Cold Steel (25 page)

34

3.07pm, local time,

Boston.

Frank Clancy was a troubled man. He sat on a wire-backed chair in the cafeteria of the west wing of the Museum of Fine Arts on Huntington Avenue chewing a tuna-on-rye sandwich. He had no appetite, the snack tasted like sawdust.

Twenty minutes earlier he'd telephoned his wife Anne from a phone booth in a busy lobby.

'Where are you, Frank?' she'd screamed at him. 'Everyone's looking for you.'

'What do you mean?'

'The hospital administrator has been on asking where you are. He's furious you've taken so much time off.'

'How did he get your number?'

'I rang the hospital looking for you. They told me you were at home.'

Clancy shouted. 'I told you not to contact me.'

'I had to, the children want to go home. I want to go home. We want to go back to our own house.'

'Oh, Christ,' groaned Clancy. He slapped at his forehead.

'Where are you, Frank? What's going on? I'm worried sick, the children are worried sick.'

Clancy went into mental overdrive. 'Are you at the house?'

'No, I'm still at my mother's.'

The relief was overwhelming. 'Anne, I can't explain anything yet. Just make sure you stay where you are and don't go back to the house.'

Silence.

'Frank, what's going on? Where are you?'

Wait for it. 'I'm in Boston.'

Silence.

'Frank.' Anne's voice had dropped. It was full of suspicion. 'What are you doing in Boston? Who's with you?'

Clancy lost his temper. 'There's nobody bloody well with me. I'm here at the haematology department of Springton Hospital trying to find out something.' Even as he spoke Clancy knew the truth didn't sound convincing.

'What are you trying to find, Frank? Why have you been lying to me?'

Oh, Jesus, will this never end? If I tell her the truth she'll call the police. She'll maybe even tell the hospital. My job could be on the line. Speer will get to hear about everything. She'll cover her tracks. I can't say anything.

'Anne,' he glanced around, hoping no one would overhear. 'I love you and I love the children. You've just gotta trust and believe me on this one. I know this all seems very suspicious.'

'It sure as hell does,' Anne cut back angrily.

'I'll explain everything when I come home tomorrow. Just don't say anything to anybody, promise me that.'

Silence.

'Anne, you still there?'

Silence.

'Anne, I know you're still listening. Don't tell anyone anything. And don't go back to the house. Do you hear me? DON'T GO BACK TO THE HOUSE.'

Silence.

'I love you, Anne. Tell the children I love them. I'll sort everything out tomorrow when I'm back.'

The line went dead at the other end.

He walked out into the bright sunshine. It was warm and
humid and he felt his clothes stick to his back. It was time to go home.

5.03 pm, Boston.

'Dr Clancy, I'd like you to meet Ken Foss.'

The door to Harry Walters' office was opened by the tall man himself. The dark-haired receptionist was nowhere to be seen and Clancy rapped rather than wait. Inside two strangers stood talking, heads close.

'And this is Sam Bawden.'

The handshakes were brief and perfunctory as if all were anxious to get down to business.' Clancy noticed neither Foss nor Bawden had laminated name tags around their necks.

'Ken is the legal representative for Springton Hospital,' explained Walters. Foss was a tall, reedy man in a two-piece suit with receding hairline. He half-smiled and sat down in a chair near the window overlooking the hospital complex. 'Sam is our head of security.' Bawden was swarthy and bulky. It seemed he had been squeezed into his ill-fitting light jacket over dark slacks. He wore an open-necked shirt and sneakers. He moved to an empty seat at the side of the room. A soft chair stored behind a coat-stand was produced and offered to Clancy, then Walters sat down in his usual swivel. There was an embarrassed silence as if no one knew where to start. Walters looked briefly at his two companions. 'Dr Clancy…'

'Call me Frank,' Clancy suggested.

'Okay,' agreed Walters, 'Frank it is.' He loosened his bow tie for comfort. 'I've explained the reason you're in Boston.' Clancy noticed he was the centre of attention. With his unusual hairstyle and casual clothing he began to feel very self-conscious.

