to keep your mouth shut!" And he walked away.

Paige looked after him in disbelief. Wallace told him what
I said. He shouldn't have done that. 'If you get the
reputation of being a maverick and blowing the whistle on
your fellow doctors . . .' Would Ido it again? Paige
pondered. Darned right I would!

News of the forthcoming party spread rapidly. All the
residents chipped in. A lavish menu was ordered from Ernie's,
and liquor was delivered from a nearby store. The party was
set for five o'clock in the doctors' lounge. The food and
drinks arrived at four-thirty. There was a feast: seafood
platters with lobster and shrimp, a variety of pates, Swedish
meatballs, hot pasta, fruit, and desserts. When Paige, Kat,
and Honey walked into the lounge at five-fifteen, it was
already crowded with eager residents, interns, and nurses,
eating and having a wonderful time.

Paige turned to Honey. "This was a great idea!"
Honey smiled. "Thank you."
An announcement came over the loudspeaker. "Dr. Finley and
Dr. Ketler to the ER. Stat." And the two doctors, in the
middle of downing shrimp, looked at each other, sighed, and
hurriedly left the room.
Tom Chang came up to Paige. "We ought to do this every
week," he said.
"Right. It's-"
The loudspeaker came on again. "Dr. Chang . . . Room 7.
... Dr. Chang . . . Room 7."
And a minute later, "Dr. Smythe . . . ER Two. . . . Dr.
Smythe to ER Two."
The loudspeaker never stopped. Within thirty min-utes,
almost every doctor and nurse had been called away on some
emergency. Honey heard her name called, and then Paige's, and
Kat's.
"I can't believe what's happening," Kat said. "You know
how people talk about having a guardian angel?
Well, I think the three of us are under the spell of a
guardian devil." Her words proved to be prophetic.

The next Monday morning, when Paige got off duty and went
to get into her car, two of the tires had been slashed. She
stared at them in disbelief. Someone should teach you to keep
your mouth shut!

When she got back to the apartment she said to Kat and
Honey, "Watch out for Arthur Kane. He's crazy."




Chapter Eleven




Kat was awakened by the ring of the telephone. Without
opening her eyes, she reached out for it and put the receiver
to her ear.
"H'lo?"
"Kat? It's Mike."
She sat up, her heart suddenly pounding. "Mike, are you
all right?" She heard him laugh.
"Never better, sis. Thanks to you and your friend."
"My friend?"
"Mr. Dinetto."
"Who?" Kat tried to concentrate, groggy with sleep.
"Mr. Dinetto. He really saved my life."
Kat had no idea what he was talking about. " Mike. . ."
"You know the fellows I owed money to? Mr. Di-netto got
them off my back. He's a real gentleman. And he thinks the
world of you, Kat."
Kat had forgotten the incident with Dinetto, but now it
suddenly flashed into her mind: Lady, you don't know who
you're talking to. You better do what the man says. This is
Mr. Lou Dinetto.
Mike was going on. "I'm sending you some cash, Kat. Your
friend arranged for me to get a job. It pays real good
money."
Your friend. Kat was nervous.. "Mike, listen to me. I want
you to be careful."
She heard him laugh again.
"Don't worry about me. Didn't I tell you everything would
be coming up roses? Well, I was right."
"Take care of yourself, Mike. Don't-"
The connection was broken.
Kat was unable to go back to sleep. Dinetto! How did he
find out about Mike, and why is he helping him?

The following night, when Kat left the hospital, a black
limousine was waiting for her at the curb. The Shadow and
Rhino were standing beside it.
As Kat started to pass, Rhino said, "Get in, doctor. Mr.
Dinetto wants to see you."
She studied the man for a moment. Rhino was
omi-nous-looking, but it was the Shadow who frightened Kat.
There was something deadly about his stillness. Under other
circumstances, Kat would never have got-ten into the car, but
Mike's telephone call had puzzled her. And worried her.

She was driven to a small apartment on the outskirts of
the city, and when she arrived, Dinetto was waiting for her.
"Thanks for coming, Dr. Hunter," he said. "I appreciate
it. A friend of mine had a little accident. I want you to
take a look at him."
"What are you doing with Mike?" Kat demanded.
"Nothing," he said innocently. "I heard he was in a little
trouble, and I got it taken care of."
"How did . . . how did you find out about him? I mean,
that he was my brother and ..."
Dinetto smiled. "In my business, we're all friends. We
help each other. Mike got mixed up with some bad boys, so I
helped him out. You should be grateful."
"I am," Kat said. "I really am."
"Good! You know the saying 'One hand washes the other'?"
Kat shook her head. "I won't do anything illegal."
"Illegal?" Dinetto said. He seemed hurt. "I wouldn't ask
you to do anything like that. This friend of mine was in a
little accident and he hates hospitals. Would you take a look
at him?"
What am I letting myself in for? Kat wondered. "Very
well."
"He's in the bedroom."
Dinetto's friend had been badly beaten up. He was lying in
bed, unconscious.
"What happened to him?" Kat asked.
Dinetto looked at her and said, ' 'He fell down a flight
of stairs."
"He should be in a hospital."
"I told you, he doesn't like hospitals. I can get you
whatever hospital equipment you need. I had another doctor
who took care of my friends, but he had an accident."

The words sent a chill through Kat. She wanted noth-ing
more than to run out of the place and go home, and never hear
Dinetto's name again, but nothing in life was free. Quid pro
quo. Kat took off her coat and went to work.




Chapter Twelve




By the beginning of her fourth year of residency, Paige
had assisted in hundreds of operations. They had become
second nature to her. She knew the surgery procedures for the
gallbladder, spleen, liver, appendix, and, most exciting, the
heart. But Paige was frustrated because she was not doing the
operations her-self. Whatever happened to "Watch one, do one,
teach one"? she wondered.
The answer came when George Englund, chief of surgery,
sent for her.

"Paige, there's a hernia operation scheduled for to-morrow
in OR Three, seven-thirty a.m."
She made a note. "Right. Who's doing the opera-tion?"
"You are."
"Right. I ..." The words suddenly sank in. "I am?"
"Yes. Any problem with that?"
Paige's grin lit up the room. "No, sir! I... thanks!"
"You're ready for it. I think the patient's lucky to have
you. His name is Walter Herzog. He's in 314." "Herzog. Room
314. Right." And Paige was out the door.

Paige had never been so excited. I'm going to do my first
operation! I'm going to hold a human being's life in my
hands. What if I'm not ready"? What if I make a mistakel
Things can go wrong. It's Murphy's Law. By the time Paige was
through arguing with herself, she was in a state of panic.

She went into the cafeteria and sat down to have a cup of
black coffee. It's going to be all right, she told herself.
I've assisted in dozens of hernia operations. There's nothing
to it. He's lucky to have me. By the time she finished her
coffee, she was calm enough to face her first patient.

Walter Herzog was in his sixties, thin, bald, and very
nervous. He was in bed, clutching his groin, when Paige
walked in, carrying a bouquet of flowers. Herzog looked up.

"Nurse ... I want to see a doctor."
Paige walked over to the bed and handed him the flowers.
"I'm the doctor. I'm going to operate on you."
He looked at the flowers, and looked at her. "You're
what?"
"Don't worry," Paige said reassuringly. "You're in good
hands." She picked up his chart at the foot of the bed and
studied it.
"What does it say?" the man asked anxiously. Why did she
bring me flowers'?
"It says you're going to be just fine."
He swallowed. "Are you really going to do the opera-tion?"
"Yes."
"You seem awfully . . . awfully young."
Paige patted his arm. "I haven't lost a patient yet." She
looked around the room. "Are you comfortable? Can I get you
anything to read? A book or magazine? Candy?"
He was listening, nervously. "No, I'm okay." Why was she
being so nice to him? Was there something she wasn't telling
him?
"Well, then, I'll see you in the morning," Paige said
cheerfully. She wrote something on a piece of paper and
handed it to him. "Here's my home number. You call me if you
need me tonight. I'll stay right by the phone."
By the time Paige left, Walter Herzog was a nervous wreck.

A few minutes later, jimmy found Paige in the lounge. He
walked up to her with his wide grin. "Con-gratulations! I
hear you're going to do a procedure."
Word gets around fast, Paige thought. "Yes."
"Whoever he is, he's lucky," Jimmy said. "If any-thing
ever happened to me, you're the only one I'd let operate on
me."
"Thanks, Jimmy."
And, of course, with Jimmy, there was always a joke.
"Did you hear the one about the man who had a strange pain
in his ankles? He was too cheap to go to a doctor, so when
his friend told him he had exactly the same pain, he said,
'You'd better get to a doctor right away. And tell me exactly
what he says.'
"The next day, he learns his friend is dead. He rushes to
a hospital and has five thousand dollars' worth of tests.
They can't find anything wrong. He calls his friend's widow,
and says, 'Was Chester in a lot of pain before he died?' "
'No,' she says. 'He didn't even see the truck that hit him!'
" And Jimmy was gone.

Paige was too excited to eat dinner. She spent the evening
practicing tying surgical knots on table legs and lamps. I'm
going to get a good night's sleep, Paige decided, so I'll be
nice and fresh in the morning.

She was awake all night, going over the operation again
and again in her mind.
There are three types of hernias: reducible hernia, where
it's possible to push the testicles back into the abdomen;
irreducible hernia, where adhesions prevent returning the
contents to the abdomen; and the most dangerous, strangulated
hernia, where the blood flow through the hernia is shut off,
damaging the intestines. Walter Herzog's was a reducible
hernia.

At six o'clock in the morning, Paige drove to the hospital
parking lot. A new red Ferrari was next to her parking space.
Idly, Paige wondered who owned it. Whoever it was had to be
rich.

At seven o'clock, Paige was helping Walter Herzog change
from pajamas to a blue hospital gown. The nurse had already
given him a sedative to relax him while they waited for the
gurney that would take him to the operating room.
"This is my first operation," Walter Herzog said.
Mine, too, Paige thought.

The gurney arrived and Walter Herzog was on his way to OR
Three. Paige walked down the corridor be-side him, and her
heart was pounding so loudly that she was afraid he could
hear it.

OR Three was one of the larger operating rooms, able to
accommodate a heart monitor, a heart-lung ma-chine, and an
array of other technical paraphernalia. When Paige walked
into the room, the staff were already there, preparing the
equipment. There was an attending physician, the
anesthesiologist, two residents, a scrub nurse, and two
circulating nurses.

The staff were watching her expectantly, eager to see how
she would handle her first operation.
Paige walked up to the operating table. Walter Herzog had
had his groin shaved and scrubbed with an antiseptic
solution. Sterile drapes had been placed around the
op-erating area.
Herzog looked up at Paige and said drowsily, "You're not
going to let me die, are you?"
Paige smiled. "What? And spoil my perfect rec-ord?"
She looked over at the anesthesiologist, who would give
the patient an epidural anesthesia, a saddle block. Paige
took a deep breath and nodded. The operation began.
"Scalpel."
As Paige was about to make the first cut through the skin,
the circulating nurse said something.
"What?"
"Would you like some music, doctor?"
It was the first time she had been asked that question.
Paige smiled. "Right. Let's have some Jimmy Buffet."

The moment Paige made the first incision, her ner-vousness
vanished. It was as though she had done this all her life.
Skillfully, she cut through the first layers of fat and
muscle, to the site of the hernia. All the while, she was
aware of the familiar litany that was echoing through the
room.
"Sponge. . . ."
"Give me a bovie. ..."
"There it is. . . ."
"Looks like we got there just in time. ..."
"Clamp. ..."
"Suction, please. ..."
Paige's mind was totally focused on what she was
doing. Locate the hernial sac ... free it ... place the
contents back into the abdominal cavity ... tie off the
base of the sac ... cut off the remainder . . . inguinal
...ring . . . suture it ...

One hour and twenty minutes after the first incision, the
operation was finished.
Paige should have felt drained, but instead she felt
wildly exhilarated.
When Walter Herzog had been sewn up, the scrub nurse
turned to Paige. "Dr. Taylor ..." Paige looked up. "Yes?" The
nurse grinned. "That was beautiful, doctor."


It was Sunday and the three women had the day off.
"What should we do today?" Kat asked.
Paige had an idea. "It's such a lovely day, why don't we
drive out to Tree Park? We can pack a picnic lunch and eat
outdoors."
"That sounds lovely," Honey said.
"Let's do it!" Kat agreed.

The telephone rang. The three of them stared at it.
"Jesus!" Kat said. "I thought Lincoln freed us. Don't
answer it. It's our day off."
"We have no days off," Paige reminded her.
Kat walked over to the telephone and picked it up. "Dr.
Hunter." She listened for a moment and handed the telephone
to Paige. "It's for you, Dr. Taylor."
Paige said resignedly, "Right." She picked up the
receiver. "Dr. Taylor. . . . Hello, Tom. . . . What? . . .
No, I was just going out. ... I see. ... All right. I'll be
there in fifteen minutes." She replaced the re-ceiver. So
much for the picnic, she thought.
"Is it bad?" Honey asked.
"Yes, we're about to lose a patient. I'll try to be back
for dinner tonight."
When Paige arrived at the hospital, she drove into the
doctors' parking lot and parked next to the new bright red
Ferrari. I wonder how many operations it took to pay for
that!


Twenty minutes later, Paige was walking into the visitors'
waiting room. A man in a dark suit was seated in a chair,
staring out the window. "Mr. Newton?" He rose to his feet.
"Yes."

"I'm Dr. Taylor. I was just in to see   your little boy. He
was brought in with abdominal pains."   "Yes. I'm going to take
him home." "I'm afraid not. Peter has   a ruptured spleen. He
needs an immediate transfusion and an   operation, or he'll
die."

Mr. Newton shook his head. "We are Jehovah's Wit-nesses.
The Lord will not let him die, and I will not let him be
tainted with someone else's blood. It was my wife who brought
him here. She will be punished for that."
"Mr. Newton, I don't think you understand how seri-ous the
situation is. If we don't operate right away, your son is
going to die."
The man looked at her and smiled. "You don't know God's
ways, do you?"
Paige was angry. "I may not know a lot about God's ways,
but I do know a lot about a ruptured spleen." She took out a
piece of paper. "He's a minor, so you'll have to sign this
consent form for him." She held it out.
"And if I don't sign it?" "Why . . . then we can't
operate." He nodded. "Do you think your powers are stronger
than the Lord's?"
Paige was staring at him. "You're not going to sign, are
you?"
"No. A higher power than yours will help my son, You will
see."
When Paige returned to the ward, six-year-old Peter Newton
had lapsed into unconsciousness.
"He's not going to make it," Chang said. "He's lost too
much blood. What do you want to do?"
Paige made her decision. "Get him into OR One. Stat."
Chang looked at her in surprise. "His father changed his
mind?"
Paige nodded. "Yes. He changed his mind. Let's move it."
"Good for you! I talked to him for an hour and I couldn't
budge him. He said God would take care of it."
"God is taking care of it," Paige assured him.
Two hours and four pints of blood later, the operation was
successfully completed. All the boy's vital signs were
strong.
Paige gently stroked his forehead. "He's going to be
fine."


An orderly hurried into the operating room. "Dr. Taylor?
Dr. Wallace wants to see you right away."
Benjamin Wallace was so angry his voice was crack-ing.
"How could you do such an outrageous thing? You gave him a
blood transfusion and operated without permission? You broke
the law!"
"I saved a boy's life!"
Wallace took a deep breath. "You should have gotten a
court order."
"There was no time," Paige said. "Ten minutes more and he
would have been dead. God was busy elsewhere."
Wallace was pacing back and forth. "What are we going to
do now?"
"Get a court order."
"What for? You've already done the operation."
"I'll backdate the court order one day. No one will ever
know the difference."
Wallace looked at her and began to hyperventilate.
"Jesus!" He mopped his brow. "This could cost me my job."
Paige looked at him for a long moment. Then she turned and
started toward the door.
"Paige . . .?"
She stopped. "Yes?"
"You'll never do anything like this again, will you?"
"Only if I have to," Paige assured him.




Chapter Thirteen




All hospitals have problems with drug theft. By law, each
narcotic that is taken from the dispen-sary must be signed
for, but no matter how con-trolled the security is, drug
addicts almost invariably find a way to circumvent it.

Embarcadero County Hospital was having a major problem.
Margaret Spencer went to see Ben Wallace. "I don't know what
to do, doctor. Our fentanyl keeps disappearing."

Fentanyl is a highly addictive narcotic and anesthetic
drug.
"How much is missing?"
"A great deal. If it were just a few bottles, there could
be an innocent explanation for it, but it's happening now on
a regular basis. More than a dozen bottles a week are
disappearing.''
"Do you have any idea who might be taking it?"
"No, sir. I've talked to security. They're at a loss.
"Who has access to the dispensary?"
"That's the problem. Most of the anesthetists have pretty
free access to it, and most of the nurses and surgeons."
Wallace was thoughtful. "Thank you for coming to me. I'll
take care of it."
"Thank you, doctor." Nurse Spencer left.

I don't need this right now, Wallace thought angrily. A
hospital board meeting was coming up, and there were already
enough problems to be dealt with. Ben Wallace was well aware
of the statistics. More than 10 percent of the doctors in the
United States became addicted, at one time or another, to
either drugs or alcohol. The easy accessibility of the drugs
made them a temptation. It was simple for a doctor to open a
cabi-net, take out the drug he wanted, and use a tourniquet
and syringe to inject it. An addict could need a fix as often
as every two hours.

Now it was happening at his hospital. Something had to be
done about it before the board meeting. It would look bad on
my record.

Ben Wallace was not sure whom he could trust to help him
find the culprit. He had to be careful. He was certain that
neither Dr. Taylor nor Dr. Hunter was involved, and after a
great deal of thought, he decided to use them.

He sent for the two of them. "I have a favor to ask of
you," he told them. He explained about the missing fentanyl.
"I want you to keep your eyes open. If any of the doctors you
work with have to step out of the OR for a moment, in the
middle of an operation, or show any other signs of addiction,
I want you to let me know. Look for any changes in
personality-depression or mood swings-or tardiness, or missed
appointments. I would appreciate it if you would keep this
strictly confidential.''
When they left the office, Kat said, "This is a big
hospital. We're going to need Sherlock Holmes."
"No, we won't," Paige said unhappily. "I know who it is."

Mitch Campbell was one of Paige's favorite doctors. Dr.
Campbell was a likable gray-haired man in his fif-ties,
always good-humored, and one of the hospital's best surgeons.
Paige had noticed lately that he was al-ways a few minutes
late for an operation, and that he had developed a noticeable
tremor. He used Paige to assist him as often as possible, and
he usually let her do a major part of the surgery. In the
middle of an operation, his hands would begin to shake and he
would hand the scalpel to Paige.

"I'm not feeling well," he would mumble. "Would you take
over?"
And he would leave the operating room.
Paige had been concerned about what could be wrong with
him. Now she knew. She debated what to do. She was aware that
if she brought her information to Wallace, Dr. Campbell would
be fired, or worse, his career would be destroyed. On the
other hand, if she did nothing, she would be putting
patients' lives in danger. Perhaps I could talk to him, Paige
thought. Tell him what I know, and insist that he get
treatment. She discussed it with Kat.
"It's a problem," Kat agreed. "He's a nice guy, and a good
doctor. If you blow the whistle, he's finished, but if you
don't, you have to think about the harm he might do. What do
you think will happen if you confront him?"
"He'll probably deny it, Kat. That's the usual pat-tern."
"Yeah. It's a tough call."


The following day, Paige had an operation scheduled with
Dr. Campbell. I hope I'm wrong, Paige prayed. Don't let him
be late, and don't let him leave during the operation.
Campbell was fifteen minutes late, and in the middle of
the operation, he said, "Take over, will you, Paige? I'll be
right back."
I must talk to him, Paige decided. I can't destroy his
career.

The following morning, as Paige and Honey drove into the
doctors' parking lot, Harry Bowman pulled up next to them in
the red Ferrari.
"That's a beautiful car," Honey said. "How much does one
of those cost?"
Bowman laughed. "If you have to ask, you can't afford it."
But Paige wasn't listening. She was staring at the car,
and thinking about the penthouse, the lavish parties, and the
boat. I was smart enough to have a clever father. He left all
his money to me. And yet Bowman worked at a county hospital.
Why?

Ten minutes later, Paige was in the personnel office,
talking to Karen, the secretary in charge of records.
"Do me a favor, will you, Karen? Just between us, Harry
Bowman has asked me to go out with him and I have a feeling
he's married. Would you let me have a peek at his personnel
file?"
"Sure. Those horny bastards. They never get enough, do
they? You're darn right I'll let you look at his file." She
went over to a cabinet and found what she was looking for.
She brought some papers back to Paige.
Paige glanced through them quickly. Dr. Harry Bow-man's
application showed that he had come from a small university
in the Midwest and, according to the records, had worked his
way through medical school. He was an anesthesiologist.
His father was a barber.


Honey Taft was an enigma to most of the doctors at
Embarcadero County Hospital. During the morning rounds, she
appeared to be unsure of herself. But on the afternoon
rounds, she seemed like a different person. She was
surprisingly knowledgeable about each patient, and crisp and
efficient in her diagnoses.

One of the senior residents was discussing her with a
colleague.
"I'll be damned if I understand it," he said. "In the
morning, the complaints about Dr. Taft keep piling up. She
keeps making mistakes. You know the joke about the nurse who
gets everything wrong? A doctor is com-plaining that he told
her to give the patient in Room 4 three pills, and she gave
the patient in Room 3 four pills, and just as he's talking
about her, he sees her chasing a naked patient down the hall,
holding a pan of boiling water. The doctor says, 'Look at
that! I told her to prick his boil!' "
His colleague laughed.
"Well, that's Dr. Taft. But in the afternoon she's
absolutely brilliant. Her diagnoses are correct, her notes
are wonderful, and she's as sharp as hell. She must be taking
some kind of miracle pill that only works afternoons." He
scratched his head. "It beats the hell out of me."

Dr. Nathan Ritter was a pedant, a man who lived and worked
by the book. While he lacked the spark of brilliance, he was
capable and dedicated, and he ex-pected the same qualities
from those who worked with him.
Honey had the misfortune to be assigned to his team.

Their first stop was a ward containing a dozen pa-tients.
One of them was just finishing breakfast. Ritter looked at
the chart at the foot of the bed. "Dr. Taft, the chart says
this is your patient."
Honey nodded. "Yes."
"He's having a bronchoscopy this morning."
Honey nodded. "That's right."
"And you're allowing him to eat?" Dr. Ritter snapped.
"Before a bronchoscopy?"
Honey said, '"'The poor man hasn't had anything to eat
since-"
Nathan Ritter turned to his assistant. "Postpone the
procedure." He started to say something to Honey, then
controlled himself. "Let's move on."

The next patient was a Puerto Rican who was coughing
badly. Dr. Ritter examined him. "Whose pa-tient is this?"
"Mine," Honey said.
He frowned. "His infection should have cleared up before
now." He took a look at the chart. "You're giving him fifty
milligrams of ampicillin four times a day?"
"That's right."
"That's not right. It's wrong. That's supposed to be five
hundred milligrams four times a day. You left off a zero."
"I'm sorry, I ..."
"No wonder the patient's not getting any better! I want it
changed immediately."
"Yes, doctor."

When they came to another patient of Honey's, Dr. Ritter
said impatiently, "He's scheduled for a colonoscopy. Where is
the radiology report?"
"The radiology report? Oh. I'm afraid I forgot to order
one."
Ritter gave Honey a long, speculative look.
The morning went downhill from there.

The next patient they saw was moaning tearfully. "I'm in
such pain. What's wrong with me?"
"We don't know," Honey said.
Dr. Ritter glared at her. "Dr. Taft, may I see you outside
for a moment?"
In the corridor, he said, "Never, never tell a patient
that you don't know. You're the one they're looking to for
help! And if you don't know the answer, make one up. Do you
understand?"
"It doesn't seem right to . . ."
"I didn't ask you whether it seemed right. Just do as
you're told."
They examined a hiatal hernia, a hepatitis patient, a
patient with Alzheimer's disease, and two dozen others. The
minute the rounds were over, Dr. Ritter went to Benjamin
Wallace's office.
"We have a problem," Ritter said.
"What is it, Nathan?"
"It's one of the residents here. Honey Taft."
Again? "What about her?"
"She's a disaster."
"But she had such a wonderful recommendation."
"Ben, you'd better get rid of her before the hospital gets
in real trouble, before she kills a patient or two."
Wallace thought about it for a moment, then made his
decision. "Right. She'll be out of here."


Paige was busy in surgery most of the morning. As soon as
she was free, she went to see Dr. Wallace, to tell him of her
suspicions about Harry Bowman.
"Bowman? Are you sure? I mean . . . I've seen no signs of
any addiction."
"He doesn't use it," Paige explained. "He sells it. He's
living like a millionaire on a resident's salary."
Ben Wallace nodded. "Very well. I'll check it out. Thank
you, Paige."
Wallace sent for Bruce Anderson, head of security. "We may
have identified the drug thief," Wallace told him. "I want
you to keep a close watch on Dr. Harry Bowman."
"Bowman?" Anderson tried to conceal his surprise. Dr.
Bowman was constantly giving the guards Cuban cigars and
other little gifts. They all loved him.
"If he goes into the dispensary, search him when he comes
out."
"Yes, sir."

Harry Bowman was headed for the dispensary. He had orders
to fill. A lot of orders. It had started as a lucky accident.
He had been working in a small hospital in Ames, Iowa,
struggling to get by on a resident's salary. He had champagne
taste and a beer pocketbook, and then Fate had smiled on him.
One of his patients who had been discharged from the
hospital telephoned him one morning.

"Doctor, I'm in terrible pain. You have to give me
something for it."
"Do you want to check back in?"
"I don't want to leave the house. Couldn't you bring
something here for me?"
Bowman thought about it. "All right. I'll drop by on my
way home."
When he visited the patient, he brought with him a bottle
of fentanyl.
The patient grabbed it. "That's wonderful!" he said. He
pulled out a handful of bills. "Here."
Bowman looked at him, surprised. "You don't have to pay me
for that.''
"Are you kidding? This stuff is like gold. I have a lot of
friends who will pay you a fortune if you bring them this
stuff."

That was how it had begun. Within two months, Harry Bowman
was making more money than he had ever dreamed possible.
Unfortunately, the head of the hospital got wind of what was
going on. Fearing a public scandal, he told Bowman that if he
left quietly, nothing would appear on his record.

I'm glad I left, Bowman thought. San Francisco has a much
bigger market.
He reached the dispensary. Bruce Anderson was standing
outside. Bowman nodded to him. "Hi, Bruce."
"Good afternoon, Dr. Bowman."
Five minutes later when Bowman came out of the dispensary,
Anderson said, "Excuse me. I'm going to have to search you."
Harry Bowman stared at him. "Search me? What are you
talking about, Bruce?"
"I'm sorry, doctor. We have orders to search every-one who
uses the dispensary," Anderson lied.
Bowman was indignant. "I've never heard of such a thing. I
absolutely refuse!"
"Then I'll have to ask you to come along with me to Dr.
Wallace's office."
"Fine! He's going to be furious when he hears about this."
Bowman stormed into Wallace's office. "What's go-ing on,
Ben? This man wanted to search me, for God's sake!"
"And did you refuse to be searched?"
"Absolutely."
"All right." Wallace reached for the telephone. "I'll let
the San Francisco police do it, if you prefer." He began to
dial.
Bowman panicked. "Wait a minute! That's not nec-essary."
His face suddenly cleared. "Oh! I know what this is all
about!" He reached in his pocket and took out a bottle of
fentanyl. "I was taking these to use for an operation, and
..."
Wallace said quietly, "Empty your pockets."
A look of desperation came over Bowman's face. "There's no
reason to . . ."
"Empty your pockets."

Two hours later, the San Francisco office of the Drug
Enforcement Agency had a signed confession and the names of
the people to whom Bowman had been selling drugs.


When Paige heard the news, she went to see Mitch Campbell.
He was sitting in an office, resting. His hands were on the
desk when Paige walked in, and she could see the tremor in
them.
Campbell quickly moved his hands to his lap. "Hello,
Paige. How're you doing?"
"Fine, Mitch. I wanted to talk to you."
"Sit down."
She took a seat opposite him. "How long have you had
Parkinson's?"
He turned a shade whiter. "What?"
"That's it, isn't it? You've been trying to cover it up."
There was a heavy silence. "I . . . I . . . yes. But I ...
I can't give up being a doctor. I ... I just can't give it
up. It's my whole life."
Paige leaned forward and said earnestly, "You don't have
to give up being a doctor, but you shouldn't be operating."
He looked suddenly old. "I know. I was going to quit last
year." He smiled wanly. "I guess I'll have to quit now, won't
I? You're going to tell Dr. Wallace."
"No," Paige said gently. "You're going to tell Dr.
Wallace."


Paige was having lunch in the cafeteria when Tom Chang
joined her.
"I heard what happened," he said. "Bowman! Unbe-lievable.
Nice work."
She shook her head. "I almost had the wrong man."
Chang sat there, silent.
"Are you all right, Tom?"
"Do you want the 'I'm fine,' or do you want the truth?"
"We're friends. I want the truth."
"My marriage has gone to hell." His eyes suddenly filled
with tears. "Sye has left. She's gone back home."
"I'm so sorry."
"It's not her fault. We didn't have a marriage any-more.
She said I'm married to the hospital, and she's right. I'm
spending my whole life here, taking care of strangers,
instead of being with the people I love."
"She'll come back. It will work out," Paige said
soothingly.
"No. Not this time."
"Have you thought about counseling, or . . .?"
"She refuses."
"I'm sorry, Tom. If there's anything I ..." She heard her
name on the loudspeaker.
"Dr. Taylor, Room 410 ..."

Paige felt a sudden pang of alarm. "I have to go," she
said. Room 410. That was Sam Bernstein's room. He was one of
her favorite patients, a gentle man in his seventies who had
been brought in with inoperable stomach cancer. Many of the
patients at the hospital were constantly complaining, but Sam
Bernstein was an exception. Paige admired his courage and his
dignity. He had a wife and two grown sons who visited him
regularly, and Paige had grown fond of them, too.
He had been put on life-support systems with a note,
DNR-Do Not Resuscitate-if his heart stopped.

When Paige walked into his room, a nurse was at the
bedside. She looked up as Paige entered. "He's gone, doctor.
I didn't start emergency procedures, because ..." Her voice
trailed off.
"You were right not to," Paige said slowly. "Thank you."
"Is there anything I . . .?"
"No. I'll make the arrangements." Paige stood by the
bedside and looked down at the body of what had been a
living, laughing human being, a man who had a family and
friends, someone who had spent his life working hard, taking
care of the ones he loved. And now . . .
She walked over to the drawer where he kept his
possessions. There was an inexpensive watch, a set of keys,
fifteen dollars in cash, dentures, and a letter to his wife.
All that remained of a man's life.

Paige was unable to shake the feeling of depression that
hung over her. "He was such a dear man. Why . . .?"
Kat said, "Paige, you can't let yourself get emotion-ally
involved with your patients. It will tear you apart."
"I know. You're right, Kat. It's just that . . . it's over
so quickly, isn't it? This morning he and I were talking.
Tomorrow is his funeral."
"You're not thinking of going to it?"
"No."
The funeral took place at the Hills of Eternity Ceme-tery.

