Death on the Diagonal - By Nero Blanc Page 0,31

off the elevator on the seventh floor and proceeded to the nurses’ station. Bownes had informed him that he could spare time for an interview while he did his rounds—and that the conversation would need to be brief.

Rosco affixed a warm smile and placed his business card on the high counter surrounding the hub of activity, but none of the personnel discussing medication protocols or peering wizardlike into computer screens took the slightest notice of him.

“I’m here to see Dr. Saul Bownes.” Rosco addressed the top of the head of the woman who was closest to him.

Without glancing away from her screen, she said, “Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes.”

But instead of verifying whether or not this was true—or even looking up—she stated a peremptory, “You were supposed to pick up a visitors’ tag on the first floor. It should be displayed on your clothing where staff can see it.” Then she added a harried, “I’ll page him. You can wait in the hospitality lounge. Third door on your right.”

Rosco wasn’t certain how she’d determined his lack of official credentials without actually looking at him, but he answered, “They were all out,” picked up his card, and proceeded to the room she’d indicated. He was relieved to see that no other visitors were taking advantage of the facility’s “hospitality,” which seemed to consist of stale coffee, red “juice” in plastic single-serving containers, and an empty box of jelly doughnuts.

Saul Bownes arrived five minutes later. A thin man wearing green hospital scrubs with his name embroidered in red on the right breast pocket and Newcastle Memorial’s logo displayed on the left, he had a wiry and restive intensity that made his age difficult to fix. Thinning dark hair, a sallow complexion, permanent gray shadows beneath his eyes; Rosco decided the physician could have been anywhere between forty and sixty. Bownes didn’t offer his hand when he entered. He simply plunked himself in a chair upholstered in institutional blue and brown plaid and opened a manila folder.

“Okay, let’s make this quick,” were his sole words of greeting. “Dawn Davis, what’s the problem? My time is valuable.”

Rosco thought, Like mine isn’t? but didn’t voice the opinion. “As I explained on the phone, there’s been an unusual insurance claim submitted for Dawn Davis’s procedure here at the hospital.”

Before Rosco could continue Bownes said, “I signed off on that personally. That’s how I work, and I do so for this very reason. I don’t care to have people like you taking up my time; accusing me of insurance fraud.”

“No one’s accusing you of anything, Dr. Bownes.”

“Really? Then what do you call it? All charges for her procedure were submitted by me, through the hospital, directly to Healthy Life, Ms. Davis’s insurance carrier. All payments are then made directly to my practice or to the hospital. Explain to me how Ms. Davis could possibly be involved in any sort of fraud, as you people like to call it, if she isn’t involved in the financial end whatsoever? From where I sit it looks as though you people are targeting me, and to be honest, I don’t like it.”

Rosco held up his hands. “No one’s suggesting that you or the hospital has done anything irregular. I’m working for the Dartmouth Group, not Healthy Life.” Rosco smiled inside, since this was the one part of his story that was actually fairly close to the truth. “Ms. Davis had a secondary policy with us, for which she’s currently trying to seek adjustment. As you can imagine, if Healthy Life is paying for her procedure in full, then Dartmouth has no obligation to double pay.”

Bownes shook his head; the dark smudges beneath his eyes seemed to grow grayer and more weary looking. “I don’t buy that. Ms. Davis struck me as a very nice young woman. I don’t see her as the type who’d attempt what you’re describing.”

Rosco shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time a nice person tried something like this. Let me ask you; was she transferred to another location shortly after her procedure? I spoke with one of her relatives who tried to phone her here the day after her surgery, and he was told she’d already checked out.”

“That would be correct, yes. She was kept for observation overnight, then sent home.”

“I’m no doctor, and I know you’re pushed for hospital beds, but that seems a little rush-rush to me for a kidney transplant.”

“What, are you nuts?” Bownes barked out, nearly choking over his words. “I’m an orthopedic