audits, his organization had found that Biocess had been linked to one death from liver failure, and several cases of negative side effects, plus higher costs postpartum. I skipped to the end of the article, where a Bailey Products spokesperson said that an Adverse Event Form had been filed with the FDA and that Bailey had put the use of Biocess on hold until they could do more studies of the antibiotic.
“Hmm,” I said noncommittally, and handed the article back to Frances.
She took it and said, “So Biocess, Korman’s much-loved designer antibiotic, was discovered to cause liver damage. And the cornucopia of goodies from Bailey Products available to John Richard Korman was suddenly empty.”
“There’s your answer to what caused that blip in income,” I told Marla.
Frances went on. “Now you two, of all people, should know Korman’s financial situation had become really, really bad. In fact, everything was about to come crashing down on his head. And think how much worse it would become if Suz Craig denied him a big fat bonus. Which she did.”
I said to Chris, “Why did Suz deny the bonus? Why would she?”
“Legitimately?” he asked with a frown. “We send out questionnaires to a sampling of a doctor’s patients. If we get even one serious complaint, the bonus is automatically denied. Or if a doctor refers patients to specialists too much, or if he refers too little, the bonus is denied. If he hasn’t seen enough patients or cut costs over the past year, the bonus is denied.”
“Now that’s what I call both a carrot and a stick,” Marla murmured.
I said, “Look, Frances, we both knew he was having money problems.” But truly, neither Marla nor I had known the full extent of the problems.
“Yeah, yeah,” Frances was saying. “And now ACHMO is going to raid him. And you know they’ll make him the fall guy for the McCracken mess if they find one scrap of paper they can use to blame !him for the whole thing.”
I asked Chris, “You mentioned that you’d be looking for what you called ‘personal notes’ that: John Richard might have made when you go in tomorrow. What kind of notes?”
Frances eagerly interjected: “They’re looking for anything John Richard might have written to cover himself, like ‘I told Patricia that my recommendation was for her to go into the hospital. But then I had to tell her that the HMO vetoed it.’ Or like ‘Told P. McCracken today that HMO had denied her hospital stay because they’re penny- pinchers. Cheap sons of bitches!’” she finished with a flourish. : I addressed Chris Corey. “Do you think there were such notes? And exactly who is going in looking besides you and the Medical Management lady?
Somebody who represents Suz’s interests in protecting ACHMO?”
Chris leaned forward. “Korman and ACHMO are not exactly on the same side on these suits, you know. If Korman kept notes to try to cover himself, ACHMO wants those notes very, very badly. If Korman criticized the HMO to a patient, he violated the terms of his contract with us. Worse for AstuteCare, if the HMO recommended bedrest at home while Dr. Korman claims he recommended a hospital stay or she’d lose that baby… Well, you can see what would happen to the malpractice suit, and how bad ACHMO would look. ACHMO needs to know what he’s thinking, what he’s done.” He shook his head glumly.
“Something else,” Frances said. “Chris tells me ACHMO was considering putting Korman on probation as a provider, just for being sued for malpractice.”
Marla erupted in a gale of laughter. As Frances lit yet another cigarette, I wondered how ACHMO was reacting to the Jerk being accused of murder.
Frances exhaled and went on. “Plus, if Korman was saying one thing to Patricia McCracken and another to ACHMO, then ACHMO claims they can put him out the door. And, believe me, if Korman got kicked off the ACHMO provider list, he’d have nothing, since he sold his practice to them. And the person deciding about his probation is Suz Craig. Or should I say was Suz Craig?” she concluded gleefully.
“Why don’t you talk to the police?” I asked with a glance at Chris. He shook his head sadly. “Why tell me?”
Frances quirked her bushy black eyebrows and, true to form, ignored my questions. Of course I already knew the answer: Because she wanted a story. “Listen,” she demanded, “did Korman give either you or Marla anything to keep? Like any files or packages or notes on the McCracken case? I won’t be able to nab ACHMO without something concrete.”
Again Marla burst out laughing. “He gives me any files, he knows I’m going to shred them. Goldy might smoke them in her barbecue.”
“Are you kidding?” I protested. “I’d put them through the vegetable shredder.”
Frances shook her head. “Okay, okay, it was worth a try. But think. You probably heard the story about Suz and John Richard arguing at the club Friday night. After what I just told you, wouldn’t it make sense that they argued about money? He says he needs his bonus, she says he’ll be lucky not to be cut off by ACHMO completely. Goldy, does Tom know yet what they were fighting about?”
“I’d like to stay married, thanks, Frances.” I’d had enough. “Okay, Marla, I really need to get, home. I’m worried about Arch.”
“I’m with you,” she said heartily, and took a last sip of coffee. We shook hands with Chris and Tina, thanked them for treating us to dessert, and started to leave.
“Hey! Hold on!” Frances cried as she nipped along behind us. “I need to know what Korman called about from jail!”
I finally managed to get Frances to let go of the Mercedes door handle by promising to call her if there were any momentous developments in the case of John Richard. “Momentous developments” to me meant anything the Furman County Sheriff’s Department public information officer was about to announce to all the newspapers, but I did not make this clarification to her.
Frances’s black coat billowed out behind her and the smoke from her cigarette whipped away as she strode back to the cafe for another Jolt cola. I would call her if I wanted to know something. But next time I’d be careful not even to mention Arch.
16
At home Macguire announced he was having trouble swallowing. His fever had abated somewhat, but he still would not eat a morsel. I made him some soft-serve strawberry Jell-O. After three bites he announced he needed to go back to sleep. Well, great.
I perused the contracts for the doll-show meals that Gail Rodine and I had worked out. Babsie-doll collectors were apparently as paranoid about getting mayonnaise on those itsy-bitsy plastic high heels as they were about having their dolls taken out of their original boxes. So the Babsie-bash organizers, despite the fact that they were expecting over two hundred people per day at the show, had only sold tickets for forty box lunches on Tuesday. Then on Wednesday a sit-down breakfast for the executive committee and helpers ? twenty people ? would be followed that evening by a concluding barbecue, for which the show organizers had sold sixty tickets. All the meals would be served on the LakeCenter patio picnic tables. A guard would be stationed at the back door so that not a smear of barbecue sauce could touch a single doll’s ponytail. Best of all was that Gail Rodine’s down payment would provide the first installment of Arch’s fall tuition at Elk Park Prep, an expense John Richard was supposed to cover. The likelihood of that happening was now as slender as spaghettini.
Arch, Tom, and I had takeout Chinese food that Tom had insisted on bringing home. I was both curious and apprehensive to hear the details of their afternoon. How did your father look in an orange suit..? Was he handcuffed.? And most important: Did he say he did it? But Arch mumbled that he didn’t want to talk about it. I was bothered that he was so very subdued. While we were doing the dishes, I brought Tom up to date on all I had learned from Frances and Chris Corey. He placed the last serving spoon in the dishwasher, washed his hands, and took some notes that he said he’d pass on to the D.A.‘s investigator. Then he set his notebook aside and told me that Arch hadn’t uttered a word all the way home.
“Did you see John Richard, too?” I asked him.
Tom shook his head. “Miss Goldy, you’d better prepare yourself. This is a classic lose-lose situation. Tomorrow John Richard may get out on bail. It’s a long shot, but… The county judge who’s coming up on rotation? Name’s Scott Taryton. Taryton’s stated publicly that he’s tired of all the mollycoddling women are getting these days. For mollycoddling, read rights.”
“Oh, don’t ? “