In the Jewish religion, burial must take place as soon as
possible following the death, and the service usually takes
place the next day.

The body of Sam Bernstein was dressed in a takhrik-him, a
white robe, and wrapped in a talit. The family was gathered
around the graveside. The rabbi was inton-ing, "Hamakom
y'nathaim etkhem b'tokh sh'ar availai tziyon
veeyerushalayim.''

A man standing next to Paige saw the puzzled expres-sion
on her face, and he translated for her. " 'May the Lord
comfort you with all the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.' "

To Paige's astonishment, the members of the family began
tearing at the clothes they were wearing as they chanted,
"Baruch ata adonai elohainu me lech haolam dayan ha-emet."
"What . . .?"
"That's to show respect," the man whispered.
"From dust you are and to dust you have returned, but the
spirit returns to God who gave it." The ceremony was over.


The following morning, Kat ran into Honey in the corridor.
Honey looked nervous.
"Anything wrong?" Kat asked.
"Dr. Wallace sent for me. He asked me to be in his office
at two o'clock."
"Do you know why?"
"I think I messed up at rounds the other day. Dr. Ritter
is a monster."
"He can be," Kat said. "But I'm sure everything will be
all right."
"I hope so. I just have a bad feeling."
Promptly at two o'clock, she arrived at Benjamin Wallace's
office, carrying a small jar of honey in her purse. The
receptionist was at lunch. Dr. Wallace's door was open. "Come
in, Dr. Taft," he called.
Honey walked into his office.
"Close the door behind you, please."
Honey closed the door.
"Take a seat."
Honey sat down across from him. She was almost trembling.
Benjamin Wallace looked across at her and thought, It's
like kicking a puppy. But what has to be done has to be done.
"I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news for you," he said.


One hour later, Honey met Kat in the solarium. Honey sank
into a chair next to her, smiling.
"Did you see Dr. Wallace?" Kat asked.
"Oh, yes. We had a long talk. Did you know that his wife
left him last September? They were married for fifteen years.
He has two grown children from an earlier marriage, but he
hardly ever sees them. The poor darling is so lonely."




Book II




Chapter Fourteen




It was New Year's Eve again, and Paige, Kat, and Honey
ushered in 1994 at Embarcadero County Hos-pital. It seemed to
them that nothing in their lives had changed except the names
of their patients.

As Paige walked through   the parking lot, she was reminded
of Harry Bowman and his   red Ferrari. How many lives were
destroyed by the poison   Harry Bowman was selling"? she
wondered. Drugs were so   seductive. And, in the end, so
deadly.

Jimmy Ford showed up with a small bouquet of flow-ers for
Paige.
"What's this for, Jimmy?"
He blushed. "I just wanted you to have it. Did you know
I'm getting married?"
"No! That's wonderful. Who's the lucky girl?"
"Her name is Betsy. She works at a dress shop.
We're going to have half a dozen kids. The first girl is
going to be named Paige. I hope you don't mind."
"Mind? I'm flattered."
He was embarrassed. "Did you hear the one about the doctor
who gave a patient two weeks to live? 'I can't pay you right
now,' the man said. 'All right, I'll give you another two
weeks.' "
And Jimmy was gone.


Paige was worried about Tom Chang. He was having violent
mood swings from euphoria to deep depression.

One morning during a talk with Paige, he said, "Do you
realize that most of the people in here would die without us?
We have the power to heal their bodies and make them whole
again."
And the next morning: "We're all kidding ourselves, Paige.
Our patients would get better faster without us. We're
hypocrites, pretending that we have all the an-swers. Well,
we don't."
Paige studied him a moment. "What do you hear from Sye?"
"I talked to her yesterday. She won't come back here.
She's going ahead with the divorce."
Paige put her hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry, Tom."
He shrugged. "Why? It doesn't bother me. Not any-more.
I'll find another woman." He grinned. "And have another
child. You'll see."
There was something unreal about the conversation.


That night Paige said to Kat, "I'm worried about Tom
Chang. Have you talked to him lately?"
"Yes."
"Did he seem normal to you?"
"No man seems normal to me," Kat said.
Paige was still concerned. "Let's invite him for din-ner
tomorrow night."
"All right."


The next morning when Paige reported to the hospi-tal, she
was greeted with the news that a janitor had found Tom
Chang's body in a basement equipment room. He had died of an
overdose of sleeping pills.

Paige was near hysteria. "I could have saved him," she
cried. "All this time he was calling out for help, and I
didn't hear him."

Kat said firmly, "There's no way you could have helped
him, Paige. You were not the problem, and you were not the
solution. He didn't want to live without his wife and child.
It's as simple as that."

Paige wiped the tears from her eyes. "Damn this place!"
she said. "If it weren't for the pressure and the hours, his
wife never would have left him."
"But she did," Kat said gently. "It's over."

Paige had never been to a Chinese funeral before. It was
an incredible spectacle. It began at the Green Street
Mortuary in Chinatown early in the morning, where a crowd
started gathering outside. A parade was assem-bled, with a
large brass marching band, and at the head of the parade,
mourners carried a huge blowup of a photograph of Tom Chang.

The march began with the band loudly playing, wind-ing
through the streets of San Francisco, with a hearse at the
end of the procession. Most of the mourners were on foot, but
the more elderly rode in cars.
To Paige, the parade seemed to be moving around the city
at random. She was puzzled. "Where are they going?" she asked
one of the mourners.
He bowed slightly and said, "It is our custom to take the
departed past some of the places that have meaning in his
life-restaurants where he ate, shops that he used, places he
visited ..."
"I see."
The parade ended in front of Embarcadero County Hospital.
The mourner turned to Paige and said,' 'This is where Tom
Chang worked. This is where he found his happi-ness."

Wrong, Paige thought. This is where he lost his
happi-ness.


Walking down Market Street one morning, Paige saw Alfred
Turner. Her heart started pounding. She had not been able to
get him out of her mind. He was starting to cross the street
as the light was changing. When Paige got to the corner, the
light had turned to red. She ignored it and ran out into the
street, oblivious to the honking horns and the outraged cries
of motorists.
Paige reached the other side and hurried to catch up with
him. She grabbed his sleeve. "Alfred ..."
The man turned. "I beg your pardon?"
It was a total stranger.


Now that Paige and Kat were fourth-year residents, they
were performing operations on a regular basis.

Kat was working with doctors in neurosurgery, and she
never ceased to be amazed at the miracle of the hundred
billion complex digital computers called neu-rons that lived
in the skull. The work was exciting.

Kat had enormous respect for most of the doctors she
worked with. They were brilliant, skilled surgeons. There
were a few doctors who gave her a hard time. They tried to
date her, and the more Kat refused to go out with them, the
more of a challenge she became.

She heard one doctor mutter, "Here comes old iron-pants."
She was assisting Dr. Kibler at a brain operation. A tiny
incision was made in the cortex, and Dr. Kibler pushed the
rubber cannula into the left lateral ventricle, the cavity in
the center of the left half of the brain, while Kat held the
incision open with a small retractor. Her entire
concentration was focused on what was hap-pening in front of
her.

Dr. Kibler glanced at her and, as he worked, said, "Did
you hear about the wino who staggered into a bar and said,
'Give me a drink, quick!' 'I can't do that,' the bartender
said. 'You're already drunk.' "
The burr was cutting in deeper.
" 'If you don't give me a drink, I'll kill myself.' "
Cerebral spinal fluid flowed out of the cannula from the
ventricle.
"I'll tell you what I'll do,' the bartender said. 'There
are three things I want. You do them for me, and I'll give
you a bottle. "
As he went on talking, fifteen milliliters of air were
injected into the ventricle, and X-rays were taken of the
anterior-posterior view and the lateral view.

" 'See that football player sitting in the corner? I can't
get him out of here. I want you to throw him out. Next, I
have a pet crocodile in my office with a bad tooth. He's so
mean I can't get a vet to go near him. Lastly, there's a lady
doctor from the Department of Health who's trying to close up
this place. You fuck her, and you get the bottle.' "

A scrub nurse was using suction to reduce the amount of
blood in the field.
"The wino throws out the football player, and goes into
the office where the crocodile is. He comes out fifteen
minutes later, all bloody, and his clothes torn, and he says,
"Where's the lady doctor with the bad tooth? "
Dr. Kibler roared with laughter. "Do you get it? He fucked
the crocodile instead of the doctor. It was proba-bly a
better experience!"
Kat stood there, furious, wanting to slap him.

When the operation was over, Kat went to the on-call room
to try to get over her anger. I'm not going to let the
bastards beat me down. I'm not.
From time to time, Paige went out with doctors from the
hospital, but she refused to get romantically involved with
any of them. Alfred Turner had hurt her too deeply, and she
was determined never to go through that again.

Most of her days and nights were spent at the hospital.
The schedule was grueling, but Paige was doing general
surgery and she enjoyed it.

One morning, George Englund, the chief of surgery, sent
for her.
"You're starting your specialty this year. Cardiovas-cular
surgery."
She nodded. "That's right."
"Well, I have a treat for you. Have you heard of Dr.
Barker?"
Paige looked at him in surprise. "Dr. Lawrence Barker?"
"Yes."
"Of course."
Everyone had heard of Lawrence Barker. He was one of the
most famous cardiovascular surgeons in the world.

"Well, he returned last week from Saudi Arabia, where he
operated on the king. Dr. Barker's an old friend of mine, and
he's agreed to give us three days a Week here. Pro bono."
"That's fantastic!" Paige exclaimed.
"I'm putting you on his team."
For a moment, Paige was speechless. "I . . .I don't know
what to say. I'm very grateful."
"It's a wonderful opportunity for you. You can learn a lot
from him."
"I'm sure I can. Thank you, George. I really appreci-ate
this."
"You'll start your rounds with him tomorrow morn-ing at
six o'clock."
"I'm looking forward to it."
"Looking forward to it" was an understatement. It had been
Paige's dream to work with someone like Dr. Lawrence Barker.
What do I mean, "someone like Dr. Lawrence Barker"? There's
only one Dr. Lawrence Barker.

She had never seen a photograph of him, but she could
visualize what he looked like. He would be tall and handsome,
with silver-gray hair, and slender, sensi-tive hands. A warm
and gentle man. We'll be working closely together, Paige
thought, and I'm going to make myself absolutely
indispensable. I wonder if he's mar-ried?

That night, Paige had an erotic dream about Dr. Barker.
They were performing an operation in the nude. In the middle
of it, Dr. Barker said, "I want you." A nurse moved the
patient off the operating table and Dr. Barker picked Paige
up and put her on the table, and made love to her.
When Paige woke up, she was falling off the bed.


At six o'clock the following morning, Paige was ner-vously
waiting in the second-floor corridor with Joel Philips, the
senior resident, and five other residents, when a short,
sour-faced man stormed toward them. He leaned forward as he
walked, as though battling a stiff wind.
He approached the group. "What the hell are you all
standing around for? Let's go!"
It took Paige a moment to regain her composure. She
hurried along to catch up with the rest of the group. As they
moved along the corridor, Dr. Barker snapped, "You'll have
between thirty and thirty-five patients to care for every
day. I'll expect you to make detailed notes on each one of
them. Clear?"
There were murmurs of "Yes, sir."

They had reached the first ward. Dr. Barker walked over to
the bed of a patient, a man in his forties. Barker's gruff
and forbidding manner went through an instant change. He
touched the patient gently on the shoulder and smiled. "Good
morning. I'm Dr. Barker."
"Good morning, doctor."
"How are you feeling this morning?"
"My chest hurts."
Dr. Barker studied the chart at the foot of the bed, then
turned to Dr. Philips. ' 'What do his X-rays show?''
"No change. He's healing nicely."
"Let's do another CBC."
Dr. Philips made a note.
Dr. Barker patted the young man on the arm and smiled.
"It's looking good. We'll have you out of here in a week." He
turned to the residents and snapped, "Move it! We have a lot
of patients to see."
My God! Paige thought. Talk about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde!

The next patient was an obese woman who had had
apacemakerputin. Dr. Barker studied her chart. "Good morning,
Mrs. Shelby." His voice was soothing. "I'm Dr. Barker."
"How long are you going to keep me in this place?"
"Well, you're so charming, I'd like to keep you here
forever, but I have a wife."
Mrs. Shelby giggled. "She's a lucky woman."
Barker was examining her chart again. "I'd say you're just
about ready to go home."
"Wonderful."
"I'll stop by to see you this afternoon."
Lawrence Barker turned to the residents. "Move on."

They obediently trailed behind the doctor to a
semi-private room where a young Guatemalan boy lay in bed,
surrounded by his anxious family.
"Good morning," Dr. Barker said warmly. He scanned the
patient's chart. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"I am feeling good, doctor."
Dr. Barker turned to Philips. "Any change in the
electrolytes?"
"No, doctor."
"That's good news." He patted the boy's arm. "You hang in
there, Juan."
The mother asked anxiously, "Is my son going to be all
right?"
Dr. Barker smiled. "We're going to do everything we can
for him."
"Thank you, doctor."

Dr. Barker stepped out into the corridor, the others
trailing behind him. He stopped. "The patient has
myocardiopathy, irregular fever tremors, headaches, and
lo-calized edema. Can any of you geniuses tell me what the
most common cause of it is?"
There was a silence. Paige said hesitantly, "I believe
it's congenital . . . hereditary."
Dr. Barker looked at her and nodded encouragingly.
Pleased, Paige went on. "It skips . . . wait ..."
She was struggling to remember. "It skips a generation and
is passed along by the genes of the mother.'' She stopped,
flushed, proud of herself.
Dr. Barker stared at her a moment. "Horseshit! It's
Chagas' disease. It affects people from Latin American
countries." He looked at Paige with disgust. "Jesus! Who told
you you were a doctor?"
Paige's face was flaming red.

The rest of the rounds was a blur to her. They saw
twenty-four patients and it seemed to Paige that Dr. Barker
spent the morning trying to humiliate her. She was always the
one Barker addressed his questions to, testing, probing. When
she was right, he never compli-mented her. When she was
wrong, he yelled at her. At one point, when Paige made a
mistake, Barker roared, "I wouldn't let you operate on my
dog!"
When the rounds were finally over, Dr. Philips, the senior
resident, said, "We'll start rounds again at two o'clock. Get
your scut books, make notes on each pa-tient, and don't leave
anything out."

He looked at Paige pityingly, started to say some-thing,
then turned away to join Dr. Barker. Paige thought, I never
want to see that bastard again.


The following night, Paige was on call. She ran from one
crisis to the next, frantically trying to stem the tide of
disasters that flooded the emergency rooms.
At 1:00 a.m., she finally fell asleep. She did not hear
the sound of a siren screaming out its warning as an
ambulance roared to a stop in front of the emergency entrance
of the hospital. Two paramedics swung open the ambulance
door, transferred the unconscious patient from his stretcher
to a gurney, and ran it through the entrance doors of ER One.

The staff had been alerted by radiophone. A nurse ran
alongside the patient, while a second nurse waited at the top
of the ramp. Sixty seconds later, the patient was transferred
from the gurney to the examination ta-ble.

He was a young man, and he was covered with so much blood
that it was difficult to tell what he looked like.
A nurse went to work, cutting his torn clothes off with
large shears.
"It looks like everything's broken."
"He's bleeding like a stuck pig."
"I'm not getting a pulse."
"Who's on call?"
"Dr. Taylor."
"Get her. If she hurries, he may still be alive."
Paige was awakened by the ringing of the telephone.
"H'lo . . ."
"We have an emergency in ER One, doctor. I don't think
he's going to make it."
Paige sat up on the cot. "Right. I'm coming."
She looked at her wristwatch. 1:30 a.m. She stumbled out
of bed and made her way to the elevator.

A minute later, she was walking into ER One. In the middle
of the room, on the examining table, was the blood-covered
patient.
"What do we have here?" Paige asked.
"Motorcycle accident. He was hit by a bus. He wasn't
wearing a helmet."
Paige moved toward the unconscious figure, and even before
she saw his face, she somehow knew.
She was suddenly wide awake. "Get three IV lines in him!"
Paige ordered. "Get him on oxygen. I want some blood sent
down, stat. Call Records to get his blood type."
The nurse looked at her in surprise. "You know him?"
"Yes." She had to force herself to say the words. "His
name is Jimmy Ford."
Paige ran her fingers over his scalp. "There's heavy
edema. I want a head scan and X-rays. We're going to push the
envelope on this one. I want him alive!"
"Yes, doctor."
Paige spent the next two hours making sure that
ev-erything possible was being done for Jimmy Ford. The
X-rays showed a fractured skull, a brain contusion, bro-ken
humerus, and multiple lacerations. But everything would have
to wait until he was stabilized.

At 3:30 a.m., Paige decided there was nothing more she
could do for the present. He was breathing better, and his
pulse was stronger. She looked down at the unconscious
figure. We're going to have half a dozen kids. The first girl
is going to be named Paige. I hope you don't mind.
"Call me if there's any change at all," Paige said.
"Don't worry, doctor," one of the nurses said. "We'll take
good care of him."
Paige made her way back to the on-call room. She was
exhausted, but she was too concerned about Jimmy to go back
to sleep.

The telephone rang again. She barely had the energy to
pick it up. "H'lo."
"Doctor, you'd better come up to the third floor.
"What the hell did they teach you in medical school? Don't
you even know the difference between heartburn and a heart
attack?"
"I thought ..."
"The problem is, you didn't. If you ever wake me up again
in the middle of the night for a heartburn case, I'll have
your ass. You understand that?"
Paige stood there stiffly, her face grim.
"Give her some antacid, doctor," Lawrence Barker said
sarcastically, "and you'll find that she's cured. I'll see
you at six o'clock for rounds."
Paige watched him storm out.

When Paige stumbled back to her cot in the on-call room,
she thought, I'm going to kill Lawrence Barker. I'll do it
slowly. He'll be very ill. He'll have a dozen tubes in his
body. He'll beg me to put him out of his misery, but I won't.
I'll let him suffer, and then when he feels better . . .
that's when I'll kill him!




Chapter Fifteen




Paige was on morning   rounds with the Beast, as she
secretly referred to   Dr. Barker. She had as-sisted him in
three cardiothoracic   surgeries, and in spite of her bitter
feelings toward him,   she could not help but admire his
incredible skill. She watched in awe as he opened up a
patient, deftly replaced the old heart with a donor heart,
and sewed him up. The operation took less than five hours.

Within a few weeks, Paige thought, that patient will be
able to return to a normal life. No wonder surgeons think
they're gods. They bring the dead back to life.

Time after time, Paige watched a heart stop and turn to an
inert piece of flesh. And then the miracle would occur, and a
lifeless organ would begin to pulsate again and send blood
through a body that had been dying.
One morning, a patient was scheduled for a procedure to
insert an intraaortic balloon. Paige was in the operating
room assisting Dr. Barker. As they were about to begin, Dr.
Barker snapped, "Do it!"
Paige looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"
"It's a simple procedure. Do you think you can han-dle
it?" There was contempt in his voice.
"Yes," Paige said tightly.
"Well, then, get on with it!"
He was infuriating.
Barker watched as Paige expertly inserted a hollow tube
into the patient's artery and threaded it up into the heart.
It was done flawlessly. Barker stood there, with-out saying a
word.

To hell with him, Paige thought. Nothing I could ever do
would please him.
Paige injected a radiopaque dye through the tube. They
watched the monitor as the dye flowed into the coronary
arteries. Images appeared on a fluoroscopy screen and showed
the degree of blockage and its loca-tion in the artery, while
an automatic motion-picture camera recorded the X-rays for a
permanent record.

The senior resident looked at Paige and smiled. "Nice
job."
"Thank you." Paige turned to Dr. Barker.
"Too damned slow," he growled.
And he walked out.

Paige was grateful for the days that Dr. Barker was away
from the hospital, working at his private practice. She said
to Kat, "Being away from him for a day is like a week in the
country."
"You really hate him, don't you?"
"He's a brilliant doctor, but he's a miserable human
being. Have you ever noticed how some people fit their names?
If Dr. Barker doesn't stop barking at people, he's going to
have a stroke."
"You should see some of the beauties I have to put up
with." Kat laughed. "They all think they're God's gift to
pussies. Wouldn't it be great if there were no men in the
world!"
Paige looked at her, but said nothing.

Paige and Kat went to check on Jimmy Ford. He was still in
a coma. There was nothing they could do.
Kat sighed. "Dammit. Why does it happen to the good guys?"
"I wish I knew."
"Do you think he'll make it?"
Paige hesitated. "We've done everything we can. Now it's
up to God."
"Funny. I thought we were God."


The following day when Paige was in charge of after-noon
rounds, Kaplan, a senior resident, stopped her in the
corridor. "This is your lucky day." He grinned. "You're
getting a new medical school student to take around."
"Really?"
"Yeah, the IN."
"IN?"
"Idiot nephew. Dr. Wallace's wife has a nephew who wants
to be a doctor. They threw him out of his last two schools.
We've all had to put up with him. Today it's your turn."
Paige groaned. "I don't have time for this. I'm up to my .
. ."
"It's not an option. Be a good girl and Dr. Wallace will
give you brownie points." Kaplan moved off.

Paige sighed and walked over to where the new resi-dents
were waiting to start the rounds. Where's the IN? She looked
at her watch. He was already three minutes late. I'll give
him one more minute, Paige decided, and then to hell with
him. She saw him then, a tall, lean-looking man, hurrying
toward her, down the hall.
He walked up to Paige, out of breath, and said, "Ex-cuse
me. Dr. Wallace asked me to-"
"You're late," Paige said curtly.
"I know. I'm sorry. I was held up at-"
"Never mind. What's your name?"
"Jason. Jason Curtis." He was wearing a sport jacket.
"Where's your white coat?"
"My white coat?"
"Didn't anyone tell you to wear a white coat on rounds?"
He looked flustered. "No. I'm afraid I ..."
Paige said irritably, "Go back to the head nurse's office
and tell her to give you a white coat. And you don't have a
scut book."
"No."
"Idiot nephew" doesn't begin to describe him. "Meet us in
Ward One."
"Are you sure? I ..."
"Just do it!" Paige and the others started off, leaving
Jason Curtis staring after them.

They were examining their third patient when Jason Curtis
came hurrying up. He was wearing a white coat. Paige was
saying, "... tumors of the heart can be
primary, which is rare, or secondary, which is much more
common."
She turned to Curtis. "Can you name the three types of
tumors?"
He stared at her. "I'm afraid I ... I can't."
Of course not. "Epicardial. Myocardial. Endocardial."
He looked at Paige and smiled. "That's really
inter-esting."
My God! Paige thought. Dr. Wallace or no Dr. Wal-lace, I'm
going to get rid of him fast.


They moved on to the next patient, and when Paige was
through examining him, she took the group into the corridor,
out of earshot. "We're dealing here with a thyroid storm,
with fever and extreme tachycardia. It came on after
surgery." She turned to Jason Curtis. "How would you treat
him for that?"
He stood there, thoughtful for a moment. Then he said,
"Gently?"
Paige fought for self-control. "You're not his mother,
you're his doctor! He needs continuous IV flu-ids to combat
dehydration, along with IV iodine and antithyroid drugs and
sedatives for convulsions."
Jason nodded. "That sounds about right."
The rounds got no better. When they were over, Paige
called Jason Curtis aside. ' 'Do you mind my being frank with
you?"
"No. Not at all," he said agreeably. "I'd appreciate it."
"Look for another profession."
He stood there, frowning. "You don't think I'm cut out for
this?"
"Quite honestly, no. You don't enjoy this, do you?"
"Not really."
"Then why did you choose to go into this?"
"To tell you the truth, I was pushed into it."
"Well, you tell Dr. Wallace that he's making a mis-take. I
think you should find something else to do with your life."
"I really appreciate your telling me this," Jason Curtis
said earnestly. "I wonder if we could discuss this further.
If you aren't doing anything for dinner tonight . . .?"
"We have nothing further to discuss," Paige said curtly.
"You can tell your uncle ..."
At that moment Dr. Wallace came into view. "Ja-son!" he
called. "I've been looking all over for you." He turned to
Paige. "I see you two have met."
"Yes, we've met," Paige said grimly.
"Good. Jason is the architect in charge of designing the
new wing we're building."
Paige stood there, motionless. "He's . . . what?"
"Yes. Didn't he tell you?"
She felt her face getting red. Didn't anyone tell you to
wear a white coat on rounds'? Why did you go into this? To
tell you the truth, I was pushed into it. By me.

Paige wanted to crawl into a hole. He had made a complete
fool of her. She turned to Jason. "Why didn't you tell me who
you were?"
He was watching her, amused. "Well, you really didn't give
me a chance."
"She didn't give you a chance to what?" Dr. Wallace asked.
"If you'll excuse me . . ." Paige said tightly.
"What about dinner tonight?"
"I don't eat. And I'm busy." And Paige was gone.
Jason looked after her, admiringly. "That's quite a
woman."
"She is, isn't she? Shall we go to my office and talk
about the new designs?"
"Fine." But his thoughts were on Paige.




It was July, time for the ritual that took place every
twelve months at hospitals all over the United States, as new
residents came in to begin their journey toward becoming real
doctors.

The nurses had been looking forward to the new crop of
residents, staking out claims on the ones they thought would
make good lovers or husbands. On this particular day, as the
new residents appeared, nearly every female eye was fixed on
Dr. Ken Mallory.

No one knew why Ken Mallory had transferred from an
exclusive private hospital in Washington, D.C., to
Embarcadero County Hospital in San Francisco. He was a
fifth-year resident and a general surgeon. There were rumors
that he had had to leave Washington in a hurry because of an
affair with a congressman's wife. There was another rumor
that a nurse had committed suicide because of him and he had
been asked to leave. The only thing the nurses were sure of
was that Ken Mallory was, without doubt, the best-looking man
they had ever seen. He had a tall, athletic body, wavy blond
hair, and a face that would have looked great on a movie
screen.

Mallory blended into the hospital routine as though he had
been there forever. He was a charmer, and almost from the
beginning, the nurses were fighting for his attention. Night
after night, the other doctors would watch Mallory disappear
into an empty on-call room with a different nurse. His
reputation as a stud was becoming legendary around the
hospital.


Paige, Kat, and Honey were discussing him.
"Can you believe all those nurses throwing them-selves at
him?" Kat laughed. "They're actually fighting to be the
flavor of the week!"
"You have to admit, he is attractive," Honey pointed out.
Kat shook her head. "No. I don't."


One morning, half a dozen residents were in the doc-tors'
dressing room when Mallory walked in.
"We were just talking about you," one of them said. "You
must be exhausted."
Mallory grinned. "It was not a bad night." He had spent
the night with two nurses.
Grundy, one of the residents, said, "You're making the
rest of us look like eunuchs, Ken. Isn't there anyone in this
hospital you can't lay?"
Mallory laughed. "I doubt it."
Grundy was thoughtful for a moment. "I'll bet I can name
someone."
"Really? Who's that?"
"One of the senior residents here. Her name is Kat
Hunter."
Mallory nodded. "The black doll. I've seen her. She's very
attractive. What makes you think I can't take her to bed?"
"Because we've all struck out. I don't think she likes
men."
"Or maybe she just hasn't met the right one," Mal-lory
suggested.
Grundy shook his head. "No. You wouldn't have a chance."
It was a challenge. "I'll bet you're wrong."
One of the other residents spoke up. "You mean you're
willing to bet on it?"
Mallory smiled. "Sure. Why not?"
"All right." The group began to crowd around Mal-lory.
"I'll bet you five hundred dollars you can't lay her."
"You're on."
"I'll bet you three hundred."
Another one spoke up. "Let me in on it. I'll bet you six
hundred."
In the end, five thousand dollars was bet.
"What's the time limit?" Mallory asked.
Grundy thought for a moment. "Let's say thirty days. Is
that fair?"
"More than fair. I won't need that much time."
Grundy said, "But you have to prove it. She has to admit
that she went to bed with you."
"No problem." Mallory looked around the group and grinned.
"Suckers!"
Fifteen minutes later, Grundy was in the cafeteria where
Kat, Paige, and Honey were having breakfast. He walked over
to their table. "Can I join you ladies- you doctors-for a
moment?"

Paige looked up. "Sure."
Grundy sat down. He looked at Kat and said
apologet-ically, "I hate to tell you this, but I'm really
mad, and I think it's only fair that you should know ..."
Kat was looking at him, puzzled. "Know what?"
Grundy sighed. "That new senior resident who came in-Ken
Mallory?"
"Yes. What about him?"
Grundy said, "Well, I... God, this is embarrassing. He bet
some of the doctors five thousand dollars that he could get
you into bed in the next thirty days."
Kat's face was grim. "He did, did he?"
Grundy said piously, "I don't blame you for being angry.
It made me sick when I heard about it. Well, I just wanted to
warn you. He'll be asking you out, and I thought it was only
right that you should know why he was doing it."
"Thanks," Kat said. "I appreciate your telling me."
"It was the least I could do."
They watched Grundy leave.

In the corridor outside the cafeteria, the other
resi-dents were waiting for him.
"How did it go?" they asked.
Grundy laughed. "Perfect. She's as mad as hell. The son of
a bitch is dead meat!"
At the table, Honey was saying, "I think that's just
terrible."
Kat nodded. "Someone should give him a dickotomy. They'll
be ice skating in hell before I go out with that bastard."

Paige sat there thinking. After a moment, she said,
"You know something, Kat? It might be interesting if you
did go out with him."
Kat looked at her in surprise. "What?"
There was a glint in Paige's eye. "Why not? If he wants to
play games, let's help him-only he'll play our game."
Kat leaned forward. "Go on."
"He has thirty days, right? When he asks you out, you'll
be warm and loving and affectionate. I mean, you'll be
absolutely crazy about the man. You'll drive him out of his
mind. The only thing you won't do, bless your heart, is to go
to bed with him. We'll teach him a five-thousand-dollar
lesson."
Kat thought of her stepfather. It was a way of getting
revenge. "I like it," Kat said.
"You mean you're going to do it?" Honey said.
"I am."
And Kat had no idea that with those words, she had signed
her death warrant.




Chapter Sixteen




Jrason Curtis had been unable to get Paige Taylor out of
his mind. He telephoned Ben Wallace's secretary. "Hi. This is
Jason Curtis. I need a home telephone umber for Dr. Paige
Taylor." "Certainly, Mr. Curtis. Just a moment." She gave him
the number.

Honey answered the telephone. "Dr. Taft." "This is Jason
Curtis. Is Dr. Taylor there?" "No, she's not. She's on call
at the hospital." "Oh. That's too bad."
Honey could hear the disappointment in his voice. "If it's
some kind of emergency, I can ..." "No, no."
"I could take a message for her and have her call you."
"That will be fine." Jason gave her his telephone number.
"I'll give her the message." "Thank you."




***


"Jason Curtis called," Honey said when Paige re-turned to
the apartment. "He sounded cute. Here's his number."
"Burn it."
"Aren't you going to call him back?"
"No. Never."
"You're still hung up on Alfred, aren't you?"
"Of course not."
And that was all Honey could get out of her.


