Doubt (Caroline Auden #1) - C. E. Tobisman Page 0,95

she saw none of it. Her mind spiraled into a tornado of second guesses and doubts. How could she have left her uncle alone?

She grabbed her phone and dialed 911.

“Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?” the dispatcher’s voice asked.

“There’s a man down at the hospital trying to get them to release my gravely debilitated uncle to him so he can dump him,” Caroline said. “I need someone to stop it from happening.”

“Please start from the beginning, ma’am. Where are you calling from?”

“Mendocino, but my uncle’s in Los Angeles and I—”

“You’re in Mendocino, but you need to prevent a discharge of a patient in Los Angeles?” The dispatcher’s voice held a note of disbelief.

“Yes,” Caroline said, her eyes raking across the digital clock on the bedside table. She didn’t have time to debate the dispatcher. She needed action. Now. “The hospital thinks my mom authorized the discharge, but she didn’t.”

“And you know this because . . .”

“Because she’s camping in Oregon,” Caroline said, trying to control her exasperation.

“And you know your uncle is disabled because . . .”

“I got a text from the people who are doing this.” Caroline realized she was shouting at the same moment she realized the call was useless.

“Never mind,” she said, hanging up.

She ran her hand through her hair.

She needed another way to stop the discharge. She needed a doctor’s order. She scanned her mental roster for someone who could help. College friends. Law school classmates. Acquaintances from her days as a software engineer. Anyone with any link to Northridge Hospital.

Suddenly, she stopped.

Picking up her phone, she dialed the phone number for Hale Stern.

“Deena Pensky,” Deena answered.

“This is Caroline. You know, from work.” Caroline took a breath. She needed to make sense. “I need to ask a huge favor.” She paused, hoping that Deena had a soul somewhere beneath her designer clothes.

“Yes?” Deena said, suspicion coloring her voice.

“Your mom’s working at Northridge Hospital in neurology, right?”

“Yes,” Deena said, her voice rising at the end in question.

“I need you to call her. Or give me her number.” Caroline took another breath to settle her nerves. “My uncle is at Northridge. I don’t even know why or how he landed there, but it sounds like he’s in really bad shape. He’s had some drinking issues, and . . . it’s a long story. Anyway, I’m in Mendocino trying to find that missing scientist for the SuperSoy case and someone—I think someone connected to the biotech company—is trying to get the hospital to release my uncle to some creep who’s going to dump him on the streets unless I come home—”

“I get the idea,” Deena cut her off.

Caroline’s heart sank. Deena wasn’t going to help. Her last desperate hope was gone.

“Hold on a sec,” Deena said.

Caroline waited for the rebuff, but instead of words from Deena, she heard rustling, then a muffled conversation. When Deena came back onto the line, her voice was kinder than Caroline had ever heard it.

“I told her what’s happening. She’s going to call you. She’s going to help,” Deena said.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Caroline said.

“No problem.” Deena paused, an uncharacteristic break in her usual staccato delivery. “My brother has had some problems,” she added quietly. “I know how it goes.”

With those few words, Caroline’s image of the snobby New York associate shattered, making room for a more nuanced and empathic vision of Deena Pensky.

“Good luck up there. I’ll see you when you get back,” Deena said and hung up.

Seconds later, Caroline’s cell phone rang. When she answered it, Dr. Pensky-Levine introduced herself and said, “Your uncle was brought in by someone who claimed to have seen him wandering the streets in a state of extreme confusion. Our preliminary diagnosis is alcohol poisoning.”

“Will he be okay?” Caroline asked, wondering at the identity of this supposed Good Samaritan and the odds that he or she had something to do with her uncle’s gravely compromised state.

“It should resolve in the next day or so if it’s alcohol poisoning,” Dr. Pensky-Levine said. “But I want to rule out other potential causes for his condition. I’ve ordered a dozen tests. I’m requiring results before your uncle is discharged to home care. Don’t worry. He won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

“Thank you,” Caroline said. The two words were too small to encompass her gratitude.

“You don’t have to thank me. These tests are absolutely medically indicated.”

Caroline could almost hear the doctor smiling on the other end of the line.

“By the way, if anyone ever asks, this HIPAA-violating conversation