Death By Intention Read online

  Chapter 6

  A lot had transpired in the last six months since Mary’s death. Most of the furor over her death subsided and life took on a new routine. James leaned over and turned off the alarm early: 4:30 AM. He yawned and dangled his legs on the side of the bed. Abbey slept peacefully on her side snuggled up to where James had been lying. Her round, full abdomen filled him with sonder again. He smiled at the thought of a new arrival in about four months. And a boy this time. He knew it was sort of cheating to do the ultrasound and look for the baby’s sex; but he could not help himself. Besides, James reasoned, they needed to make sure Abbey didn’t have another placenta previa. God was so good. The placenta sat up at the fundus or top of Abbey’s uterus. So, no danger of bleeding this time and Abbey could even have a vaginal delivery if all went well. Still, James often chided her for doing too much. Abbey would have none of it. The joy of a normal pregnancy made her exuberant. She told James she “was pregnant, not an invalid”. And as usual, she made sense.

  The house stayed fuller now. The O’Brien girls and little Sam now permanently lived in the main house with them. They had moved out of the ramshackle rental they’d lived in for several years. Sam lived in a new apartment built over the garage. The dilapidated rental the O’Brien’s lived in previously went back to the landlord to foist on some other poor tenant. The arrangement of him working for the Phelan’s worked so well they wanted him full time. The pastures, fences, livestock, and buildings now showed a special, loving care. Sam turned out to be a wizard with animals and the land. He grew up on a farm but left it early in life to pursue other jobs that paid better. Now, Sam fit back into his rural element and thrived. The usual break out of animals through un-mended farm fences never occurred thanks to Sam. He kept the fences in shape, the outbuildings and barn sparkling clean, and in top notch repair. The new roof on the barn looked especially good on the old building. Sam even persuaded James to add some pure bred Angus cattle to the farm to raise for meat and feeder cattle. The pasture now held fifteen contented cows with their little ones.

  Sam had been sober too, now, since Mary’s death six months earlier. The shock of her death due to possible drugs and the weight of being a single parent, pushed him into sobriety. Sam loved his room out in the garage since it gave him privacy but kept him right next to his girls and little Sam.

  Martha now stayed at home and was being schooled by Abbey. Abbey had never taken any teaching courses but was a natural instructor. Martha often finished her classes in 3-4 hours and spent the rest of the day with her father or Abbey. Martha could read at almost a college level and tested in the top one per cent of her age group on the national tests. The two little girls started in home school that fall as well. They loved being home and learning to read and write. Soon, they would be beginning to read books on their own.

  James went into the den/library and sat in his favorite recliner. He took out his Bible and began reading from the Psalms. They fed his soul like no other part of the scriptures. The depth of feeling coupled with the poetic language soothed his troubled heart. David’s supplication to the Lord in Psalm 51 particularly spoke to his sense of unworthiness he felt at times. Yet, even reading Psalm 23 did not calm his spirit this morning. He still did not quite have peace Mary’s death. He struggled to let go of the case but could not. He always, eventually, found rest for his soul in God’s word. He spent 20 minutes in prayer on his knees for his family, his day, and his ministry at the office.

  He stood up and stretched. James hurried outside in the crisp, fall air to complete his morning run with Zeke, got dressed, grabbed some breakfast, and started into the hospital in “Barney”. He remembered on the way that Mrs. Steuben was having her gallbladder removed today. She suffered for years with it but stubbornly refused to have it taken out. She finally consented when the surgeons agreed to try to remove it laparoscopically with several small abdominal incisions. A few years earlier she would have required a large scar on her right upper abdomen. Now, there would probably be three, small inch long scars on the middle and upper right abdomen. No muscles would be cut so the recovery time would be faster with less time in the hospital. James made a mental note to visit her today to see how she was doing.

