Critical Cover-Up

Chapter 1 Just before sunset Wednesday evening, still in his blood-spattered green OR scrubs, Dr. Joe Connolly sauntered out to the parking garage, thrilled not to be on call tonight. The forty-year-old, six-foot-tall, muscular surgeon with his GQ good looks and personality to match smiled as he envisioned a romantic dinner and plenty of uninterrupted time with a certain ICU nurse. The perfect prescription for satiating himself physically and forgetting his ex-wife. Before he had a chance to finish the daydream, reality struck him in the back of the head in the form of a .38 bullet; he died instantly, slumping to the ground ten feet from his black Porsche 911 as a tall thin figure slipped from the far end of the parking structure unnoticed. *** Leaving the hospital at the end of an interminably long and arduous shift, Tracy Santini trudged toward her car at the back of the parking garage. Too tired to focus on her surroundings, she was suddenly frozen in her tracks by what she saw a few strides away. A man lay sprawled on the ground, completely still. Initially stunned, her nursing instincts emerged and she approached the person. What she saw horrified her: the body was that of the medical director, Dr. Connolly! Oh my God! Please don’t let this be happening. Tracy shook him, shouting, “Dr. Connolly! Dr. Connolly! Can you hear me?” No reaction, no movement. She listened for signs of breathing and checked his pulse. Finding neither, she fished out her cell phone, contacted the main desk, and directed the operator to call a Code Blue in her present location. With years of nursing experience and advanced training in resuscitation protocols, Tracy jumped into action. From what she could gather, Connolly had been down awhile. She worked hard to revive him—two long minutes that seemed like an eternity—until the code team arrived with a mobile crash cart. “Let me take over compressions,” a male ER paramedic demanded. “How long have you been doing CPR?” Tracy removed her hands as the paramedic took over. “About two minutes,” she replied. “I called a Code Blue immediately upon finding him.” Two ER nurses, the physician, a paramedic, and two respiratory therapists surrounded the patient as they worked together to revive him. One of the RTs began to deliver timed artificial breaths and oxygen with an Ambu bag affixed tightly to Dr. Connolly’s face. The paramedic stopped the chest compressions and checked for a pulse. Unable to find one, he continued CPR. Next, the ER physician inserted a flexible tube into Dr. Connolly’s trachea so he could be artificially ventilated, while a nurse attached the automatic external defibrillator pads. When the heart rhythm appeared on the screen, the code team viewed the flat line while the machine determined the rhythm and announced the next instruction. “No shock. Continue CPR,” announced the robot-like programmed voice from the AED. Another RN started an IV in Connolly’s right forearm and administered epinephrine while CPR continued. After two more minutes of CPR, the ER physician said, “Check for a pulse.” “No pulse,” and CPR continued. If the members of the code team had any feelings regarding resuscitating one of their own, they didn’t reveal them and, like well-trained robots, assiduously followed the protocols they knew so well. Observing from nearby, Tracy was grateful she’d been able to hand the code over to the team on duty. The ER nurse resumed chest compressions, and the respiratory therapist ensured that Dr. Connolly received 100 percent oxygen. Just after the second dose of epinephrine was given, the respiratory therapist noticed the blood pooling beneath Dr. Connolly’s head. He pointed it out to the ER physician, who turned the victim’s head to one side and noticed the gunshot wound and much more blood. “This is pointless. Stop everything,” said the ER physician. “What’s the time of death?” “Nine forty-five.” Tracy had stayed at the scene in the event she’d be needed. And now, with the brutal realization that Dr. Connolly, a man she admired and liked—a man everyone respected—was dead, she wondered who could have done such a terrible thing. As a seasoned ER staff, the code team had seen their share of blood and guts, but this casualty had shaken them, since Dr. Connolly was one of their own. As they packed up their equipment, they whispered among themselves, wiping away tears. The nursing supervisor, who had arrived shortly after the code team began working, was on her cell phone the moment she realized Dr. Connolly had been a gunshot victim. She called the police and then questioned members of the hospital security team who’d gathered around, to determine if they’d seen any suspicious activity in or near the parking garage in the last hour. “Tracy, I want you to stay until the police arrive. Since you discovered the body, you’ll have to give a statement.” “Yes, ma’am.” The police showed up within a few minutes, cordoned off the area with yellow crime scene tape, and began a preliminary investigation. Soon thereafter, the hospital administrators showed up—CEO Rob Chapman, Chief of Staff Dr. John Petry, and Director of Risk Management Katharine Jenkins. Tracy knew they’d be tied up for hours, with the cold-blooded murder of one of their physicians. She gave her statement and headed home. *** On the other side of town, thirty-five-year-old Allison Jamison hummed as she lit two candles and set the dining room table in her recently purchased condo in the upscale Dr. Phillips neighborhood in Orlando. Tonight, was a special night—the first time she was preparing dinner for the man she had been dating for the past month. Life was wonderful, the s*x was better than ever, and she anticipated a quiet, intimate evening together. She felt a twinge of nervousness though, since he had not shown up for their date, nor had he contacted her to explain that he would be late. Allison had been texting Joe Connolly for the past hour with no response, and now she worried that something might have happened to him. She grabbed her cell phone and punched in the number to the OR. “Hi. Can you tell me if Dr. Connolly is still in surgery? This is Allison from Surgical Intensive.” “No, I think he left several hours ago, the OR nurse answered.” “Okay, thanks so much.” Allison’s imagined concerns shifted to reality when her phone rang five minutes later, the number unfamiliar. “Is this Allison Jamison?” “Yes, it is. Who’s calling?” “This is Detective Derning from the Orlando Police Department. I’m calling about Dr. Joe Connolly.” Barely able to speak the words, Allison asked, “Has something happened, Detective?” “I’m sorry to tell you this, Miss, but there has been an accident involving Dr. Connolly. I’d like to talk with you. Can you come down to the station right away?” Speechless, Allison fell onto the couch in shock, her cell phone still in her hand.