Jason waited two days before he called again.
This time Paige answered the telephone. "Dr. Taylor."
"Hello there!" Jason said. "This is Dr. Curtis."
"Doctor . . .?"
"You may not remember me," Jason said lightly. "I was on
rounds with you the other day, and I asked you to have dinner
with me. You said-"
"I said I was busy. I still am. Goodbye, Mr. Curtis." She
slammed the receiver down.
"What was that all about?" Honey asked.
"About nothing."


At six o'clock the following morning, when the resi-dents
gathered with Paige for morning rounds, Jason Curtis
appeared. He was wearing a white coat.
"I hope I'm not late," he said cheerfully. "I had to get a
white coat. I know how upset you get when I don't wear one."
Paige took a deep, angry breath. "Come in here," she said.
She led Jason into the deserted doctors' dress-ing room.
"What are you doing here?"
"To tell you the truth, I've been worried about some of
the patients we saw the other day," he said earnestly. "I
came to see if everyone is all right."
The man was infuriating.

"Why aren't you out building something?"
Jason looked at her and said quietly, "I'm trying to." He
pulled out a handful of tickets. "Look, I don't know what
your tastes are, so I got tickets for tonight's Giants game,
the theater, the opera, and a concert. Take your choice.
They're nonrefundable."
The man was exasperating. "Do you always throw your money
away like this?''
"Only when I'm in love," Jason said.
"Wait a min-"
He held the tickets out to her. "Take your choice."
Paige reached out and took them all. "Thank you," she said
sweetly. "I'll give them to my outpatients. Most of them
don't have a chance to go to the theater or opera."
He smiled. "Great! I hope they enjoy it. Will you have
dinner with me?"
"No."
"You have to eat, anyway. Won't you change your mind?"
Paige felt a small frisson of guilt about the tickets.
"I'm afraid I wouldn't be very good company. I was on call
last night, and ..."
"We'll make it an early evening. Scout's honor."
She sighed. "All right, but . . ."
"Wonderful! Where shall I pick you up?"
"I'll be through here at seven."
"I'll pick you up here then." He yawned. "Now I'm going
home and going back to bed. What an ungodly hour to be up.
What makes you do it?"
Paige watched him walk away, and she could not help
smiling.


At seven o'clock that evening when Jason arrived at the
hospital to pick up Paige, the supervising nurse said, "I
think you'll find Dr. Taylor in the on-call room."
"Thanks." Jason walked down the corridor to the on-call
room. The door was closed. He knocked. There was no answer.
He knocked again, then opened the door and looked inside.
Paige was on the cot, in a deep sleep. Jason walked over to
where she lay and stood there for a long time, looking down
at her. I'm going to marry you, lady, he thought. He tiptoed
out of the room and quietly closed the door behind him.

The following morning, Jason was in a meeting when his
secretary came in with a small bouquet of flowers. The card
read: I'm sorry. RIP. Jason laughed. He tele-phoned Paige at
the hospital. "This is your date call-ing."
"I really am sorry about last night," Paige said. "I'm
embarrassed."
"Don't be. But I have a question."
"Yes?"
"Does RIP stand for Rest in Peace or Rip as in Van
Winkle?"
Paige laughed. "Take your choice."
"My choice is dinner tonight. Can we try again?"
She hesitated. I don't want to become involved. You're not
still hung up on Alfred, are you?
"Hello. Are you there?"
"Yes." One evening won't do any harm, Paige de-cided.
"Yes. We can have dinner." "Wonderful."
As Paige was getting dressed that evening, Kat said, "It
looks like you have a heavy date. Who is it?" "He's a
doctor-architect," Paige said. "A what?
Paige told her the story.
"He sounds like fun. Are you interested in him?" "Not
really."

The evening went by pleasantly. Paige found Jason easy to
be with. They talked about everything and noth-ing, and the
time seemed to fly.
"Tell me about you," Jason said. "Where did you grow up?"
"You won't believe me."
"I promise I will."
"All right. The Congo, India, Burma, Nigeria, Kenya . . ."
"I don't believe you."
"It's true. My father worked for WHO."
"Who? I give up. Is this going to be an Abbott and
Costello rerun?"
"The World Health Organization. He was a doctor. I spent
my childhood traveling to most of the Third World countries
with him."
"That must have been difficult for you."
"It was exciting. The hardest part was that I was never
able to stay long enough to make friends." We don't need
anyone else, Paige. We'll always have each other. . . . This
is my wife, Karen. She shook off the memory. "I learned a lot
of strange languages, and exotic customs."

"For instance?"
"Well, for instance, I ..." She thought for a mo-ment. "In
India they believe in life after death, and that the next
life depends on how you behaved in this one. If you were bad,
you would come back as an animal. I remember that in one
village, we had a dog, and I used to wonder who he used to be
and what he did that was bad."
Jason said, "He probably barked up the wrong tree."
Paige smiled. "And then there was the gherao."
"The gherao?"
"It's a very powerful form of punishment. A crowd
surrounds a man." She stopped.
"And?"
"That's it."
"That's it?"
"They don't say anything or do anything. But he can't
move, and he can't get away. He's trapped until he gives in
to what they want. It can last for many, many hours. He stays
inside the circle, but the crowd keeps changing shifts. I saw
a man try to escape the gherao once. They beat him to death."
The memory of it made Paige shudder. The normally friendly
people had turned into a screaming, frenzied mob. "Let's get
away from here," Alfred had yelled. He had taken her arm and
led her to a quiet side street.
"That's terrible," Jason said.
"My father moved us away the next day."
"I wish I could have known your father."
"He was a wonderful doctor. He would have been a big
success on Park Avenue, but he wasn't interested in money.
His only interest was in helping people." Like Alfred, she
thought.
"What happened to him?"
"He was killed in a tribal war."
"I'm sorry."
"He loved doing what he did. In the beginning, the natives
fought him. They were very superstitious. In the remote
Indian villages, everyone has ajatak, a horo-scope done by
the village astrologer, and they live by it." She smiled. "I
loved having mine done."
"And did they tell you that you were going to marry a
handsome young architect?"
Paige looked at him and said firmly, "No." The
conversation was getting too personal. "You're an ar-chitect,
so you'll appreciate this. I grew up in huts made of wattle,
with earthen floors and thatched roofs where mice and bats
liked to nest. I lived in tukuls with grass roofs and no
windows. My dream was to live one day in a comfortable
two-story house with a veranda and a green lawn and a white
picket fence, and ..." Paige stopped. "Sorry. I didn't mean
to go on like this, but you did ask."
"I'm glad I asked," Jason said.
Paige looked at her watch. "I had no idea it was so late."
"Can we do this again?"
I don't want to lead him on, Paige thought. Nothing is
going to come of this. She thought of something Kat had said
to her. You're clinging to a ghost. Let go. She looked at
Jason and said, "Yes."


Early the following morning, a messenger arrived with a
package. Paige opened the door for him.
"I have something for Dr. Taylor."
"I'm Dr. Taylor."
The messenger looked at her in surprise. "You're a
doctor?"
"Yes," Paige said patiently. "I'm a doctor. Do you mind?"
He shrugged. "No, lady. Not at all. Would you sign here,
please?"

The package was surprisingly heavy. Curious, Paige carried
it to the living-room table and unwrapped it. It was a
miniature model of a beautiful white two-story house with a
veranda. In front of the house was a little lawn and garden,
surrounded by a white picket fence. He must have stayed up
all night, making it. There was a card that read:

Mine [ ]
Ours [ ]
Please check one.

She sat there looking at it for a long time. It was the
right house, but it was the wrong man.

What's the matter with me? Paige asked herself. He's
bright and attractive and charming. But she knew what the
matter was. He was not Alfred.
The telephone rang. It was Jason. "Did you get your
house?" he asked.
"It's beautiful!" Paige said. "Thank you so much."
"I'd like to build you the real thing. Did you fill in the
box?"
"No."
"I'm a patient man. Are you free for dinner tonight?"
"Yes, but I have to warn you, I'm going to be op-erating
all day, and by this evening I'll be exhausted."
"We'll make it an early evening. By the way, it's going to
be at my parents' home."
Paige hesitated a moment. "Oh?"
"I've told them all about you."
"That's fine," Paige said. Things were moving too quickly.
It made her nervous.
When Paige hung up, she thought: I really shouldn't be
doing this. By tonight I'm going to be too tired to do
anything but go to sleep. She was tempted to tele-phone Jason
back and cancel their date. It's too late to do that now.
We'll make it an early evening.

As Paige was getting dressed that night, Kat said, "You
look exhausted."
"I am."
"Why are you going out? You should be going to bed. Or is
that redundant?"
"No. Not tonight."
"Jason again?"
"Yes. I'm going to meet his parents."
"Ah." Kat shook her head.
"It's not like that at all," Paige said. It's really not.

Jason's mother and father lived in a charming old house in
the Pacific Heights district. Jason's father was an
aristocratic-looking man in his seventies. Jason's mother was
a warm, down-to-earth woman. They made Paige feel instantly
at home.

"Jason has told us so much about you," Mrs. Curtis said.
"He didn't tell us how beautiful you are."
"Thank you."
They went into the library, filled with miniature mod-els
of buildings that Jason and his father had designed.
"I guess that between us, Jason, his great-grandfa-ther,
and I have done a lot of the landscape of San Francisco,"
Jason's father said. "My son is a genius."
"That's what I keep telling Paige," Jason said.
Paige laughed. "I believe it." Her eyes were getting heavy
and she was fighting to stay awake.

Jason was watching her, concerned. "Let's go in to
dinner," he suggested.
They went into the large dining room. It was oak-paneled,
furnished with attractive antiques and portraits on the wall.
A maid began serving.
Jason's father said, "That painting over there is Ja-son's
great-grandfather. All the buildings he designed were
destroyed in the earthquake of 1906. It's too bad. They were
priceless. I'll show you some photographs of them after
dinner if you ..."

Paige's head had dropped to the table. She was sound
asleep.
"I'm glad I didn't serve soup," Jason's mother said.




***




Ken Mallory had a problem. As word of the wager about Kat
had spread around the hospital, the bets had quickly
increased to ten thousand dollars. Mallory had been so
confident of his success that he had bet much more than he
could afford to pay off.

If I fail, I'm in a hell of a lot of trouble. But I'm not
going to fail. Time for the master to go to work.

Kat was having lunch in the cafeteria with Paige and Honey
when Mallory approached the table.

"Mind if I join you doctors?"
Not ladies, not girls. Doctors. The sensitive type, Kat
thought cynically. "Not at all. Sit down," Kat said.
Paige and Honey exchanged a look.
"Well, I have to get going," Paige said.
"Me, too. See you later."
Mallory watched Paige and Honey leave.
"Busy morning?" Mallory asked. He made it sound as though
he really cared.
"Aren't they all?" Kat gave him a warm, promising smile.

Mallory had planned his strategy carefully. I'm going to
let her know I'm interested in her as a person, not just as a
woman. They hate the sex-object thing. Discuss medicine with
her. I'll take it slow and easy. I have a whole month to get
her in the sack.
"Did you hear about the postmortem on Mrs. Turnball?"
Mallory began. "The woman had a Coca-Cola bottle in her
stomach! Can you imagine how . . .?"
Kat leaned forward. "Are you doing anything Satur-day
night, Ken?"
Mallory was caught completely off guard. "What?"
"I thought you might like to take me out to dinner.

He found himself almost blushing. My God! he thought. Talk
about shooting fish in a barrell This is no lesbian. The guys
said that because they couldn't get into her pants. Well, I'm
going to. She's actually asking for itl He tried to remember
with whom he had a date on Saturday. Sally, the little nurse
in OR. She can wait.

"Nothing important," Mallory said. "I'd love to take you
to dinner."
Kat put her hand over his. "Wonderful," she said softly.
"I'll really be looking forward to it."
He grinned. "So will I." You have no idea how much, baby.
Ten thousand dollars' worth!

That afternoon, Kat reported back to Paige and Honey.
"His mouth dropped open!" Kat laughed. "You should have
seen the look on his face! He looked like the cat that
swallowed the canary."
Paige said, "Remember, you're the Kat. He's the canary."
"What are you going to do Saturday night?" Honey asked.
"Any suggestions?"
"I have," Paige answered. "Here's the plan . . ."


Saturday evening, Kat and Ken Mallory had dinner at
Emilio's, a restaurant on the bay. She had dressed carefully
for him, in a white cotton dress, off the shoul-der.

"You look sensational," Mallory said. He was care-ful to
strike just the right note. Appreciative, but not pressing.
Admiring, but not suggestive. Mallory had determined to be at
his most charming, but it was not necessary. It quickly
became obvious to him that Kat was intent on charming him.

Over a drink, Kat said, "Everyone talks about what a
wonderful doctor you are, Ken."
"Well," Mallory said modestly, "I've had fine train-ing,
and I care a lpt about my patients. They're very important to
me." His voice was filled with sincerity.
Kat put her hand over his. "I'm sure they are. Where are
you from? I want to know all about you. The real you."
Jesus! Mallory thought. That's the line I use. He could
not get over how easy this was going to be. He was an expert
on the subject of women. His radar knew all the signals they
put out. They could say yes with a look, a smile, a tone of
voice. Kat's signals were jam-ming his radar.
She was leaning close to him, and her voice was husky. "I
want to know everything."
He talked about himself during dinner, and every time he
tried to change the subject and bring it around to Kat, she
said, "No, no. I want to hear more. You've had such a
fascinating life!"
She's crazy about me, Mallory decided. He wished now that
he had taken more bets. I might even win tonight, he thought.
And he was sure of it when Kat said, as they were having
coffee, "Would you like to come up to my apartment for a
nightcap?"
Bingo! Mallory stroked her arm and said softly, "I'd love
to." The guys were all crazy, Mallory decided.
She's the horniest broad I've ever met. He had a feeling
that he was about to be raped.

Thirty minutes later, they were walking into Kat's
apartment.
"Nice," Mallory said, looking around. "Very nice. Do you
live here alone?"
"No. Dr. Taylor and Dr. Taft live with me."
"Oh." She could hear the note of regret in his voice.
Kat gave him a beguiling smile. "But they won't be home
until much later."
Mallory grinned. "Good."
"Would you like a drink?"
"Love one." He watched as Kat walked over to the little
bar and mixed two drinks. She's got great buns, Mallory
thought. And she's damned good-looking, and I'm getting ten
thousand dollars to lay her. He laughed aloud.
Kat turned. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking how lucky I am to be here
alone with you."
"I'm the lucky one," Kat said warmly. She handed him his
drink.
Mallory raised his glass and started to say, "Here's to .
. ."
Kat beat him to it. "Here's to us!" she said.
He nodded. "I'll drink to that."
He started to say, "How about a little music?" and as he
opened his mouth, Kat said, "Would you like some music?"
"You're a mind reader."
Kat put on an old Cole Porter standard. She
surreptitiously glanced at her watch, then turned to Mallory.
"Do you like to dance?"
Mallory moved closer to her. "It depends on whom I'm
dancing with. I'd love to dance with you."

Kat moved into his arms, and they began to dance to the
slow and dreamy music. He felt Kat's body press-ing hard
against his, and he could feel himself getting aroused. He
held her tighter, and Kat smiled up at him.
Now is the time to go in for the kill.

"You're lovely, you know," Mallory said huskily. "I've
wanted you since the first moment I saw you."
Kat looked into his eyes. "I've felt the same way about
you, Ken." His lips moved toward hers, and he gave her a
warm, passionate kiss.
"Let's go into the bedroom," Mallory said. There was a
sudden urgency in him.
"Oh, yes!"
He took her by the arm and she started leading him toward
her bedroom. And at that moment, the front door opened and
Paige and Honey walked in.
"Hi there!" Paige called. She looked at Ken Mallory in
surprise. "Oh, Dr. Mallory! I didn't expect to see you here."
"Well, I ... I ..."
"We went out to dinner," Kat said.
Mallory was filled with a dark rage. He fought to control
it. He turned to Kat. "I should go. It's late and I have a
big day tomorrow."
"Oh. I'm sorry you're leaving," Kat said. There was a
world of promise in her eyes.
Mallory said, "What about tomorrow night?"
"I'd love to . . ."
"Great!"
". . . but I can't."
"Oh. Well, what about Friday?"
Kat frowned. "Oh, dear. I'm afraid Friday isn't good,
either."
Mallory was getting desperate. "Saturday?"
Kat smiled. "Saturday would be lovely."
He nodded, relieved. "Good. Saturday it is, then."
He turned to Paige and Honey. "Good night."
"Good night."
Kat walked Mallory to the door. "Sweet dreams," ahe said
softly. "I'm going to dream about you."
Mallory squeezed her hand. "I believe in making dreams
come true. We'll make up for this Saturday night."
"I can't wait."
That night, Kat lay in her bed thinking about Mallory. She
hated him. But to her surprise, she had enjoyed the evening.
She was sure that Mallory had enjoyed it too, in spite of the
fact that he was playing a game. If only this were real, Kat
thought, and not a game. She had no idea how dangerous a game
it was.




Chapter Seventeen




Maybe it's the weather, Paige thought wearily. It was cold
and dreary outside, with a gray driving rain that depressed
the spirits. Her day had begun at six o'clock in the morning,
and it was filled with constant problems. The hospital seemed
tc be full of gomers, all complaining at once. The nurses
were surly and careless. They drew blood from the wrong
patients, lost X-rays that were urgently needed, and snapped
at the patients. In addition, there was a staff shortage
because of a flu epidemic. It was that kind of day.

The only bright spot was the telephone call from Jason
Curtis.
"Hello," he said cheerily. "Just thought I'd check in and
see how all our patients are doing."
"They're surviving."
"Any chance of our having lunch?"
Paige laughed. "What's lunch? If I'm lucky, I'll be able
to grab a stale sandwich about four o'clock this afternoon.
It's pretty hectic around here."
"All right. I won't keep you. May I call you again?"
"All right." No harm in that.
"Bye."

Paige worked until midnight without a moment to rest, and
when she was finally relieved, she was almost too tired to
move. She briefly debated staying at the hospital and
sleeping on the cot in the on-call room, but the thought of
her warm, cozy bed at home was too tempting. She changed
clothes and lurched her way to the elevator.
Dr. Peterson came up to her. "My God!" he said. "Where's
the cat that dragged you in?"
Paige smiled wearily. "Do I look that bad?"
"Worse." Peterson grinned. "You're going home now?"
Paige nodded.
"You're lucky. I'm just starting."
The elevator arrived. Paige stood there half asleep.
Peterson said gently, "Paige?"
She shook herself awake. "Yes?"
"Are you going to be able to drive home?"
"Sure," Paige mumbled. "And when I get there, I'm going to
sleep for twenty-four hours straight.''
She walked to the parking lot and got into her car. She
sat there drained, too tired to turn on the ignition. I
mustn't go to sleep here. I'll sleep at home.
Paige drove out of the parking lot and headed toward the
apartment. She was unaware of how erratically she was driving
until a driver yelled at her, "Hey, get off the road, you
drunken broad!"

She forced herself to concentrate. I must not fall asleep
. . . I must not fall asleep. She snapped the radio on and
turned the volume up loud. When she reached her apartment
building, she sat in the car for a long time before she was
able to summon enough strength to go upstairs.

Kat and Honey were in their beds, asleep. Paige looked at
the clock at her bedside. One o'clock in the morning. She
stumbled into her bedroom and started to get undressed, but
the effort was too much for her. She fell into bed with her
clothes on, and in an instant was sound asleep.

She was awakened by the shrill ringing of a telephone that
seemed to be coming from some far-off planet. Paige fought to
stay asleep, but the ringing was like needles penetrating her
brain. She sat up groggily and reached for the phone. "H'lo?"
"Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes." Her voice was a hoarse mumble.
"Dr. Barker wants you in OR Four to assist him, stat."
Paige cleared her throat. "There must be some mis-take,"
she mumbled. "I just got off duty."
"OR Four. He's waiting." The line went dead.

Paige sat on the edge of the bed, numb, her mind clouded
by sleep. She looked at the clock on the bedside table.
Four-fifteen. Why was Dr. Barker asking for her in the middle
of the night? There was only one answer. Something had
happened to one of her patients.

Paige staggered into the bathroom and threw cold water on
her face. She looked in the mirror and thought,
My Godl I look like my mother. No. My mother never looked
this bad.

Ten minutes later, Paige was making her way back to the
hospital. She was still half asleep when she took the
elevator to the fourth floor to OR Four. She went into the
dressing room and changed, then scrubbed up and stepped into
the operating room.

There were three nurses and a resident assisting Dr.
Barker.
He looked up as Paige entered and yelled, "For Christ's
sake, you're wearing a hospital gown! Didn't anyone ever
inform you that you're supposed to wear scrubs in an
operating room?"
Paige stood there, stunned, jolted wide awake, her eyes
blazing. "You listen to me," she said, furiously. "I'm
supposed to be off duty. I came in as a favor to you. I
don't-"
"Don't argue with me," Dr. Barker said curtly. "Get over
here and hold this retractor."
Paige walked over to the operating table and looked down.
It was not her patient on the table. It was a stranger.
Barker had no reason to call me. He's trying to force me to
quit the hospital. Well, I'll be damned if I willl She gave
him a baleful look, picked up the retractor, and went to
work.

The operation was an emergency coronary artery by-pass
graft. The skin incision had already been made down the
center of the chest to the breastbone, which had been split
with an electric saw. The heart and major blood vessels were
exposed.

Paige inserted the metal retractor between the cut sides
of the breastbone, forcing the edges apart. She watched as
Dr. Barker skillfully opened the pericardial sac, exposing
the heart.

He indicated the coronary arteries. "Here's the prob-lem,"
Barkersaid. "We're going to do some grafting."
He had already removed a long strip of vein from one leg.
He sewed a piece of it into the main artery coming out of the
heart. The other end he attached to one of the coronary
arteries, beyond the obstructed area, sending the blood
through the vein graft, bypassing the obstruction.

Paige was watching a master at work. If only he weren't
such a bastardl
The operation took three hours. By the time it was over,
Paige was only half conscious. When the incision had been
closed, Dr. Barker turned to the staff and said, "I want to
thank all of you." He was not looking at Paige.
Paige stumbled out of the room without a word and went
upstairs to the office of Dr. Benjamin Wallace.

Wallace was just arriving. "You look exhausted," he said.
"You should get some rest."
Paige took a deep breath to control her anger. "I want to
be transferred to another surgical team."
Wallace studied her a moment. "You're assigned to Dr.
Barker, right?"
"Right."
"What's the problem?"
"Ask him. He hates me. He'll be glad to get rid of me.
I'll go with anyone else. Anyone."
"I'll talk to him," Wallace said.
"Thank you."
Paige turned and walked out of the office. They'd better
take me away from him. If I see him again, I'll kill him.

Paige went home and slept for twelve hours. She woke up
with a feeling that something wonderful had happened, and
then she remembered. I don't have to see the Beast anymore!
She drove to the hospital, whistling.

As Paige was walking down the corridor, an orderly came up
to her. "Dr. Taylor ..."
"Yes?"
"Dr. Wallace would like to see you in his office."
"Thank you," Paige said. She wondered who the new senior
surgeon would be. Anybody will be an im-provement, Paige
thought. She walked into Benjamin Wallace's office.
"Well, you look much better today, Paige."
"Thanks. I feel much better." And she did. She felt great,
filled with an enormous sense of relief.
"I talked to Dr. Barker."
Paige smiled. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
"He won't let you go."
Paige's smile faded. What?
"He said you're assigned to his team and you'll stay
there."
She could not believe what she was hearing. "But why?" She
knew why. The sadistic bastard needed a whipping girl,
someone to humiliate. "I'm not going to stand for it."
Dr. Wallace said ruefully, "I'm afraid you have no choice.
Unless you want to leave the hospital. Would you like to
think about it?"
Paige did not have to think about it. "No." She was not
going to let Barker force her to quit. That was his plan.
"No," she repeated slowly. "I'll stay."
"Good. Then that's settled."
Not by a long shot, Paige thought. I'm going to find some
way to pay him back.

In the doctors' dressing room, Ken Mallory was get-ting
ready to make his rounds. Dr. Grundy and three other doctors
walked in.
"There's our man!" Grundy said. "How are you doing, Ken?"
"Fine," Mallory said.
Grundy turned to the others. "He doesn't look like he just
got laid, does he?" He turned back to Mallory. "I hope you
have our money ready. I plan to make a down payment on a
little car."
Another doctor joined in. "I'm buying a whole new
wardrobe."
Mallory shook his head pityingly. "I wouldn't count on it,
suckers. Get ready to pay me off!"
Grundy was studying him. "What do you mean?"
"If she's a lesbian, I'm a eunuch. She's the horniest
broad I ever met. I practically had to hold her off the other
night!"
The men were looking at one another, worried.
"But you didn't get her into the sack?"
"The only reason I didn't, my friends, is because we were
interrupted on the way to the bedroom. I have a date with her
Saturday night, and it will all be over but the shouting."
Mallory finished dressing. "Now, if you gentlemen will excuse
me . . ."

An hour later, Grundy stopped Kat in the corridor.
"I've been looking for you," he said. He looked angry.
"Is something wrong?"
"It's that bastard Mallory. He's so sure of himself that
he's telling everyone he's going to get you into bed by
Saturday night."
"Don't worry," Kat said grimly. "He's going to lose."

When Ken Mallory picked Kat up Saturday night, she had on
a low-cut dress that accentuated her voluptuous figure.
"You look gorgeous," he said admiringly.
She put her arms around him. "I want to look good for
you." She was clinging to him.
God, she really wants it. When Mallory spoke, his voice
was husky. "Look, I have an idea, Kat. Before we go out to
dinner, why don't we slip into the bedroom and . . ."
She was stroking his face. "Oh, darling, I wish we could.
Paige is home." Paige was actually at the hospi-tal, working.
"Oh."
"But after dinner ..." She let the suggestion hang in the
air.
"Yes?"
"We could go to your place."
Mallory put his arms around her and kissed her. "That's a
wonderful idea!"
He took her to the Iron Horse, and they had a delicious
dinner. In spite of herself, Kat was having a wonderful   time.
He was charming and amusing, and incredibly attractive.   He
seemed genuinely interested in knowing everything about   her.
She knew he was flattering her, but he really seemed to   mean
the compliments he paid her.

If I didn't know better . . .

Mallory had hardly tasted his food. All he could think
was, In two hours I will be making ten thousand dollars. . .
. In one hour, I will be making ten thousand dol-lars. . . .
In thirty minutes . . .

They finished their coffee.
"Are you ready?" Mallory asked.
Kat put her hand over his. "You have no idea how ready,
darling. Let's go."
They took a taxi to Mallory's apartment. "I'm abso-lutely
crazy about you," Mallory murmured. "I've never known anyone
like you."
And she could hear Grundy's voice: He's so sure of himself
that he says he's going to get you into bed by Saturday
night.

When they arrived at the apartment, Mallory paid the taxi
driver and led Kat into the elevator. It seemed to Mallory to
take forever to get up to his apartment. He opened the door
and said eagerly, "Here it is."
Kat stepped inside.

It was an ordinary little bachelor's apartment that
desperately needed a woman's touch.
"Oh, it's lovely," Kat breathed. She turned to Mal-lory.
"It's you.'"
He grinned. "Let me show you our room. I'll put some music
on."
As he went over to the tape deck, Kat glanced at her
watch. The voice of Barbra Streisand filled the room.
Mallory took her hand. "Let's go, honey."
"Wait a minute," Kat said softly.
He was looking at her, puzzled. "What for?"
"I just want to enjoy this moment with you. You know,
before we ..."
"Why don't we enjoy it in the bedroom?"
"I'd love a drink."
"A drink?" He tried to hide his impatience. "Fine. What
would you like?"
"A vodka and tonic, please."
He smiled. "I think we can handle that." He went over to
the little bar and hurriedly mixed two drinks.
Kat looked at her watch again.
Mallory returned with the drinks and handed one to Kat.
"Here you are, baby." He raised his glass. "To togetherness."
"To togetherness," Kat said. She took a sip of the drink.
"Oh, my God!"
He looked at her, startled. "What's the matter?"
"This is vodka!"
"That's what you asked for."
"Did I? I'm sorry. I hate vodka!" She stroked his face.
"May I have a scotch and soda?"
"Sure." He swallowed his impatience and went back to the
bar to mix another drink.
Kat glanced at her watch again.
Ken Mallory returned. "Here you are."
"Thank you, darling."
She took two sips of her drink. Mallory took the glass
from her and set it on a table. He put his arms around Kat
and held her close, and she could feel that he was aroused.
"Now," Ken said softly, "let's make history."
"Oh, yes!" Kat said. "Yes!"
She let him lead her into the bedroom.
I've done it! Mallory exulted. I've done it. Here go the
walls of Jericho! He turned to Kat. "Get undressed, baby."
"You first, darling. I want to watch you get un dressed.
It excites me."
"Oh? Well, sure."
As Kat stood there watching, Mallory slowly took his
clothes off. First his jacket, then his shirt and tie, then
his shoes and stockings, and then his trousers. He had the
firm figure of an athlete.
"Does this excite you, baby?"
"Oh, yes. Now take off your shorts."
Slowly Mallory let his shorts fall to the floor. He had a
turgid erection.
"That's beautiful," Kat said.
"Now it's your turn."
"Right."
And at that moment, Kat's beeper went off.
Mallory was startled. "What the hell . . .?"
"They're calling me," Kat said. "May I use your
telephone?"
"Now?"
"Yes. It must be an emergency."
'Wow? Can't it wait?"
"Darling, you know the rules."
"But . . ."
As Mallory watched, Kat walked over to the telephone and
dialed a number. "Dr. Hunter." She lis-tened. "Really? Of
course. I'll be right there."
Mallory was staring at her, stupefied. "What's going on?"
"I have to get back to the hospital, angel."
"Now?"
"Yes. One of my patients is dying."
"Can't he wait until . . . ?"
"I'm sorry. We'll do this another night."
Ken Mallory stood there, buck naked, watching Kat walk out
of his apartment, and as the door closed behind her, he
picked up her drink and slammed it into the wall. Bitch . . .
bitch . . . bitch . . .

When Kat got back to the apartment, Paige and Honey were
eagerly waiting for her.
"How did it go?" Paige asked. "Was I on time?"
Kat laughed. "Your timing was perfect."
She began to describe the evening. When she came to the
part about Mallory standing in the bedroom naked, with an
erection, they laughed until tears came to their eyes.

Kat was tempted to tell them how enjoyable she really
found Ken Mallory, but she felt foolish. After all, he was
seeing her only so he could win a bet.
Somehow, Paige seemed to sense how Kat felt. "Be careful
of him, Kat."
Kat smiled. "Don't worry. But I will admit that if I
didn't know about that bet ... He's a snake, but he gives
good snake oil."
"When are you going to see him again?" Honey asked.
"I'm going to give him a week to cool off." Paige was
studying her. "Him or you?"

Dinetto's black limousine was waiting outside the hospital
for Kat. This time, the Shadow was alone. Kat wished that
Rhino were there. There was something about the Shadow that
petrified her. He never smiled and seldom spoke, but he
exuded menace.

"Get in," he said as Kat approached the car.
"Look," Kat said indignantly, "you tell Mr. Dinetto that
he can't order me around. I don't work for him. Just because
I did him a favor once ..."
"Get in. You can tell him yourself."
Kat hesitated. It would be easy to walk away and not get
involved any further, but how would it affect Mike? Kat got
into the car.
The victim this time had been badly beaten, whipped with a
chain. Lou Dinetto was there with him.
Kat took one look at the patient and said, "You've got to
get him to a hospital right away."
"Kat," Dinetto said, "you have to treat him here."
"Why?" Kat demanded. But she knew the answer, and it
terrified her.




