"I think their loyalty is inspired by the ads we run," Beaton said.

"Any new business to be brought up at the board meeting?" Sherwood asked.

"There's a new battle fomenting in the clinical arena," Beaton said. "The radiologists and the neurologists are squaring off for a bloody fight over which group is officially designated to read MRIs of the skull."

"You've got to be kidding," Traynor said.

"Honest," Beaton said. "If we gave them weapons it would be a fight to the death. It involves dollars and ego, a tough combination."

"Damn doctors," Traynor said with disgust. "They can't work together on anything. They're a bunch of lone rangers, if you ask me."

"Which brings me to M.D. 91," Beaton said. "He's planning on suing the hospital over his privileges."

"Let him sue," Traynor said. "I'm even tired of the medical staffs insistence that we call these 'compromised physicians' by code numbers. Hell, 'compromised physician' is a euphemism in itself."

"That's all the new business," Beaton said.

Traynor looked around the table. "Anything else?"

"I had a curious visit yesterday afternoon," Sherwood said. "The caller was a PI by the name of Phil Calhoun."

"He came to see me too," Traynor said.

"He makes me nervous," Sherwood said. "He asked a lot of questions about Hodges."

"Likewise," Traynor said.

"The problem was that he already seemed to know a fair amount," Sherwood said. "I was reluctant to give him any information, but I didn't want to appear to be stonewalling either."

"My feelings exactly," Traynor said.

"He hasn't come to see me," Beaton said.

"Who do you think retained him?" Sherwood asked.

"I asked him," Traynor said. "He implied that the family had. I assumed he meant Clara, so I called her. She said she didn't know anything about Phil Calhoun. Next I called Wayne Robertson. Calhoun had already been to see him. Wayne thought that the most likely candidate is Angela Wilson, our new pathologist."

"That makes sense," Sherwood said. "She came to see me about Hodges. She was very upset about his body being discovered in her house."

"That's a curious coincidence," Beaton said. "She's certainly having her troubles: first finding a body in her house and then experiencing a rape attempt."

"Maybe the rape attempt will dampen her interest in Hodges," Traynor said. "It would be ironic for something positive to come out of something so potentially negative."

"What if Phil Calhoun figures out who killed Hodges?" Caldwell asked.

"That could be a problem," Traynor said. "But it's been over eight months. What are the odds? The trail must be pretty cool by now."

When the meeting broke up, Traynor walked Beaton out to her car. He asked her if she'd had a change of heart about their relationship.

"No," Beaton said. "Have you?"

"I can't divorce Jacqueline right now," Traynor said. "Not with my boy in college. But when he gets out…"

"Fine," Beaton said. "We'll talk about it then."

As Beaton drove up to the hospital, she shook her head in dismay. "Men!" she said irritably.

After seeing off his last patient for the day, David stepped across the hall into his private office. Nikki was sitting at his desk leafing through one of his medical journals. David liked the fact that she was interested in medicine. He hoped that if her interest persisted, she would have the opportunity to study medicine.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Let's go."

It took them only a few minutes to cover the short distance to the hospital and up a flight of stairs. When they stepped into Caroline's room, Caroline's face lit up with joy. She was especially pleased that Nikki had remembered to bring the books that she'd requested. Caroline was a superb student, just like Nikki.

"Look what I can do," Caroline said. She reached up and grabbed an overhead bar and pulled herself completely off the bed, angling her feet up into the air.

David clapped. It was a feat that took considerable strength, more than David would have guessed her slender arms had. Caroline was in a large orthopedic bed with an overhead frame. David assumed they'd put her in it for its entertainment value since the child was obviously enjoying it.

"I'm going to check on my patients," David said. He shook a finger at Nikki. "I won't be long, and no terrorizing the nurses, promise?"

"Promise," Nikki said, then she giggled with Caroline.

David headed straight for Donald Anderson's room. He wasn't worried about Donald's status because he'd called to check on him throughout the day. The reports had always been the same: the blood sugars were all normal and the GI complaints had decreased.

"How are you, Donald?" David asked as he arrived at the bedside.

Donald was on his back. His bed was raised so that he was reclining at a forty-five-degree angle. When David spoke he slowly rolled his head to the side, but he didn't answer.

"How are you?" David said, raising his voice.

Donald mumbled something David couldn't understand. David tried again to talk with him, but quickly realized that the man was disoriented.

David examined him carefully. He listened intently to his lungs, but there were no adventitious sounds, indicating that his lungs were clear. Walking out to the nurses' station he ordered a stat blood sugar.

While the blood sugar was being processed, David saw his other patients. Everyone else was doing well, including Sandra. Although she'd been on antibiotics for less than twelve hours, she insisted the pain in her jaw was better. When David examined her, his impression was that the abscess was the same size, but the symptomatic improvement was encouraging. He did not change her treatment. Two other patients were doing so well he told them they could go home the following day.

As he was finishing his entry in the chart of his last patient, the floor secretary slipped the result of Donald's blood sugar under David's nose. It was normal. David picked up the scrap of paper and studied it. He didn't want it to be normal. He wanted it to explain the change in Donald's mental status.

David slowly walked back to Donald's room, puzzling over his condition. The only explanation that David could think of was that Donald's blood sugar had had a wild swing either up or down and had then corrected itself. The problem with that line of reasoning was that the patient's sensorium usually returned to normal simultaneous with the blood sugar.

David was still mulling over the possibilities when he reentered Donald's room. When he first saw Donald, David stared in utter disbelief. Donald's face was dusky blue and his head was thrust back in hyper-extension. Dark blood oozed from a half-open mouth. His body was only partially covered; the bedcovers were in total disarray.

David's initial shock quickly turned into motion. He alerted the nurses that there had been an arrest and started cardiopulmonary resuscitation. The resuscitation team arrived and followed their familiar routine. Even Donald's surgeon, Dr. Albert Hillson, came in. He'd been making round's when he'd heard the commotion.

The resuscitation attempt was soon called off. It was apparent that Donald had suffered a seizure and respiratory arrest somewhere between fifteen and twenty minutes prior to David finding him. With that amount of time having passed with no oxygen getting to the brain, there was no hope. David declared Donald dead at five-fifteen.

David was devastated at having lost yet another patient, but he forced himself not to show it. Dr. Hillson was saddened but expansive. He said that it had been a tribute to good medical care that Donald had lived as long as he had. When Shirley Anderson came in with her two young boys, she voiced the same sentiment.

"Thank you for being so kind to him," Shirley said to David as she blotted her eyes. "You had become his favorite doctor."