Deficiency by Andrew Neiderman Read Free Book Online

quickly, fully cognizant of her relationship with Curt, "I'm not happy with all this malpractice crap. All you've done, in most cases," he interjected, lowering his bifocals, "is substituted one type of parasite for another. In the end the patients will suffer."
    Of course, Curt had another view. "If it weren't for the malpractice suits," he claimed, "many unscrupulous and incompetent doctors would have free rein and woe-be-gone the unsuspecting clod who wandered into their waiting rooms."
    Curt had already successfully represented clients in two malpractice suits. One was a clear case of negligence that Terri couldn't deny. A doctor had rushed a patient through a routine D and C in order to make a golfing date and had neglected to check her blood count. She hemorrhaged and died on the table in the hallway.
    Nevertheless, she saw that Curt had been smitten, and like a shark with the taste of blood on his lips, he swam eagerly in the waters of the medical world searching for a new opportunity or, as Hyman would say, a new victim. It wasn't hard to foresee that this would be an area of argument between her and Curt. Her fiancé was a strong-minded, firm man, proud of his self-assurance and the old-fashioned grit he believed he had inherited from his father and grandfather. Curt was willing to make the necessary compromises when he had to, but he was always like a combatant dragged kicking and screaming to the negotiating table. He relented; he gave in and made sacrifices, but he didn't do so with a full heart. Even when his opponents won a point, they left the office feeling they had lost.
    "There's a policeman here to see you," Elaine whispered sharply, taking her out of her reverie. The gray-haired little woman who always reminded Terri of Gracie Allen shifted her eyes to the left.
    Terri was so tired she hadn't noticed the tall, blond-haired man in a dark-blue sports jacket, tie, and slacks standing by the window. He had beautiful blue eyes that fixed on her with remarkable intensity. Broad-shouldered, at least six feet two or three, he stood with a firm demeanor that suggested strength and purpose. Her clinical eyes concluded from the rich sheen of his hair and the robust color of his complexion that he was a healthy, vigorous man. He had a small cleft in his chin and a set of teeth that belonged in toothpaste advertisements.
    "Oh," she said. "Thank you, Elaine."
    She opened the door and stepped into the waiting room.
    "Dr. Barnard, I assume," he said smiling. The twinkle in his eyes made him seem years younger than she imagined he was. He extended his hand and when she placed hers in it, he didn't hesitate to give hers a firm shake. No timidity here, she thought quickly.
    "Yes."
    "I'm here to talk to you about Paige Thorndyke."
    He displayed his badge and card identifying him as a New York State Bureau of Criminal Investigations agent.
    "Clark Kent?" she asked, smiling and reading.
    "I know, I know," he said putting his identification away quickly. "You can imagine the kind of kidding I have been enduring my entire life. Every time my friends and I approached a telephone booth, they pushed me into it. What can I say, I had parents with a sense of humor."
    Terri laughed.
    "Let's sit down," she said indicating the waiting room sofa on her right.
    "Thank you."
    "Why is there an investigation like this? Was something criminal discovered in relation to her death?" she quickly asked, actually hopefully asked.
    "It's routine basically. I won't be long. Just tying up loose ends on the Thorndyke woman's death for the district attorney. You were the doctor on duty when they brought her in, right?" he asked sitting back, his long arm along the rear of the sofa.
    "Yes, but there wasn't much for me to do. She died within moments of arrival."
    "I understand. Did she say anything, anything at all that would lead you to believe someone had done something harmful to her? Perhaps she gave you a name, a description."
    "No. I don't believe she