Chapter Eighteen




It was one of those clear days in San Francisco when there
was a magic in the air. The night wind had swept away the
rainclouds, producing a crisp, sunny Sunday morning.

Jason had arranged to pick up Paige at the apartment. When
he arrived, Paige was surprised at how pleased she was to see
him.

''Good morning,'' Jason said. ' 'You look beautiful.''
"Thank you."
"What would you like to do today?"
Paige said, "It's your town. You lead, I'll follow."
"Fair enough."
"If you don't mind," Paige said, "I'd like to make a quick
stop at the hospital."
"I thought this was your day off."
"It is, but there's a patient I'm concerned about."
"No problem." Jason drove her to the hospital.
"I won't be long," Paige promised as she got out of the
car.
"I'll wait for you here."

Paige went up to the third floor and into Jimmy Ford's
room. He was still in a coma, attached to an array of tubes
feeding him intravenously.
A nurse was in the room. She looked up as Paige entered.
"Good morning, Dr. Taylor."
"Good morning." Paige walked over to the boy's bedside.
"Has there been any change?"
"I'm afraid not."
Paige felt Jimmy's pulse and listened to his heartbeat.
"It's been several weeks now," the nurse said. "It doesn't
look good, does it?"
"He's going to come out of it," Paige said firmly. She
turned to the unconscious figure on the bed and raised her
voice. "Do you hear me? You're going to get well!" There was
no reaction. She closed her eyes a moment and said a silent
prayer. "Have them beep me at once if there's any change."
"Yes, doctor."
He's not going to die, Paige thought. I'm not going to let
him die. . . .

Jason got out of the car as Paige approached. "Is
everything all right?"
There was no point in burdening him with her prob-lems.
"Everything's fine," Paige said.
"Let's play real tourists today," Jason said. "There's a
state law that all tours have to start at Fisherman's Wharf."
Paige smiled. "We mustn't break the law."


Fisherman's Wharf was like an outdoor carnival. The street
entertainers were out in full force. There were mimes,
clowns, dancers, and musicians. Vendors were selling steaming
caldrons of Dungeness crabs and clam chowder with fresh
sourdough bread.

"There's no place like this in the world," Jason said
warmly.
Paige was touched by his enthusiasm. She had seen
Fisherman's Wharf before and most of the other tourist sites
of San Francisco, but she did not want to spoil his fun.
"Have you ridden a cable car yet?" Jason asked.
"No." Not since last week.
"You haven't lived! Come along."
They walked to Powell Street and boarded a cable car. As
they started up the steep grade, Jason said, "This was known
as Hallidie's Folly. He built it in 1873."
"And I'll bet they said it wouldn't last!"
Jason laughed. "That's right. When I was going to high
school, I used to work weekends as a tour guide."
"I'm sure you were good."
"The best. Would you like to hear some of my spiel?"
"I'd love to."

Jason adopted the nasal tone of a tour guide. "Ladies and
gentlemen, for your information, the oldest street in San
Francisco is Grant Avenue, the longest is Mission
Street-seven and a half miles long-the widest is Van Ness
Avenue at one hundred twenty-five feet, and you'll tbe
surprised to know that the narrowest, DeForest Street, is
only four and a half feet. That's right, ladies and
gentlemen, four and a half feet. The steepest street we can
offer you is Filbert Street, with a thirty-one and a half
percent grade." He looked at Paige and grinned. "I'm
surprised that I still remember all that."

When they alighted from the cable car, Paige looked up at
Jason and smiled. "What's next?"
"We're going to take a carriage ride."
Ten minutes later, they were seated in a horse-drawn
carriage that took them from Fisherman's Wharf to Ghirardelli
Square to North Beach. Jason pointed out the places of
interest along the way, and Paige was surprised at how much
she was enjoying herself. Don't let yourself get carried
away.
They went up to Coit Tower for a view of the city. As they
ascended, Jason asked, "Are you hungry?"
The fresh air had made Paige very hungry. "Yes."
"Good. I'm going to take you to one of the best Chinese
restaurants in the world-Tommy Toy's."
Paige had heard the hospital staff speak of it.
The meal turned out to be a banquet. They started with
lobster pot stickers with chili sauce, and hot and sour soup
with seafood. That was followed by filet of chicken with snow
peas and pecans, veal filet with Szechuan sauce, and
four-flavored fried rice. For des-sert, they had a peach
mousse. The food was wonderful.
"Do you come here often?" Paige asked.
"As often as I can."
There was a boyish quality about Jason that Paige found
very attractive.
"Tell me," Paige said, "did you always want to be an
architect?"
"I had no choice." Jason grinned. "My first toys were
Erector sets. It's exciting to dream about some-thing and
then watch that dream become concrete and bricks and stone,
and soar up into the sky and become apart of the city you
live in."

I'm going to build you a Taj Mahal. I don't care how long
it takes!

"I'm one of the lucky ones, Paige, spending my life doing
what I love to do. Who was it who said, 'Most people live
lives of quiet desperation'?"
Sounds like a lot of my patients, Paige thought.
"There's nothing else I would want to do, or any other
place I would want to live. This is a fabulous city." His
voice was filled with excitement. "It has everything anyone
could want. I never get tired of it."
Paige studied him for a moment, enjoying his enthusi-asm.
"You've never been married?"
Jason shrugged. "Once. We were both too young. It didn't
work out."
"I'm sorry."
"No need to be. She's married to a very wealthy meat
packer. Have you been married?"
I'm going to be a doctor, too, when I grow up. We'll
married, and we'll work together.
'No."


They took a bay cruise under the Golden Gate and Bay
Bridge. Jason assumed his tour guide's voice again.
"And there, ladies and gentlemen, is the storied Alcatraz,
former home of some of the world's most infamous
criminals-Machine Gun Kelly, Al Capone, and Robert Stroud,
known as the Birdman! 'Alcatraz' means peli-can in Spanish.
It was originally called Isla de los Alcatraces, after the
birds that were its only inhabitants. Do you know why they
had hot showers every day for the prisoners here?"
"No."
"So that they wouldn't get used to the cold bay water when
they were trying to escape."
"Is that true?" Paige asked.
"Have I ever lied to you?"
It was late afternoon when Jason said, "Have you ever been
to Noe Valley?"
Paige shook her head. "No."
"I'd like to show it to you. It used to be farms and
streams. Now it's filled with brightly colored Victorian
homes and gardens. The houses are very old, because it was
about the only area spared in the 1906 earthquake."
"It sounds lovely."
Jason hesitated. "My home is there. Would you like to see
it?" He saw Paige's reaction. "Paige, I'm in love with you."
"We hardly know each other. How could you . . .?"
"I knew it from the moment you said, 'Don't you know
you're supposed to wear a white coat on rounds?' That's when
I fell in love with you."
"Jason . . ."
"I'm a firm believer in love at first sight. My
grandfa-ther saw my grandmother riding a bicycle in the park
and he followed her, and they got married three months later.
They were together for fifty years, until he died. My father
saw my mother crossing a street, and he knew she was going to
be his wife. They've been married for forty-five years. You
see, it runs in the family. I want to marry you."

It was the moment of truth.

Paige looked at Jason and thought, He's the first man I've
been attracted to since Alfred. He's adorable and bright and
genuine. He's everything a woman could want in a man. What's
the matter with me! I'm holding on to a ghost. Yet deep
inside her, she still had the overpowering feeling that one
day Alfred was going to come back to her.

She looked at Jason and made her decision.' 'Jason..."
And at that moment, Paige's beeper went off. It sounded
urgent, ominous.
"Paige ..."
"I have to get to a telephone." Two minutes later, she was
talking to the hospital.
Jason watched Paige's face turn pale.
She was shouting into the telephone, "No! Abso-lutely not!
Tell them I'll be right there." She slammed the phone down.
"What is it?" Jason asked.
She turned to him, and her eyes were filled with tears.
"It's Jimmy Ford, my patient. They're going to take him off
the respirator. They're going to let him die."

When Paige reached Jimmy Ford's room, there were three
people there beside the comatose figure in bed: George
Englund, Benjamin Wallace, and a lawyer, Silvester Damone.

Did you know I'm getting marriedl . . . Her name is Betsy.
. . . We're going to have half a dozen kids. The first girl
is going to be named Paige.

He had so very much to live for.
Paige stood there looking down at him, tears blurring the
room. "Damn you!" she said. "You're a quitter!" She was
sobbing now. "What happened to those dreams of yours? I
thought you wanted to become a doctor! Answer me! Do you hear
me? Open your eyes!" She looked down at the pale figure.
There was no reaction. "I'm sorry," Paige said. "I'm so
sorry." She leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, and as she
slowly straightened up, she was looking into his open eyes.

"Jimmy! Jimmy'!"
He blinked and closed his eyes again. Paige squeezed his
hand. She leaned forward and said through her sobs, "Jimmy,
did you hear the one about the patient who was being fed
intravenously? He asked the doctor for an extra bottle. He
was having a guest for lunch."




Chapter Nineteen
Honey was happier than she had ever been in her life. She
had a warm relationship with patients that few of the other
doctors had. She genuinely cared about them. She worked in
geriatrics, in pediat-rics, and in various other wards, and
Dr. Wallace saw to it that she was given assignments that
kept her out of harm's way. He wanted to make sure that she
stayed at the hospital and was available to him.

Honey envied the nurses. They were able to nurture their
patients without worrying about major medical decisions. I
never wanted to be a doctor, Honey thought. I always wanted
to be a nurse. There are no nurses in the Taft family.

In the afternoons when Honey left the hospital, she would
go shopping at the Bay Company, and Streetlight Records, and
buy gifts for the children in pediatric care.

"I love children," she told Kat.
"Are you planning to have a large family?" "Someday,"
Honey said wistfully. "I have to find their father first."

One of Honey's favorite patients in the geriatric ward was
Daniel McGuire, a cheerful man in his nineties who was
suffering from a diseased liver condition. He had been a
gambler in his youth, and he liked to make bets with Honey.
"I'll bet you fifty cents the orderly is late with my
breakfast."
"I'll bet you a dollar it's going to rain this
after-noon."
"I'll bet you the Giants win."
Honey always took his bets.
"I'll bet you ten to one I beat this thing," he said.
"This time I'm not going to bet you," Honey told him. "I'm
on your side."
He took her hand. "I know you are." He grinned. "If I were
a few months younger ..."
Honey laughed. "Never mind. I like older men."

One morning a letter came to him addressed to the
hospital. Honey took it to him in his room.
"Read it to me, would you?" His eyesight had faded.
"Of course," Honey said. She opened the envelope, looked
at it a moment, and let out a cry. "You've won the lottery!
Fifty thousand dollars! Congratulations!"
"How about that?" He yelled. "I always knew I'd win the
lottery one day! Give me a hug."
Honey leaned down and hugged him.
"You know something, Honey? I'm the luckiest man in the
world."
When Honey came back to visit him that afternoon, he had
passed away.


Honey was in the doctors' lounge when Dr. Stevens
walked in. "Is there a Virgo here?" One of the doctors
laughed. "If you mean a virgin, I doubt it."
"A Virgo," Stevens repeated. "I need a Virgo." "I'm a
Virgo," Honey said. "What's the problem?" He walked up to
her. "The problem is that I have a
goddam maniac on my hands. She won't let anyone near her
but a Virgo." Honey got up. "I'll go see her." "Thanks. Her
name is Frances Gordon."


Frances Gordon had just had a hip replacement. The moment
Honey walked into the room, the woman looked up and said,
"You're a Virgo. Born on the cusp, right?"
Honey smiled. "That's right."
"Those Aquarians and Leos don't know what the hell they're
doin'. They treat patients like they're meat."
"The doctors here are very good," Honey protested. "They-"
"Ha! Most of them are in it for the money." She looked at
Honey more closely. "You're different."
Honey scanned the chart at the foot of the bed, a
surprised look on her face.
"What's the matter? What are you lookin' at?"
"Has he beaten you up before?"
"Yes, but he ... he doesn't mean anything by it. He gets
drunk and loses his temper."
"Why haven't you left him?"
Mrs. Owens shrugged, and the movement caused her pain.
"The kids and I have nowhere to go."
Honey was listening, furious. "You don't have to take
this, you know. There are shelters and agencies that will
take care of you and protect you and the children."
The woman shook her head in despair. "I have no money. I
lost my job as a secretary when he started ..." She could not
go on.
Honey squeezed her hand. "You're going to be fine. I'll
see that you're taken care of."

Five minutes later Honey marched into Dr. Wallace's
office. He was delighted to see her. He wondered what she had
brought with her this time. At various times, she had used
warm honey, hot water, melted chocolate, and-his
favorite-maple syrup. Her ingenuity was boundless.
"Lock the door, baby."
"I can't stay, Ben. I have to get back."
She told him about her patient.
"You'll have to file a police report," Wallace said. "It's
the law."
"The law hasn't protected her before. Look, all she wants
to do is get away from her husband. She worked as a
secretary. Didn't you say you needed a new file clerk?"
"Well, yes, but . . . wait a minute!"
"Thanks," Honey said. "We'll get her on her feet, and find
her a place to live, and she'll have a new job!"
Wallace sighed. "I'll see what I can do." "I knew you
would," Honey said.


The next morning, Honey went back to see Mrs. Owens.
"How are you feeling today?" Honey asked.
"Better, thanks. When can I go home? My husband doesn't
like it when-"
"Your husband is'not going to bother you anymore," Honey
said firmly. "You'll stay here until we find a place for you
and the children to live, and when you're well enough, you're
going to have a job here at the hospital."
Mrs. Owens stared at her unbelievingly. "Do . . . do you
mean that?"
"Absolutely. You'll have your own apartment with your
children. You won't have to put up with the kind of horror
you've been living through, and you'll have a decent,
respectable job."
Mrs. Owens clutched Honey's hand. "I don't know how to
thank you," she sobbed. "You don't know what it has been
like."
"I can imagine," Honey said. "You're going to be fine."
The woman nodded, too choked up to speak.
The following day when Honey returned to see Mrs. Owens,
the room was empty.
"Where is she?" Honey asked.
"Oh," the nurse said, "she left this morning with her
husband."
Her name was on the PA system again. "Dr. Taft . . . Room
215. ... Dr. Taft . . . Room 215."
In the corridor Honey ran into Kat. "How's your day
going?" Kat asked.
"You wouldn't believe it!" Honey told her.


Dr. Ritter was waiting for her in Room 215. In bed was an
Indian man in his late twenties.
Dr. Ritter said, "This is your patient?"
"Yes."
"It says here that he speaks no English. Right?"
"Yes."
He showed her the chart. "And this is your writing?
Vomiting, cramps, thirst, dehydration ..."
"That's right," Honey said.
"... absence of peripheral pulse ..."
"Yes."
"And what was your diagnosis?"
"Stomach flu."
"Did you take a stool sample?"
"No. What for?"
"Because your patient has cholera, that's what for!" He
was screaming. "We're going to have to close down the fucking
hospital!"




Chapter Twenty




Cholera? Are you telling me this hospital has a patient
with cholera?" Benjamin Wallace yelled.
"I'm afraid so."
"Are you absolutely sure?"
"No question," Dr. Ritter said. "His stool is swarm-ing
with vibrios. He has low arterial pH, with hypoten-sion,
tachycardia, and cyanosis."
By law, all cases of cholera and other infectious
dis-eases must immediately be reported to the state health
board and to the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta.
"We're going to have to report it, Ben."
"They'll close us down!" Wallace stood up and be-gan to
pace. "We can't afford that. I'll be goddamned if I'm going
to put every patient in this hospital under quarantine." He
stopped pacing for a moment. "Does the patient know what he
has?''
"No. He doesn't speak English. He's from India."
"Who has had contact with him?"
"Two nurses and Dr. Taft."
"And Dr. Taft diagnosed it as stomach flu?"
"Right. I suppose you're going to dismiss her."
"Well, no," Wallace said. "Anyone can make a mistake.
Let's not be hasty. Does the patient's chart read stomach
flu?"
"Yes."

Wallace made his decision. "Let's leave it that way.
Here's what I want you to do. Start intravenous
rehydration-use lactated Ringer's solution. Also give him
tetracycline. If we can restore his blood volume and fluid
immediately, he could be close to normal in a few hours."
"We aren't going to report this?" Dr. Ritter asked.
Wallace looked him in the eye. "Report a case of stomach
flu?"
"What about the nurses and Dr. Taft?"
"Give them tetracycline, too. What's the patient's name?"
"Pandit Jawah."
"Put him in quarantine for forty-eight hours. He'll either
be cured by then or dead."
Honey was in a panic. She went to find Paige. "I need your
help." "What's the problem?"
Honey told her. "I wish you would talk to him. He doesn't
speak English, and you speak Indian." "Hindi." "Whatever.
Will you talk to him?"
"Of course."


Ten minutes later, Paige was talking to Pandit Jawah.
"Aap ki tabyat kaisi hai?"
"Karab hai."
"Aap jald acha ko hum kardenge."
"Bhagwan aap ki soney ga."
"Aap ka ilaj hum jalb shuroo kardenge."
"Shukria."
"Dost kiss Hay hain?"

Paige took Honey outside in the corridor.
"What did he say?"
"He said he feels terrible. I told him he's going to get
well. He said to tell it to God. I told him we're going to
start treatment immediately. He said he's grateful."
"So am I."
"What are friends for?"

Cholera is a disease that can cause death within
twenty-four hours from dehydration, or that can be cured
within a few hours.
Five hours after his treatment began, Pandit Jawah was
nearly back to normal.

Paige stopped in to see Jimmy Ford.
His face lit up when he saw her. "Hi." His voice was weak,
but he had improved miraculously.
"How are you feeling?" Paige asked.
"Great. Did you hear about the doctor who said to his
patient, 'The best thing you can do is give up smok-ing, stop
drinking, and cut down on your sex life?
patient said, 'I don't deserve the best. What's the second
best?' "
And Paige knew Jimmy Ford was going to get well.


Ken Mallory was getting off duty and was on his way to
meet Kat when he heard his name being paged. He hesitated,
debating whether or not simply to slip out. His name was
paged once more. Reluctantly, he picked up a telephone. "Dr.
Mallory."
"Doctor, could you come to ER Two, please? We have a
patient here who-"
"Sorry," Mallory said, "I just checked out. Find someone
else."
"There's no one else available who can handle this. It's a
bleeding ulcer, and the patient's condition is criti-cal. I'm
afraid we're going to lose him if . . ."
Damn! "All right. I'll be right there." I'll have to call
Kat and tell her I'll be late.

The patient in the emergency room was a man in his
sixties. He was semiconscious, ghost-pale, perspiring, and
breathing hard, obviously in enormous pain. Mal-lory took one
look at him and said, "Get him into an OR, stat!"
Fifteen minutes later, Mallory had the patient on an
operating table. The anesthesiologist was monitoring his
blood pressure. "It's dropping fast."
"Pump some more blood into him."
Ken Mallory began the operation, working against time. It
took only a moment to cut through the skin, and after that,
the layer of fat, the fascia, the muscle, and finally the
smooth, transparent peritoneum, the lining of the abdomen.
Blood was pouring into the stomach.

"Bovie!" Mallory said. "Get me four units of blood from
the blood bank." He began to cauterize the bleed-ing vessels.

The operation took four hours, and when it was over,
Mallory was exhausted. He looked down at the patient and
said, "He's going to live."
One of the nurses gave Mallory a warm smile. "It's a good
thing you were here, Dr. Mallory."
He looked over at her. She was young and pretty and
obviously open to an invitation. I'll get to you later, baby,
Mallory thought. He turned to a junior resident, "Close him
up and get him into the recovery room. I'll check on him in
the morning."
Mallory debated whether to telephone Kat, but it was
midnight. He sent her two dozen roses.

When Mallory checked in at 6:00 a.m., he stopped by the
recovery room to see his new patient.
"He's awake," the nurse said.
Mallory walked over to the bed. "I'm Dr. Mallory. How do
you feel?''
"When I think of the alternative, I feel fine," the
patient said weakly. "They tell me you saved my life. This
was the damnedest thing. I was in the car on my way to a
dinner party, and I got this sudden pain and I guess I
blacked out. Fortunately, we were only a block away from the
hospital, and they brought me to the emergency room here."
"You were lucky. You lost a lot of blood."
"They told me that in another ten minutes, I would have
been gone. I want to thank you, doctor."
Mallory shrugged. "I was just doing my job."
The patient was studying him carefully. "I'm Alex
Harrison."
The name meant nothing to Mallory. "Glad to know you, Mr.
Harrison." He was checking Harrison's pulse.
"Are you in any pain now?" "A bit, but I guess they have
me pretty well doped
up."
"The anesthetic will wear off," Mallory assured him.
"So will the pain. You're going to be fine." "How long
will I have to be in the hospital?" "We should have you out
of here in a few days." A clerk from the business office came
in, carrying some hospital forms. "Mr. Harrison, for our
records, the hospital needs to know whether you have medical
coverage."
"You mean you want to know if I can pay my bill."
"Well, I wouldn't put it like that, sir."
"You might check with the San Francisco Fidelity Bank," he
said dryly. "I own it."

In the afternoon, when Mallory stopped by to see Alex
Harrison, there was an attractive woman with him. She was in
her early thirties, blond and trim, and ele-gant-looking. She
was wearing an Adolfo dress that Mallory figured must have
cost more than his monthly salary.

"Ah! Here's our hero," Alex Harrison said. "It's Dr.
Mallory, isn't it?"
"Yes. Ken Mallory."
"Dr. Mallory, this is my daughter, Lauren."
She held out a slim, manicured hand. "Father tells me you
saved his life."
He smiled. "That's what doctors are for."
Lauren was looking over him approvingly. "Not all
doctors."

It was obvious to Mallory that these two did not belong in
a county hospital. He said to Alex Harrison, "You're coming
along fine, but perhaps you'd feel more comfortable if you
called your own doctor.''
Alex Harrison shook his head. ' 'That won't be neces-sary.
He didn't save my life. You did. Do you like it here?"
It was a strange question. "It's interesting, yes. Why?"
Harrison sat up in bed. "Well, I was just thinking. A
good-looking fellow as capable as you are could have a damned
bright future. I don't think you have much of a future in a
place like this."
"Well, I ..."
"Maybe it was fate that brought me here."
Lauren spoke up. "I think what my father is trying to say
is that he would like to show you his appreciation."
"Lauren is right. You and I should have a serious talk
when I get out of here. I'd like you to come up to the house
for dinner.''
Mallory looked at Lauren and said slowly, "I'd like that."
And it changed his life.

Ken Mallory was having a surprisingly difficult time
getting together with Kat. "How's Monday night, Kat?"
"Wonderful." "Good. I'll pick you up at-"
"Wait! I just remembered. A cousin from New York is coming
to town for the night."
"Well, Tuesday?"
"I'm on call Tuesday."
"What about Wednesday?"
"I promised Paige and Honey that we'd do something
together Wednesday."
Mallory was getting desperate. His time was running out
too fast.
"Thursday?"
"Thursday is fine."
"Great. Shall I pick you up?"
"No. Why don't we meet at Chez Panisse?"
"Very well. Eight o'clock?"
"Perfect."

Mallory waited at the restaurant until nine o'clock and
then telephoned Kat. There was no answer. He waited another
half hour. Maybe she misunderstood, he thought. She wouldn't
deliberately break a date with me.

The following morning, he saw Kat at the hospital. She ran
up to him.
"Oh, Ken, I'm so sorry! It was the silliest thing. I
decided to take a little nap before our date. I fell asleep
and when I woke up it was the middle of the night. Poor
darling. Did you wait for me long?"
"No, no. It's all right." The stupid womanl He moved
closer to her. "I want to finish what we started, baby. I go
crazy when I think about you."
"Me, too," Kat said. "I can't wait."
"Maybe next weekend we can ..." "Oh, dear. I'm busy over
the weekend." And so it went. The clock was running.

Kat was reporting events to Paige when her beeper went
off.
"Excuse me." Kat picked up a telephone. "Dr. Hunter." She
listened a moment. "Thanks. I'll be right there." She
replaced the receiver. "I have to go. Emer-gency."
Paige sighed. "What else is new?"

Kat strode down the corridor and took an elevator down to
the emergency room. Inside were two dozen cots, all of them
occupied. Kat thought of it as the suffering room, filled day
and night with victims of automobile accidents, gunshots or
knife wounds, and twisted limbs. A kaleidoscope of broken
lives. To Kat it was a small corner of hell.

An orderly hurried up to her. "Dr. Hunter ..."
"What have we got?" Kat asked. They were moving toward a
cot at the far end of the room.
"He's unconscious. It looks as though someone beat him up.
His face and head are battered, he has a broken nose, a
dislocated shoulder blade, at least two different fractures
to his right arm, and ..."
"Why did you call me?"
"The paramedics think there's a head injury. There could
be brain damage."
They had reached the cot where the victim lay. His face
was caked with blood, swollen and bruised. He was wearing
alligator shoes and . . . Kat's heart skipped a beat. She
leaned forward and took a closer look. It was Lou Dinetto.
Kat ran skillful fingers over his scalp and examined his
eyes. There was a definite concussion.

She hurried over to a telephone and dialed. "This is Dr.
Hunter. I want a head CAT scan done. The patient's name is
Dinetto. Lou Dinetto. Send down a gurney, stat."
Kat replaced the receiver and turned her attention back to
Dinetto. She said to the orderly, "Stay with him. When the
gurney arrives, take him to the third floor. I'll be
waiting."
Thirty minutes later on the third floor, Kat was study-ing
the CAT scan she had ordered. "He has some brain
hemorrhaging, he has a high fever, and he's in shock. I want
him stabilized for twenty-four hours. I'll decide then when
we'll operate."
Kat wondered whether what had happened to Dinetto might
affect Mike.
And how.


Paige stopped by to see Jimmy. He was feeling much better.
"Did you hear about the flasher in the garment dis-trict?
He walked up to a little old lady and opened up his raincoat.
She studied him a moment and said, 'You call that a lining?'
"


Kat was having dinner with Mallory at an intimate little
restaurant near the bay. Seated across from Mal-lory,
studying him, Kat felt guilty. I should never have started
this, she thought. I know what he is, and yet I'm having a
wonderful time. Damn the man! But I can't stop our plan now.
They had finished their coffee.

Kat leaned forward. "Can we go to your place, Ken?"
"You bet!" Finally, Mallory thought.
Kat shifted in her chair uncomfortably and frowned. "Uh,
oh!"
"Are you all right?" Mallory asked.
"I don't know. Would you excuse me for a mo-ment?"
"Certainly." He watched her get up and head for the
ladies' room.
When she returned, she said, "It's bad timing, dar-ling.
I'm so sorry. You'd better get me home."
He stared at her, trying to conceal his frustration. The
damned fates were conspiring against him.
"Right," Mallory said curtly. He was ready to ex-plode.
He was going to lose a precious five days.
Five minutes after Kat returned to the apartment, the
front doorbell rang. Kat smiled to herself. Mallory had found
an excuse to come back, and she hated herself for being so
pleased. She walked over to the door and opened it.
"Ken ..."
Rhino and the Shadow were standing there. Kat felt a
sudden sense of fear. The two men pushed past her into the
apartment.
Rhino spoke. "You doin' the operation on Mr. Di-netto?"
Kat's throat was dry. "Yes."
"We don't want anything to happen to him."
"Neither do I," Kat said. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm
tired and-"
"Is there a chance he'll die?" the Shadow asked.
Kat hesitated. "In brain surgery there's always a risk
of-"
"You better not let it happen."
"Believe me, I-"
"Don't let it happen." He looked at Rhino. "Let's go-"
Kat watched them start to leave.

At the door, the Shadow turned and said, "Say hello to
Mike for us."
Kat was suddenly very still. "Is ... is this some kind of
threat?"
"We don't threaten people, doc. We're telling you. If Mr.
Dinetto dies, you and your fucking family are gonna be wiped
out."




Chapter Twenty-one




In the doctors' dressing room, half a dozen doctors were
waiting for Ken Mallory to appear. When he walked in, Grundy
said, "Hail the con-quering hero! We want to hear all the
lurid details." He grinned. "But the catch is, buddy, we want
to hear them from her."

"I ran into a little bad luck." Mallory smiled. "But you
can all start getting your money ready."
Kat and Paige were getting into scrubs.
"Have you ever done a procedure on a doctor?" Kat asked.
"No."
"You're lucky. They're the worst patients in the world.
They know too much."
"Who are you operating on?"
"Dr. Mervyn 'Don't Hurt Me' Franklin."
"Good luck."
"I'll need it."

Dr. Mervyn Franklin was a man in his sixties, thin, bald,
and irascible.
When Kat walked into his room, he snapped, "It's about
time you got here. Did the damned electrolyte reports come
back?"
"Yes," Kat said. "They're normal."
"Who says so? I don't trust the damn lab. Half the time
they don't know what they're doing. And make sure there's no
mix-up on the blood transfusion."
"I'll make sure," Kat said patiently.
"Who's doing the operation?"
"Dr. Jurgenson and I. Dr. Franklin, I promise you, there's
nothing for you to worry about."
"Whose brain are they operating on, yours or mine? All
operations are risky. You know why? Because half of the
damned surgeons are in the wrong profession. They should have
been butchers."
"Dr. Jurgenson is very capable."
"I know he is, or I wouldn't let him touch me. Who's the
anesthesiologist?"
"I believe it's Dr. Miller."
"That quack? I don't want him. Get me someone else."
"Dr. Franklin ..."
"Get me someone else. See if Haliburton is avail-able."
"All right."
"And get me the names of the nurses in the OR. I want to
check them out."
Kat looked him in the eye. "Would you prefer to do the
operation yourself?"
"What?" He stared at her a moment, then smiled sheepishly.
"I guess not."
Kat said gently, "Then why don't you let us handle it?"
"Okay. You know something? I like you."
"I like you, too. Did the nurse give you a sedative?"
"Yes."
"All right. We'll be ready in a few minutes. Is   there
anything I can do for you?"
"Yeah. Teach my stupid nurse where my veins are   located."
"All right. We'll be ready in a few minutes. Is   there
anything else I can do for you?"
"Yeah. Teach my stupid nurse where my veins are   located."

In OR Four, the brain surgery on Dr. Mervyn Franklin was
going perfectly. He had complained every step of the way from
his room to the operating theater.
"Now mind you," he said, "minimal anesthetic. The brain
has no feeling, so once you get in there, you won't need
much."
"I'm aware of that," Kat said patiently.
"And see that the temperature is kept down to forty
degrees. That's maximum."
"Right."
"Let's have some fast music on during the operation. Keep
you all on your toes."
"Right."
"And make sure you have a top scrub nurse in there.''
"Right."
And on and on it went.

