Chapter 3

With a steady rain tapping against the ambulance’s windshield, Ponte eased into the receiving dock of Southeastern State University Hospital’s emergency department. Based on her en route instructions, she and her partner wheeled Tess into a critical care unit designed for the most seriously ill patients.

Much to Ponte’s surprise, there were three grim-faced doctors, two nurses, a respiratory therapist and a hospital administrator waiting for them. She exchanged a guarded look with her potbellied partner as they transferred Tess to the hospital bed. In her ten-year career, she had brought dozens of desperately ill patients to emergency rooms all over the county. Some were accident victims who were traumatized beyond recognition. Others were scarcely holding on to life from a massive heart attack or stroke. The memory of those patients was vivid in her mind. What she didn’t remember was ever being met by an entourage like the one now hovering over Tess Ryan.

The physician in charge, James Lione, stood with his arms tight against his side. As soon as the two paramedics finished and stepped back, Dr. Lione stepped forward and began his examination. Sliding his stethoscope from Tess’s left chest to the right, he threw a momentary glance in Ponte’s direction.

“Did she have a fever when you got her first set of vital signs?” he asked.

“No.”

“Any drop in blood pressure?”

“We checked it three times. They were all normal.”

Lione looked up. “Was anybody else in the class sick with similar symptoms?”

“We didn’t specifically ask, but nobody mentioned feeling ill.”

“Was she responsive at any time?”

“No.”

“Do you know if she works?”

“One of the women at the gym mentioned she works in fund-raising.”

“I don’t imagine that would pose a great risk for a toxic exposure,” Lione said.

“Have you spoken to any family members to get a more detailed history?”

Ponte shook her head at the strange question. “There were none at the scene and we wanted to transport her as quickly as possible.”

With the other two physicians flanked closely at his side, Lione completed his examination. Backing away from the bed, a restrained sigh slipped through his lips. He thumbed his ear a couple of times and then motioned the other two physicians to join him on the other side of the room. They spoke softly. Ponte tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible as she struggled to hear what they were saying.

It was at that moment that Dr. Helen Morales, the dean of the Southeastern State University School of Medicine, walked in and joined the group. Before any conversation amongst the physicians began, Lione looked over at Ponte and said, “Thanks for bringing her in. We’ll take it from here.” Becoming more perplexed with each passing moment, Ponte only nodded. Generally, paramedics were considered part of the team. Most physicians went out of their way to explain things to them regarding the patients they transported to the emergency room.

They quickly collected the rest of their equipment, left the room and walked down the hall to the staff lounge. Ponte had just grabbed a cup from the cupboard and was headed toward the coffeemaker when one of the nurses who had been present in Tess’s room walked in. Ponte knew K. P. Burnham well. She had worked with her for years, and her husband was a fellow paramedic.

“Three doctors and two nurses to meet the patient, and then we practically get thrown out of the room. What the hell’s going on…what’s all the mystery about?”

K. P. walked over to the watercooler and shrugged. “I’m not the one to ask.”

Ponte’s stomach tensed. She raised her hands. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m a licensed paramedic. I’d like to know what’s going on with a patient I brought to this hospital. I don’t feel like the request is out of line.”

K. P. took a swig of the ice water. After a cautious glance around the room, she started for the door. “I’ve been instructed not to discuss these cases with anybody.”

“These cases? Are there other patients with the same symptoms?”

K. P. crumpled the paper cup and tossed it into a wastebasket.

“Sorry, I’m really not supposed to say anything.”

Looking around the room as if she were searching for answers on the walls, Ponte pressed her lips into a thin line. She had great faith in the physicians and nurses who worked at Southeastern State, but if there was a method to their madness regarding their care of Tess Ryan, it was a mystery to her.