Murder Makes the Rounds

By Mela Barrows Bennett

Dr. David Hunter is Medical Staff President at Green Valley Memorial Hospital. Facing him is the challenge of keeping his community hospital open as an independent entity in the face of managed care pressures and the encroachment of University Medical Center (UMC), seeking to expand its growing empire.
As Chief of Pathology, Dr. Janis Saunders is more frequently called upon to deal with dead men than live ones. Serving on the Medical Executive Committee, she emerges as an unexpected ally in Dr. Hunter’s quest to block the hospital’s CEO from arranging a merger with UMC.
The two doctors, both confirmed singles, develop a comfortable relationship as they try to untangle a deadly web of hospital politics and ruthless ambition. Investigating the sudden deaths of two Trustees, Dr. Hunter also discovers more personal secrets.
Not until he can explain the two unusual deaths does David uncover the most important secret of all: love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: May 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483428550

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Bennett

Copyright © 2015 Mela Barrows Bennett.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

While the medical facts presented are correct for the time period portrayed, this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any specific health providers, is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2856-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2855-0 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 6/8/2015

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Dedication

To Alice,

Thanks for the music.

It fuels the creative spirit.

One

Monday, June 3rd, 2002

Green Valley, Downstate, NY

Dr. David Hunter rolled wearily onto his right side so he could reach the off switch on his insistently blaring alarm clock. He had endured a busy night on call, but felt fortunate to have capped it off with four hours of uninterrupted sleep. In the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face and once he put on his wire-rim glasses, was relieved to see that he looked more refreshed than he felt. His brown eyes were not bloodshot and his dark hair was barely rumpled. He could not have moved since his head hit the pillow. This must be what they mean about sleeping the sleep of the dead. The goal of clearing his head before facing rounds propelled him along as he dressed.

When he went downstairs, the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee beckoned him into the kitchen. Thank you, God. He couldn’t remember if he’d set the automatic start on the coffeemaker last night. David picked up the carafe and poured himself a cup as he rolled his neck. Glancing at the clock on the wall—emblazoned with the name of a now-forgotten pharmaceutical—he noticed that he had twenty minutes before he had to leave his house for the hospital. Revived by the coffee, he sat down at the kitchen table to read the local paper. One of the things he enjoyed about living alone was this quiet time in the morning when he could gather his thoughts without disruption. That is, unless the phone or the beeper demanded a response…

Today’s front page featured an article that immediately drew his attention. Green Valley Hospital Plans Merger with University Medical Center, proclaimed the headline. David had heard only idle speculation that this might occur. So far as he knew, the board had taken no such action in spite of the CEO’s vigorous campaign for it. With each paragraph he read, he became more incensed.

The paper quoted CEO John Michael Davenport ad nauseam. I’ve given this merger deal top priority for the past year. Green Valley Hospital has no chance for survival on its own, given the current economic climate and the continued pressure from HMO’s and government programs to cut costs. I’m fully committed to assuring this community that their hospital will move ahead and lead them through these troubled times. The proposal to join with UMC will sustain us and any changes in day-to-day operations will be so minimal as to be invisible. This is truly a ‘win-win’ situation.

Garbage, he thought. Pure unadulterated garbage. University Medical Center had swallowed up three other community hospitals in less than four years and two of them were already reduced to being outpatient feeders for the all-powerful tertiary care center. They had limited emergency and surgical services, no obstetrics and no intensive care units.

David had read enough. One of the reasons he had moved to Green Valley was to get away from the madness of the megalopolis and he enjoyed practicing internal medicine in a community where people came and stayed. This merger was not a good thing in his opinion, nor did he see it as the only alternative, but what could he do to stop it? He hated the thought of leaving and starting over again, though at thirty-four, he was a prime target for recruiters of primary care providers and received offers in the mail or over the phone nearly every week.

Most of the medical staff opposes this. How does Davenport plan to get this through Medical Executive Committee and, more crucially, the board? The Trustees didn’t vote with the medical staff on every issue, but with so many against it, he couldn’t imagine this going quietly to a vote. If it did, the outcome was beyond his control.