  The drive this October morning sent James down a road ablaze with the first tinge of dawn. The orange-red of the maples ran into the undulant blood red of the oaks which melded into the yellow the birches running over the ridge. Partridge season would start soon. The there would be long treks over the hills on the hunt with Zeke in the fresh, clean fall air. The crisp, cool air flowed in through his truck window bringing the faint smell of wood smoke mixed with the damp smell of new fallen leaves. Pumpkins dotted the distant hillside and picked fields of corn lay by the road side. A buck deer bounded away across the road up ahead disappearing into the morning mist that clung along the creek bank. He sighed. Ironic sun an idyllic setting gave him no real peace this morning.

  James swung into the parking lot outside of St Francis and strode into the hospital. He had two postpartum patients to visit and three postoperative patients to check over. One of the gynecologic patients was going home today. As he entered the floor, Sue Wilson, the charge nurse came up to him crying.

  “What’s wrong, Sue?” inquired James concerned.

  “It’s Mrs. Flint. We found her dead in her bed this morning,” answered Sue who was just going back to days that morning after her four week stint of the evening 3-11 PM shift. “She was fine last night when I took her vital signs at 10:30 PM and she was looking forward to getting home in a day or two.”

  “I know it’s hard to take but she was a severe diabetic with heart disease. It is not surprising that she died suddenly,” comforted James

  “That’s the strange thing about it. Her sugars were good and she wasn’t having any cardiac problems. She always had chest pain with her cardiac problems,” sniffed Sue.

  “Well, you know that diabetics may have silent heart attacks without chest pain. That’s part of the unpredictability of the disease. Are you going to be alright to work today or do we need to have someone come in and let you go home today?” asked James gently. “I’m sure Sister Mary Rosarita would understand.

  “No. And thanks for understanding. I’ll be okay. It is just that everyone liked Auntie Bessie (as Mrs. Flint was affectionately known) so much. She made us all laugh and feel good. She never complained at all. She was a model patient,” replied Sue with a sniffle.

  “I know. We’ll all miss her a lot. Does her daughter know yet? Has Dr McAllister had a chance to talk to her yet?”

  “He called Bessie’s daughter this morning and we’re waiting for her arrival.”

  “Okay then. Let me know if you need my help. I’m going to see Mrs. Steuben before her surgery and then see my patients,” said James.

  James walked briskly down the hall to room 102 where Mrs. John Winthrop Prescott-Steruben was staying. He entered the room. It looked as he expected: filled with flowers, and, her son John dutifully at the bedside. Mrs. Steuben languidly extended an elegant, jeweled hand toward him.

  “How good of you to come and see me Dr Phelan. I know you must be terribly busy. Taking a few minutes out of your hectic day means a lot to an old, uninteresting woman like me,” finished Mrs. Prescott dramatically.

  “Nonsense, Mrs. Steuben. It is I who should be flattered that you have the time to visit with one such as I. I know you are extremely preoccupied with getting ready for this surgery,” delivered James with a slight bow.

  “Yes, yes, I have had a trying time here. I do so hate hospitals. They give me such ennui. This son of mine thinks I am totally incapable of being by myself for any length of time,” intoned Mrs. Steuben drily.

  “Now mother that is not true! I worry about you being all alone up here and just wanted to see you before the surgery. . .,” began John.

  “In case I don’t wake up from the anes
thetic or that quack Dr Baker kills me on the table,” interrupted Mrs. Steuben with a wicked grin. Dr William (Bill) baker was one of the general surgeons at St Francis.

  “Mother!! Please don’t talk like that.! It bothers me!!” replied John

  “Of course it does. You are afraid I might have changed my will and left you nothing,” said Mrs. Steuben with relish.

  “Hrrumph, I need to get to the office. I don’t know why you vex me so, mother. I ‘ll drop by later to see how you are doing,” said John as he kissed his mother lightly on the forehead. “Please behave yourself.”

  “Always my dear!” said Mrs. Steuben gaily.

  John departed the room and she turned to James.

  “Dr Phelan, John can be such a silly boy at times. I suppose I should not goad him but he frustrates me so with his over protection. Do you think I need protecting Dr Phelan?” inquired Mrs. Steuben with one eye-brow raised quizzically.

