Death by Dose

By Lynn Ronsen RN

The book is about a nurse detective who works for an insurance company, Safe Trust. Her job is to work undercover to investigate events, such as wrongful deaths, malpractice, neglect, etc., which are costing the insurance company much more money than normal.

Perinne Anderson, the main character, lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She’s hired by Safe Trust to investigate deaths that are occurring in Jacksonville, Florida. One of a group of four physicians who work at the Rathburn Clinic and Hospital is euthanizing patients for insurance money. Perinne is hired to figure out which one of the physicians is guilty.

Perinne is aided in her investigations by her little dog, Baby, who does play a big part in the book. Perinne’s also aided by her friend, Dr. Alvin Navarre, who is a professor of ethics at the University of Minnesota.

During the course of the investigation, Perinne is run off the road by the perpetrator, gets locked out on a balcony at the clinic and is forced to repel down the outside of the building landing in a lake inhabited by an alligator, and in the end, has a stand off with the perpetrator who is holding a gun on her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796058314

Lynn Ronsen RN

Lynn Ronsen is a retired Registered Nurse, a graduate of Pace University in New York with a degree in Nursing. She has travelled around the world in retirement, with Kenya, Africa being her last trip. She likes crocheting and reading. Lynn is now living in Jacksonville, Florida with her husband, Grady, and their Yorshire Terrier, Winston.

Book preview

Prologue

D USK COMES EARLY to the marsh in winter. The heavy moisture in the air clings to the scattered palms and underbrush. An eerie glow permeates the marsh, casting shadows throughout the thick brush. Nighttime noises rise above the moisture. Fluttering of bat wings, hooting of a distant owl, all contribute to the marsh’s power in the night.

The tires of the sedan crunched along the twisting and turning gravel road. The car’s high beams were on to ensure better visibility, yet the driver squinted to see the road. The Rolex watch on the driver’s wrist beeped an alarm.

Damn, I’m late!

The driver was alone in the car. A large black suitcase-like bag sat on the passenger seat. The handle of the case jiggled as the car bumped along the gravel road.

Damn! the driver said again, continuing to squint to see the road or any identifying markers.

Suddenly the headlights shone upon a small road sign, almost hidden by the overgrowth.

J. T. Odom the sign read. The driver slammed on the brake, causing the suitcase to lung forward and hit the dash. The case opened up, spilling its contents onto floor.

Oh, for Christ’s sake!

The sedan swung into the drive of a small trailer home. As the car approached, the front door of the trailer opened. A frail-looking man stepped out, shielding his eyes from the car’s beam. He leaned on the doorframe, breathing heavily. He watched as the car came to a halt.

The driver walked around the car, opened the passenger door, then bent down to collect the spilled items and placed them back in the black suitcase.

Sorry, JT, the driver said, sorry, I’m late.

The man nodded. It’s okay, Doc.

The driver started up the wooden steps. Is everything in order as we planned?

JT nodded again. I didun realize this here wud be so hard. His voice drifted off. Yeah, them papers fer ya are on the table.

The driver placed the black bag on the kitchen table, then scanned the paperwork. The trailer was small but well kept. JT watched the driver carefully remove the contents from the bag.

I wun’t feel no pain. That’s wud y’all told me, JT said.

You can still change your mind.

J. T. Odom shook his head. Nah, em ready, been ready long time, he said emphatically.

No, you won’t feel any pain from this. You’ll close your eyes, then push a button, and it will be all over.

JT limped to the bedroom. The doctor followed.

Where, Doc? JT asked.

Why don’t you lie down on the bed. Are you sure, JT, this is what you want? the doc asked.

Yeah, I wan it, JT answered. Oh, ma friend Chester Dupont iz takin ma body to them undertaker’s home. He comes ’n checks me ever day, so’s he wud find me an tink I falled in ma sleep.

JT coughed. He went on, I sur as swell thank e, Doc, fer doin’ this here fer ma.

The doctor placed a black rubber mask over the face of JT. Attached to the mask was a long tube leading to a small silver cylinderlike container.

Push the button on the side of the tank when you’re ready, JT, the doc said.

JT’s hand shook as he searched for the button. He lifted his index finger into the air, as if hesitating, then looked at the picture of Jesus atop a tattered dresser. His finger finally found the button, and he pushed it.