When the opening in Dr. Franklin's skull was drilled, Kat
said, "I see the clot. It doesn't look too bad." She went to
work.
Three hours later as they were beginning to close the
incision, George Englund, the chief of surgery, came into the
operating room and went up to Kat.
"Kat, are you almost through here?"
"We're just wrapping it up."
"Let Dr. Jurgenson take over. We need you fast. There's an
emergency."
Kat nodded. "Coming." She turned to Jurgenson. "Will you
finish up here?"
"No problem."
Kat walked out with George Englund. "What's hap-pening?"
"You were scheduled to do an operation later, but your
patient has started to hemorrhage. They're taking him to OR
Three now. It doesn't look as though he's going to make it.
You'll have to operate right away."
"Who?"
"A Mr. Dinetto."
Kat looked at him aghast. "Dinetto?" If Mr. Dinetto dies,
you and your fucking family are gonna be wiped out.

Kat hurried down the corridor that   led to OR Three.
Approaching her were Rhino and the   Shadow.
"What's going on?" Rhino demanded.
Kat's mouth was so dry that it was   difficult to speak.
"Mr. Dinetto started hemorrhaging.   We must operate right
away."

The Shadow grabbed her arm. "Then do it! But re-member
what we told you. Keep him alive." Kat pulled away and
hurried into the operating room.
Because of the change in schedule, Dr. Vance was doing the
operation with Kat. He was a good surgeon. Kat began the
ritual scrub: a half minute on each arm first, then a half
minute on each hand. She repeated it and then scrubbed her
nails.

Dr. Vance stepped in beside her and started his scrub.
''How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Kat lied.
Lou Dinetto was wheeled into the operating room on a
gurney, semiconscious, and carefully transferred to the
operating table. His shaven head was scrubbed and painted
with Merthiolate solution that gleamed a bright orange under
the operating lights. He was as pale as death.

The team was in place: Dr. Vance, another resident, an
anesthesiologist, two scrub nurses, and a circulating nurse.
Kat checked to make sure that everything they might require
was there. She glanced at the wall moni-tors-oxygen
saturation, carbon dioxide, temperature, muscle stimulators,
precordial stethoscope, EKG, auto-matic blood pressure, and
disconnect alarms. Every-thing was in order.

The anesthesiologist strapped a blood pressure cuff on
Dinetto's right arm, then placed a rubber mask over the
patient's face. "All right, now. Breathe deeply. Take three
big breaths."

Dinetto was asleep before the third breath. The procedure
began.
Kat was reporting aloud. "There's an area of damage in the
middle of the brain, caused by a clot that's broken off the
aorta valve. It's blocking a small blood vessel on the right
side of the brain and extending slightly into the left half."
She probed deeper. "It's at the lower edge of the aqueduct of
Sylvius. Scalpel."
A tiny burr hole about the size of a dime was made by an
electric drill to expose the dura mater. Next, Kat cut open
the dura to expose a segment of the cerebral cortex that lay
underneath. "Forceps!"
The scrub nurse handed her the electric forceps.

The incision was held open by a small retractor which
maintained itself in place.
"There's a hell of a lot of bleeding," Vance said.
Kat picked up the bovie and started to cauterize the
bleeders. "We're going to control it."
Dr. Vance started suction on soft cotton patties that were
placed on the dura. The oozing veins on the surface of the
dura were identified and coagulated.
"It looks good," Vance said. "He's going to make it."
Kat breathed a sigh of relief.
And at that instant, Lou Dinetto stiffened and hi? body
went into spasm. The anesthesiologist called out, "Blood
pressure's dropping!"
Kat said, "Get some more blood into him!"
They were all looking at the monitor. The curve was
rapidly flattening out. There were two quick heartbeat*
followed by ventricular fibrillation.
"Shock him!" Kat snapped. She quickly attached the
electric pads to his body and turned on the machine.
Dinetto's chest heaved up once and then fell.
"Inject him with epinephrine! Quick!"
"No heartbeat!" the anesthesiologist called out a mo-ment
later.
Kat tried again, raising the dial.
Once again, there was a quick convulsive movement.
"No heartbeat!" the anesthesiologist cried. "Asys-tole. No
rhythm at all."
Desperately, Kat tried one last time. The body rose higher
this time, then fell again. Nothing.
"He's dead," Dr. Vance said.
Chapter Twenty-two




Ci ode Red is an alert that immediately brings all-out
medical assistance to try to save the life of a patient. When
Lou Dinetto's heart stopped in the middle of his operation,
the operating room Code Red team rushed to give aid.

Over the public address system Kat could hear, "Code Red,
OR Three. . . . Code Red ..." Red rhymes with dead.

Kat was in a panic. She applied the electroshock again. It
was not only his life she was trying to save- it was Mike's
and her own. Dinetto's body leaped into the air, then fell
back, inert.

"Try once more!" Dr. Vance urged.

We don't threaten people, doc. We're telling you. If Mr.
Dinetto dies, you and your fucking family are gonna be wiped
out.

Kat turned on the switch and applied the machine to
Dinetto's chest again. Once more his body rose a few inches
into the air and then fell back.
"Again!"

It's not going to happen, Kat thought despairingly. I'm
going to die with him.

The operating room was suddenly filled with doctors and
nurses.
"What are you waiting for?" someone asked.
Kat took a deep breath and pressed down once again. For an
instant, nothing happened. Then a faint blip appeared on the
monitor. It faltered a moment, then appeared again and
faltered, and then began to grow stronger and stronger, until
it became a steady, stabi-lized rhythm.
Kat stared at it unbelievingly.

There was a cheer from the crowded room. "He's going to
make it!" someone yelled.
"Jesus, that was close!"
They have no idea how close, Kat thought.

Two hours later, Lou Dinetto was off the table and on a
gurney, on his way back to intensive care. Kat was at his
side. Rhino and the Shadow were waiting in the corridor.

"The operation was successful," Kat said. "He's going to
be fine."
Ken Mallory was in deep trouble. It was the last day to
make good on his bet. The problem had been growing so
gradually that he had hardly been aware of it. From almost
the first night, he had been positive that he would have no
trouble getting Kat into bed. Trouble? She's eager it! Now
his time was up, and he was facing disaster.


Mallory thought about all the things that had gone
wrong-Kat's roommates coming in just as she was about to go
to bed with him, the difficulty of getting together for a
date, Kat's being called away by her beeper and leaving him
standing naked, her cousin com-ing to town, her oversleeping,
her period. He stopped suddenly and thought, Wait a minutel
They couldn't have all been coincidences. Kat was doing this
to him deliberately! She had somehow gotten wind of the bet,
and had decided to make a fool of him, to play a joke on him,
a joke that was going to cost him ten thousand dollars that
he didn't have. The bitchl He was no closer to winning than
he had been at the beginning. She had deliberately led him
on. How the hell did I let myself get into this! He knew
there was no way he could come up with the money.

When Mallory walked into the doctors' dressing room, they
were waiting for him.
"Payoff day!" Grundy sang out.
Mallory forced a smile. "I have until midnight, right?
Believe me, she's ready, fellows."
There was a snicker. "Sure. We'll believe you when we hear
it from the lady herself. Just have the cash ready in the
morning."
Mallory laughed. "You'd better have yours ready!"
He had to find a way. And suddenly he had the answer.
Ken Mallory found Kat in the lounge. He sat down opposite
her. "I hear you saved a patient's life." "And my own."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"How would you like to save my life?"
Kat looked at him quizzically.
"Have dinner with me tonight."
"I'm too tired, Ken." She was weary of the game she was
playing with him. I've had enough, Kat thought. It's time to
stop. It's over. I've fallen into my own trap. She wished he
were a different kind of man. If only he had been honest with
her. I really could have cared for him, Kat thought.

There was no way Mallory was going to let Kat get away.'
'We'll make it an early night,'' he coaxed. "You have to have
dinner somewhere."
Reluctantly, Kat nodded. She knew it was going to be the
last time. She was going to tell him she knew about the bet.
She was going to end the game. "All right."


Honey finished her shift at 4:00 p.m. She looked at her
watch and decided that she had just enough time to do some
quick shopping. She went to the Candelier to buy some candles
for the apartment, then to the San Francisco Tea and Coffee
Company so there would be some drinkable coffee for
breakfast, and on to Chris Kelly for linens.

Loaded down with packages, Honey headed for the apartment.
I'll fix myself some dinner at home, Honey decided. She knew
that Kat had a date with Mallory, and that Paige was on call.

Fumbling with her packages, Honey entered the apartment
and closed the door behind her. She switched on the light. A
huge black man was coming out of the
bathroom, dripping blood on the white carpet. He was
pointing a gun at her.
"Make one sound, and I'll blow your fucking head off!"

Honey screamed.




Chapter Twenty-three
Mallory was seated across from Kat at
Schroeder's restaurant on Front Street. It's the bottom of
the ninth, he thought, and so far it's a shutout. What was
going to happen when he couldn't pay the ten thousand
dollars? Word would spread quickly around the hospital, and
he would be-come known as a welcher, a sick joke.

Kat was chatting about one of her patients, and Mal-lory
was looking into her eyes, not hearing a word she said. He
had more important things on his mind.
Dinner was almost over, and the waiter was serving coffee.
Kat looked at her watch. "I have an early call, Ken. I think
we'd better go."

He sat there, staring down at the table. "Kat ..." He
looked up. "There's something I have to tell you."
"Yes?"
"I have a confession to make." He took a deep breath.
"This isn't easy for me."
She watched him, puzzled. "What is it?"
"I'm embarrassed to tell you." He was fumbling for words.
"I ... I made a stupid bet with some of the doctors that . .
. that I could take you to bed."
Kat was staring at him. "You ..."
"Please don't say anything yet. I'm so ashamed of what I
did. It started out as a kind of joke, but the joke is on me.
Something happened that I didn't count on. I fell in love
with you."
"Ken . . ."
"I've never been in love before, Kat. I've known a lot of
women, but never felt anything like this. I haven't been able
to stop thinking about you." He took a shaky breath. "I want
to marry you."
Kat's mind was spinning. Everything was being turned
topsy-turvy. "I . . .1 don't know what to . . ."
"You're the only woman I've ever proposed to. Please say
yes. Will you marry me, Kat?"
So he had really meant all the lovely things he had said
to her! Her heart was pounding. It was like a won-derful
dream suddenly come true. All she had wanted from him was
honesty. And now he was being honest with her. All this time
he had been feeling guilty about what he had done. He was not
like other men. He was genuine, and sensitive.
When Kat looked at him, her eyes were glowing. "Yes, Ken.
Oh, yes!"
His grin lit up the room. "Kat . . ."He leaned over and
kissed her. "I'm so sorry about that stupid bet." He shook
his head in self-derision. "Ten thousand dollars. We could
have used that money for our honeymoon. But it's worth losing
it to have you."

Kat was thinking, Ten thousand dollars.
"I was such a fool."
"When is your deadline up?"
"At midnight tonight, but that's not important any-more.
The important thing is us. That we're going to be married.
We-"
"Ken?"
"Yes, darling?"
"Let's go to your place." There was a mischievous glint in
Kat's eyes. "You still have time to win your bet."
Kat was a tigress in bed.

My God! This was worth waiting for, Mallory thought. All
the feelings that Kat had kept bottled up over the years
suddenly exploded. She was the most passionate woman Ken
Mallory had ever known. At the end of two hours, he was
exhausted. He held Kat in his arms. "You're incredible," he
said.
She lifted herself up on her elbows and looked down at
him. "So are you, darling. I'm so happy."
Mallory grinned. "So am I." Ten thousand dollars' worth!
he thought. And great sex.

"Promise me it will always be like this, Ken."
"I promise," Mallory said in his sincerest voice.
Kat looked at her watch. "I'd better get dressed."
"Can't you spend the night here?"
"No, I'm riding to the hospital with Paige in the
morning." She gave him a warm kiss. "Don't worry. We'll have
all our lives to spend together."
He watched her get dressed.
"I can't wait to collect on that bet. It will buy us a
great honeymoon." He frowned. "But what if the boys don't
believe me? They aren't going to take my word fork."
Kat was thoughtful for a moment. Finally, she said, "Don't
worry. I'll let them know."
Mallory grinned. "Come on back to bed."




Chapter Twenty-four




The black man with the gun pointed at Honey screamed, "I
told you to shut up!" "I ... I'm sorry," Honey said. She
was trembling. "Wh . . . what do you want?"
He was pressing his hand against his side, trying to stop
the flow of blood. "I want my sister."
Honey looked at him, puzzled. He was obviously insane.
"Your sister?"
"Kat." His voice was becoming faint.
"Oh, my God! You're Mike!"
"Yeah."
The gun dropped, and he slipped to the floor. Honey rushed
to him. Blood was pouring out from what looked like a gunshot
wound.

"Lie still," Honey said. She hurried into the bath-room
and gathered up some peroxide and a large bath towel. She
returned to Mike. "This is going to hurt," she warned.

He lay there, too weak to move.
She poured peroxide into the wound and pressed the towel
against his side. He bit down on his hand to keep from
screaming.
"I'm going to call an ambulance and get you to the
hospital," Honey said.
He grabbed her arm. "No! No hospitals. No police." His
voice was getting weaker. "Where's Kat?"
"I don't know," Honey said helplessly. She knew Kat was
out somewhere with Mallory, but she had no idea where. "Let
me call a friend of mine."
"Paige?" he asked.
Honey nodded. "Yes." So Kat told him about the two of us.

It took the hospital ten minutes to reach Paige.
"You'd better come home," Honey said.
"I'm on call, Honey. I'm in the middle of-"
"Kat's brother is here."
"Oh, well, tell him-"
"He's been shot."
"He what?"
"He's been shot!"
"I'll send the paramedics over and-"
"He says no hospitals and no police. I don't know what to
do."
"How bad is it?"
"Pretty bad."
There was a pause. "I'll find someone to cover for me.
I'll be there in half an hour."
Honey replaced the receiver and turned to Mike. "Paige is
coming."


***


Two hours later, on her way back to the apartment, Kat was
filled with a glorious sense of well-being. She had been
nervous about making love, afraid that she would hate it
after the terrible experience she had had, but instead, Ken
Mallory had turned it into something wonderful. He had
unlocked emotions in her that she had never known existed.

Smiling to herself at the thought of how they had
outwitted the doctors at the last moment and won the bet, Kat
opened the door to the apartment and stood there in shock.
Paige and Honey were kneeling beside Mike. He was lying on
the floor, a pillow under his head, a towel pressed against
his side, his clothes soaked with blood.

Paige and Honey looked up as Kat entered.
"Mike! My God!" She rushed over to Mike and knelt beside
him. "What happened?"
"Hi, sis." His voice was barely a whisper.
"He's been shot," Paige said. "He's hemorrhaging."
"Let's get him to the hospital," Kat said.
Mike shook his head. "No," he whispered. "You're a doctor.
Fix me up."
Kat looked over at Paige.
"I've stopped as much of the bleeding as I can, but the
bullet is still inside him. We don't have the instru-ments
here to-"
"He's still losing blood," Kat said. She cradled Mike's
head in her arms. "Listen to me, Mike. If you don't get help,
you're going to die."


"You... can't... report... this... I don't... want any
police."
Kat asked quietly, "What are you involved in, Mike?"
"Nothing. I was in a ... a business deal ... and it went
sour . . . and this guy got mad and shot me."
It was the kind of story Kat had been listening to for
years. Lies. All lies. She had known that then, and she knew
it now, but she had tried to keep the truth from herself.
Mike held on to her arm. "Will you help me, sis?"
"Yes. I'm going to help you, Mike." Kat leaned down and
kissed him on the cheek. Then she rose and went to the
telephone. She picked up the receiver and dialed the
emergency room at the hospital. "This is Dr. Hunter," she
said in an unsteady voice. "I need an ambulance right away
..."
At the hospital, Kat asked Paige to perform the opera-tion
to remove the bullet.
"He's lost a lot of blood," Paige said. She turned to the
assisting surgeon. "Give him another unit."

It was dawn when the operation was finished. The surgery
was successful.
When it was over, Paige called Kat aside. "How do you want
me to report this?" she asked. "I could list it as an
accident, or . . ."
"No," Kat said. Her voice was filled with pain. "I should
have done this a long time ago. I want you to report it as a
gunshot wound."


***


Mallory was waiting for Kat outside the operating theater.
"Kat! I heard about your brother and ..."
Kat nodded wearily.
"I'm so sorry. Is he going to be all right?"
Kat looked at Mallory and said, "Yes. For the first time
in his life, Mike is going to be all right."
Mallory squeezed Kat's hand. "I just want you to know how
wonderful last night was. You were a mira-cle. Oh. That
reminds me. The doctors I bet with are in the lounge waiting,
but I suppose with all that has happened, you wouldn't want
to go in and ..."
"Why not?"
She took his arm and the two of them walked into the
lounge. The doctors watched them as they approached.

Grundy said, "Hi, Kat. We need to have your word on
something. Dr. Mallory claims that you and he spent the night
together, and it was great."
"It was better than great," Kat said. "It was fantas-tic!"
She kissed Mallory on the cheek. "I'll see you later, lover."
The men sat there, gaping, as Kat walked away.

In their dressing room, Kat said to Paige and Honey, "In
all the excitement, I haven't had a chance to tell you the
news."
"What news?" Paige asked.
"Ken asked me to marry him."
There were looks of disbelief on their faces.
"You're joking!" Paige said.
"No. He proposed to me last night. I accepted."
"But you can't marry him!" Honey exclaimed. "You know what
he's like. I mean, he tried to get you to go to bed on a
bet!"
"He succeeded." Kat grinned.
Paige looked at her. "I'm confused."

Kat said, "We were wrong about him. Completely wrong. Ken
told me about that bet himself. All this time, it's been
bothering his conscience. Don't you see what happened? I went
out with him to punish him, and he went out with me to win
some money, and we ended up falling in love with each other.
Oh, I can't tell you how happy I am!"
Honey and Paige looked at each other. "When are you
getting married?" Honey asked.
"We haven't discussed it yet, but I'm sure it will be
soon. I want you two to be my bridesmaids."
'' You can count on it," Paige said. " We'll be there.''
But there was a nagging doubt in the back of her mind. She
yawned. "It's been a long night. I'm going home and get some
sleep."
"I'll stay here with Mike," Kat said. "When he wakes up,
the police want to talk to him." She took their hands in
hers. "Thank you for being such good friends."
On the way home, Paige thought about what had happened
that night. She knew how much Kat loved her brother. It had
taken a lot of courage to turn him over to the police. I
should have done this a long time ago.


The telephone was ringing as Paige walked into the
apartment. She hurried to pick it up.
It was Jason. "Hi! I just called to tell you how much I
miss you. What's going on in your life?"
Paige was tempted to tell him, to share it with some-body,
but it was too personal. It belonged to Kat.
"Nothing," Paige said. "Everything is fine."
"Good. Are you free for dinner tonight?"
Paige was aware that it was more than an invitation to
dinner. If I see him anymore, I'm going to get in-volved,
Paige thought. She knew that it was one of the most important
decisions of her life.
She took a deep breath. "Jason ..." The doorbell rang.
"Hold it a minute, will you, Jason?"
Paige put the telephone down and went to the door and
opened it.

Alfred Turner was standing there.




Chapter Twenty-five


Paige stood there, frozen. Alfred smiled. "May I come in?"
She was flustered. "Of. . . of course. I'm . . . sorry." She
watched Alfred walk into the living room, and she was filled
with conflicting emotions. She was happy and excited and
angry at the same time. Why am I going on like this? Paige
thought. He probably dropped by to say hello.
Alfred turned to her. "I've left Karen."

The words were a shock.
Alfred moved closer to her. "I made a big mistake, Paige.
I never should have let you go. Never."
"Alfred. . ." Paige suddenly remembered. "Excuse me."
She hurried to the telephone and picked it up. "Jason?"
"Yes, Paige. About tonight, we could-"
"I . . .I can't see you."
"Oh. If tonight is bad, what about tomorrow night?"
"I ... I'm not sure."
He sensed the tension in her voice. "Is anything wrong?"
"No. Everything is fine. I'll call you tomorrow and
explain."
"All right." He sounded puzzled.

Paige replaced the receiver.
"I've missed you, Paige," Alfred said. "Have you missed
me?"
No. I just follow strangers on the street and call them
Alfred. "Yes," Paige admitted.
"Good. We belong together, you know. We always have."

Have we? Is that why you married Karen? Do you think you
can walk in and out of my life any time you please?

Alfred was standing close to her. "Haven't we?"
Paige looked at him and said, "I don't know." It was all
too sudden.
Alfred took her hand in his. "Of course you do."
"What happened with Karen?"
Alfred shrugged. "Karen was a mistake. I kept think-ing
about you and all the great times we had. We were always good
for each other."
She was watching him, wary, guarded. "Alfred . . ."
"I'm here to stay, Paige. When I say 'here,' I don't
exactly mean that. We're going to New York."
"New York?"
"Yes. I'll tell you all about it. I could use a cup of
coffee."
"Of course. I'll make a fresh pot. It will just take a few
minutes."
Alfred followed her into the kitchen, where Paige began to
prepare the coffee. She was trying to get her thoughts in
order. She had wanted Alfred back so des-perately, and now
that he was here . . .

Alfred was saying, "I've learned a lot in the last few
years, Paige. I've grown up."
"Oh?"
"Yes. You know I've been working with WHO all these
years."
"I know."
"Those countries haven't changed any since we were kids.
In fact, some of them are worse. There's more disease down
there, more poverty ..."
"But you were there, helping," Paige said.
"Yes, and I suddenly woke up."
"Woke up?"
"I realized I was throwing my life away. I was down there,
living in misery, working twenty-four hours a day, helping
those ignorant savages, when I could have been making a
bundle of money over here."
Paige was listening in disbelief.

"I met a doctor who has a practice on Park Avenue in New
York. Do you know how much he makes a year? Over five hundred
thousand dollars! Did you hear me? Five hundred thousand a
year!"
Paige was staring at him.
"I said to myself, 'Where has that kind of money been all
of my life?' He offered me a position as an associate,"
Alfred said proudly, "and I'm going in with him. That's why
you and I are going to New York."
Paige stood there, numbed by what she was hearing.
"I'll be able to afford a penthouse apartment for us, and
to get you pretty dresses, and all the things I've always
promised you." He was grinning. "Well, are you surprised?"
Paige's mouth was dry. "I ... I don't know what to say,
Alfred."
He laughed. "Of course you don't. Five hundred thousand
dollars a year is enough to make anyone speechless."
"I wasn't thinking of the money,'' Paige said slowly.
"No?"
She was studying him, as though seeing him for the first
time. "Alfred, when you were working for WHO, didn't you feel
you were helping people?"
He shrugged. "Nothing can help those people. And who the
hell really cares? Would you believe that Karen wanted me to
stay down there in Bangladesh? I told her no way, so she went
back." He took Paige's hand. "So here I am. ... You're a
little quiet. I guess you're overwhelmed by all this, huh?"

Paige thought of her father. He would have been a big
success on Park Avenue, but he wasn't interested in money.
His only interest was in helping people.

"I've already divorced Karen, so we can get married right
away." He patted her hand. "What do you think of the idea of
living in New York?"
Paige took a deep breath. "Alfred ..."
There was an expectant smile on his face. "Yes?"
"Get out."
The smile slowly faded. "What?"
Paige rose. "I want you to get out of here."
He was confused. "Where do you want me to go?" "I won't
tell you," Paige said. "It would hurt your feelings."

After Alfred had gone, Paige sat lost in thought. Kat had
been right. She had been clinging to a ghost. Help-ing those
ignorant savages, when I could have been making a bundle over
here. . . . Five hundred thousand a year!
And that's what I've been hanging on to, Paige thought
wonderingly. She should have felt depressed, but instead she
was filled with a feeling of elation. She suddenly felt free.
She knew now what she wanted.

She walked over to the telephone and dialed Jason's
number.
"Hello."
"Jason, it's Paige. Remember telling me about your house
in Noe Valley?"
"Yes . . ."
"I'd love to see it. Are you free tonight?"
Jason said quietly, "Do you want to tell me what's going
on, Paige? I'm very confused."
"I'm the one who's confused. I thought I was in love with
a man I knew a long time ago, but he's not the same man. I
know what I want now."
"Yes?"
"I want to see your house."
Noe Valley belonged to another century. It was a colorful
oasis in the heart of one of the most cosmopoli-tan cities in
the world.

Jason's house was a reflection of him-comfortable, neat,
and charming. He escorted Paige through the house. "This is
the living room, the kitchen, the guest bathroom, the study .
. ."He looked at her and said, "The bedroom is upstairs.
Would you like to see it?"
Paige said quietly, "Very much."
They went up the stairs into the bedroom. Paige's heart
was pounding wildly. But what was happening seemed
inevitable. I should have known from the begin-ning, she
thought.

Paige never knew who made the first move, but some-how
they were in each other's arms and Jason's lips were on hers,
and it seemed the most natural thing in the world. They
started to undress each other, and there was a fierce urgency
in both of them. And then they were in bed, and he was making
love to her.
"God," he whispered. "I love you."
"I know," Paige teased. "Ever since I told you to put on
the white coat."
After they made love, Paige said, "I'd like to spend the
night here."
Jason smiled. "You won't hate me in the morning?"
"I promise."
Paige spent the night with Jason, talking . . . making
love . . . talking. In the morning, she cooked breakfast for
him.
Jason watched her, and said, "I don't know how I got so
lucky, but thank you."
"I'm the lucky one," Paige told him.
"You know something? I never got an answer to my
proposal."
"You'll have an answer this afternoon."
That afternoon, a messenger arrived at Jason's office,
with an envelope. Inside was the card that Jason had sent
with the model house.
Mine [ ]
Ours [ x ]
Please check one.
Chapter Twenty-six




Lou Dinetto was ready to check out of the hospital. Kat
went to his room to say goodbye. Rhino and the Shadow were
there.

As Kat walked in, Dinetto turned to them and said, 'Get
lost."
Kat watched them leave the room. Dinetto looked at Kat and
said, "I owe you one." 'You don't owe me anything." "Is that
what you think my life is worth? I hear you're setting
married." "That's right." "To a doctor." "Yes."
"Well, tell him to take good care of you, or he'll have to
answer to me." 'I'll tell him." There was a small pause. "I'm
sorry about Mike."
"He'll be all right," Kat said. "I had a long talk with
him. He'll be fine."
"Good." Dinetto held out a bulky manila envelope. "A
little wedding present for you."
Kat shook her head. "No. Thank you."
"But . . ."
"Take care of yourself."
"You, too. You know something? You're a real stand-up
broad. I'm going to tell you something I want you to
remember. If you ever need a favor-anything- you come to me.
You hear me?"
"I hear you."
She knew that he meant it. And she knew that she would
never go to him.


During the weeks that followed, Paige and Jason spoke on
the phone three and four times a day, and were together every
time Paige was not on night call.
The hospital was busier than ever. Paige had been on a
thirty-six-hour shift that had been filled with emei-gencies.
She had just gone to sleep in the on-call room when she was
awakened by the urgent shrill of the telephone.
She fumbled the phone to her ear. "H'lo?" "Dr. Taylor,
will you come to Room 422, stat?" Paige tried to clear her
mind. Room 422. One of Dr Barker's patients. Lance Kelly. He
had just had a mitral valve replaced. Something must have
gone wrong. Paigfc stumbled off the cot and walked out into
the deserted corridor. She decided not to wait for the
elevator. She ran up the stairs. Maybe it's just a nervous
nurse. If it's serious, I'll call Dr. Barker, she thought.

She walked into Room 422 and stood in the doorway,
staring. The patient was fighting for breath and moan-ing.
The nurse turned to Paige in obvious relief. "I didn't know
what to do, doctor. I . . ."

Paige hurried to the bedside. "You're going to be fine,"
she said reassuringly. She took his wrist between two
fingers. His pulse was jumping wildly. The mitral valve was
malfunctioning.
"Let's sedate him," Paige ordered.
The nurse handed Paige a syringe, and Paige injected it
into a vein. Paige turned to the nurse. "Tell the head nurse
to get an operating team together, stat. And send for Dr.
Barker!"

Fifteen minutes later, Kelly was on the   operating table.
The team consisted of two scrub nurses,   a circulat-ing nurse,
and two residents. A television monitor   was perched high in a
corner of the room to display the heart   rate, EKG, and blood
pressure.

The anesthesiologist walked in, and Paige felt like
cursing. Most of the anesthesiologists at the hospital were
skilled doctors, but Herman Koch was an excep-tion. Paige had
worked with him before and tried to avoid him as much as
possible. She did not trust him. Now she had no choice.

Paige watched him secure a tube to the patient's throat,
while she unfolded a paper drape with a clear window and
placed it over the patient's chest.
"Put a line into the jugular vein," Paige said.
Koch nodded. "Right."
One of the residents asked, "What's the problem here?"
"Dr. Barker replaced the mitral valve yesterday. I think
it's ruptured." Paige looked over at Dr. Koch. "Is he out?"
Koch nodded. "Sleeping like he's in bed at home." I wish
you were, Paige thought. "What are you us-ing?"
"Propofol."
She nodded. "All right."
She watched Kelly being connected to the heart-lung
machine so she could perform a cardiopulmonary by-pass. Paige
studied the monitors on the wall. Pulse 140 ... blood oxygen
saturation 92 percent. . . blood pressure 80 over 60. "Let's
go," Paige said. One of the residents put on music. Paige
stepped up to the operating table under eleven hundred watts
of hot white light and turned to the scrub nurse. "Scalpel,
please ..." The operation began.

Paige removed all the sternal wires from the operation the
day before. She then cut from the base of the neck to the
lower end of the sternum, while one of the residents blotted
away the blood with gauze pads.

She carefully went through the layers of fat and mus-cle,
and in front of her was the erratically beating heart.
"There's the problem," Paige said. "The atrium is perforated.
Blood is collecting around the heart and compressing it."
Paige was looking at the monitor on the wall. The pump
pressure had dropped dangerously. "Increase the flow," Paige
ordered. The door to the operating room opened and Lawrence
Barker stepped in. He stood to one side, watching what was
happening.

Paige said, "Dr. Barker. Do you want to . . .?"
"It's your operation."
Paige took a quick look at what Koch was doing. "Be
careful. You'll overanesthetize him, dammit! Slow it down!"
"But I . . ."
"He's in V-tach! His pressure is dropping!"
"What do you want me to do?" Koch asked help-lessly.
He should know, Paige thought angrily. "Give him lidocaine
and epinephrine! Now!" She was yelling.
"Right."

Paige watched as Koch picked up a syringe and in-jected it
into the patient's IV.
A resident looked at the monitor and called out, "Blood
pressure is falling."
Paige was working frantically to stop the flow of blood.
She looked up at Koch. "Too much flow! I told you to . . ."
The noise of the heartbeat on the monitor suddenly became
chaotic.
"My God! Something's gone wrong!"
"Give me the defibrillator!" Paige yelled.
The circulating nurse reached for the defibrillator on the
crash cart, opened two sterile paddles, and plugged them in.
She turned the buttons up to charge them and ten seconds
later handed them to Paige.

She took the paddles and positioned them directly over
Kelly's heart. Kelly's body jumped, then fell back.
Paige tried again, willing him to come back to life,
willing him to breathe again. Nothing. The heart lay still, a
dead, useless organ.

Paige was in a fury. Her part of the operation had been
successful. Koch had overanesthetized the patient.
As Paige was applying the defibrillator to Lanct Kelly's
body for the third futile time, Dr. Barker stepped up to the
operating table and turned to Paige. "You killed him."




