Deadly Images: DEADLY MEDICINE, #1

By Laurie Gilbert

2022 WINNER of the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense for Deadly Conspiracies!

Radiologist Lindsey Moran is about to achieve her goal of becoming a partner at Cascade Park Hospital when her father mysteriously dies in a prison riot shortly before the prison hospital closes and Cascade Park takes over the care of the inmates. She soon learns the three escaped prisoners aren't the only ones wreaking havoc on the city and suspects something is very wrong at the prison.  To find the truth, she must first find the courage to confront her past, but someone is determined to stop her and all trails lead her back to the prison.

 

"Laurie Gilbert's extensive experience in the medical field delivers a chillingly believable story. The emotional, action-packed opening sucked me in and kept me reading. The main characters are easy to empathize with and cheer for. A fast-paced thriller with a satisfying, heartwarming ending." --from Cindy Hiday, author of DESTINATION STARDUST and winner of the Kay Snow Award for Fiction.

 

Deadly Medicine Series Book #1

Traditional medical thrillers with a what if element...

The stories all start in or around Portland, Oregon, where local physicians face challenges they couldn't have anticipated and test their convictions in ways unimagined. Though the stories are chronologically dated, each book stands alone and can be read in any order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laurie Gilbert
• Release date: Sep 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393300809

Book preview

DEADLY IMAGES

A MEDICAL THRILLER

DEADLY MEDICINE SERIES BOOK #1

LAURIE GILBERT

COPYRIGHT

Copyright © 2022 Laurie Gilbert

SECOND EDITION.

All rights reserved.

Updated from original publication 2020.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by RL Design

www.gobookcoversdesign.com

Cover Image:  [e-mail] Praserdumrongchai Dreamstime.com

Cover Image:  ID154209968@Denys Bozduhan Dreamstime

DEDICATION

FOR JACK, WHO HAS INSPIRED, challenged and supported me throughout all the painful and rewarding steps of my writing and my life. I chose well at age fourteen when you first asked me to skate!

BOOKS BY LAURIE GILBERT

Medical Thrillers

Deadly Medicine Series:

DEADLY IMAGES BOOK 1

DEADLY CONSPIRACIES BOOK 2

(Winner of the Daphne Du Maurier Award

for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense)

Romantic Suspense Novels

Shadow Mountain Series:

NEVER TRUST A COWBOY BOOK 1

NEVER TRUST A LAWMAN BOOK 2

NEVER TRUST A DRIFTER BOOK 3

Single Titles

HARD EVIDENCE

(Winner of the Golden Heart Award

for Romantic Suspense)

AUTHOR’S NOTE

WHEN I MOVED TO OREGON at age 22, Portland was one of the most beautiful, vibrant, clean and safe cities in the country. While Portland struggles to regain that distinction, as I’m sure it will one day, I chose to take a small step back and set my story during its glory days.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

BOOKS BY LAURIE GILBERT

AUTHOR’S NOTE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BOOKS BY LAURIE GILBERT

Questions and Ideas for Book Group Discussions

PROLOGUE

Saturday, October 2, 1993

FOUR YEARS AND IT STILL hurt like hell.

Detective Mark Laroutte pulled into the emergency room parking lot with his suspect handcuffed in the back seat. Returning to Cascade Park Hospital resurrected the rage he’d tried so hard to bury in the months after Annie’s death. Shoving the gearshift into park, he stared bleakly at the opulent medical complex. Behind those austere brick walls, Annie had taken her last breath. Part of him had died here that day, too.

Peering out the windshield, Mark watched a man carefully guide his pregnant companion across the dimly-lit sidewalk to the emergency entrance. He guessed she was in labor because neither had taken the time to slip on a coat. The east wind gathered the hemline of the woman’s bright yellow maternity dress around her knees, making her look like an oversized squash.

Mark thought again of Annie and how much she’d wanted to have his baby. He recalled the warm glow in her eyes when she’d thought she was pregnant. She had been so courageous when the doctor told her it wasn’t a baby growing in her pelvis.

Amazing how fast a person’s life could turn to shit.

As Mark watched the couple’s progression into the hospital, he found himself envying the man on the sidewalk and his round yellow squash.

You jus gonna let me bleed to death or what? Jerome Murphy whined from the backseat.

Don’t go putting ideas in my head, Murphy, Mark said to the young gang-banger. He stepped out into the waning drizzle and walked around to the passenger side of the car. He knew the punk would be back on the streets before morning and fought the urge to cut him loose now to save the taxpayers some money.