He took a deep breath in, then let it out with a sigh. The cylinder fell out of his hands as his eyes rolled up above the mask. The doctor took a stethoscope out of the black bag, placed it over JT’s heart, and listened.

J. T. Odom, aged fifty-four, was dead via assisted suicide.

Chapter 1

L ISTEN, PERINNE, YOU’VE got to get down to Florida as soon as possible. There’s been a few deaths paying out big bucks and we need to find out why.

Perinne Anderson held the phone slightly away from her ear. The voice on the other end of the line was almost shouting.

I can’t hear you, Rudy, Perinne said, would you mind shouting louder?

Very funny, Perinne, Rudy’s voice had quieted, and, I suppose you’re going to tell me that you want to bring the dumb dog.

Right, Perinne answered.

Christ, Perinne, no way. It’s hard to find short-term rentals with pets, no way.

Perinne smiled. You have someone else to do the job? she asked, knowing he didn’t.

Christ, Perinne, and I suppose you want a place on the ocean too? Rudy said, his voice sounding defeated.

Well, now that you mention it, that would be great. Ocean, nice. Where in Florida are we going?

We? Rudy asked. His voice had started on the rise again.

Baby and me, Perinne answered. She could just see Rudy’s face contort at the mention of her dog.

I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that dumb dog’s name. Jacksonville. You’ll be going to Jacksonville, Florida.

Jacksonville? Perinne asked. I thought we were talking Palm Beach or Miami. But Jacksonville? And you call Baby a dumb dog one more time, we’re history!

They were teasing one another. Every phone conversation they had involved Rudy calling Baby a dumb dog.

Look, it’s on the ocean. What more do you want? Rudy asked.

Okay, okay, Perinne answered. Send me the info on the case and I’ll let you know.

It’s a damn good thing you’re so good at your job, Perinne, or I wouldn’t be taking this shit from you. And the damn dog has to go? Christ!

You forgot the dumb part of the dog, Perinne said as she clicked off her cell phone.

She went to the window of her apartment and looked out at the street below. Snow had begun to fall, forming a white blanket on everything. Cars were parked along the streets bumper to bumper. Some had blankets on the hood and connected to an electrical source; they prevented the engines from freezing in the sometimes below-zero Minnesota winters.

Florida might be nice this time of year, she thought. Minneapolis certainly wasn’t.

Her computer started to make a clicking noise. She walked over to it and watched the e-mail from Rudy pop into her inbox. She clicked on the attachment:

Jacksonville, Florida

The recent deaths of three terminally ill patients have authorities baffled as to the cause of death. Most of the persons were not yet at the end stage of death. Preliminary toxicology reports indicate an unknown substance in the bloodstream. Autopsy reports fail to find any identifying marks or means of death. The county coroner has not yet ruled out foul play. Large insurance policies on the dead had all been diverted to an unknown account, which was the deciding factor for foul play. The Jacksonville Police Department is still investigating. This reporter wonders, suicide or homicide?

P. J. Murphy for the Florida Times Union

Chapter 2

M AURICE POPOVICH GLANCED at his watch. Late again , he thought. Why had he allowed his wife Helen to aggravate him the way she did? What was it this time? Some charitable funding for the poor of Botswana? The problem was always that Helen wanted to fund the entire charity. He had put his foot down this time and told her absolutely not. He’d probably pay for that decision. Helen would refuse sex for a month. Not that they had sex more frequently than that, but it was the principle of it.

He hurried to the doctor’s entrance of the Rathburn Clinic and Hospital. He nodded politely to several residents along the way. They reminded him of his residency thirty years ago. Was it that long ago? Where had the time gone?

He had come to Jacksonville to complete his residency at the Rathburn Clinic and Hospital. A New York native, born and raised in Brooklyn, he had liked Jacksonville then. He had tried to develop good Southern drawl, but it was hard for a New York Jew to say, y’all instead of youse. The only good place to find bagels and lox, a Sunday morning tradition, was at Worman’s Delicatessen, and there were no Bonwit Tellars or Saks Fifth Avenue.

But Maurice persevered and soon found himself putting down roots. He met a nice Jewish girl and married her. He networked Jacksonville society and bought a house in the Beau Clair section of San Jose, a community of upper-class homes, inhabited by affluent professional and business leaders. He and Helen prospered. They had tried to have children, but after fertility clinics, in-vitro fertilization and everything that goes along with trying to have children, they were destined to remain childless.