Chapter Twenty-seven




Jason was in the middle of a design meeting when I his
secretary said, "Dr. Taylor is on the phone for I you. Shall
I tell her you'll call back?"
"No. I'll take it." Jason picked up the phone. "Paige?"
"Jason ... I need you!" She was sobbing.
"What happened?"
"Can you come to the apartment?"
"Of course. I'll be right there." He stood up. "The
meeting is over. We'll pick it up in the morning."
Half an hour later, Jason was at the apartment. Paige
opened the door and threw her arms around him. Her eyes were
red from crying.

"What happened?" Jason asked.
"It's awful! Dr. Barker told me I ... I killed a patient,
and honestly, it ... it wasn't my fault!" Her voice broke. "I
can't take any more of his . . ."
"Paige," Jason said gently, "you've told me how mean he
always is. That's the man's character."
Paige shook her head. "It's more than that. He's been
trying to force me out since the day I started work-ing with
him. Jason, if he were a bad doctor and didn't think I was
any good, I wouldn't mind so much, but the man is brilliant.
I have to respect his opinion. I just don't think I'm good
enough."
"Nonsense," Jason said angrily. "Of course you are.
Everyone I talk to says you're a wonderful doctor."
"Not Lawrence Barker."
"Forget Barker."
"I'm going to," Paige said. "I'm quitting the hospi-tal."
Jason took her in his arms. "Paige, I know you love the
profession too much to give it up."
"I won't give it up. I just never want to see that
hospital again."
Jason took out a handkerchief and dried Paige's tears.
"I'm sorry to bother you with all of this," Paige said.
"That's what husbands-to-be are for, isn't it?"
She managed a smile. "I like the sound of that. All
right." Paige took a deep breath. "I feel better now. Thanks
for talking to me. I telephoned Dr. Wallace and told him I
was quitting. I'm going over to the hospital and see him
now."
"I'll see you at dinner tonight."

Paige walked through the corridors of the hospital,
knowing that she was seeing them for the last time. There
were the familiar noises and the people hurrying up and down
the corridors. It had become more of a home to her than she'd
realized. She thought of Jimmy and Chang, and all the
wonderful doctors she had worked with. Darling Jason going on
rounds with her in his white coat. She passed the cafeteria
where she and Honey and Kat had had a hundred breakfasts, and
the lounge, where they had tried to have a party. The
corridors and rooms were full of so many memories. I'm going
to miss it, Paige thought, but I refuse to work under the
same roof as that monster.

She went up to Dr. Wallace's office. He was waiting for
her.
"Well, I must say, your telephone call surprised me,
Paige! Have you definitely made up your mind?"
"Yes."
Benjamin Wallace sighed. "Very well. Before you go, Dr.
Barker would like to see you."
"I want to see him." All of Paige's pent-up anger boiled
to the surface.
"He's in the lab. Well . . . good luck."
"Thanks." Paige headed for the lab.

Dr. Barker was examining some slides under a micro-scope
when Paige entered. He looked up. "I'm told you've decided to
quit the hospital."
"That's right. You finally got your wish."
"And what was that?" Barker asked.
"You've wanted me out of here from the first moment you
saw me. Well, you've won. I can't fight you any-more. When
you told me I killed your patient, I . . ." Paige's voice
broke. "I . . .1 think you're a sadistic, cold-hearted son of
a bitch, and I hate you."
"Sit down," Dr. Barker said.
"No. I have nothing more to say."
"Well, I have. Who the hell do you think you . . .?"

He suddenly stopped and began to gasp.
As Paige watched in horror, he clutched his heart and
toppled over in his chair, his face twisted to one side in a
horrible rictus.
Paige was at his side instantly. "Dr. Barker!" She grabbed
the telephone and shouted into it, "Code Red! Code Red!"
Dr. Peterson said, "He's suffered a massive stroke. It's
too early to tell whether he's going to come out of it."
It's my fault, Paige thought. I wanted him dead. She felt
miserable.

She went back to see Ben Wallace. "I'm sorry about what
happened," Paige said. "He was a good doctor."
"Yes. It's regrettable. Very ..." Wallace studied her a
moment. "Paige, if Dr. Barker can't practice here anymore,
would you consider staying on?"
Paige hesitated. "Yes. Of course."
Chapter Twenty-eight




His chart read, "John Cronin, white male, age 70.
Diagnosis: Cardiac tumor." Paige had not yet met John Cronin.
He was scheduled to have heart surgery. She walked into his
room, a nurse and a staff doctor at her side. She smiled
warmly and said, "Good morning, Mr. Cronin."

They had just extubated him, and there were the marks of
adhesive tape around his mouth. IV bottles hung overhead, and
the tubing had been inserted in his left arm.

Cronin looked over at Paige. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Dr. Taylor. I'm going to examine you and-"
"Like hell you are! Keep your fucking hands off me. Why
didn't they send in a real doctor?"
Paige's smile died. "I'm a cardiovascular surgeon. I'm
going to do everything I can to get you well again."
"You're going to operate on my heart?"
"That's right. I ..."
John Cronin looked at the resident and said, "For Christ's
sake, is this the best this hospital can do?"
"I assure you, Dr. Taylor is thoroughly qualified," the
staff doctor said.
"So is my ass."
Paige said stiffly, "Would you rather bring in your own
surgeon?"
"I don't have one. I can't afford those high-priced
quacks. You doctors are all alike. All you're interested in
is money. You don't give a damn about people. We're just
pieces of meat to you, aren't we?"
Paige was fighting to control her temper. "I know you're
upset right now, but-"
"Upset? Just because you're going to cut my heart out?" He
was screaming. "I know I'll die on the op-erating table.
You're going to kill me, and I hope they get you for murder!"
"That's enough!" Paige said.
He was grinning at her maliciously. "It wouldn't look good
on your record if I died, would it, doctor? Maybe I will let
you operate on me."
Paige found that she was hyperventilating. She turned to
the nurse. "I want an EKG and a chemistry panel." She took
one last look at John Cronin, then turned and left the room.

When Paige returned an hour later with the reports on the
tests, John Cronin looked up. "Oh, the bitch is back."
Paige operated on John Cronin at six o'clock the following
morning.

The moment she opened him up, she knew that there was no
hope. The major problem was not the heart. Cronin's organs
showed signs of melanoma.
A resident said, "Oh, my God! What are we going to do?"
"We're going to pray that he doesn't have to live with
this too long."
When Paige stepped out of the operating room into the
corridor, she found a woman and two men waiting for her. The
woman was in her late thirties. She had bright red hair and
too much makeup, and she wore a heavy, cheap perfume. She had
on a tight dress that accentuated a voluptuous figure. The
men were in their forties, and both had red hair. To Paige,
they looked like a circus troupe.

The woman said to Paige, "You Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes."
"I'm Mrs. Cronin. These are my brothers. How's my
husband?"
Paige hesitated. She said carefully, "The operation went
as well as could be expected."
"Oh, thank God!" Mrs. Cronin said melodramati-cally,
dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "I'd die if
anything happened to John!"
Paige felt as if she were watching an actress in a bad
play.
"Can I see my darling now?"
"Not yet, Mrs. Cronin. He's in the recovery room. I
suggest that you come back tomorrow."
"We'll be back." She turned to the men. "Come along,
fellas."
Paige watched as they walked away. Poor John Cro-nin, she
thought.

Paige was given the report the next morning. The cancer
had metastasized throughout Cronin's body. It was too late
for radiation treatment.
The oncologist said to Paige, "There's nothing to do but
try to keep him comfortable. He's going to be in a hell of a
lot of pain."
"How much time does he have?"
"A week or two at the most."

Paige went to visit John Cronin in intensive care. He was
asleep. John Cronin was no longer a bitter, vitriolic man,
but a human being fighting desperately for his life. He was
on a respirator, and being fed intrave-nously. Paige sat down
at his bedside, watching him. He looked tired and defeated.
He's one of the unlucky ones, Paige thought. Even with all
the modern medical miracles, there's nothing we can do to
save him. Paige touched his arm gently. After a while, she
left.

Later that afternoon, Paige stopped by to see John Cronin
again. He was off the respirator now. When he opened his eyes
and saw Paige, he said drowsily, "The operation's over, huh?"
Paige smiled reassuringly. "Yes. I just came by to make
sure that you're comfortable."
"Comfortable?" he snorted. "What the hell do you care?"
Paige said, "Please. Let's not fight."
Cronin lay there, silently studying her. "The other doctor
told me you did a good job."
Paige said nothing.
"I have cancer, don't I?"
"Yes."
"How bad is it?"
The question posed a dilemma that all surgeons were faced
with sooner or later. Paige said, "It's pretty bad.''
There was a long silence. "What about radiation or
chemotherapy?"
"I'm sorry. It would make you feel worse, and it wouldn't
help."
"I see. Well . . . I've had a good life."
"I'm sure you have."
"You may not think so, looking at me now, but I've had a
lot of women."
"I believe it."
"Yeah. Women . . . thick steaks . . . good cigars .. . You
married?"
"No."
"You ought to be. Everyone should be married. I've been
married. Twice. First, for thirty-five years. She was a
wonderful lady. She died of a heart attack."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay." He sighed. "Then I got sucked into marrying a
bimbo. Her and her two hungry brothers. It's my fault for
being so horny, I guess. Her red hair turned me on. She's
some piece of work."
"I'm sure she ..."
"No offense, but do you know why I'm in this cockamamie
hospital? My wife put me here. She didn't want to waste money
on me for a private hospital. This way there'll be more to
leave to her and her brothers." He looked up at Paige. "How
much time do I have left?"
"Do you want it straight?"
"No . . . yes."
"A week or two."
"Jesus! The pain is going to get worse, isn't it?"
"I'll try to keep you as comfortable as possible, Mr.
Cronin."
"Call me John."
"John."
"Life is a bitch, isn't it?"
"You said you've had a good life."
"I did. It's kinda funny, knowing it's about over. Where
do you think we go?"
"I don't know."
He forced a smile. "I'll let you know when I get there."
"Some medication is on the way. Can I do anything to make
you more comfortable?"
"Yeah. Come back and talk to me tonight."
It was Paige's night off, and she was exhausted. "I'll
come back."

That night when Paige went back to see John Cronin, he was
awake.
"How are you feeling?"
He winced. "Terrible. I was never very good about pain. I
guess I've got a low threshold."
"I understand."
"You met Hazel, huh?"
"Hazel?"
"My wife. The bimbo. She and her brothers were here to see
me. They said they talked to you."
"Yes."
"She's something, ain't she? I sure got myself into a
bundle of trouble there. They can't wait for me to kick the
bucket."
"Don't say that."
"It's true. The only reason Hazel married me was for my
money. To tell you the truth, I didn't mind that so much. I
really had a good time with her in bed, but then she and her
brothers started to get greedy. They always wanted more."
The two of them sat there in a comfortable silence.

"Did I tell you I used to travel a lot?"
"No."
"Yeah. I've been to Sweden . . . Denmark . . . Ger-many.
Have you been to Europe?"
She thought about the day at the travel agency. Let's go
to Venice! No, let's go to Paris! How about London? "No. I
haven't."
"You ought to go."
"Maybe one day I will."
"I guess you don't make much money working at a hospital
like this, huh?"
"I make enough."
He nodded to himself. "Yeah. You have to go to Europe. Do
me a favor. Go to Paris . . . stay at the Crillon, have
dinner at Maxim's, order a big, thick steak and a bottle of
champagne, and when you eat that steak and drink that
champagne, I want you to think of me. Will you do that?"

Paige said slowly, "I'll do that one day." John Cronin was
studying her. "Good. I'm tired now. Will you come back
tomorrow and talk to me again?" "I'll come back," Paige said.
John Cronin slept.




Chapter Twenty-nine




Ken Mallory was a great believer in Lady Luck, and after
meeting the Harrisons, he believed even more firmly that she
was on his side. The odds against a man as wealthy as Alex
Harrison being brought to Embarcadero County Hospital were
enormous. And I'm the one who saved his life, and he wants to
show his gratitude, Mallory thought gleefully. He had asked a
friend of his about the Harrisons. "Rich doesn't even begin
to cover it," his friend had said. "He's a millionaire a
dozen times over. And he has a great-looking daughter. She's
been married three or four times. The last time to a count."
"Have you ever met the Harrisons?" "No. They don't mingle
with the hoi polloi." On a Saturday morning, as Alex Harrison
was being discharged from the hospital, he said, "Ken, do you
think I'll be in shape to give a dinner party a week from
now?"

Mallory nodded. "If you don't overdo it, I don't see why
not."
Alex Harrison smiled. "Fine. You're the guest of honor.''
Mallory felt a sudden thrill. The old man really meant
what he said. "Well . . . thank you."
"Lauren and I will expect you at seven-thirty next
Saturday night." He gave Mallory an address on Nob, Hill.
"I'll be there," Mallory said. Will I ever!
Mallory had promised to take Kat to the theater that
evening, but it would be easy to cancel. He had collected his
winnings, and he enjoyed having sex with her. Sev-eral times
a week they had managed to get together in one of the empty
on-call rooms, or a deserted hospital room, or at her
apartment or his. Her fires were banked a long time, Mallory
thought happily, but when the explosion came-wow! Well, one
of these days, it will be time to say arrivederci.

On the day he was to have dinner with the Harrisons,
Mallory telephoned Kat. "Bad news, baby."
"What's the matter, darling?"
"One of the doctors is sick and they've asked me to cover
for him. I'm afraid I'm going to have to break our date."
She did not want to let him know how disappointed she was,
how much she needed to be with him. Kat said lightly, "Oh
well, that's the doctor business, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I'll make it up to you."
"You don't have to make anything up to me," she said
warmly. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
"Ken, when are we going to talk about us?"
"What do you mean?" He knew exactly what she meant. A
commitment. They were all alike. They use their pussies for
bait, hoping to hook a sucker into spending his life with
them. Well, he was too smart for that. When the time came, he
would regretfully bow out, as he had done a dozen times
before.
Kat was saying, "Don't you think we should set a date,
Ken? I have a lot of plans to make."
"Oh, sure. We'll do that."
"I thought maybe June. What do you think?"
You don't want to know what I think. If I play my cards
right, there's going to be a wedding, but it won't be with
you. "We'll talk about it, baby. I really have to go now."


The Harrisons' home was a mansion out of a motion picture,
situated on acres of manicured grounds. The house itself
seemed to go on forever. There were two dozen guests, and in
the huge drawing room a small orchestra was playing. When
Mallory walked in, Lauren hurried over to greet him. She was
wearing a silky clinging gown. She squeezed Mallory's hand,
"Wel-come, guest of honor. I'm so glad you're here."
"So am I. How is your father?"
"Very much alive, thanks to you. You're quite a hero in
this house."
Mallory smiled modestly. "I only did my job."
"I suppose that's what God says every day." She took his
hand and began introducing him to the other guests.

The guest list was blue-ribbon. The governor of
Cali-fornia was there, the French ambassador, a justice of
the Supreme Court, and a dozen assorted politicians, artists,
and business tycoons. Mallory could feel the power in the
room, and it thrilled him. This is where I belong, he
thought. Right here, with these people.

The dinner was delicious and elegantly served. At the end
of the evening, when the guests started to leave, Harrison
said to Mallory, "Don't rush off, Ken. I'd like to talk to
you."
"I'd be delighted."
Harrison, Lauren, and Mallory sat in the library.
Har-rison was seated in a chair next to his daughter.
"When I told you at the hospital that I thought you had a
great future before you, I meant it."
"I really appreciate your confidence, sir."
"You should be in private practice."
Mallory laughed self-deprecatingly. "I'm afraid it's not
that easy, Mr. Harrison. It takes a long time to build up a
practice, and I'm ..."
"Ordinarily, yes. But you're not an ordinary man."
"I don't understand."
"After you finish your residency, Father wants to set you
up in your own practice," Lauren said.
For a moment, Mallory was speechless. It was too easy. He
felt as though he were living in some kind of wonderful
dream. "I ... I don't know what to say."
"I have a lot of very wealthy friends. I've already spoken
to some of them about you. I can promise you that you'll be
swamped the minute you put up your shingle."
"Daddy, lawyers put up shingles," Lauren said.
"Whatever. In any case, I'd like to finance you. Are you
interested?"
Mallory was finding it difficult to breathe. "Very much
so. But I ... I don't know when I would be able to repay
you."
"You don't understand. I'm repaying you. You won't owe me
anything."
Lauren was looking at Mallory, her eyes warm. "Please say
yes."
"I'd be stupid to say no, wouldn't I?"
"That's right," Lauren said softly. "And I'm sure you're
not stupid."


On his way home, Ken Mallory was in a state of euphoria.
This is as good as it gets, he thought. But he was wrong. It
got better.
Lauren telephoned him. "I hope you don't mind mix-ing
business with pleasure."
He smiled to himself. "Not at all. What did you have in
mind?"
"There's a charity ball next Saturday night. Would you
like to take me?"
Oh, baby, I'm going to take you all right. "I'd love to."
He was on duty Saturday night, but he would call in sick and
they would have to find someone to take his place.

Mallory was a man who believed in planning ahead, but what
was happening to him now went beyond his wildest dreams.
Over the next few weeks he was swept up in Lauren's social
circle, and life took on a dizzying pace. He would be out
with Lauren dancing half the night, and stumble through his
days at the hospital. There were mounting complaints about
his work, but he didn't care. I'll be out of here soon, he
told himself.

The thought of getting away from the dreary county
hospital and having his own practice was exciting enough, but
Lauren was the bonus that Lady Luck had given him.

Kat was becoming a nuisance. Mallory had to keep finding
pretexts to avoid seeing her. When she would press him, he
would say, "Darling, I'm crazy about you ... of course I want
to marry you, but right now, I ..." and he would go into a
litany of excuses.

It was Lauren who suggested that the two of them spend a
weekend at the family lodge at Big Sur. Mallory was elated.
Everything is coming up roses, he thought. I'm going to own
the whole damned world!

The lodge was spread across pine-covered hills, an
enormous structure built of wood and tile and stone,
overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It had a master bedroom, eight
guest bedrooms, a spacious living room with a stone
fireplace, an indoor swimming pool, and a large hot tub.
Everything smelled of old money.

When they walked in, Lauren turned to Mallory and said, "I
let the servants go for the weekend."
Mallory grinned. "Good thinking." He put his arms around
Lauren and said softly, "I'm wild about you."
"Show me," Lauren said.
They spent the day in bed, and Lauren was almost as
insatiable as Kat.
"You're wearing me out!" Mallory laughed.
"Good. I don't want you to be able to make love to anyone
else." She sat up in bed. "There is no one else, is there,
Ken?"
"Absolutely not," Mallory said sincerely. "There's no one
in the world for me but you. I'm in love with you, Lauren."
Now was the time to take the plunge, to wrap his whole future
up in one neat package. It would be one thing to be a
successful doctor in private practice. It would be something
else to be Alex Har-rison's son-in-law. "I want to marry
you."
He held his breath, waiting for her answer.
"Oh, yes, darling," Lauren said. "Yes."


At the apartment, Kat was frantically trying to reach
Mallory. She telephoned the hospital.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Hunter, Dr. Mallory is not on call, and
doesn't answer his page."
"Didn't he leave word where he could be reached?"
"We have no record of it."
Kat replaced the receiver and turned to Paige.
"Something's happened to him, I know it. He would have called
me by now."
"Kat, there could be a hundred reasons why you haven't
heard from him. Perhaps he had to go out of town suddenly, or
. . ."
"You're right. I'm sure there's some good excuse."
Kat looked at the phone and willed it to ring.

When Mallory returned to San Francisco, he tele-phoned Kat
at the hospital.
"Dr. Hunter is off duty," the receptionist told him.
''Thank you.'' Mallory called the apartment. Kat was
there.
"Hi, baby!"
"Ken! Where have you been? I've been worried about you. I
tried everywhere to reach-"
"I had a family emergency," he said smoothly. "I'm sorry I
didn't have a chance to call you. I had to go out of town.
May I come over?"
"You know you may. I'm so glad you're all right. I-"
"Half an hour.'' He replaced the receiver and thought
happily, The time has come, the walrus said, to speak of many
things. Kat, baby, it was great fun, but it was just one of
those things.

When Mallory arrived at the apartment, Kat threw her arms
around him. "I've missed you!" She could not tell him how
desperately worried she had been. Men hated that kind of
thing. She stood back. "Darling, you look absolutely
exhausted."
Mallory sighed. "I've been up for the last twenty-four
hours." That part is true, he thought.
Kat hugged him. "Poor baby. Can I fix something for you?"
"No, I'm fine. All I really need is a good night's sleep.
Let's sit down, Kat. We have to have a talk." He sat on the
couch next to her.
"Is anything wrong?" Kat asked.
Mallory took a deep breath. "Kat, I've been thinking a lot
about us lately."
She smiled. "So have I. I have news for you. I-
"No, wait. Let me finish. Kat, I think we're rushing into
things too fast. I ... I think I proposed too hast-ily."
She paled. "What . . . what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I think we should postpone every-thing."
She felt as though the room were closing in on her. She
was finding it difficult to breathe. "Ken, we can't postpone
anything. I'm having your baby."




Chapter Thirty




Paige got home at midnight, drained. It had been
exhausting day. There had been no time for lunch, and dinner
had consisted of a sandwich between operations. She fell into
her bed and was asleep instantly. She was awakened by the
ringing of the tele-phone. Groggily, Paige reached for the
instrument and automatically glanced at the bedside clock. It
was three in the morning. "H'lo?"
"Dr. Taylor? I'm sorry to disturb you, but one of your
patients is insisting on seeing you right away."
Paige's throat was so dry she could hardly talk. "I'm off
duty," she mumbled. "Can't you get some-one . . .?"
"He won't talk to anyone else. He says he needs you."
"Who is it?"
"John Cronin."
Paige sat up straighter. "What's happened?"
"I don't know. He refuses to speak with anyone but you."
"All right," Paige said wearily. "I'm on my way."
Thirty minutes later, Paige arrived at the hospital. She
went directly to John Cronin's room. He was lying in bed,
awake. Tubes were protruding from his nostrils and his arms.

"Thanks for coming." His voice was weak and hoarse.
Paige sat down in a chair next to the bed. She smiled.
"That's all right, John. I had nothing to do, anyway, but
sleep. What can I do for you that no one else here at this
great big hospital couldn't have done?"
"I want you to talk to me."
Paige groaned. "At this hour? I thought it was some kind
of emergency."
"It is. I want to leave."
She shook her head. "That's impossible. You can't go home
now. You couldn't get the kind of treat-ment-"
He interrupted her. "I don't want to go home. I want to
leave."
She looked at him and said slowly, "What are you saying?"
"You know what I'm saying. The medication isn't working
anymore. I can't stand this pain. I want out."
Paige leaned over and took his hand. "John, I can't do
that. Let me give you some-"
"No. I'm tired, Paige. I want to go wherever it is I'm
going, but I don't want to hang around here like this. Not
anymore."
"John . . ."
"How much time do I have left? A few more days? I told
you, I'm not good about pain. I'm lying here like a trapped
animal, filled with all these goddam tubes. My body is being
eaten away inside. This isn't living- it's dying. For God's
sake, help me!"
He was racked by a sudden spasm of pain. When he spoke
again, his voice was even weaker. "Help me . . . please ..."

Paige knew what she had to do. She had to report John
Cronin's request to Dr. Benjamin Wallace. He would pass it on
to the Administration Committee. They would assemble a panel
of doctors to assess Cronin's condition, and then make a
decision. After that, it would have to be approved by ...

"Paige . . . it's my life. Let me do with it as I like."
She looked over at the helpless figure locked in his pain.
"I'm begging you ..."
She took his hand and held it for a long time. When she
spoke, she said, "All right, John. I'll do it."
He managed a trace of a smile. "I knew I could count on
you."
Paige leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "Close
your eyes and go to sleep."
"Good night, Paige."
"Good night, John."

John Cronin sighed and closed his eyes, a beatific smile
on his face.
Paige sat there watching him, thinking about what she was
about to do. She remembered how horrified she had been on her
first day of rounds with Dr. Radnor. 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. Was it
wrong to release a fellow human being from his misery?

Slowly, as though she were moving under water, Paige rose
and walked to a cabinet in the corner, where a bottle of
insulin was kept for emergency use. She removed the bottle
and stood there, staring at it. Then she uncapped the bottle.
She filled a syringe with the insulin and walked back to John
Cronin's bedside. There was still time to go back. I'm lying
here like a trapped animal. . . . This isn't living-it's
dying. For God's sake, help me!
Paige leaned forward and slowly injected the insulin into
the IV attached to Cronin's arm.
"Sleep well," Paige whispered. She was unaware that she
was sobbing.
Paige drove home and stayed awake the rest of the night,
thinking about what she had done.

At six o'clock in the morning, she received a tele-phone
call from one of the residents at the hospital.
"I'm sorry to give you bad news, Dr. Taylor. Your patient
John Cronin died of cardiac arrest early this morning."
The staff doctor in charge that morning was Dr. Ar-thur
Kane.




Chapter Thirty-one
The one other time Ken Mallory had gone to an opera, he
had fallen asleep. On this night he was watching Rigoletto at
the San Francisco Opera House and enjoying every minute of
it. He was seated in a box with Lauren Harrison and her
father. In the lobby of the opera house during intermission,
Alex Har-rison had introduced him to a large number of
friends. "This is my future son-in-law and a brilliant
doctor, Ken Mallory."

Being Alex Harrison's son-in-law was enough to make him a
brilliant doctor.
After the performance, the Harrisons and Mallory went to
the Fairmont Hotel for supper in the elegant main dining
room. Mallory enjoyed the deferential greeting that the
mattre d' gave to Alex Harrison as he led them to their
booth. From now on, I'll be able to afford places like this,
Mallory thought, and everyone is going to know who I am.

After they had ordered, Lauren said, "Darling, I think we
should have a party to announce our engage-ment."
"That's a good idea!" her father said. "We'll make it a
big one. What do you say, Ken?"

A warning bell sounded in Mallory's mind. An en-gagement
party would mean publicity. I'll have to set Kat straight
first. A little money should take care of that. Mallory
cursed the stupid bet he had made. For a mere ten thousand
dollars, his whole shining future might now be in jeopardy.
He could just imagine what would happen if he tried to
explain Kat to the Harrisons.

By the way, I forgot to mention that I'm already engaged
to a doctor at the hospital. She's black. . . .
Or: Do you want to hear something funny? I bet the boys at
the hospital ten thousand dollars I could fuck this black
doctor. . . .
Or: / already have one wedding planned. . . .
No, he thought, I'll have to find a way to buy Kat off-

They were looking at Mallory expectantly.
Mallory smiled. "A party sounds like a wonderful idea."
Lauren said enthusiastically, "Good. I'll get things
started. You men have no idea what it takes to give a party."
Alex Harrison turned to Mallory. "I've already started the
ball rolling for you, Ken."
"Sir?"
"Gary Gitlin, the head of North Shore Hospital, is an old
golf buddy of mine. I talked to him about you, he doesn't
think there will be any problem about
having you affiliated with his hospital. That's quite
pres-tigious, you know. And at the same time, I'll get you
set up in your own practice."
Mallory listened, filled with a sense of euphoria. "That's
wonderful."
"Of course, it will take a few years to build up a really
lucrative practice, but I think you should be able to make
two or three hundred thousand dollars the first
year or two."
Two or three hundred thousand! My God! Mallory thought. He
makes it sound like peanuts. "That . . . That would be very
nice, sir."
Alex Harrison smiled. "Ken, since I'm going to be your
father-in-law, let's get off this 'sir' business. Call me
Alex."
"Right, Alex."
"You know, I've never been a June bride," Lauren said. "Is
June all right with you, darling?"

He could hear Kat's voice saying: Don't you think we
should set a date? I thought maybe June.

Mallory took Lauren's hand in his. "That sounds great."
That will give me plenty of time to handle Kat, Mallory
decided. He smiled to himself. I'll offer her some of the
money I won getting her into bed.

"We have a yacht in the south of France," Alex Harrison
was saying, "Would you two like to honey-moon on the French
Riviera? You can fly over in our
Gulfstream."

A yacht. The French Riviera. It was like a fantasy come
true. Mallory looked at Lauren. "I'd honeymoon anywhere with
Lauren."
Alex Harrison nodded. "Well, it looks like every-thing is
settled." He smiled at his daughter. "I'm going to miss you,
baby."
"You're not losing me, Father. You're gaining a doctor!"
Alex Harrison nodded. "And a damn good one. I can never
thank you enough for saving my life, Ken."
Lauren stroked Mallory's hand. "I'll thank him for you."
"Ken, why don't we have lunch next week?" Alex Harrison
said. "We'll pick out some decent office space for you, maybe
in the Post Building, and I'll make a date for you to see
Gary Gitlin. A lot of my friends are dying to meet you."
"I think you might rephrase that, Father," Lauren
suggested. She turned to Ken. "I've been talking to my
friends about you and they're eager to meet you, too, only
I'm not going to let them."
"I'm not interested in anyone but you," Mallory said
warmly.
When they got into their chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce,
Lauren asked, "Where can we drop you, darling?"
"The hospital. I've got to check on a few patients." I He
had no intention of seeing any patients. Kat was on I duty at
the hospital.
Lauren stroked his cheek. ' 'My poor baby. You work I much
too hard."
Mallory sighed. "It doesn't matter. As long as I'm helping
people."


He found Kat in the geriatric ward.
"Hi, Kat."
She was in an angry mood. "We had a date last night, Ken."
"I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't able to make it, and-"
"That's the third time in the last week. What's going on?"
She was becoming a boring nag. "Kat, I have to talk to
you. Is there an empty room around here?"
She thought for a moment. "A patient checked out of 315.
Let's go in there."
They started down the corridor. A nurse walked up to them.
"Oh, Dr. Mallory! Dr. Peterson has been look-ing for you.
He-"
"Tell him I'm busy." He took Kat by the arm and led her to
the elevator.

When they arrived at the third floor, they walked silently
down the corridor and went into Room 315. Mallory closed the
door behind them. He was hyperven-tilating. His whole golden
future depended on the next few minutes.
He took Kat's hand in his. It was time to be sincere.
"Kat, you know I'm crazy about you. I've never felt about
anyone the way I feel about you. But, honey, the idea of
having a baby right now . . . well . . . can't you see how
wrong it would be? I mean . . .we're both working day and
night, we aren't making enough money to . . ."
"But we can manage," Kat said. "I love you, Ken, and I-"
"Wait. All I'm asking is that we put everything off for a
little while. Let me finish my term at the hospital and get
started in private practice somewhere. Maybe we'll go back
East. In a few years we'll be able to afford to get married
and have a baby."
"In a few years'? But I told you, I'm pregnant."
"I know, darling, but it's been what, now . . . two
months? There's still plenty of time to abort it."
Kat looked at him, shocked. "No! I won't abort it. I want
us to get married right away. Now."

We have a yacht in the south of France. Would you two like
to honeymoon on the French Riviera? You can fly over in our
Gulf stream.

