“Of course.”
“And since I have really extended myself and have gone off channels, so to speak, I would prefer that you don’t mention your visit to anyone. I must admit, Susan, that I really had to make an effort to get you invited. I’m telling you this not because I want you to feel indebted or anything, but rather as partial atonement for my not getting you reinstated here at the Memorial. The director of the institute told me categorically that he would not allow any others to visit with you. They do allow group visits when they have time to supervise them. It’s a rather special place, as I believe you’ll see. It would be somewhat embarrassing if you wanted to bring someone else. So you must go alone. You can understand that, I presume.”
“Of course.”
“Well, then, let me know what you think of the facility. I haven’t been there myself yet.”
“Thank you very much, Dr. Stark. Oh, there’s one other thing. …” Susan considered telling Stark about the second experience with D’Ambrosio. She decided against it, because he had wanted Susan to go to the police yesterday; now he’d be insistent. Susan did not want the police, not yet. If it were some large organization behind the whole affair, it was naive to think they didn’t have a contingency plan to allow for police probes.
“I’m not sure,” continued Susan, “if it’s significant, but I found a valve on the oxygen line into room No. 8 in the OR. It’s near to the main chase.”
“Near the what?”
“The main chase where all the piping in the hospital courses from floor to floor.”
“Susan, you’re pretty remarkable. How did you find out about that?”
“I went up into the ceiling space and traced the gas lines to the ORs.”
“Ceiling space!” Stark’s voice rose in irritation. “Susan, that’s carrying this affair a bit too far. I cannot condone your climbing around in the ceiling spaces over the operating rooms.”
Susan waited for the ax to fall as it had with McLeary or Harris. Instead there was a pause. Stark broke it. “Anyway, you say you found a valve in the oxygen line to room No. 8.” His voice was almost back to normal.
“That’s right,” said Susan cautiously.
“Well, I think I know what that’s for. I’m chairman of the OR Committee, as you might have guessed. That valve is probably the bleed valve for getting rid of air bubbles when the system is charged up. But one way or another, I’ll have someone check it and make certain. By the way, what is the name of the patient you wanted to see at the Jefferson Institute?”
“Sean Berman.”
“Oh yes, I remember the case. It was just the other day. One of Spallek’s. A meniscus case, as I recall. Tragedy … the man was about thirty. A real shame. Well, good luck. Tell me, are you off to the V.A. today?”
“No, my stomach condition will keep me in bed, at least for the morning. I’m quite sure I’ll be able to get back to work tomorrow, though.”
“I hope so, Susan, for your sake.”
“Thank you for your time, Dr. Stark.”
“Not at all, Susan.”
The line disconnected and Susan hung up.
The soiled gloves fell into the wastebasket beside the sponge rack. On the rack was a group of blood-stained sponges hanging like dirty clothes on a line. A nurse passed behind Bellows and undid the string at the neck of his operating gown. Bellows tossed it into the hamper by the door and left.
It had been an uncomplicated gastrectomy, a procedure Bellows usually liked to perform. But on this particular morning Bellows’s mind had been somewhere else and the double-layer closure of the stomach pouch and the small bowel had been tedious rather than enjoyable. Bellows could not stop thinking about Susan. His thoughts ran the gamut from tender concern, accompanied by remorse for the words that had driven Susan away the night before, to self-righteous pleasure in the comments he had felt justified in making. He had already gone too far, gambled too much, and it was quite apparent that Susan had no intentions of easing up on her idiotic drive in the direction of career suicide.