The lot was fairly empty for a Saturday night. Mark heard a car door slam and turned his head toward the sound. A man emerged from between two old cars and gathered his wrinkled trench coat close to him, fighting the dampness, as he crossed the parking lot. Mark couldn’t see his face, but straggly brown hair spilled over his collar and filth crusted the denim showing beneath his coat. A flap of loose rubber on the sole of his running shoe flung a stream of water with each step. Just another down-on-his-luck troll, Mark thought as the man cut across the flower bed, heading for the bright lights of the emergency entrance. The guy looked as out of place on the meticulously kept grounds as Mark felt upon returning here.

A sudden gust of wind sent cold air creeping under Mark’s jacket. He turned up his collar against the chill before opening the rear door.

Assisting Murphy to his feet, Mark quickly guided him toward the luminous foyer and the warmth it promised. Cascade Park Hospital was said to have some of the finest physicians on the West Coast. Despite its reputation for excellence, the private hospital was not known for its altruism. Indigents and the uninsured rarely wasted their time coming here.

Mark thought again of the man who had preceded them inside. No, that type didn’t come here unless chauffeured by a paramedic or a cop.

As Mark approached the first automatic glass door, the muscles across his shoulders tightened. God, he hated hospitals. He turned his head and gave the parking lot another glance. Except for the whir of the wind, the night remained quiet.

Mark attributed his uneasiness to his dislike of doctors in general, and specifically to the feeling of vulnerability he endured when he stepped onto their turf. Reluctantly, he tugged Murphy through the second set of pneumatic doors.

A pretty, young blonde sat behind the admitting desk at the end of the long entrance hall. She glanced his way. It took her all of one second to check him out and dismiss him. He suddenly felt much older than his thirty-eight years.

Past the receptionist, the hall jogged to the right and continued into the bowels of the hospital. The malodor of disinfectant rose from the freshly mopped floor, its scent as pungent as the memories it evoked.

Children’s voices carried from the large waiting room to the right. He didn’t have to be a father to recognize the whine of youngsters kept up long past their bedtime.

Wait, sir. You can’t go back there, the admitting clerk called to the troll he’d seen in the parking lot. Her anxious tone caught Mark’s attention.

The triage hall formed the lower leg of the U-shaped emergency room to the left of admitting. The man didn’t stop at the desk, but turned left, entering the restricted area. The clerk vaulted to her feet and followed him inside, her annoyance evident as she called out a second time.

Mark didn’t like the gnawing in his gut. The guy was probably coked up or looking for drugs. He increased his pace.

Hey, Jerome Murphy said, resisting the tugging at his elbow.

Mark heard a loud scream from inside the emergency room. His thoughts flew to the pregnant woman, but this wasn’t a cry of pain. A second scream quivered with terror. The rapid staccato blasts of an automatic rifle terminated the scream. Mark’s insides froze.

Aw, hell. He pulled the 9mm Glock17 from his shoulder holster as he shoved Murphy to the ground. Stay down.

Mark raced down the hall, his dread increasing as he identified the distinctive sound made only by an AK-47.

A chorus of genderless cries swelled from the room beyond. Though he rushed forward, time seemed to move in slow motion, as if he was trudging through waist-deep water.

The ear-splitting riffle fire began again. Mark was near the corner when the blonde admitting clerk spun backward into the wall. Her lifeless eyes still showed shock and fear. Dark circles of blood soaked her blue smock as she slid slowly to the floor.

Another volley of shots resounded.

Glass shattered, punctuating the mass destruction taking place inside. Voices crying out for mercy instantly fell silent as bullets pinged through the air.

Mark knew he might have less than a second to identify the perp, aim and fire before becoming a target himself. His fear of death had ended four years ago, but if anything happened to him the innocent people inside would be left to face this psycho alone.

His semiautomatic was no match for the firepower of the Kalashnikov. He’d have to take the guy out in one shot. There would be no second chance. He counted on the only two advantages he had, the element of surprise and the marksmanship skills he’d had plenty of time to hone since losing Annie.

Holding his 9mm in front of him with both hands, Mark lunged around the corner and into a shooter’s stance.

Nothing could have prepared him for the carnage before him. He took it all in with one sweeping glance. Bloodied bodies littered the floor of the triage hall.

