getting much sleep last night, and I’m running on nervous energy.
Tell me again the name!”
“Why so interested?” Chet questioned, writing the name on a piece of notepaper and handing it to Jack.
“I’m looking into alternative medicine in general, and chiropractic VAD in particular.
What did you find when you looked into VAD back then?”
“You mean above and beyond the fact that no one wanted to hear about it?”
“You mean besides your chief?”
“When I presented the case on grand rounds, it ignited a kind of debate, with half the audience for and half against chiropractic, and those who were for it were really for it. It was an emotional issue that took me by surprise, especially that my boss was such a fan.”
“You said you’d gathered four or five cases. Do you think you could find their names as well? It would be interesting to unofficially compare the incidence of VAD between New York City and L.A.”
“Finding the name of my own case was relatively easy; finding the others is asking for a miracle. But I’ll check. How are you going to look into it around here?”
“Have you checked your e-mail lately?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“When you do, there’s one from me. I sent an e-mail to all the city MEs, looking for cases. Later this afternoon I’m going to go over to records and see if I can find any there as well.”
Suddenly, Jack’s BlackBerry buzzed. Always concerned it might be Laurie and a crisis at home, he snatched it out of its holster and glanced at the LCD screen. “Uh-oh!” he said. It wasn’t Laurie. It was the chief, Harold Bingham, calling from the front office downstairs.
“What’s up?” Chet asked, noticing Jack’s reaction.
“It’s the chief,” Jack said.
“Is that a problem?”
“I made a site visit yesterday,” Jack confessed. “It was to the chiropractor involved in my case. I wasn’t my usual diplomatic self. In fact, we almost came to blows.” Chet, who knew Jack better than anyone else in the office, grimaced. “Good luck!” Jack nodded thanks and clicked to accept the call. Bingham’s no-nonsense secretary, Mrs. Sanford, was on the line. “The chief wants you in his office,
“I heard that,” Chet said, making the sign of the cross. The meaning was simple: Chet was convinced Jack’s situation needed prayer.
Jack pushed away from Chet’s desk. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said sarcastically.
As he walked to the elevator, Jack thought the summons had to be about good old Newhouse, the chiropractor. Jack had fully expected to have to answer for the episode but didn’t think it would happen so quickly. This probably wasn’t due to just a phone call from the irate chiropractor but rather a call from a lawyer. Consequences could be a slap on the wrist—or a drawn-out civil suit.
Stepping out of the elevator, Jack thought that instead of defending himself in front of Bingham, which he knew would be difficult if not impossible, perhaps he should go on the offense.
“You are to go right in,” Mrs. Sanford said, without looking up from her computer. Since she’d done the same thing the last time he’d been called on the carpet ten years previously, he was once again mystified how she’d known it was him.
“Close the door!” Bingham demanded from behind his mammoth wooden desk. The desk was set back below high windows covered with ancient venetian blinds. Calvin Washington, the deputy chief, was sitting at the large library table, with the glass-fronted bookcases behind him. Both men stared at Jack unblinkingly.
“Thanks for calling me down here,” Jack said earnestly, walking directly up to Bingham’s desk and giving it a thump with the bottom of his fist for added emphasis.
“The OCME must take a responsible stand on alternative medicine, particularly chiropractic. Yesterday we had a death by bilateral vertebral artery dissection caused by unnecessary cervical manipulation.”
Bingham looked confused by the way Jack took the wind out of his sails. “I’ve taken the lead,” Jack continued, “by forcing myself yesterday to take the time and effort to conduct a site visit to the offending chiropractor to confirm that he performed the cervical manipulation. As you might gather, this was not the easiest task, and I needed to be forceful to get the information.”
Bingham’s blotchy face paled slightly, and his rheumy eyes narrowed while he stared at Jack. Then he removed his glasses to clean them—and to buy himself time. Snappy repartee had never been one of his strengths.
“Sit down!” Calvin boomed from the back of the room.
Jack sat in one of the chairs in front of Bingham’s desk. He didn’t look back. As he expected and feared, Calvin was not taken in by his tactics the way Bingham was.
Calvin’s imposing bulk appeared out of the corner of Jack’s line of vision. Slowly Jack raised his eyes to look at him. Calvin had his hands on his hips, his face drawn, his eyes blazing. He towered over Jack. “Cut the bullshit, Stapleton!” he thundered. “You know damn well you’re not supposed to be out there running around the city, flashing your badge around like a renegade TV cop.”
“Looking back, I realize I didn’t handle it well,” Jack admitted.
“Was this some kind of personal vendetta against chiropractic?” Bingham demanded.
“Yes, it was personal.”
“Do you care to explain?” Bingham demanded.
“You mean other than chiropractic has no business treating illnesses that have nothing to do with the spine? Or that chiropractic bases its rationale for such treatment on an idiotic outdated mystical concept of innate intelligence that has never been found or measured or explained? Or that such treatment often involves cervical manipulations that can cause death, like in my twenty-seven-year-old patient?” Bingham and Washington exchanged a dismayed glance at Jack’s emotional outburst.
“That all may or may not be true,” Bingham said, “but what makes it personal?”
“I’d rather not get into that,” Jack said, forcing himself to calm down. He knew he was letting his emotions get the better of him, just as he had at the chiropractor’s office. “It’s a long story and the association is what you would call rather indirect.”
“You’d rather not get into that,” Bingham repeated scornfully, “but we might feel it is necessary, and that if you don’t do it, it might be at your peril. Since you might not have been served with a subpoena yet, it’s my unpleasant responsibility to inform you that you and the OCME are being sued by a Dr. Ronald Newhouse. . . .”
“He’s not a doctor, for chrissake,” Jack blurted. “He’s a goddamn chiropractor.” Bingham and Washington exchanged another quick glance. Bingham was clearly frustrated, like a parent with a recalcitrant teenager. Calvin was less generous. He was just plain furious and finding it difficult to hold his tongue.
“For the moment, your opinion of chiropractic doesn’t matter,” Bingham said. “It was your actions that are in question here, and the gentleman in question is most likely a doctor of chiropractic. You and the OCME are being sued for slander, defamation of character, assault—”
“I never touched the guy,” Jack interrupted. He was finding it difficult to follow his own advice in regard to his emotions.
“You do not have to touch someone to be sued for assault. The plaintiff only has to believe you are about to injure him in some way. Were you in his office yelling at him?”
“I suppose,” Jack admitted.
“Did you threaten to have him arrested for killing his patient?”
“I suppose,” Jack said sheepishly.
“You suppose!” Bingham echoed with heightened scorn, momentarily throwing up his arms toward the ceiling in exasperation. Then, raising his voice, he yelled, “I’ll tell you what I think it is: It’s an egregious misuse of official authority. I have the mind to kick your ass outta here and put you on unpaid administrative leave until this mess is sorted out.”
A chill went down Jack’s spine. If he was put on leave, his lifeline to emotional sanity would be cut. He’d have to stay home, and Laurie would have to come to work instead.
He’d have to assume responsibility for taking care of JJ.
The last time he’d been in a similar circumstance facing Bingham’s wrath, he didn’t care about himself. But