Eventually he acquired partners for the practice and when he had an offer from the Rathburn to buy his practice, he readily accepted it. He and his partners were set up by the Rathburn to run the Specialty Care Unit devoted to terminally ill patients. He liked it because the Rathburn took care of the business end of their practice, so he and his partners could devote themselves totally to medicine.

Dr. Popovich. Dr. Maurice Popovich.

Maurice looked up at the ceiling. His name was being paged on the overhead speaker. He wondered why he hadn’t been paged by his beeper. He felt around his belt for his beeper. It wasn’t there.

Damn, he said. He scratched his curly black hair then felt along the graying sides.

Helen had gotten him so worked up that he had forgotten the damn beeper. Now he’d have to spend the day relying on the telephone operator. He wondered if she had any spare beepers.

Operator, this is Dr. Popovich. You were paging me?

Yes, Dr. Popovich, you’re wanted on the specialty unit.

Thank you, Maurice said, oh, by the way, do you have any spare beepers?

Sorry, Doctor, all are in use.

Okay, thanks, Maurice said and hung up the phone. Damn.

Maurice called the specialty unit and took care of a minor problem. Then he headed to the doctor’s dining room. Sam Weston, one of his partners, was already there.

Morning, Sam, Maurice said as he poured himself some coffee.

Sam Weston turned around. He was by no means handsome, but the ruggedness of his face attracted women. His deep-blue eyes, combined with his dirty-blond hair, plus his muscular build, set him apart in a crowd.

Well, howdy, Morice, Sam said in his Midwest twang, How are you this fine day?

Tired, Maurice answered. He chose not to tell Sam about the spat he had with Helen.

The contrast between the two of them was almost amusing. Maurice had short stature and was thin. His curly black hair was beginning to gray at the sides. His three-piece, pin-striped suit was from Brooks Brothers. His subtly colored tie was Italian silk. The gold pocket watch dangling at his side, a gift from Helen on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, was from Israel. His shoes were the finest Italian leather. He wore designer glasses perched at the end of his nose.

Sam, on the other hand, being a native of Colorado, wore blue jeans, scuffed cowboy boots, a leather jacket, and a plaid, open-collared shirt. The only thing he lacked was a cowboy hat.

Say, that Odom guy was in the paper, Sam said, the one with Lou Gehrig’s disease. His neighbor found his body. They’re thinking it was suicide like them others. Poor guy. Last time I rounded on him, he was miserable.

Maurice’s hand shook as he lifted the coffee cup up to his mouth. JT?

That’s right, Morice. The same JT was here last week.

Sam watched Maurice’s hand shake as he walked from the coffee urn.

You okay, Morice?

Too much caffeine. You know how it is, Maurice said.

Sam laughed. You bet I do, he said. Too much caffeine and darn near not enough women! He laughed again at his own joke.

Maurice smiled to appease Sam but somehow felt he was being subtly insulted. He finally reached his destination with the coffee still in his cup. He sat down and took a large gulp. Sam followed after him. His plate was piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon, and four pancakes.

Sam, Maurice said, how the hell do you stay so thin with all you eat? And the cholesterol—

Good genes, Sam said jokingly, his mouth full of scrambled eggs. He waved his hand around as he talked. Some of the food on the fork dropped to the table. Sam ignored it.

Maurice had never met anyone like Sam before. He was seemingly a happy-go-lucky fellow, but Maurice somehow always sensed an underlying tension. Maurice couldn’t quite define the problem, and Sam never talked about his personal life, other than to joke about stories having to do with women, drinking, and gambling. Come to think of it, none of the physicians talked too much about their personal lives. Oh, Maurice would complain about Helen, and Sam could be quite loud at times, talking about his cowboy days but nothing quite intimate.

Chapter 3

S AM ALWAYS SEEMED to be in a hurry. But Maurice knew that Sam was a good doctor, very thorough, rarely missed a diagnosis right off the bat without having to perform many procedures or tests or both. Maurice couldn’t argue that point. Yet, there was something about Sam. Maurice wondered if Sam had thought the same about him.

The scrambled eggs and bacon disappeared rapidly. The pancakes were soon history also. And that was another thing. Maurice had never met anyone who could eat as much as Sam and eat as fast as Sam, stay so slim, and not suffer from terrible heartburn or indigestion. Sam’s metabolic rate must be very high, Maurice thought. Good research material.