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Arriving at the hospital, David parked and went in to make his rounds. At the third West nurse’s station, he saw fellow internist and long-time Trustee George Bluestone placing a stack of charts on the unit clerk’s desk. David had been well served by the time he had spent learning some of the history of the hospital and its staff. Dr. Bluestone had come to Green Valley Memorial nearly twenty-eight years ago, well before the current hospital building was constructed in 1981. Hello, George. See the article with Davenport on the front page today? When did the merger go through?

In his late fifties, Dr. Bluestone looked his age partly because only the older staff members invariably dressed in a suit and tie. He was of average height, had graying hair and carried an extra thirty or so pounds without visible effort. You mean his proclamation, David? I’d like to know where he gets off saying those things when the board hasn’t even brought it up for a vote. Probably figures a pre-emptive strike will gain community support and pressure the medical staff to let him ram it through. Damned thing is, his tactic will probably work. Can’t seem to get anyone with guts interested in running for staff president this year. I’d do it, but I’m on the Board now, so I can’t. We need a fighter, not another guy who thinks caving to administration will protect his job. He heaved a sigh. I heard they already asked you.

George, I’ve only been here five years. There’s a lot of staff members with more experience.

Five years of serving on every blasted committee we’ve got—not to mention two years as the Chief of the Medical Division, which means you’ve also been on Medical Executive Committee. Besides, you’ve got a reputation for getting things done. Looking David squarely in the face, he continued. Elections are next week. I’ll get the signatures and put you on the ballot. Game?

David opened his mouth to say no, then thought about the newspaper article again. He put out his hand. Okay, George. I may live to regret this, but I’ll run.

And you’ll win. I’ve got a lot of favors to call in and if I don’t collect now, there’ll be no one here to make good on them.

Tuesday, June 11th

Green Valley Hospital

David went to the Medical Staff meeting as a last-minute candidate for Staff President and left as President-Elect. He had been surprised at his margin of victory, even though Bluestone had predicted a landslide once news of David’s nomination spread. As he accepted congratulations from his fellow physicians, Wesley Fox signaled to him. Fox was tall and athletic, with ash blond hair and blue eyes unhindered by glasses.

Walking over, Fox shook his head. Well Dave, guess I have to address you as ‘Mr. President’ now, eh?

David took a good-natured swing at his friend and partner. I really didn’t expect to win so easily, Wes. At a university facility, he would be considered too young to be staff president, but at this 150-bed community hospital, the kinds of experience Bluestone had cited seemed to have catapulted the young internist into a position of power.

I told the office staff to start the afternoon patients a half hour later. The way things have been lately, I expected a lengthy debate over my last-minute appearance on the ballot.

Are you sure you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Dave? You’re not exactly administration’s fair-haired boy.

That’s a diplomatic way of saying my dislike for Davenport is mutual. He sighed. I’ll probably regret this, but I can’t let that conniving slime sell out this hospital.

Fox clapped him on the back. Here, here! Since we have some time to kill, how about walking back to the office the long way? I could use some exercise and you can tell me your plans for outwitting our beloved CEO.

David nodded. Sure. Guess you don’t get out as much these days. An easygoing, exceptionally handsome fellow, Wes had broken many a heart when David had stood up for him at his wedding to Deborah Palmer, a local antiques dealer, nearly three years ago.

As his partner laughed good-naturedly, the two headed out of the building and Wes described his wife’s latest plans for their house. As he listened and wondered about what he would do with Davenport, David considered how he had gotten to this point in his life. The more they walked, the farther out his line of thought strayed. The clear blue sky and the feel of the warm sun seemed to be inducing a steady flow of distant memories, rather than contemplation of his strategy for preserving Green Valley. Images he had carefully packed away came streaming out with the rays of sunlight. Nuts. He had to clear his mind of this intrusive baggage before facing his afternoon patients or he would be of no help to them.

Dave? Decorating not your thing? Plotting your move on administration or working on that Nobel Prize?

