Critical Judgment (1996) by Michael Palmer Read Free Book Online Page A

just as he was sending his patient away.
    “Ta
da
!” he sang, motioning to the now-empty ER.
    He moved toward her with a natural, easy grace. Regardless of what he had said about her to George Oleander, she could not imagine this man being intimidated by anyone.
    “Thanks for coming in,” she said.
    “No problem. I understand you’ve had a day of it. Diagnosing Cushing’s syndrome in the middle of a code. Hail to the chief.”
    “It hasn’t been confirmed.”
    “It will be. And now, in comes Sam Ives.”
    “It’s just Ives, he says. He doesn’t like being called anything else.”
    “He was a college professor at one time. Or at least so I’ve been told.”
    Abby was instantly intrigued.
    “Where? What’d he teach?”
    Alvarez shrugged.
    “No idea. A year or so ago he was looking for odd jobs, so I gave him some work on my farm. We never talked much. I don’t think he gets many offers. People around here are scared of him.”
    “Has he ever hurt anyone?”
    “Hardly. Just being out of the ordinary is all it takes around here, and he is certainly that.”
    “One of the nurses said he lives in a cave.”
    Alvarez laughed.
    “His shack isn’t much. No electricity, no plumbing. But it’s not a cave.”
    “He’s got chronic osteomyelitis on his anterior leg. He needs a surgical debridement and intensive antibiotic therapy. Maybe even a graft. Right now all he’ll allow me to do is a biopsy and some IV antibiotics. Want to help?”
    “Sure, if there’s a chance something will rub off on me and I can diagnose Cushing’s during a code.”
    Abby started to react to his sarcasm. But there was only warmth in his expression. He was teasing her, true, but not maliciously; he really was impressed. They got the biopsy kit and culture tubes ready, and set up an IV of powerful antibiotics. Then they brought them into room one.
    Ives was gone. They checked the nearest bathrooms, but Abby knew he had skipped. She had come on too strong and frightened him away. Muttering curses at herself, she returned to the room.
    Beneath the litter was the plastic possessions bag.Abby dumped the contents out on the mattress. All it contained were sanded wood fragments—heads, torsos, and limbs of what might have been beautiful, delicately carved figures—and a well-worn copy of Conrad’s
Lord Jim
.

C HAPTER F OUR
    O n the way home from Peking Pagoda, Abby ate an egg roll and half a carton of ribs. There was a time when she had smoked in response to stress—up to a pack a day of unfiltered Pall Malls. Soon after she’d given up cigarettes, she had found that, more and more, she was dealing with the people and events that upset her by drinking—only wine, and always top-shelf stuff. Eventually, she had felt obligated to limit her drinking to days when she wasn’t worried about something or angry with someone, a move that effectively kept her on the wagon most of the time. With little time or inclination for regular exercise or meditation, food became and remained her pacifier. And the ten pounds between her clothes fitting well and feeling tight became a battlefield.
    Tonight, with Bill Tracy, George Oleander, Martin Bartholomew, Lew Alvarez, and Ives competing for headspace with Josh, she felt fortunate to make it home with any dinner left at all.
    The house Josh had rented was a six-room, cedar-shingled ranch on the north side of town. The charm of the place came from its setting at the end of a wooded cul-de-sac at the base of the hills. Over the weeks shehad been living there, Abby had reconnected with her love of the outdoors.
    The drive from the hospital to the house was about two miles, but she took a long way around, paralleling the north side of the valley, hoping she might catch up with Ives. By the time she pulled into their driveway, it was almost nine. The smell of cooking told her that Josh had decided not to wait for her to arrive home with their dinner.
    “Honey, I’m home,” she called out, knowing that