Abandoned: MIA in Vietnam by Bill Yancey Read Free Book Online Page A

here?”
    “Well, let me worry about that. Okay? Sweet ride,” Wolfe said. He pulled open the passenger door to the doctor’s red Audi A5.
    “So, Dr. Wolfe, where do you practice? I haven’t seen you around Flagler,” Gadhavi said. The little Audi accelerated through a yellow light at 312 and US 1, switching lanes at the same time.
    Wolfe knew the ride to Shands Jacksonville wouldn’t take long if the resident continued to drive like Danica Patrick. He needed to ask his questions about the attempted murder. First, however, he had to make Gadhavi receptive to an interrogation. “I’m retired,” he said. “Did family practice and urgent care stuff until two years ago. What year are you?”
    “Third year. I start a pulmonary fellowship in July, in Miami.”
    “Looking forward to that, I bet,” Wolfe said.
    “Most of my family lives in Ft. Lauderdale. Mother is a lawyer. Father practices Oncology.”
    “When did they leave India?” Wolfe asked.
    “In the ‘70s. They weren’t fans of Indira Ghandi’s politics,” Gadhavi said. He steered the Audi onto I-95 north, merging between two semis and accelerating into the middle lane. Seconds later he had transitioned to the left lane. To Wolfe it looked like they were going about five miles an hour faster than the other traffic, which he knew generally traveled between 75 and 80 mph. I-95 had the highest accident rate of all roads in St. Johns County. Another vehicle, a purple Porsche 911 whipped past them on their right as if they were at the Burger King drive through. Wolfe noted the wet pavement, a rain shower having apparently ended minutes before. A few thunderstorms hovered over the beach several miles to their right.
    Startled, Wolfe said, “I’d like to ask you some questions before someone kills us on this racetrack. That okay with you?”
    Gadhavi turned his head toward Wolfe. He grinned. Even, white teeth filled his mouth. “The answers will do you no good if you are dead,” he said.
    “Peace of mind is what I’m after,” Wolfe said.
    “Okay,” Gadhavi said. “Shoot.”
    “The man who died yesterday and then was found to have received a bolus of potassium –”
    “I can’t discuss that,” Gadhavi said, taking a quick glance at Wolfe. The Audi continued to purr along, weaving into the middle lane to pass slower vehicles in the left lane as needed. “The police and the hospital administrator were pretty specific about not talking to anyone but them.”
    “I understand that,” Wolfe said nodding. “I don’t want information about the attempted murder investigation, or anything that HIPAA might find inappropriate.”
    Confused Gadhavi asked, “What else is there that you could want to know?”
    “The man mentioned in the note, Jimmy Byrnes,” Wolfe said. “He might –”
    “Beats me,” Gadhavi said, interrupting.
    “Alright, try this,” Wolfe said. “I don’t need to know your patient’s name, his diagnosis, his medical condition, or his chart number, phone number, or any of the other dozen identifiers that get administrators’ knickers in a twist. I do need to know if your patient ever mentioned being on an aircraft carrier in Vietnam.”
    Silently, the resident stared through the windshield. Wolfe noted the backup of traffic headed in the opposite direction and wished traffic were slow in his direction also. Gadhavi slowed, temporarily stymied by tractor-trailers in every lane. 65 mph seemed slow after the rush to the Duval County line. The smell of diesel exhaust from the three trucks filtered into the Audi.
    “I don’t believe that question would upset the Sheriff, or HIPAA,” Wolfe said, prodding the resident.
    “Oh, Sorry,” Gadhavi said. “I agree. I was replaying my initial history and physical with the patient in my head. He was a retired chief in the navy. Supply services, if I remember. He did spend time on an aircraft carrier in Vietnam. Enlisted in 1953, right after the Korean War, I believe. From southern