The Silence That Speaks (Forensic Instincts 4)

Every one of Conrad’s surgeries would be peer-reviewed by experts using a fine-tooth comb. The hospital’s surgical procedures, safety records, health code violations,

etc., were all fair game. If Ronald Lexington’s widow wouldn’t settle, then Manhattan Memorial would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lexington’s death was not the hospital’s fault.

The lawyers were instructed by the board to throw anyone they needed to under the bus—Conrad, Madeline, any one of their employees who could be personally blamed for Ronald’s death. Whatever was necessary for the hospital to avoid responsibility. The sooner this went to trial, the better.

Janet was ordered to call an urgent management team meeting to alert them to what was about to occur and how it should be handled.

She got on it the instant the board meeting broke up.

* * *

Two hours later, Janet and Jacob closeted themselves in a smaller conference room, this time with the entire hospital management team. It was standing room only. Jacob explained the details of the situation to them and demanded their cooperation. The hospital would stand unified in its efforts to defend its stellar reputation.

Every department was given its role.

Sharon Gilding, the hastily appointed temporary chief of surgery, was told to make sure personally that everything in her department was double-and triple-checked. No lapses in paperwork. They would be under a continuous microscope until the lawsuit was over.

The head of security was instructed to hire a private investigator to delve into Ronald Lexington and his entire family, gathering anything that could undermine Nancy Lexington’s lawsuit. Jacob stressed that he and the hospital’s legal team would expect daily briefings.

The IT director was told to assign someone to work with the legal team—someone who was qualified enough to give them free access and get them everything they asked for.

The most qualified person was selected for the job.

Roger Lewis.

* * *

Patrick was stationed right outside the main hospital entrance.

Madeline walked past him as if she didn’t know him and pushed the hospital’s revolving doors, stepping inside and circling around until she entered the building.

For a long moment, she just stood there, absorbing the feeling of being back where she belonged. It had only been a couple of weeks, but it had felt like an eternity. The antiseptic smell. The fast-paced activity. The constant paging of doctors and surgeons over the PA system.

Manhattan Memorial was like her second home.

It didn’t feel that way for long.

Madeline had barely crossed the lobby floor when staff members began coming to a halt and staring at her. She smiled and said hello, and was greeted with stony silence. No welcome-backs. No how-do-you-feels. No smiles or waves. Just icy glares and silence.

Feeling a chill creep up her spine, Madeline walked to the elevators and pressed the button for the E.R., one level up from the main lobby. There were a handful of people already waiting in the elevator corridor.

Everyone except the visitors shut down the second she arrived, silently staring at her with those cold looks before turning to whisper among themselves.

Taking the stairs seemed suddenly more appealing.

Madeline’s gut twisted as she climbed to the second floor. She’d expected tons of questions, even more anxiety and maybe some resentment. But this total snubbing? This leashed anger that every staff member seemed to share?

And it wasn’t just the lobby. Nor was it just the nurses.

The E.R. doctors were terse and frosty, speaking to her only as necessary and giving her as little to do as possible. The mixed group of employees who’d always been her friends—from surgeons to candy stripers and everyone in between—wanted nothing to do with her. Even the friggin’ receptionists gave her dismissive looks and went back to work.

What in God’s name had Jacob Casper told them? Madeline wondered later as she sat alone in the break room for a cup of coffee, and staff members strolled in and out, glancing at her and then quickly looking away. She felt like a pariah, isolated and invisible in her own workplace.

Not really invisible, not to everyone. There was definite anger in many of their faces, bitter conversation and eyes shooting daggers in her direction.

Clearly she’d been set up to take the fall, being blamed as the culprit for the predicament the hospital was in. And with Conrad away, she was taking that fall all by herself.

No way.