Comfort Zone

Chapter 15

Put on your game face, Miriam. Somehow that thought kept her going throughout the ensuing days, when the image of the murdered pharmacy technician, George Fusco, kept her company more often than she would admit.

She hasn't known him in life, but now felt as close to him as if they had been best buddies. She thought that she would have liked him very much.

A sweet man, someone said at the memorial service the hospital quickly pulled together, and sharp as a tack. Josh talked about his integrity, adding that he was an unrepentant punster. There wasn't a bad pun or play on words that George didn't love!

"George Fusco was an esteemed and well-loved pharmacy staff member, a diligent and trusted technician who took his job seriously," the CEO said. "An inspiration to us all. We're working closely with the police. Have no doubt that his murder will be solved!" Quest further assured everyone that hospital security was being ramped up.

As a harried looking Josh confided to Miriam when their paths crossed, the pharmacy staff had already been taxed with the departure of a longtime pharmacist just weeks before. An observant nurse, preparing to hang a bag of intravenous fluid, noticed that the liquid was murky, and an urgent investigation identified a batch of similarly affected bags. Gonzalez, the head pharmacist, was implicated and left in a cloud of angry denials.

Who killed George, and why? The questions were on everyone's lips at Miami Health, fueled by extensive news coverage. Everyone knew the security cameras were tampered with, and that a young, female doctor was the last to see him. A doctor who was getting tired of fending off interviews. The most-quoted theory was that the killer intended to steal pricey medications or narcotics and, knowing about the in-service, had expected the pharmacy to be empty. He or she then left empty-handed after shooting George, spooked by Miriam's voice.

Though no one can calculate the cost accurately, drug losses in hospitals are estimated at millions of dollars yearly, and every hospital has been the victim of theft at some point—either by an employee siphoning off narcotics for personal use, or by employees and outside burglars involved in bigger operations, stealing medication with attractive resale values in the black or gray market. Filgrastim, Miriam learned, sold for over three thousand dollars for a box of ten vials!

She was glad no one noticed the disappearance of one small but expensive vial that now rested somewhere in her fridge, and couldn't help being grateful that the malfunctioning security cameras covered up her own theft.

But Ursula Taylor's confidence about the missing narcotics in anesthesia at Miami Hearthadleaked out. Elevator talk was full of it and when she saw Taylor Miriam fought the urge to say – it wasn't me!

Miami Health now had three things to talk about: the murder of the George Fusco, narcotic diversion, and the disappearance of JK.

The gossip mongers were having a field day connecting the dots.

When Miriam next spotted Lisa Phillips' hematologist, he was coming out of a patient's room looking grim.

"One of my other filgrastim failures," Greer informed her. "I wonder if it's the July effect," he added, looking back into the room. Miriam saw a young male intern sitting on the side of the bed, talking earnestly with an ill-appearing older man. She heard the patient give a weak laugh in response to something the intern said.

Miriam couldn't remember if it was the same doctor whose patient was going down the tubes in the ICU, and she thought sadly of Ms. V, who was lingering longer than anyone expected, but showed no signs of rallying.

"Dugan's a staff patient. No insurance, no money," Greer said. A staff patient was cared for by the medical teaching service, which included medical students, first year interns, and residents further along in training. The young doctors were supervised by an attending, in this case Greer, who had volunteered for the July spot.