David pulled himself back. None of the above. I was having one of those moments where I wonder what made me choose medicine.

I thought family tradition predestined it for you. Didn’t you say you wanted to be just like your uncle?

What I wanted was that special bond that he had with his patients. Nowadays, people expect perfection and demand guarantees. They can’t accept that some things are beyond humankind’s primitive understanding.

Welcome to the twenty-first century, friend. Trust and faith are gone.

I know. Every night on television I see lawyers waiting to fill the void. My Uncle Fred was in solo practice—one of the last of a noble breed—always giving without question.

Look what it got him.

I know. Many along the way had warned him that intense dedication to one’s profession could make a successful personal life almost impossible. Barely saw his own kids. Dead of a heart attack at 52—collapsed right over his desk.

It’s not too late for you to have it all, Dave. Deb’s offer to introduce you to one of her friends still stands.

Though David had successfully constructed his career to provide time for both work and family, he was now distinctly uncomfortable with the thought of the chase and had filled his private life with committee work and computers. Wes, I’ve told you. It’s too late. I won’t go through all that again.

That’s what you say, but I’ll never really understand why. Susanne’s been dead a long time.

Yes, but the lousy example set by his father hadn’t helped, either. And what about David’s other big fiasco of a relationship? Taking a deep breath and attempting to admire the landscaping of the properties surrounding the hospital campus, he found it sent him deeper into examining his personal history rather than focusing on a reply for Wes. During his college years at Princeton, he had fallen hard for a pretty political science major. How could he have been so oblivious to think it would work?

Near the end of his internship year at UMC, he let himself risk another chance at love. Susanne was a gifted graduate biochemistry student completing her Ph.D. They lived together for a year while she finished her thesis, though with his sleeping at the hospital every third night and her virtually living in her lab, the arrangement was more a matter of convenience. Marriage seemed the next logical step.

Dave? You walking on autopilot? I didn’t mean to sound flip.

David shook himself. They had completed an entire block—uphill past the last section of the senior citizen complex—while he had zoomed off into his do-it-yourself psychoanalysis. Sorry, Wes. Seems the fresh air and sunlight is too much for me. It’s letting out all sorts of demons. Thoughts of the past raced even faster through his mind. In only seconds, he finished replaying the significant events of the past seven years. He and Susanne had set up housekeeping in a large home near the University that they were restoring room by room. Life had never seemed more perfect.

Suddenly, he had been thrown into a daze that lasted weeks. At twenty-eight, he was a widower before his first anniversary, with a big empty house and a heart full of grief. The whole period still played like a plot from a low-budget cable-TV movie on one of those chick channels, except for one important feature: no happy ending. When he had started to function again, he decided that he could not stay in a town where almost everything touched off a disturbing association.

Wes stopped and put his hand on David’s shoulder. Dave, I mean it. I only want you to be happy.

Sorry to be in a funk. I’m really okay. My life is full, even if not in the way you or Deb might wish.

David realized they had only two more blocks to the office. Breathing deeply, his thoughts gained focus as he spoke. Getting involved in hospital politics was a diversion at first, but thanks to George Bluestone, I have a mission. He felt ready to take it on now. During his tenure here, he had honed his diplomatic skills on those offering to help him forget his personal pain and had managed to avoid both the unwanted entanglements and any hard feelings.

Davenport had better be polishing his resume, buddy. You look serious.

Never more so. And I don’t sidetrack as easily as he does.

No kidding. I haven’t even seen you out with your sister.

I’m an only child, remember? They shared a laugh and David began to relax. He had to admit that not looking for love nor willing to accept a purely physical relationship didn’t leave much middle ground. With time, he had convinced himself that not only was neither essential, they were both costly distractions.

By following Wes’s lead, his feet had taken him to the back entrance to their office. Time to come back to the present. David pulled out his keys and motioned Wes into the suite ahead of him. With only minutes remaining until patients arrived at two, he greeted the staff and told them he would be ready in five minutes. Going into his consulting room, he turned his computer terminal on, pulled up the program for composing office notes and moved the keyboard to the center of his desk, where the light from the window provided comfortable illumination.

