Night Victims

I’ve done nothing. Why can’t I shake this? Why can’t I escape the guilt? “Do they really think a momentary, after-the-fact mix-up in CAT scan images caused their son to be comatose? The operation was completed when the mistake was noticed and mentioned. It might have been a serious screwup, but in this case it wasn’t. It simply wasn’t a factor.”

“It doesn’t matter what the family thinks,” Finlay said. He was standing with one hand in his pocket now, weight on one foot. A familiar casual pose. Finlay’s posturing often irritated Anne. “It’s what the family says that’s important.”

“The boy had a reaction to the anesthetic,” Anne said. “It’s rare, but it happens. If they want to sue someone, it should be the anesthesiologist.”

“You know anesthesiologists here aren’t on staff, Anne. They’re contract workers. Besides, hospitals have deeper pockets.”

“Justice!” Anne said disgustedly. “My husband used to be in the justice business, and he tells me it’s rare and often occurs outside the system.”

“Yes, I suspect he’s right.”

“Outside the family, no one feels worse about the boy than the people who were in the OR during the operation. No one feels worse than I do. But it isn’t a perfect world. Those infrequent side effects listed in fine print actually do happen to some people.” Listen to me. . Don’t I sound like a coldhearted bitch? But I’m not! I’m not! I went to visit the boy! He didn’t know I was there!

“I don’t need convincing, Anne. And I certainly don’t hold you or anyone else on staff even slightly responsible.”

“We offered the family a fair settlement even though it isn’t the hospital’s liability.”

“That was a mistake,” Finlay said. “The Vines’ attorneys are now characterizing our offer as an admission of guilt.”

Anne sank farther back in her black leather desk chair and sighed. “Once the lawyers get hold of something like this, compensation can become financial rape. What does Legal say about it?”

“They haven’t had time to study it yet.” Finlay smiled slightly. “Their preliminary observation was something like yours.” He uncrossed his arms and smoothed his coat sleeves down over the bulky cuff links. Anne now saw that they were in the form of elaborate lions’ heads and had tiny rubies for eyes. “Something else you should know, Anne.

The complaint names the hospital, attending surgeon and additional OR personnel, and you.”

She looked up sharply. “Me?” She’d expected to be named in a potential lawsuit but hearing that she had been was still a shock.

“As the chief administrator of radiology, you would be technically responsible for anything that happens in your department, including imagery mix-ups. At least the Vines’ attorneys hope the law will define it that way.”

“You didn’t mention the anesthesiologist,” Anne said.

Finlay shrugged like an actor onstage, a gesture he’d long practiced and made elegant. “The other side wants to remain on good terms with the anesthesiologist.”

“Of course! They don’t want what happened to be his fault.”

Finlay used his shrug again. “Legal maneuvering, Anne. . ”

She rocked this way and that in her chair for a moment. The other side. Battle lines had been drawn. “The sad part is I actually feel as if I’ve done something wrong, that I should pay for it.”

“You mustn’t feel that way. It was the anesthetic reaction, Anne. We all know that.”

“You mean the anesthetic administered by the doctor who wasn’t even named in the suit? Who’s cooperating with the plaintiffs so he won’t be sued himself? Who’ll probably be out of the country during the legal proceedings?”

“We’ll subpoena him, Anne.”

“We probably won’t have to. He’ll probably testify for the prosecution.”

“These matters usually don’t even reach court. Legal will handle it. You’ll see. I just thought I ought to let you know about it soon as possible so you can be careful of who you talk to, what you say.”

Anne nodded. “Thank you for that.”

“We’ll all have to be on our guard,” Finlay said. He went to the door, then turned and smiled before going out. “Let’s try to make it a good morning anyway.”

Alone in the office, Anne folded her hands in front of her on top of her attache case and felt like sobbing, unable to help what she was thinking. She wondered what kind of morning it was for the four-year-old boy who’d been moved to Roosevelt Hospital and was lying in a coma. Was Alan Vine seeing the same brilliant sunlight streaming through his window? Was he thinking how wonderful it would be to climb out of bed the way he used to and jump and run in its golden warmth?

Was he thinking anything at all?

After leaving the Home Away, Horn walked and talked. Unlike many people acting similarly in New York, he was using a cell phone. It was almost ten o’clock, and pedestrian traffic on the wide sidewalk was relatively sparse. No one paid any attention to the big man with the tiny phone tucked to his ear. The sun was higher and brighter, and passing in and out of the shadows of buildings brought noticeable contrasts in temperature.

“What about Gary Schnick?” Horn was asking Bicker-staff.

“We cut him loose. He couldn’t kill anything but time, and he’s got an alibi for the night of one of the Night Spider murders. He was with a woman in her apartment in Queens. She swears to it. He was with another woman in his apartment the night of one of the other killings, but she’s married and a little shy about talking. This guy, I tell you, is a pussy magnet.”

“That’s not his reputation.”

“His reputation is wrong. My impression is, he’s one of those guys who doesn’t kiss and tell so he gets a lot of stray.”

“You sound jealous.”

Bickerstaff laughed. “Maybe ten years ago. Now what I wanna do is catch this asshole we’re after so I can go fishing.”

“You really see it that way?” Horn asked.

“About fishing?”

“No. That the bartender at Brook’s Crooks regards Schnick as an obvious loser, but women see him as just the opposite.”

“It only takes one woman to see him as the jackpot: the woman we’re talking about.”

Horn supposed that was true.

“Where’s Paula?”

“I’m on the line,” she said. “Thinking about Bickerstaff ‘s pathetic sex life.”

“You two get anything fresh from Redmond’s neighbors?” Horn asked.

“Nothing yet,” Paula said. “But there’s something that mighta been missed on the roof-”

“At least Paula thinks it’s something,” Bickerstaff interrupted.

“There’s an irregularity in the blacktop where there’s no gravel mixed in. Looks to me like the heel print of a bare foot.”

“Or a dent in the roof underneath the tar,” Bickerstaff said. “Or it’s where somebody dropped something, or maybe some kid ran barefoot a long time ago.”

“It looks fresh,” Paula persisted. “I photographed it.”

Horn dodged a posse of chattering teenage girls taking up half the sidewalk and waited for Bickerstaff to chime in, but Bickerstaff remained silent.

“That’s good work, Paula,” Horn said. “What I want’s for you two to stay on the neighbors, maybe shake something loose.”

“The neighbors are scared,” Bickerstaff said. “Especially the women. It don’t help us that this guy’s killings are all over the news now. I’ll bet the prick loves it, reads all the papers and watches all the TV news.”

“It’s almost a sure bet he enjoys it,” Paula said.

Horn filled them in on what he’d been doing, including his phone call to the number Sayles had given