'My colleagues here are very interested in what you have to say. However your line of questioning this
morning caught me very much by surprise. I don't know how it works in Dublin but let me assure you we are somewhat legally minded in New England. Nobody's going to give information without a lawyer's advice.'

Ken Foss cut in. His voice was as reedy as his frame. 'Frank, you've made some unusual allegations…'

'Not allegations,' Clancy corrected firmly, 'suggestions. I'm very close to making allegations and involving the police. I just need confirmation of my suspicions.'

'That's all very well,' Foss came back, 'but the gravity of those suggestions could be far-reaching. If they're wrong you could spend a lot of your time defending expensive lawsuits. We don't want any involvement, no matter how peripheral, in such a situation.'

'I'm aware of that,' said Clancy. He clutched his brown envelope tightly. The other three kept glancing at it.

'So,' continued Foss, 'before we discuss this any further perhaps you might share the hard facts you mentioned to Harry?'

Clancy hugged the envelope to his chest. 'No.' Assertive.

Foss looked over at Walters and Bawden. 'In that case, Frank, I think we're wasting our time.' He studied his watch briefly. 'Don't let us delay you from your flight.'

Harry Walters interrupted. 'Okay, let's stop circling each other as if. this a dog fight.' He stopped his swivel chair. 'You want information from us, Frank. Well, we want information from you.'

Clancy knew at that moment he was on the right track. 'Shoot,' he suggested.

'What,' asked Walters, 'is the connection between your cases of agranulocytosis and Marks, Speer and Stone Colman?'

'Each of the patients had been in the cardiology unit before they developed the blood disorder.'

Walters eyebrows bobbled. 'That's a very tenuous link.'

'There's more,' hinted Clancy.

'Like what?' Foss cut across. Sam Bawden was scribbling furiously on a notepad.

Clancy forced an exaggerated shrug. 'Nothing else from me until I get something from you.'

Walters managed a grin. 'Okay.'

Clancy asked. 'Did you become aware of an unusual cluster of cases of agranulocytosis in the past few years?'

'No.' Walters was emphatic. Clancy was stunned. Foss and Bawden had their heads down.

'No?' Clancy repeated feebly. What's going on?

'No, Frank,' Walters repeated, 'not an unusual cluster of agranulocytosis. We had clusters of a number of blood disorders. Agranulocytosis was one, certainly. But we had a rash of haemolytic anaemias as well.'

Clancy did a mental double take. In haemolytic anaemia the blood cells broke down, leaving the sufferer very weak. Just as with agranulocytosis there were many causes of haemolytic anaemia. An unusual reaction to a prescribed drug therapy was top of the list. He came back before his confusion became obvious. 'Did this grouping of blood disorders surprise you?'

'Very much so,' admitted Walters. The swivel chair was now pushed up against the desk. Walters rested his chin on the knuckles of both hands, his gaze fixed on Clancy. It was as if the Dublin doctor was interrogating him in a witness box.

'Did you come to suspect the blood disorders were connected to the cardiology team working here at that time?'

'Don't answer that, Harry,' advised Foss. He was now standing at the window, his backside resting on the sill. 'What other information do you have?' He looked straight at Clancy.

'Altered medical records,' Clancy dipped into the brown envelope and showed the top of a maroon-backed file. 'An experimental drug not licensed for use in this country or Ireland.'

Foss frowned. 'Anything else?' His reedy voice had deepened.

'Trade-off time,' said Clancy. He had looked at his watch. It was close to six o'clock. His flight out was at eight. He'd have to leave soon. He still didn't have enough information. 'What's been going on at Springton? You know there's a similar development at my hospital. Why don't we cut the waffle and come out with everything.'

'It's not as easy as that, Frank,' said Foss. He had walked over beside the security chief Bawden. 'We have…'

Clancy interrupted angrily. 'You all know a certain journalist in this town called Chuck Henning?'