  “Hardly, madam. You have the constitution of a wild moose and all the tact of a charging rhino!” James rejoined with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Ahh, at last a true soul-mate! You understand my subtleties and my desire to be treated like an adult even as my years advance. You really must bring yourself and that lovely wife of yours over for tea next week after all this unpleasantness is over.”

  Further conversation ended as the operating room transport team arrived. The jewelry needed to be removed and the matriarch wanted it secured in the hospital safe. After much discussion, the nurse took the jewelry, vowing to personally escort the Prescott-Steuben family heirlooms to the hospital safe. They placed Mrs. Steuben on the gurney and wheeled her to the holding area outside the operating rooms. She waved goodbye gaily. I heard her regaling her transport aids with tales from her youth with Mr. John Winthrop-Steuben III.

  James shook his head grinning and went out onto the ward. St Francis had a combined surgical floor so his postoperative patients lived just down the hall. He saw them in quick order and sent his one patient home with instructions to return in two weeks for a postoperative check. Next, James visited his postpartum patients and checked on their babies. It seemed a good habit to follow the babies he delivered. Many times just being aware of an infant’s status defused a tense situation and helped a patient to see his sincere interest. He performed one circumcision and went to look for Wil McAllister. Wil, short for Wilbur, McAllister covered a large, thriving internal medicine practice. Wil seemed to have that special way of dealing with people that made them feel comfortable with him. His patients loved him and his staff adored him as well. He married his wife , Sally, in medical school. They had three very active children, an older eight year old girl and twin five year old boys.

  James headed over to the medical ward to find Wil. He found him at the nurses’ station talking to Sue Wilson. Sue still sniffled but wasn’t crying anymore. James wandered over to the desk.

  “Sorry to hear about Mrs. Flint, Wil. She was a really nice lady,” shared James.

  “Auntie Bessie was the best. I am still a bit puzzled though. She did not truly have cardiac disease. She had a little angina now and then but never had an infarct. Her cardiac complaints always included chest pain. Guess it shows how unpredictable diabetes is in its cardiac effects,” said Wil thoughtfully.

  “Have you had any other patients die unexpectedly recently Wil?” ventured James.

  “What do you mean unexpectedly?” queried Wil.

  “Why don’t we take a short walk, Wil?” said James. They wandered down the hall away from the desk. “I mean have any other of your practice or other people’s patients died unexpectedly?” stated James.

  “That’s a strange question James. I’m not sure. Let me think a minute,” replied Wil pensively. “There actually was another patient of mine, Dan Fields, I admitted with COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease or emphysema) with pneumonia who actually was improving. We found him dead in his bed of an apparent heart attack the day before he was suppose to go home.”

  “Did he still have an IV in by chance?” asked James.

  “Yes he did. We were going to complete his IV antibiotic course that night and send him out in the next afternoon on oral antibiotics. What is this all about anyway?” said Wil placing his hand on James’ arm. “This isn’t still about Mary O’Brien is it James? You need to give it a rest.”

  “No. Listen to me. We now have at least three deaths that are unaccounted for here at St Francis. What do you think we should do?” began James.

  “I’m not sure you do anything. These patients of mine were old and sick. They most likely died from their diseases. That does happen,” answered Wil.

  “I’ve been doing some research of my own and realized both of the patients you lost were indigents. Isn’t it strange they were both old, sick, and had no insurance? Mary’s death is similar except she was young and supposedly a drug abuser. But, she lived off the state dole too,” said James.

  “What are you getting at? You think we have a ‘welfare-killer’ on the loose? Come on James. You’ve read too many detective stories. This kind of talk is dangerous. We don’t need St Francis to become the hospital you go to so you can be murdered. I think you need a serious vacation. Maybe you are working too hard,” returned Wil as he turned away shaking his head.