Maurice cleared his throat. He had a lot to do today, too much. He had better slow down or he would have a heart attack. Yet he couldn’t help but think about his problems. Money. Always money. He needed more than he had right now to continue the lifestyle he and Helen had become accustomed to. That would have been no problem at this point in his career if it hadn’t been for those two business ventures that Maurice had invested in and lost a considerable amount of money.

He had never told Helen. And now he lived in fear of bankruptcy. The medical practice alone couldn’t support them. But he was currently working on a venture of alternative income that had the prospects of returning large sums of money. Yes, this venture could not fail if he played his cards right. He had already taken the first step, but it was something that couldn’t be shared with the others at this point.

Sam looked at Maurice. He wondered what went on in his little mind. Sam figured Maurice to have a small brain, judging by the size of his head and those ridiculous clothes he wore. But Sam was not about to get really friendly to find out. He needed to protect his own privacy.

The gambling debts had recently begun to pile up. He needed more money than he was making with the practice. The practice alone was not meeting his needs. But recently an opportunity had come along to make him quite rich with very little effort.

Well, Morice, Sam said, wiping his mouth and almost licking his plate clean, I gotta do rounds. Got some sick pups up there who pretty soon may meet their maker. I just hate the ways they have to suffer. Oh, and by the way, whose on community rounds?

Maurice looked up over his glasses at Sam who was beginning to stand up. Sam, don’t you keep a daybook with you anymore? You used to be so good about things like that.

Yeah sure, Morice. Thanks for the tip, Sam said as he left.

Maurice sat alone in the dining room. Now what the hell did Sam mean by that? Sam had changed so much in these last couple of months. Maurice wished he could figure out why. He knew they were all under stress with the changes at the hospital and clinic, but with Sam, it was more than that.

Maurice vowed to find out what problem was troubling Sam.

Chapter 4

P ERINNE LOOKED AT the map of Florida. She found Jacksonville and the surrounding beach areas. She was trying to figure out the best route to drive by car. Her dog Baby, a white lhasa apsa, watched her from across the room.

Well, Baby, I guess we’ll just follow the interstate down to Florida, Perinne said.

The dog’s ears perked up. She came trotting over to where Perinne was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the map spread in front of her. Perinne Anderson was an attractive young woman, blonde hair falling softly to her shoulders, and she had blue eyes and a fair complexion. Her trim physique was attributed to a healthy lifestyle of exercise and good eating habits. Her smile was captivating, but it was her blue eyes that caught the attention of most people. They were deep set and very, very blue. When Perinne smiled, her eyes sparkled like blue sapphires.

She had grown up in Minnesota, an only child. Her father had been a well-known chief of police in Minneapolis. Her mother, a registered nurse with an advanced degree, worked in the Free People’s Clinic in downtown Saint Paul, Minneapolis’s sister city.

Her parents had met when her father was in the hospital after having been shot in the line of duty. Her mother was his nurse. The relationship at first was strictly patient to nurse, but after discharge from the hospital, Gus Anderson called Grace Svensen. The rest was history.

Perinne’s parents doted on her but by no means spoiled her. Chores and responsibility to family were an everyday occurrence in the Anderson household and were not taken lightly.

But why do I have to do the dishes? Perinne had asked when she was six years old.

Perinne’s mother had smiled. You have to do the dishes because you are part of this family, Grace Svensen Anderson said. Think of us as a team. As team members we all have jobs to do to make the team run smoothly. Suppose Dad quit his job and went fishing in the boundary waters all day. Even though he would probably like to do that, he won’t because he’s a member of this team and he has a responsibility to other team members.

Grace continued, Suppose Aunt Dolly quit going to the Swedish Institute for her volunteer work. Who would sew the banners and the costumes?

Oh pooey, Mom, Perinne said, Sue has a dishwasher and we don’t.

Yes, we do, her mother answered, we have you. They both laughed.

Her parents had been killed by a drunk driver in a car accident when Perinne was a sophomore in high school. Luckily for Perinne, her parents had appointed her father’s sister Dolly Anderson as her guardian. Aunt Dolly lived in the house she and Perinne’s father had grown up in, and that was where Perinne went to live.

Dolly had never married and caring for Perinne turned out to be an enormous challenge. But Dolly loved the girl dearly. Every time she looked at Perinne, Dolly saw her brother in Perinne’s eyes, and Perinne was a good kid.