His stomach roiled as he stepped past the first bullet-shredded corpse. Bright red pools of blood spilled over the polished white floor. Straight ahead at the charting desk lay two nurses, their green scrub clothes saturated with their own blood. He pushed on as the gunshots echoed off the tile walls as if coming from every direction. Where the hell is the shooter?

Down the short hall off to his right, he recognized Dr. Marilyn Takeno from the Cleopatra cut of her black hair and the name embroidered in blue on her once-white lab coat. Multiple gunshot wounds to her face indicated a malicious intent fiercer than death.

A surge of guilt hit him as he remembered his own murderous thoughts toward the doctor who’d been responsible for Annie’s death. He kept moving.

A doctor he didn’t recognize slumped in a chair at one of the dictation alcoves, his head thrown back against the burgundy cushion, his mouth open in a silent scream.

Mark hurried, but he couldn’t seem to keep pace with the progression of time around him. He felt as if he’d been inside the triage area for minutes instead of seconds. He’d seen enough death to last a lifetime.

The deafening crack of the rifle continued to echo through the building, making it difficult to pinpoint the shooter’s location. Off to Mark’s left was the four-bed trauma room, its wide doors propped open at both ends. Green privacy curtains separated the stretchers. The glass-fronted cabinets at the far end of the room exploded, but he still had no visual on the perp.

Mark stepped through the doorway, pivoting to cover the opposite end of the room as he entered. The curtains obstructed his view. He slipped in something wet and caught himself with his hand as he hit the floor. A warm, slimy liquid oozed between his fingers. He glanced down at a watery pink puddle surrounding the body clothed in bright yellow. The pregnant woman’s abdomen had been ripped open by the attacker’s bullets. Her sightless eyes stared directly at Mark.

Vomit filled his throat. His chest constricted. He cried out in an anguished rage, but gunshots drowned out the sound.

Fragments of splintered wood and debris flew around the room. The gunfire stopped. Mark was so numb, at first, he didn’t realize the tormented male voice shrieking with fury and despair belonged to the shooter.

You’re not gods, the man screamed. Bullets struck one of the corpses. The body bounced with the impact. I’m never goin’ back. You should’a killed me.

Mark ran toward the voice. Okay you crazy bastard. Show yourself.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a crying toddler approach the door nearest the shooter. He didn’t have time to think. A powerful surge of determination controlled his actions. No way was that son of a bitch claiming another innocent life.

As he raced to the end of the curtain, he shouted to draw the shooter’s attention away from the child.

The gunman stepped into view.

Mark recognized the profile, though torment distorted the man’s features. The ID didn’t come from the brief glimpse he had of the guy in the parking lot. It came from the wanted posters distributed by the officials from Dunrow State Prison.

The fugitive turned to face Mark, swinging the assault rifle in an arc toward him.

Mark held his gun firmly in both hands.

The man started firing while the rifle was in motion.

One shot, Mark reminded himself. He took the extra fraction of a second to level his aim at a point between the man’s eyes, held his breath and squeezed the trigger.

CHAPTER ONE

Wednesday, October 20, 1993

LINDSEY MORAN BOLTED upright in her bed, gasping for breath. She was alone. Exhausted.

Her chest heaved with the need for oxygen. Sweat trickled down her sides and between her breasts despite the cool temperature of her bedroom. The frantic run through the woods in a deadly game of cat-and-mouse had taken place only in her mind. Thank God, she thought, pulling herself further away from the horror.

Shivering, she leaned back on her arms, her eyes seeking the familiar landmark of her mother’s painting as they focused in the pre-dawn darkness. It was only a dream. Lindsey chased away the murky images from her nightmare using a simple technique her mother had taught her as a child. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply through her mouth. Out of the blackness, she envisioned a thick wedge of double-chocolate cake, still warm from the oven, and a frosty glass of milk. Beside the cake, she imagined a sparkling crystal vase filled with the sweet fragrance of Stargazer lilies.

Slowly, she drew in deep breaths until she smelled the lilies. Her heart rate gradually returned to normal.

Lindsey recalled using this same calming image in medical school, halfway through the first autopsy she’d witnessed, determined not to gag and humiliate herself in front of her professor. She hadn’t needed it again until six weeks ago. The recurring nightmares had begun the day she buried her father.