When he walked out to the clinical area, he saw his afternoon schedule taped to the counter of the central workstation. As he read the list, it reminded him that life presented his patients with more important problems than those on any meeting agenda. He reached for his stethoscope to begin.

Two

Wednesday, July 10th

Green Valley Memorial Hospital

Newly elected Medical Staff President Dr. David Hunter sat down at the head of the table in the smaller of the two administrative conference rooms and repositioned his glasses for optimum focus. Glancing out the large picture window, his first impression was that this was far too nice a day to squander indoors at a Medical Executive Committee (MEC) meeting—the first he would preside over as president. Lunch was not sufficient compensation. He returned his attention to those seated in the room in time to see Dr. Janis Saunders rushing in at five minutes past noon. This first meeting for the fiscal year featured a new slate of officers, though all had served on other committees and many of those here today had been on MEC previously.

The recording secretary nodded to him that she was ready and David nodded. The meeting is now called to order. I would like to welcome our new officers and members. As those present smiled and nodded at one another, David wondered how effectively the group would deal with the merger issue. The minutes were distributed previously for your review. Is there a motion for approval? As he heard the murmurs of assent, Dr. Stanford, the past president, entered the room, picked up a lunch tray and took one of remaining seats. David groaned inwardly. Word had been that despite Stanford’s being a major suck-up to the suits, he would pass on his right to serve after finishing his term as president. Others have. Administration must be calling in its markers. Mr. Davenport, have you a report? Knowing full well that their CEO did, David braced himself for the inevitable serving of propaganda.

Thank you, Dr. Hunter. In these days of managed care, it is a daily challenge for this hospital to remain viable and to continue to be a full-service facility for our community. We are particularly proud to have been able to provide obstetrical and inpatient pediatric services that many similarly sized hospitals have been forced to discontinue. However, with the traditional sources of reimbursement shrinking, tougher criteria for allowable admissions, DRG’s and bundled payments for tests and procedures, we must find new ways to avoid those kinds of difficult choices. He flipped on a slide projector and heads turned to view the screen pulled down over the chalkboard at the front of the room.

Davenport had been laying the groundwork for months to negotiate a change from the current affiliation with UMC. His interview in the paper quoted him as seeking a merger, but David suspected an outright sale was being negotiated behind the scenes. Whatever the plan, David saw the maneuvering as an attempt by their CEO to further the future of John Michael Davenport. Perhaps a few years older than David, Davenport was at a prime age for a big move upward. With fewer plum administrative positions available, he needed to make his mark soon and lay claim to one. If Green Valley Memorial closed shortly thereafter, David doubted if Davenport would have many regrets. To MBA’s, David believed, business was a war, a war of money and in war, casualties were expected.

A combination of careful administrative campaigning and blind luck had saddled David with an executive committee skewed towards Davenport’s philosophy. With nearly a hundred doctors on staff and only seven or eight openly in the CEO’s pocket, two of these were now on MEC. However, Davenport had not been the only one working long hours behind the scenes. David had channeled his energies into becoming a prominent force on the medical staff, earning the support and trust of the majority and the respect of those who disagreed with him.

While the CEO droned on with his presentation, David scanned around the table to plan damage control. Bradley Morris, the new vice-president, was an oral surgeon in his forties, known as much for his party-animal reputation as his artistry with dental reconstruction. Morris was firmly committed to maintaining Green Valley Memorial as a quality, caring community hospital. The in-coming secretary/treasurer, cardiologist Robert Emerson, had been on staff ten years and was also in favor of independence. However, seated next to him was Kathleen Sampson, the youngest member of the anesthesia group that contracted directly with the hospital. No doubt she has her marching orders to support the interests of the hands that sign her paychecks.

Dermatologist Nate Stanford was the proverbial local guy who made good and came home to flaunt it. In his late fifties, socially and financially secure, he somehow seemed naïve enough to believe that Davenport was sincere in his pleasantries and only wanted the best for Green Valley.