Gus and Grace had done a good job raising her. Part of that could be attributed to living in the Twin Cities, as it was a unique, family-oriented community of mostly Scandinavians and Native Americans. Even though winters grew quite cold and snow lasted for a while, there were always outdoor activities for everyone to participate in. The Minnesotans were a hardy lot, enjoying winter festivals, ice carving contests, and snowball fights for young and old alike.

Perinne had been planning to enter the University of Minnesota after high school graduation. She wanted to major in police science, but that desire died after here parent’s funeral. She found herself requesting admission catalogues for the nursing program, and in the fall of the next year, she entered the U, as the University of Minnesota was fondly called. She majored in nursing and went on for a graduate degree with a minor in mathematics. She had always loved doing math puzzles and riddles, hoping that one day she would be able to find a job using both her nursing and mathematical skills.

She lived alone, except for her dog Baby, in an apartment on Summit Avenue in Minneapolis. She drove a jeep and was fortunate enough to have an underground parking space in her building, as Minneapolis winters could be brutal and on-street parking required plugging one’s car into an electrical outlet to keep the engine warm so the car would start. Complicated.

Chapter 5

S HE WAS NOW thirty years old and had never been married. It was close once, but her intended developed cold feet. He wound up marrying one of her friends four months later. After that, Perinne swore off men from then on and plunged more into her nursing career.

She worked as a traveling nurse, hired by various hospitals around the country to fill in on a temporary basis for nurse shortages. She liked the traveling and discovered that each part of the country she went to was unique unto itself and had its own beauty.

One day she spotted an ad in the newspaper for an unusual job working for an insurance company. She landed the job at Safe Trust Insurance Company and now for three years had been traveling around the country investigating wrongful deaths, suicides, negligence cases, and malpractice suits. She worked undercover as a nurse at the institution. It gave her the ability to investigate without anyone really knowing what she was doing.

She realized she was living the best of both worlds, with her job as a nurse like her mother and as a detective like her father. She had learned well.

Most of the time the cases were malpractice suits. Perinne’s expertise in being able to scrutinize charts for details and discover the facts had proven her to be very valuable to Safe Trust. Each case was different and involved at least three months for her to solve.

She had decided early on that it would be beneficial if she took some police science classes, did well, and then became a licensed private investigator. She was almost shot on a case involving two jealous doctors and decided it would be beneficial if she carried a gun.

She settled on a Smith and Wesson, .38 caliber, chief’s special. It was a snub-nosed little beauty as her father had called his pistol. It had a hammerless firing pin so it wouldn’t hang up in her purse or backpack or on her clothing in times of quick need.

Hesitant at first about buying the gun, Rudy pointed out bluntly that she might find out that the life she needed to preserve was her own, so she relied on Bob Sorensen to help her with the gun. He had been a friend of her father and was now retired as the chief of police.

Oh, Perinne, a gun, I don’t know, Bob had said as they were discussing the situation. I just don’t know. Your father—

My father, Perinne interrupted, would have agreed with Rudy. I need to protect myself.

Bob laughed. You’re just like your old man. You want me to help you?

Yeah, Perinne said. I was wondering if a gun like my father’s would be a good choice?

A Smith and Wesson? Bob asked.

The choice had been made. So far, Perinne had not needed to use the gun other than practice sessions on the firing range. Her father had taught her that in order to use a gun, one had to respect it and not be afraid of it. He had been a good teacher.

Perinne glanced at the map one last time. Rudy had said something about a place at the beach. The Rathburn Clinic and Hospital was nearby, across the intercoastal waterway. She figured the trip would take about four days from Minnesota to Florida. She could stop in Atlanta to see her old friend from college but decided it would be better not to delay.

Straight through to the beach and paradise.

Chapter 6

W ELL, WELL, SAM said as he walked into a patient’s room. Howdy there, Miss Cosgrove. How’s my star patient today?

Oh, Dr. Weston, I’m having so much pain I’m just beside myself. These mean nurse won’t give me anything.

Darlin’, Sam said, you’re getting exactly what I ordered for your pain. He leaned on to the bedside table with the chart and browsed through it, then said, Maybe it’s time to talk about some alternative measures so you don’t have to live with this pain anymore.

Miss Cosgrove nodded and smiled. Then she quickly put her hand over