As a child, she had idolized her father, Dr. Douglas Bauman, a renowned surgeon, respected by his peers and adored by his family. Pleasing him and making him proud of her had been the most important, though unrealized, goal in her young, idealistic world. She had learned early on that anything short of perfection was unacceptable to him. On her fourteenth birthday, he’d shattered that world and all her ideals. Her father had spent the last twenty years of his life alone in an eight-by-ten cell at Dunrow State Prison.

In all the years that followed, she’d refused to answer his letters. His sudden death meant the complicated issues between them would never be resolved and she knew that undeniable fact had triggered her recurring nightmares. Though she tried to convince herself the nightmares would go away in time, her prognosis offered little comfort as she lay between the sweat-drenched sheets.

The digital display on her bedside clock heralded the unearthly hour of five twenty-seven. Sighing, she dragged herself out of bed and went straight to the kitchen to switch the automatic coffee maker from timer to brew. In recent weeks, when nightmares frequently disrupted her sleep, strong hot coffee had become a mainstay.

After exercising to a short workout video, she showered, then returned to the kitchen where the aroma of chocolate macadamia-flavored coffee filled the air. She poured a mug and savored the rich blend. By the time she finished, her nightmare had receded to a quiet compartment in her mind, where she willed it to stay until she had the time and energy to deal with it.

Lindsey poured a second cup and carried it back to the bedroom. She got dressed and worked her damp hair into a French braid.

Giving in to a yawn, she slipped into a comfortable pair of navy pumps as her alarm clock began to buzz. Thoughts of the long day that stretched before her made her grimace. She microwaved a bowl of oatmeal with dried cranberries and drank another cup of coffee before leaving for work. Her house was close enough to the hospital for convenience, but far enough from the West Hills to make it affordable.

She parked her white LeBaron convertible in the physicians' parking lot on the north side of the hospital building. The North Lot was less convenient than the other one, but from the north entrance, she didn’t have to pass through the emergency department to get to radiology.

She still got chills every time she thought about the bloody massacre which had demolished the emergency department and taken so many innocent lives less than three weeks ago. She hadn’t been working that night, but she knew many who had. Eleven innocent people had lost their lives because of one crazy fugitive. Many more would have died if not for the quirk of fate that had brought a detective from the Portland Police Bureau into their ED at the same time the escaped convict entered the hospital and began his killing spree.

Lindsey forced aside the morbid thoughts and tucked her umbrella under her arm as she headed for the brick building. The rain had stopped for the moment, but autumn in Oregon guaranteed the moment wouldn’t last.

Inside, the silent, empty corridors reflected a workday not yet begun. After she unlocked her office door and deposited her purse and umbrella, she stepped back into the hall in time to see Nathan Bartholamew, the hospital administrator, coming out of the chief radiologist’s office. A queasy feeling churned in her stomach. She didn’t want to be cornered by Nathan. It would only result in another argument and she wasn’t up to it today.

Good morning, Dr. Moran, Nathan said, sending her a practiced smile that was a bit too smug to consider pleasant.

Good morning, she returned without slowing her step, as if rushing off to some urgent meeting. In truth, her only mission at the moment was to grab a steaming cup of coffee from the hospital cafeteria. He made no attempt to delay her.

After purchasing the coffee, Lindsey returned to her office, sat back in her chair and flipped the switch to illuminate the view boxes in front of her. She pulled her magnifying glass from the drawer and placed it beside her coffee cup as she began reading an x-ray taken the night before.

As the huge stack of films dwindled, she heard the familiar sounds of the department coming to life. The two years she’d worked at Cascade Park had been the happiest of her adult life. She hadn’t planned on specializing in radiology, had in fact, not wanted to be a doctor at all; she’d wanted to teach high school physics. A professor in college redirected her efforts and she’d never regretted the decision.

Clarisse Brown, one of the mammography technologists, stepped into the office with the preliminary films for the first breast localization case. Wow. Lindsey, you’re sure getting an early start today.

Couldn’t sleep, Lindsey replied.

Yeah. There’s a lot of that going around these days, Clarisse said.

The ED tragedy had caused an epidemic of insomnia and bad dreams. Unfortunately, Lindsey couldn’t blame her problem on that incident. Her troubles had started weeks before.

How’s Peabody doing? Did the vet remove the stiches yet?

Clarisse’s smile brightened. He’s good as new and taking every advantage of the situation, sleeping on the bed and giving me sad puppy eyes until I share my food with him. She didn’t sound like she minded in the least. Since you’re here already, would you like to start the first localization early? The patient showed up half an hour early. I think she's been freaking out about the procedure since she woke up.