"I've already told Paige and Honey that we're getting
married. They're going to be my bridesmaids. And I told them
about the baby."
Mallory felt a cold chill go through him. Things were
getting out of hand. If the Harrisons got wind of this, he
would be finished. "You shouldn't have done that."
"Why not?"
Mallory forced a smile. "I want to keep our private lives
private." I'll get you set up in your own prac-tice. . . .
You should be able to make two or three hundred thousand
dollars the first year or two. "Kat, I'm going to ask you
this for the last time. Will you have an abortion?" He was
willing her to say yes, trying to keep the desperation out of
his voice.
"No."
"Kat . . ."
"I can't, Ken. I told you how I felt about the abortion I
had as a girl. I swore I could never live through such a
thing again. Don't ask me again."
And it was at that moment that Ken Mallory realized he
could not take a chance. He had no choice. He was going to
have to kill her.




Chapter Thirty-two


Honey looked forward every day to seeing the patient in
Room 306. His name was Sean Reilly, and he was a good-looking
Irishman, with black hair and black sparkling eyes. Honey
guessed that he was in his early forties.

When Honey first met him on her rounds, she had looked at
his chart and said, "I see you're here for a
cholecystectomy.''
"I thought they were going to remove my gallblad-der."
Honey smiled. "Same thing."
Sean fixed his black eyes on her. "They can cut out
anything they want except my heart. That belongs to you."
Honey laughed. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
"I hope so, darlin'."
When Honey had a few minutes to spare, she would drop by
and chat with Sean. He was charming and amusing.

"It's worth bein' operated on just to have you around,
little darlin'."
"You aren't nervous about the operation, are you?" she
asked.
"Not if you're going to operate, love."
"I'm not a surgeon. I'm an internist."
"Are internists allowed to have dinner with their
pa-tients?"
"No. There's a rule against it."
"Do internists ever break rules?"
"Never." Honey was smiling.
"I think you're beautiful," Sean said.
No one had ever told Honey that before. She found herself
blushing. "Thank you."
"You're like the fresh mornin' dew in the fields of
Killarney."
"Have you ever been to Ireland?" Honey asked.
He laughed. "No, but I promise you we'll go there together
one day. You'll see."
It was ridiculous Irish blarney, and yet ...
That afternoon when Honey went in to see Sean, she said,
"How are you feeling?"
"The better for seeing you. Have you thought about our
dinner date?"
"No," Honey said. She was lying.
"I was hoping after my operation, I could take you out.
You're not engaged, or married, or anything silly like that,
are you?"
Honey smiled. "Nothing silly like that."
"Good! Neither am I. Who would have me?"
A lot of women, Honey thought.
"If you like home cooking, I happen to be a great cook."
"We'll see."

When Honey went to Sean's room the following morning, he
said, "I have a little present for you." He handed her a
sheet of drawing paper. On it was a soft-ened, idealized
sketch of Honey.
"I love it!" Honey said. "You're a wonderful art-ist!" And
she suddenly remembered the psychic's words: You're going to
fall in love. He's an artist. She was looking at Sean
strangely.
"Is anything wrong?"
"No," Honey said slowly. "No."

Five minutes later, Honey walked into Frances Gor-don's
room.
"Here comes the Virgo!"
Honey said, "Do you remember telling me that I was going
to fall in love with someone-an artist?"
"Yes."
"Well, I ... I think I've met him."
Frances Gordon smiled. "See? The stars never lie."
"Could . . . could you tell me a little about him? About
us?"
"There are some tarot cards in that drawer over there.
Could you give them to me, please?"
As Honey handed her the cards, she thought, This is
ridiculous! I don't believe in this!
Frances Gordon was laying out the cards. She kept nodding
to herself, and nodding and smiling, and sud-denly she
stopped. Her face went pale. "Oh, my God!" She looked up at
Honey.
"What . . . what's the matter?" Honey asked.
"This artist. You say you've already met him?"
"I think so. Yes."
Frances Gordon's voice was filled with sadness. "The poor
man." She looked up at Honey. "I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry."

Sean Reilly was scheduled to have his operation the
following morning.
8:15 a.m. Dr. William Radnor was in OR Two, pre-paring for
the operation.
8:25 a.m. A truck containing a week's supply of bags of
blood pulled up at the emergency entrance to Embarcadero
County Hospital. The driver carried the bags to the blood
bank in the basement. Eric Foster, the resident on duty, was
sharing coffee and a danish with a pretty young nurse,
Andrea.

"Where do you want these?" the driver asked.
"Just set them down there." Foster pointed to a cor-ner.
"Right." The driver put the bags down and pulled out a
form. "I need your John Hancock."
"Okay." Foster signed the form. "Thanks."
"No sweat." The driver left.
Foster turned to Andrea. "Where were we?"
"You were telling me how adorable I am."
"Right. If you weren't married, I'd really go after you,"
the resident said. "Do you ever fool around?"
"No. My husband is a boxer."
"Oh. Do you have a sister?"
"As a matter of fact, I do."
"Is she as pretty as you are?"
"Prettier."
"What's her name?"
"Marilyn."
"Why don't we double-date one night?"
As they chatted, the fax machine began to click. Foster
ignored it.
8:45 a.m. Dr. Radnor began the operation on Sean Reilly.
The beginning went smoothly. The operating room functioned
like a well-oiled machine, run by capa-ble people doing their
jobs.

9:05 a.m. Dr. Radnor reached the cystic duct. A textbook
operation up until then. As he started to excise the
gallbladder, his hand slipped and the scalpel nicked an
artery. Blood began to pour out.

"Jesus!" He tried to stop the flow.
The anesthesiologist called out, "His blood pressure just
dropped to ninety-five. He's going into shock!"
Radnor turned to the circulating nurse. "Get some more
blood up here, stat!"
"Right away, doctor."
9:06 a.m. The telephone rang in the blood bank. "Don't go
away," Foster told Andrea. He walked past the fax machine,
which had stopped clicking, and picked up the telephone.
"Blood supply."
"We need four units of Type O in OR Two, stat."
"Right." Foster replaced the receiver and went to the
corner where the new blood had been deposited. He pulled out
four bags and placed them on the top shelf of the metal cart
used for such emergencies. He double-checked the bags. "Type
O," he said aloud. He rang for an orderly.
"What's going on?" Andrea asked.
Foster looked at the schedule in front of him. "It looks
like one of the patients is giving Dr. Radnor a bad time."
9:10 a.m. The orderly came into the blood bank. "What have
we got?"
"Take this to OR Two. They're waiting for it."
He watched the orderly wheel out the cart, then turned to
Andrea. "Tell me about your sister."
"She's married, too."
"Aw . . ."
Andrea smiled. "But she fools around."
"Does she really?"
"I'm only kidding. I have to go back to work, Eric. Thanks
for the coffee and danish."
'' Anytime." He watched her leave and thought, What a
great ass!
9:12 a.m. The orderly was waiting for an elevator to take
him to the second floor.
9:13 a.m. Dr. Radnor was doing his best to minimize the
catastrophe. "Where's the damned blood?"
9:15 a.m. The orderly pushed at the door to OR Two and the
circulating nurse opened it.
"Thanks," she said. She carried the bags into the room.
"It's here, doctor."
"Start pumping it into him. Fast!"
In the blood bank, Eric Foster finished his coffee,
thinking about Andrea. All the good-looking ones are married.
As he started toward his desk, he passed the fax machine.
He pulled out the fax. It read:

Recall Warning Alert #687, June 25: Red Blood Cells, Fresh
Frozen Plasma. Units CB83711, CB800007. Community Blood Bank
of California, Arizona, Washington, Oregon. Blood products
test-ing repeatedly reactive for Antibody HIV Type I were
distributed.

He stared at it a moment, then walked over to his desk and
picked up the invoice he had signed for the bags of blood
that had just been delivered. He looked at the number on the
invoice. The number on the warn-ing was identical.
"Oh, my God!" he said. He grabbed the telephone. "Get me
OR Two, fast!"
A nurse answered.

"This is the blood bank. I just sent up four units of Type
O. Don't use it! I'm sending up some fresh blood
immediately." The nurse said, "Sorry, it's too late."
Dr. Radnor broke the news to Sean Reilly.
"It was a mistake," Radnor said. "A terrible mis-take. I
would give anything if it had not happened."
Sean was staring at him, in shock. "My God! I'm going to
die."
"We won't know whether you're HIV-positive for six or
eight weeks. And even if you are, that does not necessarily
mean you will get AIDS. We're going to do everything we can
for you."
"What the hell can you do for me that you haven't already
done?" Sean said bitterly. "I'm a dead man."

When Honey heard the news, she was devastated. She
remembered Frances Gordon's words. The poor man.
Sean Reilly was asleep when Honey walked into his room.
She sat at his bedside for a long time, watching him.
He opened his eyes and saw Honey. "I dreamed that I was
dreaming, and that I wasn't going to die." "Sean ..."
"Did you come to visit the corpse?" "Please don't talk
that way." "How could this happen?" he cried. "Someone made a
mistake, Sean." "God, I don't want to die of AIDS!"
"Some people who get HIV may never get AIDS. The Irish are
lucky."
"I wish I could believe you."
She took his hand in hers. "You've got to."
"I'm not a praying man," Sean said, "but I sure as hell am
going to start now."
"I'll pray with you," Honey said.
He smiled wryly. "I guess we can forget about that dinner,
huh?"
"Oh, no. You don't get out of it that easily. I'm looking
forward to it."
He studied her a moment. "You really mean that, don't
you?"
"You bet I do! No matter what happens. Remember, you
promised to take me to Ireland."




Chapter Thirty-three




Are you all right, Ken?" Lauren asked. "You seem tense,
darling." They were alone in the huge Harrison library. A
maid and a butler had served a six-course dinner, and during
dinner he and Alex Harrison-Call me Alex- had chatted about
Mallory's brilliant future. "Why are you tense?"

Because this pregnant black bitch expects me to marry her.
Because any minute word is going to leak out about our
engagement and she'll hear about it and blow the whistle.
Because my whole future could be destroyed.

He took Lauren's hand in his. "I guess I'm working too
hard. My patients aren't just patients to me, Lauren. They're
people in trouble, and I can't help worrying about them."
She stroked his face. "That's one of the things I love
about you, Ken. You're so caring."
"I guess I was brought up that way."
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. The society editor of the
Chronicle and a photographer are coming here Monday to do an
interview."
It was like a blow to the pit of his stomach. "
"Is there any chance you could be here with me, darling?
They want a picture of you."
"I. . . I wish I could, but I have a busy day scheduled at
the hospital." His mind was racing. "Lauren, do you think
it's a good idea to do an interview now? I mean, shouldn't we
wait until . . . ?"
Lauren laughed. "You don't know the press, darling.
They're like bloodhounds. No, it's much better to get it over
with now."
Monday!

The following morning, Mallory tracked down Kat in a
utility room. She looked tired and haggard. She had no makeup
on and her hair was uncurled. Lauren would never let herself
go like that, Mallory thought.
"Hi, honey!"
Kat did not answer.
Mallory took her in his arms. "I've been thinking a lot
about us, Kat. I didn't sleep at all last night. There's no
one else for me. You were right, and I was wrong. I guess the
news came as kind of a shock to me. I want you to have our
baby." He watched the sudden glow on Kat's face.
"Do you really mean that, Ken?"
"You bet I do."
She put her arms around him. "Thank God! Oh, darling. I
was so worried. I don't know what I would do without you."
"You don't have to worry about that. From now on,
everything is going to be wonderful.'' You'll never knew how
wonderful. "Look, I have Sunday night off. Are you free?"
She grasped his hand. "I'll make myself free."
"Great! We'll have a nice quiet dinner and then we'll go
back to your place for a nightcap. Do you think you can get
rid of Paige and Honey? I want us to be alone."
Kat smiled. "No problem. You don't know how happy you've
made me. Did I ever tell you how much I love you?"
"I love you, too. I'll show you how much Sunday night."
Thinking it over, Mallory decided it was a foolproof plan.
He had worked it out to the smallest detail. There was no way
Kat's death could ever be blamed on him.

It was too risky to get what he needed from the hospi-tal
pharmacy because security had been tightened there after the
Bowman affair. Instead, early Sunday morn-ing, Mallory went
looking for a pharmacy far away from the neighborhood where
he lived. Most of them were closed on Sunday, and he went to
half a dozen before he found one that was open.

The pharmacist behind the counter said, "Morning. Can I
help you?"
"Yes. I'm going to see a patient in this area, and I want
to take a prescription to him." He pulled out his"
prescription pad and wrote on it.

The pharmacist smiled. "Not many doctors make house calls
these days."
"I know. It's a pity, isn't it? People just don't care
anymore." He handed the slip of paper to the pharma-cist.
The pharmacist looked at it and nodded. "This will only
take a few minutes."
"Thank you."
Step one.

That afternoon, Mallory made a stop at the hospital. He
was there no more than ten minutes, and when he left, he was
carrying a small package.
Step two.

Mallory had arranged to meet Kat at Trader Vic's for
dinner, and he was waiting for her when she arrived. He
watched her walking toward the table and thought,

It's the Last Supper, bitch.
He rose and gave her a warm smile. "Hello, doll. You look
beautiful." And he had to admit that she did. She looked
sensational. She could have been a model. And she's great in
bed. All she lacks, Ken thought, is about twenty million
dollars, give or take a few million.

Kat was aware again of how the other women in the
restaurant were eyeing Ken, envying her. But he only had eyes
for her. He was the old Ken, warm and atten-tive.

"How was your day?" Ken asked.
She sighed. "Busy. Three operations in the morning and two
this afternoon." She leaned forward. "I know it's too early,
but I swear I could feel the baby kicking when I was getting
dressed."
Mallory smiled. "Maybe it wants to get out."
"We should do an ultrasound test and find out if it's a
boy or a girl. Then I can start buying clothes for it."
"Great idea."
"Ken, can we set a wedding date? I'd like to have our
wedding as soon as possible."
"No problem," Mallory said easily. "We can apply for a
license next week."
"That's wonderful!" She had a sudden thought. ' 'Maybe we
could get a few days off and go somewhere on our honeymoon.
Somewhere not too far away-up to Oregon or Washington."

Wrong, baby. I'll be honeymooning in June, on my yacht on
the French Riviera.

"That sounds great. I'll talk to Wallace."
Kat squeezed his hand. "Thank you," she said husk-ily.
"I'm going to make you the best wife in the whole world."
"I'm sure of it." Mallory smiled. "Now eat your
vegetables. We want the baby to be healthy, don't we?"
They left the restaurant at 9:00 p.m. As they ap-proached
Kat's apartment building, Mallory said, "Are you sure Paige
and Honey won't be home?"
"I made sure," Kat said. "Paige is at the hospital, on
call, and I told Honey you and I wanted to be alone here."
She saw the expression on his face. "Is anything wrong?''
"No, baby. I told you, I just like our private times to be
private." I'll have to be careful, he thought. Very careful.
"Let's hurry."
His impatience warmed Kat.

Inside the apartment, Mallory said, "Let's go into the
bedroom."
Kat grinned. "That sounds like a great idea."
Mallory watched Kat undress, and he thought, She still has
a great figure. A baby would ruin it.
"Aren't you going to get undressed, Ken?"
"Of course.'' He remembered the time she had gotten him to
undress and then walked out on him. Well, now she was going
to pay for that.
He took his clothes off slowly. Can I perform! he
wondered. He was almost trembling with nervousness. What I'm
going to do is her fault. Not mine. I gave her a chance to
back out and she was too stupid to take it.
He slipped into bed beside her and felt her warm body
against his. They began to stroke each other, and he felt
himself getting aroused. He entered her and she began to
moan.

"Oh, darling ... it feels so wonderful ..." She began to
move faster and faster. "Yes . . . yes . . . oh, my God! . .
. don't stop ..." And her body began to jerk spasmodically,
and she shuddered and then lay still in his arms.
She turned to him anxiously. "Did you . . . ?"

"Of course," Mallory lied. He was much too tense. "How
about a drink?"
"No. I shouldn't. The baby ..."
"But this is a celebration, honey. One little drink isn't
going to hurt."
Kat hesitated. "All right. A small one." Kat started to
get up.
Mallory stopped her. "No, no. You stay in bed, Mama. You
have to get used to being pampered."

Kat watched Mallory as he walked into the living room and
she thought, I'm the luckiest woman in the world!

Mallory walked over to the little bar and poured scotch
into two glasses. He glanced toward the bedroom to make sure
he could not be seen, then went over to the couch, where he
had placed his jacket. He took a small bottle from his pocket
and poured the contents into Kat's drink. He returned to the
bar and stirred Kat's drink and smelled it. There was no
odor. He took the two glasses back to the bedroom, and handed
Kat her drink.

"Let's drink a toast to our baby," Kat said.
"Right. To our baby."
Ken watched as Kat took a swallow of her drink.
"We'll find a nice apartment somewhere," Kat said
dreamily. "I'll fix up a nursery. We're going to spoil our
child rotten, aren't we?" She took another sip.
Mallory nodded. "Absolutely." He was watching her closely.
"How do you feel?"
"Wonderful. I've been so worried about us, darling, but
I'm not, not anymore."
"That's good," Mallory said. "You have nothing to worry
about."
Kat's eyes were getting heavy. "No," she said. "There's
nothing to worry about." Her words were beginning to slur.
"Ken, I feel funny." She was begin-ning to sway.
"You should never have gotten pregnant."
She was staring up at him stupidly. "What?"
"You spoiled everything, Kat."
"Spoiled . . . ?" She was having trouble concentrat-ing.
"You got in my way."
"Wha'?"
"No one gets in my way."
"Ken, I feel dizzy."
He stood there, watching her.
"Ken . . . help me, Ken ..." Her head fell back onto the
pillow.
Mallory looked at his watch again. There was plenty of
time.




Chapter Thirty-four




It was Honey who arrived at the apartment first and
stumbled across Kat's mutilated body, lying in a pool of
blood on the floor of the bathroom, obscenely sprawled
against the cold white tiles. A bloodstained curette lay
beside her. She had hemorrhaged from her womb.

Honey stood there in shock. "Oh, my God!" Her voice was a
strangled whisper. She knelt beside the body and placed a
trembling finger against the carotid artery. There was no
pulse. Honey hurried back into the living room, picked up the
telephone, and dialed 911.

A male voice said, "Nine-one-one Emergency." Honey stood
there paralyzed, unable to speak. "Nine-one-one Emergency . .
. Hello . . . ?" "H . . . help! I ... There's ..." She was
choking over her words. "Sh . . . she's dead." "Who is dead,
miss?"
"Kat."
"Your cat is dead?"
"No!" Honey screamed. "Kat's dead. Get someone over here
right away."
"Lady ..."
Honey slammed down the receiver. With shaking fingers, she
dialed the hospital. "Dr. T ... Taylor." Her voice was an
agonized whisper.
"One moment, please."
Honey gripped the telephone and waited two minutes before
she heard Paige's voice. "Dr. Taylor."
"Paige! You . . . you've got to come home right away!"
"Honey? What's happened?"
"Kat's . . . dead."
"What?" Paige's voice was filled with disbelief. "How?"
"It ... it looks like she tried to abort herself."
"Oh, my God! All right. I'll be there as soon as I can."

By the time Paige arrived at the apartment, there were two
policemen, a detective, and a medical examiner there. Honey
was in her bedroom, heavily sedated. The medical examiner was
leaning over Kat's naked body. A detective looked up as Paige
entered the bloody bathroom.

"Who are you?"
Paige was staring at the lifeless body. Her face was pale.
"I'm Dr. Taylor. I live here."
"Maybe you can help me. I'm Inspector Burns. I was trying
to talk to the other lady who lives here. She's hysterical.
The doctor gave her a sedative."
"What . . . what do you want to know?"
"She lived here?"
"Yes."

I'm going to have Ken's baby. How good can it get!

"It looks like she tried to get rid of the kid, and messed
it up," the detective said.
Paige stood there, her mind spinning. When she spoke, she
said, "I don't believe it."
Inspector Burns studied her a moment. "Why don't you
believe it, doctor?"
"She wanted that baby." She was beginning to think clearly
again. "The father didn't want it."
"The father?"
"Dr. Ken Mallory. He works at Embarcadero County Hospital.
He didn't want to marry her. Look, Kat is- was-it was so
painful to say was-"a doctor. If she had wanted to have an
abortion, there's no way she would try to do it herself in a
bathroom." Paige shook her head. "There's something wrong."
The medical examiner rose from beside the body. "Maybe she
tried it herself because she didn't want anyone else to know
about the baby."
"That's not true. She told us about it."
Inspector Burns was watching Paige. "Was she alone here
this evening?"
"No. She had a date with Dr. Mallory."


Ken Mallory was in bed, carefully going over the events of
the evening. He replayed every step of the way, making sure
there were no loose ends. Perfect, he decided. He lay in bed,
wondering why it was taking doorbell rang. Mallory let it
ring three times, then got up, put on a robe over his
pajamas, and went into the living room.

He stood in front of the door. "Who's there?" He sounded
sleepy.
A voice said, "Dr. Mallory?"
"Yes."
"Inspector Burns. San Francisco Police Depart-ment."
"Police Department?" There was just the right note of
surprise in his voice. Mallory opened the door.

The man standing in the hall showed his badge. "May I come
in?"
"Yes. What's this all about?"
"Do you know a Dr. Hunter?"
"Of course I do." A look of alarm crossed his face. "Has
something happened to Kat?"
"Were you with her earlier this evening?"
"Yes. My God! Tell me what's happened! Is she all right?"
"I'm afraid I have some bad news. Dr. Hunter is dead."
"Dead? I can't believe it. How?'
"Apparently she tried to perform an abortion on her-self
and it went wrong."
"Oh, my God!" Mallory said. He sank into a chair. "It's my
fault."
The inspector was watching him closely. "Your fault?"
"Yes. I ... Dr. Hunter and I were going to be married. I
told her I didn't think it was a good idea for her to have a
baby now. I wanted to wait, and she agreed. I suggested she
go to the hospital and have them take care of it, but she
must have decided to ... I ... I can't believe it."
"What time did you leave Dr. Hunter?" "It must have been
about ten o'clock. I dropped her off at her apartment and
left."
"You didn't go into the apartment?" "No."
"Did Dr. Hunter talk about what she planned to do?" "You
mean about the . . . ? No. Not a word." Inspector Burns
pulled out a card. "If you think of anything else that might
be helpful, doctor, I'd appreci-ate it if you gave me a
call."
"Certainly. I ... you have no idea what a shock this is."


Paige and Honey stayed up all night, talking about what
had happened to Kat, going over it and over it, in shocked
disbelief.


At nine o'clock, Inspector Burns came by.
"Good morning. I wanted to tell you that I spoke to Dr.
Mallory last night."
"And?"
' 'He said they went out to dinner, and then he dropped
her off and went home."
"He's lying," Paige said. She was thinking. "Wait! Did
they find any traces of semen in Kat's body?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact."
"Well, then," Paige said excitedly, "that proves he's
lying. He did take her to bed and-"
"I went to talk to him about that this morning. He says
they had sex before they went out to dinner."
"Oh." She would not give up. "His fingerprints will be on
the curette he used to kill her." Her voice was eager. "Did
you find fingerprints?"
"Yes, doctor," he said patiently. "They were hers."
"That's imp-Wait! Then he wore gloves, and when he was
finished, he put her prints on the curette. How does that
sound?"
"Like someone's been watching too many Murder, She Wrote
television programs."
"You don't believe Kat was murdered, do you?"
"I'm afraid I don't."
"Have they done an autopsy?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"The medical examiner is listing it as an accidental
death. Dr. Mallory told me she decided not to have the baby,
so apparently she-"
"Went into the bathroom and butchered herself?" Paige
interrupted. "For God's sake, inspector! She was a doctor, a
surgeon! There's no way in the world she would have done that
to herself."

Inspector Burns said thoughtfully, "You think Mal-lory
persuaded her to have an abortion, and tried to help her, and
then left when it went wrong?"

Paige shook her head. "No. It couldn't have hap-pened that
way. Kat would never have agreed. He delib-erately murdered
her.'' She was thinking out loud. "Kat was strong. She would
have had to be unconscious for him to ... to do what he did."
"The autopsy showed no signs of any blows or any-thing
that would have caused her to become uncon-scious. No bruises
on her throat ..."
"Were there any traces of sleeping pills or . . . ?"
"Nothing." He saw the expression on Paige's face. "This
doesn't look to me like a murder. I think Dr. Hunter made an
error in judgment, and . . . I'm sorry."
She watched him start toward the door. "Wait!" Paige said.
"You have a motive."
He turned. "Not really. Mallory says she agreed to have
the abortion. That doesn't leave us much, does it?"
"It leaves you with a murder," Paige said stubbornly.
"Doctor, what we don't have is any evidence. It's his word
against the victim's, and she's dead. I'm really sorry."
Paige watched him leave.


I'm not going to let Ken Mallory get away with it, she
thought despairingly.
Jason came by to see Paige. "I heard what hap-pened," he
said. "I can't believe it! How could she have done that to
herself?"
"She didn't," Paige said. "She was murdered." She told
Jason about her conversation with Inspector Burns. "The
police aren't going to do anything about it. They think it
was an accident. Jason, it's my fault that Kat is dead."
"Your fault?"
"I'm the one who persuaded her to go out with Mal-lory in
the first place. She didn't want to. It started out as a
silly joke, and then she . . . she fell in love with him. Oh,
Jason!"
"You can't blame yourself for that," he said firmly.
Paige looked around in despair. "I can't live in this
apartment anymore. I have to get out of here."
Jason took her in his arms. "Let's get married right
away."
"It's too soon. I mean, Kat isn't even ..."
"I know. We'll wait a week or two."
"All right."
"I love you, Paige."
"I love you, too, darling. Isn't it stupid? I feel guilty
because Kat and I both fell in love, and she's dead and I'm
alive."


The photograph appeared on the front page of the San
Francisco Chronicle on Tuesday. It showed a smil-ing Ken
Mallory with his arm around Lauren Harrison. The caption
read: "Heiress to Wed Doctor."

Paige stared at it in disbelief. Kat had been dead for
only two days, and Ken Mallory was announcing his engagement
to another woman! All the time he had been promising to marry
Kat, he had been planning to marry someone else.

That's why he killed Kat. To get her out of the way!

Paige picked up the telephone and dialed police
head-quarters.
"Inspector Burns, please."
A moment later, she was talking to the inspector.
"This is Dr. Taylor."
"Yes, doctor."
"Have you seen the photograph in this morning's
Chronicle?"
"Yes."
"Well, there's your motive!" Paige exclaimed. "Ken Mallory
had to shut Kat up before Lauren Har-rison found out about
her. You've got to arrest Mal-lory." She was almost yelling
into the telephone.

"Wait a minute. Calm down, doctor. We may have a motive,
but I told you, we don't have a shred of evidence. You said
yourself that Dr. Hunter would have had to be unconscious
before Mallory could perform an abortion on her. After I
spoke to you, I talked to our forensic pathologist again.
There was no sign of any kind of blow that could have caused
unconsciousness."
"Then he must have given her a sedative," Paige said
stubbornly. "Probably chloral hydrate. It's fast-acting and-"
Inspector Burns said patiently, "Doctor, there was no
trace of chloral hydrate in her body. I'm sorry-I really
am-but we can't arrest a man because he's going to get
married. Was there anything else?"

Everything else. "No,"   Paige said. She slammed down the
receiver and sat there   thinking. Mallory has to have given
Kat some kind of drug.   The easiest place for him to have
gotten it would be the   hospital phar-macy.


Fifteen minutes later, Paige was on her way to Embarcadero
County Hospital.
Pete Samuels, the chief pharmacist, was behind the
counter. "Good morning, Dr. Taylor. How can I help you?"
"I believe Dr. Mallory came by a few days ago and picked
up some medication. He told me the name of it, but I can't
remember what it was."
Samuels frowned. "I don't remember Dr. Mallory coming by
here for at least a month."
"Are you sure?"
Samuels nodded. "Positive. I would have remem-bered. We
always talk football."
Paige's heart sank. "Thank you."

He must have written a prescription at some other
pharmacy. Paige knew that the law required that all
prescriptions for narcotics be made out in triplicate- one
copy for the patient, one to be sent to the Bureau of
Controlled Substances, and the third for the pharmacy's
files.

Somewhere, Paige thought, Ken Mallory had a pre-scription
filled. There are probably two or three hun-dred pharmacies
in San Francisco. There was no way she could track down the
prescription. It was likely that Mallory had gotten it just
before he murdered Kat. That would have been on Saturday or
Sunday. If it was Sun-day, I might have a chance, Paige
thought. Very few pharmacies are open on Sunday. That narrows
it down.

She went upstairs to the office where the assignment
sheets were kept and looked up the roster for Saturday. Dr.
Ken Mallory had been on call all day, so the chances were
that he had had the prescription filled on Sunday. How many
pharmacies were open on Sunday in San Francisco?

Paige picked up the telephone and called the state
pharmaceutical board.
"This is Dr. Taylor," Paige said. "Last Sunday, a friend
of mine left a prescription at a pharmacy. She asked me to
pick it up for her, but I can't remember the name of the
pharmacy. I wonder if you could help me."
"Well, I don't see how, doctor. If you don't know ..."
"Most drugstores are closed on Sunday, aren't they?"
"Yes, but . . ."
"I'd appreciate it if you could give me a list of those
that were open."
There was a pause. "Well, if it's important ..."
"It's very important," Paige assured her.
"Hold on, please."
There were thirty-six stores on the list, spread all over
the city. It would have been simple if she could have gone to
the police for help, but Inspector Burns did not believe her.
Honey and I are going to have to do this ourselves, Paige
thought. She explained to Honey what she had in mind.

"It's a real long shot, isn't it?" Honey said. "You don't
even know if he filled the prescription on Sun-day."
"It's the only shot we have." That Kat has. "I'll check
out the ones in Richmond, the Marina, North Beach, Upper
Market, Mission, and Potrero, and you check out the
Excelsior, Ingleside, Lake Merced, West-ern Addition, and
Sunset areas."
"All right."

At the first pharmacy Paige went into, she showed her
identification and said, "A colleague of mine, Dr. Ken
Mallory, was in here Sunday for a prescription. He's out of
town, and he asked me to get a refill, but I can't remember
the name of it. Would you mind look-ing it up, please?"
"Dr. Ken Mallory? Just a moment." He came back a few
minutes later. "Sorry, we didn't fill any prescrip-tions
Sunday for a Dr. Mallory."
"Thank you."
Paige got the same response at the next four pharmac-ies.

Honey was having no better luck.
"We have thousands of prescriptions here, you know."
"I know, but this was last Sunday."
"Well, we have no prescriptions here from a Dr. Mallory.
Sorry."
The two of them spent the day going from pharmacy to
pharmacy. They were both getting discouraged. It was not
until late afternoon, just before closing time, that Paige
found what she was looking for in a small pharmacy in the
Potrero district. The pharmacist said, "Oh, yes, here we are.
Dr. Ken Mallory. I remember him. He was on his way to make a
house call on a patient. I was impressed, because not many
doctors do that these days."
No resident ever made house calls. "What's the
pre-scription for?"
Paige found she was holding her breath.

