Coma by Robin Cook. Part four

“I’ll try to tell her again, but it’s not as easy as it may sound. This girl has a mind of her own, with a rather fertile imagination.” Bellows wondered why he chose that way to describe Susan’s imagination. “She’s gotten into this thing because the first two patients she came in contact with are victims of the problem.”

“Anyway, let’s just say you have been warned. What she does is going to reflect on you, especially if you aid her in any way at all. But that was only one of the reasons I wanted to talk with you. There is another problem, more serious, to be sure. Tell me, Mark, what is your locker number up in the OR?”

“Eight.”

“What about number 338?”

“That was my temporary locker. I used it for about one week before number eight became available.”

“Why didn’t you stay with 338?”

“I guess it actually belonged to someone else, and I got to use it until I could get one of my own.”

“Do you know the combination of 338?”

“Maybe, if I thought long enough. Why do you ask?”

“Because of a strange finding by Dr. Cowley. He claims that 338 opened by magic when he was changing his clothes and the whole Goddamn thing was filled with drugs. We checked it out and he was right. Every kind of drug that you could imagine and a few more, including narcotics. The locker list I have has you down for 338, not eight.”

“Who’s down for eight?”

“Dr. Eastman.”

“He hasn’t done a case in years.”

“Exactly. Tell me, Mark, who gave you number eight? Walters?”

“Yup. Walters first told me to use 338, and then he gave me number eight.”

“OK, don’t say anything to anybody about this, least of all to Walters. Finding a hoard of drugs like this is a pretty serious business, considering all the rigmarole you have to go through to get a narcotic in the first place. Because of my locker list, you will probably be contacted by the hospital administration. For obvious reasons they are not excited about letting this information out, especially with the recertification deal corning up. So keep it under your hat. And for God’s sake, get your student interested in something else besides anesthesia complications.”

Bellows emerged from Chandler’s cubicle with a strange feeling. He wasn’t surprised about hearing that he was being associated with Susan’s activities. He was already afraid of that. But the news about the drugs found in a locker to which he was assigned, that was a different story. His mind conjured up an image of Walters oozing around the OR area. He questioned why anyone would hoard drugs like that. Then there was the suggestion of association. Susan had used the words supernatural and sinister. Bellows wondered exactly what kind of drugs were stored in locker 338. He also wondered if he should tell Susan about the discovery.

Tuesday, February 24, 2:36 P.M.

Susan allowed her eyes to wander around the Chief of Surgery’s office. It was spacious and exquisitely decorated. Large windows occupying most of two walls afforded a splendid view of Charleston in one direction and a corner of Boston and the North End in the other. The Mystic River bridge was partially concealed by gray snow clouds. The wind had shifted from the sea and was now blowing in from the northwest with arctic air.

Stark’s teak desk, with its white marble top, was situated eater-corner in the northwest section of the office. The wall behind and to the right of the desk was mirrored from floor to ceiling. The fourth wall contained the door from the reception room and carefully constructed, recessed bookshelves. A section of the shelves was hinged; partly ajar, it revealed gleaming glasses, bottles, and a small refrigerator.

In the southeast corner, where the huge expanse of windows met the bookshelves, there was a low, glass-topped table surrounded by molded fiberglass chairs. Their leather cushions were made of bright colors ranging through the oranges and greens.

Stark himself was seated behind his massive desk. His image was recreated a hundred times in the mirror to the right thanks to the reflection from the tinted window glass to his left The Chief of Surgery had his feet propped up on the corner of his desk so that daylight fell over his shoulder onto the paper he was reading.

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