The room went quiet. Chuck Henning was chief investigative journalist on the
Boston Globe.
Clancy had taken his name off the morning edition after reading an article on fraudulent practices in Boston financial circles.

'Well,' he lied, 'I spoke with Mr Henning two hours ago and he's very keen to talk with me again. He senses quite a scoop on his hands.' Bluff.

Ken Foss started to speak but Harry Walters cut across. 'I don't think any of us would care to see our mutual difficulties spread across the papers.' He stood up and walked to the window and looked out. 'Do you enjoy your work, Frank? Do you get personal satisfaction from it?'

Clancy didn't answer.

'Well, I love this hospital,' continued Walters. He opened the window slightly and an ambulance siren whoo-whooed in the distance. 'I've been working here for over twenty years now.' He turned round, shoulders slumped, a look of defeat. 'I know it's not an architectural wonder and I know it's not a perfect institution. No hospital is and I've worked in many.' He walked back to his desk and sat on the edge. Clancy tried to sense if this was a man unburdening his soul or a careful act. 'But it's my hospital and I do a lot of good work here. My patients need me to make them better but, equally, I need them. Their hopes and dreams, their lives and fa
milies are as precious to me as
my
own life and my own family. I share their misery when they fall ill, I rejoice when they recover.' He undid his bow tie and ran a finger around his shirt collar. 'When their illness is an act of God, or an accident, or some unusual infection, I can cope with that. But when someone creates disease for no other motive than financial gain, I get very upset.' He stopped and turned to Bawden. 'Tell him our side, Sam. It's time to end this sorry business.'

Bawden closed his notebook. 'Dr Clancy,' he began, 'there's an ongoing investigation in this institution about a cluster of patient deaths.' He spoke with a slight guttural accent. 'It's gone past the stage of medical management into possible criminal intent.' Clancy shifted excitedly in his chair. Pay-back time.

Ken Foss cut in. 'I'm sorry if this sounds a bit vague. I've urged caution in anything said here.'

Bawden went on. 'The hospital is under the threat of eight massive litigation suits. There may be more for all we know.'

It's finally coming, thought Clancy. He took his watch off and kept it in his left hand. It was now six ten. Speed up or I'll miss the flight.

'Someone conducted drug trials here on patients without their consent or knowledge.' Bawden was now reading from his notebook. 'Between April 1996 and January 1997 we had eight deaths recorded from blood disorders, mainly agranulocytosis. Each of those patients, unknown to them and this hospital, was being treated with an experimental drug. Each died from reactions to that drug.' He looked over at Clancy. 'The blue tablet you have is not the one used here. However the marking
cyn
confirms it has come from the same company.'

'Cynx pharmaceuticals?' asked Clancy. More jigsaw pieces.

Foss coughed slightly. 'How did you know that?'

Clancy ignored the question. 'What do you know about Cynx?' he directed the question at Bawden.

'Cynx is a small pharmaceutical company based here in Boston,' Bawden explained. 'It's been unimpressive and uninspiring, very much a minnow in the industry. About five years ago it was bought over by an ambitious consortium from New York who planned to turn it round.' He stopped and looked across to Foss. The other man nodded. 'Dr Linda Speer was one of the investors.'

I knew it, thought Clancy. I bloody knew it. He squirmed in his seat as he listened.

'We believe Cynx became focused in the area of new cardiology compounds,' continued Bawden. 'That's where the big money lies. The company put all its research and development money into one product. But it didn't have the financial muscle to fund standard clinical trials.'

'Which is where Speer's know-how came in,' suggested Clancy.

'I can't state that for definite,' warned Bawden. 'We were looking at all three of those specialists when they suddenly upped anchors and left Boston.'

'We think they were running away,' Walters offered. He was back in his swivel chair, bow tie off. 'The investigation was closing in after I became suspicious and informed our legal advisors. It's my personal belief Springton Hospital was becoming too hot for them.'