"The administration still on your back? " "That's only half the story." He shook his head wearily. "It's getting a little ugly.
They've brought in reinforcements. I've had calls from the head of the family practice section and from the chief of staff himself. Nothing's been said in so many words, but they've dropped broad hints that I might have a rough time moving up to full attending here if I don't prove myself to be a team player." No wonder he looked harried.
"You can't get any family involved? " "Called the daughter in San Diego. Talked to her myself. She can't get away. It's not a good time' for her." '"So what's your next step? " "Same as ever. Screw em. She stays till she's ready to go. ' He closed the chart in front of him, left it where the charge nurse could review it, and pushed away from the counter.
"See you, Panzella."
"Hang in there, " she said as she watched him go.
Gin was worried. He could be headed for trouble here if he didn't back down soon.
Her thoughts'drifted back to Gerry and what he'd said earlier about Duncan's patients. Lane, Schulz, and now Allard . . . Gerry seemed to suspect a connection. What would he think if Gin told him that Duncan had been on the Capitol portico this morning, talking to Allard just before he fell? That he'd mentioned his dead daughter's name as a parting shot?
But how could she describe the frightening look in Duncan's eyes as he'd turned away from the congressman. The memory still gave her a chill. This was silly. What connection could there be between Congressman Allard and Duncan's daughter? She died five years ago. Gin was pretty damn sure from the presurgical history and physical she'd done on the congressman that he'd never met Duncan until he'd come in for a surgical consultation.
But still . . . it bothered her. She promised herself that when she had some time she'd do a little independent research on the late Lisa Lathram.
Gin was just stepping out of the stairwell on the first floor when she got paged again. She called the switchboard from the doctors lounge.
"Personal call, " said the operator. "Long distance. ' Who, she wondered, would be calling her here, long distance?
"Gin? " came a familiar drawl. "Gin, is that you? " "Peter! How did you find me here? " ' Wasn't easy .
She sat on the bunk and leaned back. Peter Hanson's dark eyes and strong, angular features floated before her.
"It's so good to hear your voice. ' "I miss you, Gin."
"Oh, and I miss you." She felt almost guilty now about dinner with Gerry tonight and enjoying it so much. They were two different types, really, Why was she thinking about Gerry with Peter on the phone?
He was talking about how empty their old apartment was without her, how lonely he was.
'"We really could use another internist here, Gin. Someone with your talent, your personality, and, being a woman to boot, I guarantee you'd have a beautiful practice in three months. We need you, Gin. I need you." Needed . . . wouldn't that be nice. No one seemed to need her around here.
She'd spent the last two years of her residency with Peter. He joined a multispecialty medical group in Baton Rouge. Gin had had an offer from the same group but turned it down. She'd felt she had to come to Washington and wanted Peter to come with her. They'd gone around and around with it until she'd finally left to return east.
As she listened to his voice she realized how much she missed him, missed Louisiana with its slower pace and rich, spicy food. And Peter.
And now, after the cool reception at Senator Marsden's offhce and still no call, it was so tempting to call it quits here and run back to New Orleans.
She ached to be with him but she couldn't go back. Not even for a visit. She might never leave, might never have the strength to say good-bye again.
"Peter, I need to see if I can work things out with this committee. " "You don't need a damn committee, Gin. You need to be practicing medicine." They'd had this conversation dozens of times and it always ended the same, Peter angry and Gin upset.
How could she say it without hurting him?
I still care very deeply for you, Peter, bxt the power here, the enormity of the decisions being made every day . . . it's an adrenaline bgzz like nowhere else in the world. It's, well, it's intoxicating.
She opted for her old standby instead.
"We've been over this so many times, Peter. I'm not ready to commit myself to a practice yet. There are a few things I want to try first, and this is the only place I can try them."
"How long am I supposed to wait? " he said with a hint of an edge in his voice.
"I'm waiting, too, Peter. I'm going half crazy waiting." He sighed.
"Fine. Keep me hanging. Let me know when you find out what you're going to do. As soon as you find out.
"I will. And I'm sorry."
"That makes two of us. Bye, Gin. Call me soon." She sat in the doctors lounge for a long time with the phone in her lap, wondering how she could be right if everyone else thought she was wrong. Her beeper chirped before she came up with an answer.
They wanted her on Two South.
THE WEEK OF SEPTEMBER LM GINA OVER A WEEK NOW SINCE THE INTERVIEW AND STILL no word from Senator Marsden's office. Chances of a call from Joe Blair seemed slim to none but Gin kept hoping the senator himself might intervene. Because throughout her meeting with Blair she'd got the impression that he was deigning to interview her only because his boss wanted it.
The waiting was affecting her concentration. She had to resist the urge to call her answering machine every hour. The Guidelines committee started hearings in another week. Time was getting short.
True to her promise, though, she wasn't forgetting about looking into Lisa Lathram. The question was how. She had a feeling Oliver had said all he was going to say, and she couldn't very well ask Duncan.
Wouldn't the sudden death of the daughter of a prominent local warrant some newspaper coverage?
Yes, it would. She called the D. C. Public Library and they connected her with their periodicals section. They were most L cooperative but could come up with only one reference to Lisa Lathram.
In the August 17 issue of the Washington Post, her obituary. Gin stopped in the main branch on G Street and found it on microfilm.
No help there. Except for mention of the survivors, it might as well have been a high school yearbook entry.
Gin would have liked to surf through the microfilm but she was due at Lynnbrook to do her house-doctor thing, so she left that for another day.
She wasn't giving up on this. When Gin had left for medical school, Duncan was a top Virginia vascular surgeon with a wife and two children, when she returned from residency he was a divorced Maryland plastic surgeon with one child.
Something had happened in that interval to turn his life upside down.
Lisa's death? Maybe. Or maybe that was just a part of it. There had to be more. And Gin made up her mind to find out what it was.
While on Three North at Lynnbrook she passed Mrs. Thompson's room and decided to stick her head in the door to see how she was doing. She saw the old woman shuffling between the chair and the bed. She tottered forward and would have hllen if she hadn't caught hold of the metal footboard.
Gin stepped into the room as Harriet eased herself onto the bed.
"You should call for a nurse before you try anything like that, " Gin said as she helped her under the covers.
"I'm practicing. I've got to go home. I don't want to get Dr. Conway in trouble." Curious, Gin sat on the end of the bed. "What makes you think he's in trouble? " "I overheard two of the nurses talking.
They said the TRO and the hospital were on his back because of me. " "That's PRO, Physician Review Organization. And don't you worry about Dr. Conway. He can take care of himself. You just worry about getting stronger."