Sure. Let’s see if we can mitigate that. Lindsey reviewed the films, then followed the technologist into the x-ray room.

The patient, a striking woman in her sixties, was seated on a chair in front of the mammography machine, face pale and eyes a little too glassy.

Good morning, Mrs. McKenzie. I’m Dr. Moran, one of the radiologists. Lindsey shook her hand and then took a seat on the stool beside her. After a few minutes of chatting about how long Mrs. McKenzie had lived in the area and how many grandchildren she had, the pink tinge returned to the older woman’s face.

If you’re ready to get started, I’ll explain everything I’m going to do, then have you sign a consent form for me to do the localization and, of course, you can ask any questions you may have before signing or anytime during the procedure.

Okay, I’m as ready as I can be, Mrs. McKenzie said with a rueful smile.

Lindsey explained how she would locate the cluster of micro-calcifications in two dimensions using the tip of a thin Kopan needle and x-rays, then inject a blue dye and place a small, j-hooked wire into her breast to mark the area for the surgeon to remove for biopsy since the tiny dots were too small to be seen with the naked eye. Do you have any questions before we get started?

I don’t think so. Mrs. McKenzie spoke with a steady voice and Lindsey was glad to see her carefully read the form before she signed her name at the bottom. It was appalling how many people signed consent forms without a glance at the words above their signature.

Lindsey kept a close watch on the woman as they began the exam. Working together, they redirected her attention away from the needle while they continued the localization procedure.

Okay, we’re almost done. I’m going to remove the needle now, so Clarisse can take the final set of x-rays. The wire is flexible and has a bend at the tip so it will remain anchored in your breast until the surgeon removes it. How are you feeling now?

I’m fine, Mrs. McKenzie replied. Her skin held no trace of her earlier clammy pallor. Thank you.

You’re welcome. Lindsey smiled. I’ll be back as soon as Clarisse is finished with the x-rays.

Lindsey stepped out into the processing area to write in the chart while Clarisse took the last two films. Dr. Edward Tindall, the chief radiologist, stood beside the automatic processor talking with two of the mammography technologists and wearing one of his signature bowties. Today’s was lime green.

Ah, Lindsey. I’d hoped to catch up with you over here. Edward’s soft voice exuded the kindness she’d valued so much in the last six weeks since her father’s death.

Lindsey had liked Edward ever since he’d first interviewed her for the current position, and he seemed to have taken a special liking to her, as well. She suspected his frequent displays of eccentricity were as cultured as his ability to put people at ease. His mind, she believed, was every bit as sharp as his eyes. She never questioned his judgment and she never made the mistake of underestimating him. As senior partner in the radiology group, he wielded a lot of power.

Edward sauntered over to the counter where she stood. How’s your case going?

Fine, Lindsey replied. I’m almost done. The area was close to the chest wall, but I didn’t have any problems.

Why had he come all the way over here to find her? Edward rarely visited the mammography department. Unlike all the other radiologists, he didn’t read mammograms. Yet his presence wouldn’t have caused her alarm if she hadn’t seen the hospital administrator leaving Edward’s office that morning. She tried to shake the paranoia brought on by Nathan’s visit. I’ve got one more case on the schedule this morning and two this afternoon.

Good. Good. Edward smiled with his whole face the same way her father had. The warm glint in his gray-blue eyes evoked trust. Then you have time to stop by my office when you’re finished with the next one. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.

Lindsey’s heart thumped in her chest. She’d managed to avoid Nathan since their confrontation last week, but when she had seen him leaving Edward’s office, she’d sensed he had some kind of scheme brewing. It would be just like him to have taken the matter of the Parker suit over her head to Edward. After all, she had yet to become a full partner in the radiology group. As one of three radiologists currently vying for a single partnership position, she knew her refusal to settle on the Theresa Parker case put her at a disadvantage.

No problem. She glanced down at her watch. I should be finished by ten o’clock.

Great. Edward smiled again and gave a familiar little wave over his shoulder as he walked away.

She wondered if he was putting her through some kind of a test. He’d worked long and hard to establish his practice here. Since she worked under contract with the radiology group and not the hospital, the outcome of the Parker case would also affect him. He could try to pressure her into settling, as Nathan had done, but she didn’t think he would. At least not yet. Though she considered him a true friend, she knew he wouldn’t allow anything to