  James stomach churned. Now there were possibly three deaths that may be linked. But how? He sensed a connection to Mrs. “Aunt Bessie” Flint and Dan Fields. But how could he put Mary O’Brien into all of this? James wondered if he should talk to Josiah Skinner again. What about calling his father? James shuddered at the thought of contacting the elder Phelan about all this. His father, James Gerrard Phelan senior, practiced patrician, corporate law in Boston. The senior Phelan already thought that James had married beneath them and was a bit kooky. His father never could understand all this religious “rubbish” as he called it. It’s not that his father did not believe in religion mind you, but, that “fanaticism” was abhorrent in a well-educated man. The elder Phelan found James unnecessarily rigid, non-pragmatic, bewildering and stubborn. But, James knew that even though his father never practiced criminal law, his sharp mind would discover possible connections in this case.

  James left the hospital and glanced at his watch. Still only 7:45 AM. If he hurried he could catch his father at home before the day’s work began. James scurried to his office, threw his coat on the chair, and dialed his parent’s home. It rang exactly three times before his mother picked up the line.

  “Hello, this is the Phelan residence. May I help you?” chirped his mother’s clipped voice over the phone.

  “Hello mother. This is James. Could I speak with father please?”

  “James, how nice to hear from you! Yes, He’s right here,” his mother responded.

  “Hello son. To what do I owe this bright, early morning call from you?” began the elder Phelan.

  James took a deep breath and plunged into the story. He explained Mary O’Brien’s death, the suspicious circumstances around her whole story, the possibility of tampering with evidence, the other two unrelated deaths, and his own concerns about possible murder.

  “So, really son you have no truly concreted evidence about whether or not this Ms O’Brien died from any other than a cocaine overdose or that either of the other two people died of unnatural causes,” summarized James Phelan senior.

  “No, Dad. I don’t have much else. It just doesn’t seem to fit right to me. You remember how you said during that notorious case against that lawyer you knew 20 years ago that something wasn’t right. You were right in going with your gut feelings,” said James.

  “Yes, I do remember that ghastly business. But I was an old friend of the defendant and had some evidence that he really was innocent. What do you have to point to murder?” inquired Phelan senior.

  “I suppose you’re right but I hoped maybe after hearing the story you would see somethin
g that I didn’t,” sighed James.

  “Son, let me ruminate on it a bit and think over the case. Perhaps something will come into my head from the archives. Enough of that. How is may favorite granddaughter doing? Doing well in school I trust?”

  James gripped the phone tighter. Should he tell his father they were going to home school their only granddaughter? He felt this was not the time to go through that conflict.

  “Sara is doing marvelously. She will soon be able to start reading things and then watch out,” replied James. “Dad, I really need to get started on my clinics. Keep me in mind if you think of anything and give my love to mom. Bye,” finished James.

  “Goodbye son, don’t be a stranger, and I’ll be in touch if I think of anything to help,” said Phelan senior

  James hung up the phone and felt as if he accomplished nothing by the call. Yet, sometimes just talking about a problem like this would crystallize his thinking. Nothing seemed to come to his mind. He shook his head and muttered, “Maybe I am making too much out of this right now. Mary’s death just haunts me.”

  What other connections could fit the three deaths together? Not exactly the cheeriest way to start his clinics for the day; deep in distress over possible murders at his hospital. James bent his mind to prayer. He slowly emptied his distracted mind of the thoughts about the cases. Adoration of God came easily to him as he acknowledged God’s mercy, grace, creative genius, power, glory, gentleness, and patience. Yaweh was the God of the living and not the dead. All the blessings of his life flowed into his consciousness in a rhapsody of praise. The utter unworthiness of his life moved him next to repentance for sins of commission and omission. The secret sins of pride, envy, and bitterness rolled out of his soul. Thanks came easily as he considered the Lord’s gift in his new baby being formed, his lovely wife, sweet daughter, and supportive practice. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he completed his intercession for his family, his mother and father, his partners, and for wisdom in the O’Brien and other cases. By the time James finished, his heart sat content in the love of God.