Traynor gave Helen Beaton, president of the hospital, a nod. On his cue, Beaton lifted a cloth from the conference table to reveal a detailed architectural model of the existing hospital complex as well as the proposed addition: a massive, three-story structure protruding from the rear of the main building.
Amid exclamations of approval, Traynor stepped around the table to position himself next to the model. The hospital conference table was often a repository for medical paraphernalia under consideration for purchase. Traynor reached over to remove a rack of funnel-shaped test tubes so that the model could be better seen. Then he scanned his audience. All eyes were glued to the model; everyone except Werner Van Slyke had gotten to his feet.
Parking had always been a problem at Bartlet Community Hospital, especially in inclement weather. So Traynor knew that his proposed addition would be popular even before the recent string of attacks in the lower lot. He was pleased to see that his unveiling was progressing as successfully as he’d anticipated. The room was aglow with enthusiasm. Only sullen Van Slyke, the head of engineering and maintenance, remained impassive.
“What’s the matter?” Traynor asked. “Doesn’t this proposal meet with your approval?”
Van Slyke looked at Traynor, his expression still vacant.
“Well?” Traynor felt himself tense. Van Slyke had a way of irritating him. Traynor had never liked the man’s laconic, unemotional nature.
“It’s okay,” Van Slyke said dully.
Before Traynor could respond the door to the conference room burst open and slammed against its stop on the floor. Everyone jumped, especially Traynor.
Standing in the doorway was Dennis Hodges, a vigorous, stocky seventy-year-old with rough-hewn features and weathered skin. His nose was rosy and bulbous, his beady eyes rheumy. He was dressed in a dark green boiled wool coat over creaseless corduroy trousers. On top of his head was a red plaid hunter’s cap dusted with snow. In his raised left hand he was clutching a sheaf of papers.
There was no doubt Hodges was angry. He also smelled strongly of alcohol. His dark, gun-barrel-like eyes strafed the gathering, then trained in on Traynor.
“I want to talk to you about a few of my former patients, Traynor. You too, Beaton,” Hodges said, throwing her a quick, disgusted look. “I don’t know what kind of hospital you think you’ve been running here, but I can tell you I don’t like it one bit!”
“Oh, no,” Traynor muttered as soon as he’d recovered from Hodges’ unexpected arrival. Irritation quickly overtook his shock. A rapid glance around the room assured him that the others were about as happy to see Hodges as he was.
“Dr. Hodges,” Traynor began, forcing himself to be civil. “I think it is quite apparent that we are having a meeting here. If you will excuse us . . .”
“I don’t care what the hell you people are doing,” Hodges snapped. “Whatever it is, it pales in respect to what you and the board have been up to with my patients.” He stalked toward Traynor. Instinctively, Traynor leaned back. The smell of whiskey was intense.
“Dr. Hodges,” Traynor said with obvious anger. “This is not the time for one of your interruptions. I’ll be happy to meet with you tomorrow to talk about your grievances. Now if you will kindly leave and let us get on with our business . . .”
“I want to talk now!” Hodges shouted. “I don’t like what you and your board are doing.”
“Listen, you old fool,” Traynor snapped. “Lower your voice! I have no earthly idea what is on your mind. But I’ll tell you what I and the board have been doing: we’ve been breaking our necks in the struggle to keep the doors of this hospital open, and that’s no easy task for any hospital in this day and age. So I resent any implication to the contrary. Now be reasonable and leave us to our work.”
“I ain’t waiting,” Hodges insisted. “I’m talking to you and Beaton right now. Nursing, dietary, and housekeeping nonsense can wait. This is important.”
“Ha!” Nancy Widner said. “It’s just like you, Dr. Hodges, bursting in here and suggesting that nursing concerns aren’t important. I’ll have you know . . .”