"Chloral hydrate."
Paige was almost trembling with excitement. "You're sure?"
"It says so right here."
"What was the patient's name?"
He looked at the copy of the prescription. "Spyros
Levathes."
"Would you mind giving me a copy of that prescrip-tion?"
Paige asked.
"Not at all, doctor."
One hour later, Paige was in Inspector Burns's office. She
laid the prescription on his desk.
"Here's your proof," Paige said. "On Sunday, Dr. Mallory
went to a pharmacy miles away from where he lives, and had
this prescription for chloral hydrate filled. He put the
chloral hydrate in Kat's drink, and when she was unconscious,
he butchered her to make it look like an accident."
"You're saying he put the chloral hydrate in her drink and
then killed her."
"Yes."
"There's only one problem with that, Dr. Taylor. There was
no chloral hydrate in her body."
"There has to be. Your pathologist made a mistake. Ask him
to check again."
He was losing his patience. "Doctor ..."
"Please! I know I'm right."
'' You 're wasting everybody' s time.''
Paige sat across from him, her eyes fixed on his face.
He sighed. "All right. I'll call him again. Maybe he did
make a mistake."


Jason picked Paige up for dinner. "We're having dinner at
my house," he said. "There's something I want you to see."
During the drive there, Paige brought Jason up to date on
what was happening.
"They'll find the chloral hydrate in her body," Paige
said. "And Ken Mallory will get what's coming to him."
"I'm so sorry about all this, Paige."
"I know." She pressed his hand against her cheek. "Thank
God for you."
The car pulled up in front of Jason's home.

Paige looked out of the window and she gasped. Around the
green lawn in front of the house was a new white picket
fence.

She was alone in the dark apartment. Ken Mallory used the
key that Kat had given him and moved quietly toward the
bedroom. Paige heard his footsteps coming toward her, but
before she could move, he had leaped at her, his hands tight
around her throat.

"You bitch! You're trying to destroy me. Well, you aren't
going to snoop around anymore." He began squeezing harder. "I
outsmarted all of you, didn't I?" His fingers squeezed
tighter. "No one can ever prove I killed Kat."
She tried to scream, but it was impossible to breathe. She
struggled free, and was suddenly awake. She was alone in her
room. Paige sat up in bed, trembling.
She stayed awake the rest of the night, waiting for
Inspector Burns's phone call.

It came at 10:00 a.m.
"Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes." She was holding her breath.
"I just got the third report from the forensic
patholo-gist."
"And?" Her heart was pounding.
"There was no trace of chloral hydrate or any other
sedative in Dr. Hunter's body. None."

That was impossible! There had to be. There was no sign of
any blow or anything that would have caused her to become
unconscious. No bruises on her throat. It didn't make sense.
Kat had to have been unconscious when Mallory killed her. The
forensic pathologist was wrong.
Paige decided to go talk to him herself.

Dr. Dolan was in an irritable mood. "I don't like to be
questioned like this," he said. "I've checked it three times.
I told Inspector Burns that there was no trace of chloral
hydrate in any of her organs, and there wasn't."
"But . . ."
"Is there anything else, doctor?"
Paige looked at him helplessly. Her last hope was gone.
Ken Mallory was going to get away with murder. "I . . .I
guess not. If you didn't find any chemicals in her body, then
I don't ..."
"I didn't say I didn't find any chemicals."
She looked at him a moment. "You found some-thing?"
"Just a trace of trichloroethylene."
She frowned. "What would that do?"
He shrugged. "Nothing. It's an analgesic drug. It wouldn't
put anyone to sleep."
"I see."
"Sorry I can't help you."
Paige nodded. "Thank you."
She walked down the long, antiseptic corridor of the
morgue, depressed, feeling that she was missing some-thing.
She had been so sure Kat had been put to sleep with chloral
hydrate.
All he found was a trace of trichloroethylene. It wouldn't
put anyone to sleep. But why would trichloro-ethylene be in
Kat's body? Kat had not been taking any medications. Paige
stopped in the middle of the corri-dor, her mind working
furiously.

When Paige arrived at the hospital, she went directly to
the medical library on the fifth floor. It took her less than
a minute to find trichloroethylene. The description read: A
colorless, clear, volatile liquid with a specific gravity of
1.47 at 59 degrees F. It is a halogenated hydrocarbon, having
the chemical formula CCl CCL:CHCl.

And there, on the last line, she found what she was
looking for. When chloral hydrate is metabolized, it produces
trichloroethylene as a by-product.




Chapter Thirty-five




Inspector, Dr. Taylor is here to see you."
'Again?" He was tempted to turn her away. . She was
obsessed with the half-baked theory she had. He was going to
have to put a stop to it. "Send her in."
When Paige walked into his office, Inspector Burns said,
"Look, doctor, I think this has gone far enough. Dr. Dolan
called to complain about-"
"I know how Ken Mallory did it!" Her voice was charged
with excitement. "There was trichloroethylene in Kat's body."
He nodded. "Dr. Dolan told me that. But he said it
couldn't have made her unconscious. He-"
"Chloral hydrate turns into trichloroethylene!" Paige said
triumphantly. "Mallory lied when he said he didn't go back
into the apartment with Kat. He put chloral hydrate in her
drink. It has no taste when you mix it with alcohol, and it
only takes a few minutes for it to work. Then when she was
unconscious, he killed her and made it look like a bungled
abortion."
"Doctor, if you'll forgive my saying so, that's a hell of
a lot of speculation."
"No, it isn't. He wrote the prescription for a pa-tient
named Spyros Levathes, but he never gave it to him."
"How do you know that?"
"Because he couldn't have. I checked on Spyros Levathes.
He has erythropoietic porphyria."
"What's that?"
"It's a genetic metabolic disorder. It causes
photosensitivity and lesions, hypertension, tachycardia, and
a few other unpleasant symptoms. It's the result of a
defective gene."
"I still don't understand."
"Dr. Mallory didn't give his patient chloral hydrate
because it would have killed him! Chloral hydrate is
contraindicated for porphyria. It would have caused immediate
convulsive seizures."

For the first time, Inspector Burns was impressed. "You've
really done your homework, haven't you?"
Paige pressed on. "Why would Ken Mallory go to a remote
pharmacy and fill a prescription for a patient he knew he
couldn't give it to? You've got to arrest him."
His fingers were drumming on his desk. "It's not that
simple."
"You've got to ..."
Inspector Burns raised a hand. "All right. I'll tell you
what I'll do. I'll talk to the district attorney's office and
see whether they think we have a case."
Paige knew she had gone as far as she could. "Thank you,
inspector."
"I'll get back to you."

After Paige Taylor left, Inspector Burns sat there
thinking about their conversation. There was no hard evidence
against Dr. Mallory, only the suspicions of a persistent
woman. He reviewed the few facts that he had. Dr. Mallory had
been engaged to Kat Hunter. Two days after she died, he was
engaged to Alex Harrison's daughter. Interesting, but not
against the law.
Mallory had said that he dropped Dr. Hunter off at her
front door and did not go into the apartment. Semen was found
in her body, but he had a plausible explana-tion for that.
Then there was the matter of the chloral hydrate. Mallory
had written a prescription for a drug that could have killed
his patient. Was he guilty of murder? Not guilty?
Burns buzzed his secretary on the intercom. "Bar-bara, get
me an appointment with the district attorney this afternoon."

There were four men in the office when Paige walked in:
the district attorney, his assistant, a man named Warren, and
Inspector Burns.
' 'Thank you for stopping by, Dr. Taylor,'' the district
attorney said. "Inspector Burns has been telling me of your
interest in the death of Dr. Hunter. I can appreciate that.
Dr. Hunter was your roommate, and you want to -see justice
done."

So they're going to arrest Ken Mallory after all!

"Yes," Paige said. "There's no doubt about it. Dr. Mallory
killed her. When you arrest him, he-"
"I'm afraid we can't do that."
Paige looked at him blankly. "What?"
"We can't arrest Dr. Mallory."
"But why?"
"We have no case."
"Of course you have!" Paige exclaimed. "The
tri-chloroethylene proves that-"
"Doctor, in a court of justice, ignorance of the law is no
excuse. But ignorance in medicine is."
"I don't understand."
"It's simple. It means that Dr. Mallory could claim he
made a mistake, that he didn't know what effect chloral
hydrate would have on a patient with porphyria. No one could
prove he was lying. It might prove that he's a lousy doctor,
but it wouldn't prove that he's guilty of murder.''

Paige looked at him in frustration. "You're going to let
him get away with this?''
He studied her a moment. "I'll tell you what I'm prepared
to do. I've discussed this with Inspector Burns. With your
permission, we're going to send someone to your apartment to
pick up the glasses in the bar. If we find any traces of
chloral hydrate, we'll take the next step."
"What if he rinsed them out?"
Inspector Burns said dryly, "I don't imagine he took the
time to use a detergent. If he just rinsed out the glasses,
we'll find what we're looking for."




***


Two hours later, Inspector Burns was on the phone with
Paige.
"We did a chemical analysis of all the glasses in the bar,
doctor," Burns said.
Paige steeled herself for disappointment.
"We found one with traces of chloral hydrate."
Paige closed her eyes in a silent prayer of thanks.
"And there were fingerprints on that glass. We're going to
check them against Dr. Mallory's prints."
Paige felt a surge of excitement.

The inspector went on, "When he killed her-if he did kill
her-he was wearing gloves, so his fingerprints wouldn't be on
the curette. But he couldn't very well have served her a
drink while he wore gloves, and he might not have worn them
when he put the glass back on the shelf after rinsing it
out."
"No," Paige said. "He couldn't, could he?"
"I have to admit that in the beginning, I didn't believe
your theory was going anywhere. I think now maybe Dr. Mallory
could be our man. But proving it is going to be another
matter." He continued, "The district at-torney is right. It
would be a tricky business to bring Mallory to trial. He can
still say that the prescription was for his patient. There's
no law against making a medical mistake. I don't see how we-"
"Wait a minute!" Paige said excitedly. "I think I know
how!"


Ken Mallory was listening to Lauren on the tele-phone.
"Father and I found some office space that you're going to
adore, darling! It's a beautiful suite in the 490 Post
Building. I'm going to hire a receptionist for you, someone
not too pretty."
Mallory laughed. "You don't have to worry about that,
baby. There isn't anyone in the world for me but you."
"I'm dying for you to come see it. Can you get away now?"
"I'm off in a couple of hours."
"Wonderful! Why don't you pick me up at the house?"
"All right. I'll be there." Mallory replaced the
tele-phone. It doesn't get any better than this, he thought.
There is a God, and She loves me.
He heard his name called over the PA system: "Dr. Mallory
. . . Room 430 . . . Dr. Mallory . . . Room 430." He sat
there daydreaming, thinking about the golden future that lay
ahead of him. A beautiful suite in the 490 Post Building,
filled with rich old ladies eager to throw their money at
him. He heard his name called again. "Dr. Mallory . . . Room
430." He sighed and got to his feet. I'll be out of this
goddam madhouse soon, he thought. He headed toward Room 430.

A resident was waiting for him in the corridor, outside
the room. "I'm afraid we have a problem here," he said. "This
is one of Dr. Peterson's patients, but Dr. Peterson isn't
here. I'm having an argument with one of the other doctors."
They stepped inside. There were three people in the room-a
man in bed, a male nurse, and a doctor Mal-lory had not met
before.

The resident said, "This is Dr. Edwards. We need your
advice, Dr. Mallory."
"What's the problem?"
The resident explained. "This patient is suffering from
erythropoietic porphyria, and Dr. Edwards insists on giving
him a sedative."
"I don't see any problem with that."
"Thank you," Dr. Edwards said. "The man hasn't slept in
forty-eight hours. I've prescribed chloral hydrate for him so
he can get some rest and ..."
Mallory was looking at him in astonishment. "Are you out
of your mind? That could kill him! He'd have a convulsive
seizure, tachycardia, and he'd probably die. Where in hell
did you study medicine?"
The man looked at Mallory and said quietly, "I didn't." He
flashed a badge. "I'm with the San Fran-cisco Police
Department, Homicide." He turned to the man in bed. "Did you
get that?"
The man pulled out a tape recorder from under the pillow.
"I got it."
Mallory was looking from one to the other, frowning. "I
don't understand. What is this? What's going on?"
The inspector turned to Mallory. "Dr. Mallory, you're
under arrest for the murder of Dr. Kate Hunter."




Chapter Thirty-six




The headline in the San Francisco Chronicle read, DOCTOR
ARRESTED IN LOVE TRIANGLE MURDER. The story beneath it went
on at length to detail the lurid facts of the case.

Mallory read the newspaper in his cell. He slammed it
down.
His cellmate said, "Looks like they got you cold, pal."
"Don't you believe it," Mallory said confidently. "I've
got connections, and they're going to get me the best goddam
lawyer in the world. I'll be out of here in twenty-four
hours. All I have to do is make one phone call."
The Harrisons were reading the newspaper at break-fast.

"My God!" Lauren said. "Ken! I can't believe it!" A butler
approached the breakfast table. ' 'Excuse me,
Miss Harrison. Dr. Mallory is on the telephone for you. I
believe he's calling from jail."
"I'll take it.'' Lauren started to get up from the table.
"You'll stay here and finish your breakfast," Alex
Harrison said firmly. He turned to the butler. "We don't know
any Dr. Mallory."


Paige read the newspaper as she was getting dressed.
Mallory was going to be punished for the terrible thing he
had done, but it gave Paige no satisfaction. Nothing they did
to him could ever bring Kat back.

The doorbell rang, and Paige went to open it. A stranger
stood there. He was wearing a dark suit and carried a
briefcase.
"Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes ..."
"My name is Roderick Pelham. I'm an attorney with Rothman
& Rothman. May I come in?"
Paige studied him, puzzled. "Yes."

He entered the apartment.
"What did you want to see me about?"
She watched him open the briefcase and take out some
papers.
"You are aware, of course, that you are the principal
beneficiary of John Cronin's will?"
Paige looked at him blankly. "What are you talking about?
There must be some mistake."
"Oh, there's no mistake. Mr. Cronin has left you the sum
of one million dollars."
Paige sank into a chair, overwhelmed, remembering.

You have to go to Europe. Do me a favor. Go to Paris . . .
stay at the Crillon, have dinner at Maxim's, order a big,
thick steak and a bottle of champagne, and when you eat that
steak and drink that champagne, I want you to think of me.

"If you'll just sign here, we'll take care of all the
necessary paperwork."
Paige looked up. "I ... I don't know what to say. I ... he
had a family."
"According to the terms of his will, they get only the
remainder of his estate, not a large amount."
"I can't accept this," Paige told him.
Pelham looked at her in surprise. "Why not?"
She had no answer. John Cronin had wanted her to have this
money. "I don't know. It. . .it seems unethi-cal, somehow. He
was my patient."
"Well, I'll leave the check here with you. You can decide
what you want to do with it. Just sign here."
Paige signed the paper in a daze.
"Goodbye, doctor."
She watched him leave and sat there thinking of John
Cronin.

The news of Paige's inheritance was the talk of the
hospital. Somehow, Paige had hoped it could be kept quiet.
She still had not made up her mind about what to do with the
money. It doesn't belong to me, Paige thought. He has a
family.
Paige was not emotionally ready to go back to work, but
her patients had to be taken care of. An operation was
scheduled for that morning. Arthur Kane was wait-ing for
Paige in the corridor. They had not spoken to each other
since the incident of the reversed X-rays.

Although Paige had no proof it was Kane, the tire-slashing
episode had scared her.

"Hello, Paige. Let's let bygones be bygones. What do you
say?"
Paige shrugged. "Fine."
"Wasn't that a terrible thing about Ken Mallory?" he
asked.
"Yes," Paige said.
Kane was looking at her slyly. "Can you imagine a doctor
deliberately killing a human being? It's horrible, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"By the way," he said, "congratulations. I hear that
you're a millionairess."
"I can't see ... "
"I have tickets for the theater tonight, Paige. I thought
that the two of us could go."
"Thanks," Paige said. "I'm engaged to someone."
"Then I suggest you get unengaged."
She looked at him, surprised. "I beg your pardon?"
Kane moved closer to her. "I ordered an autopsy on John
Cronin."
Paige found her heart beginning to beat faster. "Yes?"
"He didn't die of heart failure. Someone gave him an
overdose of insulin. I guess that particular someone never
figured on an autopsy."
Paige's mouth was suddenly dry.

"You were with him when he died, weren't you?"
She hesitated. "Yes."
"I'm the only one who knows that, and I'm the only one who
has the report." He patted her arm.
"And my lips are sealed. Now, about those tickets
tonight ..."
Paige pulled away from him. "No!" "Are you sure you know
what you're doing?" She took a deep breath. "Yes. Now, if
you'll excuse
me ..." And she walked away. Kane looked after her, and
his face hardened. He turned and headed toward Dr. Benjamin
Wallace's office.

The telephone awakened her at 1:00 a.m. at her apart-ment.

"You have been a naughty girl again." It was the same
raspy voice disguised in a breathy whisper, but this time
Paige recognized it. My God, she thought, I was right to be
scared.

The following morning, when Paige arrived at the hospital,
two men were waiting for her.
"Dr. Paige Taylor?"
"Yes."
"You'll have to come with us. You're under arrest for the
murder of John Cronin."




Chapter Thirty-seven




It was the final day of the trial. Alan Penn, the defense
attorney, was making his summation to the jury. "Ladies and
gentlemen, you have heard a lot of testimony about Dr.
Taylor's competence or incompe-tence. Well, Judge Young will
instruct you that that's not what this trial is about. I'm
sure that for every doctor who did not approve of her work,
we could produce a dozen doctors who did. But that is not the
issue.

"Paige Taylor is on trial for the death of John Cronin.
She has admitted helping him die. She did so because he was
in great pain, and he asked her to do so. That is euthanasia,
and it's being accepted more and more throughout the world.
In the past year, the California Supreme Court has upheld the
right of a mentally com-petent adult to refuse or demand the
withdrawal of medi-cal treatment of any form. It is the
individual who must live or die with the course of treatment
chosen or re-jected."
He looked into the faces of the jurors. "Euthanasia is a
crime of compassion, of mercy, and I daresay it takes place
in some form or another in hospitals all over the world. The
prosecuting attorney is asking for a death sentence. Don't
let him confuse the issue. There has never been a death
sentence for euthanasia. Sixty-three percent of Americans
believe euthanasia should be le-gal, and in eighteen states
in this country, it is legal. The question is, do we have the
right to compel helpless patients to live in pain, to force
them to stay alive and suffer? The question has become
complicated because of the great strides we've made in
medical technology. We've turned the care of patients over to
machines. Machines have no mercy. If a horse breaks a leg, we
put it out of its misery by shooting it. With a human being,
we condemn him or her to a half life that is hell.

"Dr. Taylor didn't decide when John Cronin would die. John
Cronin decided. Make no mistake about it, what Dr. Taylor did
was an act of mercy. She has taken full responsibility for
that. But you can rest assured that she knew nothing about
the money that was left to her. What she did, she did in a
spirit of compassion. John Cronin was a man with a failing
heart and an untreatable, fatal cancer that had spread
through his body, causing him agony. Just ask yourself one
question. Un-der those circumstances, would you like to go on
living? Thank you." He turned, walked back to the table, and
sat next to Paige.

Gus Venable rose and stood before the jury. "Com-passion?
Mercy?" He looked over at Paige, shook his head, then turned
back to the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have been
practicing law in courtrooms for more than twenty years, and
I must tell you that in all those years, I have
never-never-seen a more clear-cut case of coldblooded,
deliberate murder for profit."

Paige was hanging on every word, tense and pale.

"The defense talked about euthanasia. Did Dr. Tay-lor do
what she did out of a feeling of compassion? I don't think
so. Dr. Taylor and others have testified that Mr. Cronin had
only a few more days to live. Why didn't she let him live
those few days? Perhaps it was because Dr. Taylor was afraid
Mrs. Cronin might learn about her husband changing his will,
and put a stop to it.

"It's a most remarkable coincidence that immediately after
Mr. Cronin changed his will and left Dr. Taylor the sum of
one million dollars, she gave him an overdose of insulin and
murdered him.

"Again and again, the defendant has convicted her-self
with her own words. She said that she was on friendly terms
with John Cronin, that he liked and re-spected her. But you
have heard witnesses testify that he hated Dr. Paige Taylor,
that he called her 'that bitch,' and told her to keep her
fucking hands off him."

Gus Venable glanced at the defendant again. There was a
look of despair on Paige's face. He turned back to the jury.
"An attorney has testified that Dr. Taylor said, about the
million dollars that was left to her, 'It's unethical. He was
my patient.' But she grabbed the money. She needed it. She
had a drawer full of travel brochures at home-Paris, London,
the Riviera. And bear in mind that she didn't go to the
travel agency after she got the money. Oh, no. She planned
those trips earlier. All she needed was the money and the
opportu-nity, and John Cronin supplied both. A helpless,
dying man she could control. She had at her mercy a man who
she admitted was in enormous pain-agony, in fact, according
to her own admission. When you're in that kind of pain, you
can imagine how difficult it must be to think clearly. We
don't know how Dr. Taylor persuaded John Cronin to change his
will, to cut out the family he loved and to make her his main
benefi-ciary. What we do know is that he summoned her to his
bedside on that fatal night. What did they talk about? Could
he have offered her a million dollars to put him out of his
misery? It's a possibility we must face. In either case, it
was cold-blooded murder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, during this trial, do you know who
was the most damaging witness of all?" He pointed a dramatic
finger at Paige. "The defendant herself! We've heard
testimony that she gave an illegal blood transfusion and then
falsified the record. She has not denied that fact. She said
that she never killed a patient except John Cronin, but we've
heard testimony that Dr. Barker, a physician respected by
everybody, accused her of killing his patient.

"Unfortunately, ladies and gentlemen, Lawrence Barker
suffered a stroke and can't be here with us today to testify
against the defendant. But let me remind you of Dr. Barker's
opinion of the defendant. This is Dr. Peterson, testifying
about a patient Dr. Taylor was op-erating on."
He read from the transcript.

"Dr. Barker came into the operating room during the
operation?'
"Yes.'
"And did Dr. Barker say anything?'
"Answer: 'He turned to Dr. Taylor and said, "You killed
him.'"
"This is from Nurse Berry. 'Tell me some specific things
you heard Dr. Barker say to Dr. Taylor.'
"Answer: 'He said she was incompetent. . . Another time he
said he wouldn't let her operate on his dog.' "

Gus Venable looked up. "Either there is some kind of
conspiracy going on, where all these reputable doctors and
nurses are lying about the defendant, or Dr. Taylor is a
liar. Not just a liar, but a pathologi-cal ..."

The rear door of the courtroom had opened and an aide
hurried in. He paused in the doorway a moment, trying to make
a decision. Then he moved down the aisle toward Gus Venable.

"Sir ..."
Gus Venable turned, furious. "Can't you see I'm. . .?"
The aide whispered in his ear.
Gus Venable looked at him, stunned. "What! That's
wonderful!"
Judge Young leaned forward, her voice ominously quiet.
"Forgive me for interrupting you two, but what exactly do you
think you're doing?"
Gus Venable turned to the judge excitedly. "Your honor,
I've just been informed that Dr. Lawrence Barker is outside
this courtroom. He's in a wheelchair, but he's able to
testify. I'd like to call him to the stand."

There was a loud buzz in the courtroom.
Alan Penn was on his feet. "Objection!" he yelled. "The
prosecuting attorney is in the middle of his summation.
There's no precedent for calling a new witness at this late
hour. I-"
Judge Young slammed her gavel down. "Would counsel please
approach the bench."
Penn and Venable moved up to the bench.

"This is highly irregular, your honor. I object ..."
Judge Young said, "You're right about its being
ir-regular, Mr. Penn, but you're wrong about its being
without precedent. I can cite a dozen cases around the
country where material witnesses were allowed to testify
under special circumstances. In fact, if you're so
inter-ested in precedent, you might look up a case that took
place in this courtroom five years ago. I happened to be the
judge."

Alan Penn swallowed. "Does this mean you're going to allow
him to testify?"
Judge Young was thoughtful. "Since Dr. Barker is a
material witness to this case, and was physically un-able to
testify earlier, in the interest of justice, I'm going to
rule that he be allowed to take the stand."
"Exception! There is no proof that the witness is
competent to testify. I demand a battery of psychia-trists-"
"Mr. Penn, in this courtroom, we don't demand. We
request." She turned to Gus Venable. "You may bring in your
witness."
Alan Penn stood there, deflated. It's all over, he
thought. Our case is down the drain.

Gus Venable turned to his aide. "Bring Dr. Barker in."


The door opened slowly, and Dr. Lawrence Barker entered
the courtroom. He was in a wheelchair. His head was tilted,
and one side of his face was drawn up in a slight rictus.

Everyone watched the pale and fragile figure being wheeled
to the front of the courtroom. As he moved past Paige, he
looked over at her.

There was no friendliness in his eyes, and Paige
re-membered his last words: Who the hell do you think you . .
.?

When Lawrence Barker was in front of the bench, Judge
Young leaned forward and said gently, "Dr. Barker, are you
able to testify here today?"
When Barker spoke, his words were slurred. "I am, your
honor.''
"Are you fully aware of what is going on in this
courtroom?"
"Yes, your honor." He looked over to where Paige was
seated. "That woman is being tried for the murder of a
patient."
Paige winced. That woman
Judge Young made her decision. She turned to the bailiff.
"Would you swear the witness in, please?"
When Dr. Barker had been sworn in, Judge Young said, "You
may stay in the chair, Dr. Barker. The prosecutor will
proceed, and I will allow the defense to cross-examine."

Gus Venable smiled. "Thank you, your honor." He strolled
over to the wheelchair. "We won't keep you very long, doctor,
and the court deeply appreciates your coming in to testify
under these trying circumstances. Are you familiar with any
of the testimony that has been given here over the past
month?"

Dr. Barker nodded. "I've been following it on television
and in the newspapers, and it made me sick to my stomach."
Paige buried her head in her hands.

It was all Gus Venable could do to hide his feeling of
triumph. "I'm sure a lot of us feel the same way, doctor,"
the prosecutor said piously.
"I came here because I want to see justice done."
Venable smiled. "Exactly. So do we."

Lawrence Barker took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his
voice was filled with outrage. "Then how the hell could you
bring Dr. Taylor to trial?"
Venable thought he had misunderstood him. "I beg your
pardon?"
"This trial is a farce!"
Paige and Alan Penn exchanged a stunned look.
Gus Venable turned pale. "Dr. Barker ..."
"Don't interrupt me," Barker snapped. "You've used the
testimony of a lot of biased, jealous people to attack a
brilliant surgeon. She-"
"Just a minute!" Venable was beginning to panic. "Isn't it
true that you criticized Dr. Taylor's ability so severely
that she was finally ready to quit Embarcadero Hospital?"
"Yes."
Gus Venable was starting to feel better. "Well, then," he
said patronizingly, "How can you say that Paige Taylor is a
brilliant doctor?"
"Because it happens to be the truth." Barker turned to
look at Paige, and when he spoke again, he was talking to her
as though they were the only two people in the courtroom:
"Some people are born to be doctors. You were one of those
rare ones. I knew from the beginning how capable you were. I
was hard on you- maybe too hard-because you were good. I was
tough on you because I wanted you to be tougher on yourself.
I wanted you to be perfect, because in our profession,
there's no room for error. None."

Paige was staring at him, mesmerized, her mind spin-ning.
It was all happening too fast.
The courtroom was hushed.
"I wasn't about to let you quit."

Gus Venable could feel his victory slipping away. His
prize witness had become his worst nightmare. "Dr. Barker-it
has been testified that you accused Dr. Tay-lor of killing
your patient Lance Kelly. How . . . ?"
"I told her that because she was the surgeon in charge. It
was her ultimate responsibility. In fact, the anesthetist
caused Mr. Kelly's death."

By now the court was in an uproar.
Paige sat there, stunned.

Dr. Barker went on speaking slowly, with an effort. "And
as for John Cronin leaving her that money, Dr. Taylor knew
nothing about it. I talked to Mr. Cronin myself. He told me
that he was going to leave Dr. Taylor that money because he
hated his family, and he said he was going to ask Dr. Taylor
to release him from his misery. I agreed."
There was an uproar from the spectators. Gus Ven-able was
standing there, a look of total bewilderment on his face.

Alan Penn leaped to his feet. "Your honor, I move for a
dismissal!"
Judge Young was slamming her gavel down.
"Quiet!" she yelled. She looked at the two attorneys.
"Into my chambers."
Judge Young, Alan Penn, and Gus Venable were seated in
Judge Young's chambers.
Gus Venable was in a state of shock. "I . . .I don't know
what to say. He's obviously a sick man, your honor. He's
confused. I want a battery of psychiatrists to examine him
and-"
"You can't have it both ways, Gus. It looks like your case
just went up in smoke. Let's save you any further
embarrassment, shall we? I'm going to grant a dismissal on
the murder charge. Any objection?"
There was a long silence. Finally, Venable nodded. "I
guess not."
Judge Young said, "Good decision. I'm going to give you
some advice. Never, never call a witness unless you know what
he's going to say."

The court was in session again. Judge Young said, "Ladies
and gentlemen of the jury, thank you for your time and your
patience. The court is going to grant a dismissal on all
charges. The defendant is free."
Paige turned to blow Jason a kiss, then hurried over to
where Dr. Barker was seated. She slid down to her knees and
hugged him.
"I don't know how to thank you," she whispered.
"You never should have gotten into this mess in the first
place," he growled. "Damned fool thing to do. Let's get out
of here and go somewhere where we can talk."

Judge Young heard. She stood up and said, "You may use my
chambers if you like. That's the least we can do for you."

Paige, Jason, and Dr. Barker were in the judge's chambers,
alone.
Dr. Barker said, "Sorry they wouldn't let me come here to
help you sooner. You know what goddam doc-tors are like."
Paige was near tears. "I can't tell you how much I ..."
"Then don't!" he said gruffly.

Paige was studying him, suddenly remembering something.
"When did you speak to John Cronin?"
"What?"
"You heard me. When did you speak to John Cro-nin?"
"When?"
She said slowly, "You never even met John Cronin. You
didn't know him."
There was the trace of a smile on Barker's lips. "No. But
I know you."
Paige leaned over and threw her arms around him.
"Don't get sloppy," he growled. He looked over at Jason.
"She gets sloppy sometimes. You'd better take good care of
her, or you'll have to answer to me."
Jason said. "Don't worry, sir. I will."

Paige and Jason were married the following day. Dr. Barker
was their best man.




Epilogue




Paige Curtis went into private practice and is affili-ated
with the prestigious North Shore Hospital. Paige used the
million dollars John Cronin left her to set up a medical
foundation in her father's name in Africa.

Lawrence Barker shares an office with Paige, as a surgical
consultant.

Arthur Kane had his license revoked by the Medical Board
of California.

Jimmy Ford fully recovered and married Betsy. They named
their first daughter Paige.
Honey Taft moved to Ireland with Sean Reilly, and works as
a nurse in Dublin.

Sean Reilly is a successful artist, and shows no symp-toms
of AIDS, as yet.

Mike Hunter was sentenced to state prison for armed
robbery and is still serving time.

Alfred Turner joined a practice on Park Avenue and is
enormously successful.

Benjamin Wallace was fired as administrator of Embarcadero
County Hospital.

Lauren Harrison married her tennis pro.

Lou Dinetto was sentenced to fifteen years in the
penitentiary for tax evasion.

Ken Mallory was sentenced to life imprisonment. One week
after Dinetto arrived at the penitentiary, Mal-lory was found
stabbed to death in his cell.

The Embarcadero Hospital is still there, awaiting the next
earthquake.