Silent Fear, a Medical Mystery by Barbara Ebel Page B

other side of the conference room. Framed photographs lined the wall going down the aisle. Ralph sat down in a chair, dug into his pocket, and handed Joelle his card. She nodded and grabbed one of hers from her coat, flipped it over, and gave it to him. They both keyed in on Danny’s end of the conversation. For sure, there was a problem.
    The corner of Danny’s mouth sagged. His eyes grew narrow. After a few minutes, he said, “I’ll be there.” He got off the phone and paused with silence.
    Joelle cocked her head, her suspicions aroused.
    “That was the hospitalist,” Danny said. “Dr. Harold Jackowitz passed away a little while ago.”
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    After donning a mask and gloves from the isolation precaution supplies outside Harold’s cubicle, Danny slipped into Harold’s room. Respiratory therapy unplugged the ventilator, discarded tubing, and rolled the machine past Danny. He stepped to the bedside and stared at Harold’s motionless body. His eyes were closed, the sheet across his shoulders, already looking like death had consumed him some time ago. Danny could feel his own heartbeat pounding away in his ears. He put his hand over his eyes, seeking insight into the meaning of Harold’s death. But none came.
    He backed up. Not only did he feel sadness for the personal loss of his colleague and he had harbored a fondness for Harold, but there would be far reaching consequences. The lethality of this meningoencephalitis was now dead clear and would be escalated to greater newsworthiness. The experts had to continue correlating their knowledge, understand more what they were dealing with and find the correct cure. Not to mention The Neurosurgery Group of Middle Tennessee. What would this do to their case loads, and the probability of having to turn new patients away?
    Danny thought about Bruce. The founder of their group would be shocked after his weekend away with his wife to find out what had happened. Danny’s nerves seemed to sizzle just thinking about it.
    He took a step back while silently saying good-bye for good and left the disheveled room where there’d been a recent code. At the nurses station, the hospitalist’s bald head was bent down as he filled out forms, Harold’s paperwork. He mulled over ‘cause of death.’
    Danny rolled out a chair. The hospitalist looked up. “I’m Danny Tilson, I’ve never officially met you. Thanks for helping out. You’ve acquired first-hand care of some patients I’ve been involved with.” Danny looked down, “besides Dr. Jackowitz.”
    “Sorry to meet officially under this circumstance. I’m Peter Brown. I had been aggressively treating Harold’s falling blood pressure today, Danny, to no avail. I ran full resuscitative measures in the end.”
    Danny shook his head. “Appreciate that. I’m sure you did the best you could. You’re probably aware that Harold was one of my partners. His hospitalization this week really caught us all off guard. Now this.” Danny ran his hand along the back of his head. “Can I help you with any leftover paperwork?”
    “No. I’m good. Not to worry.” Peter turned to his left, handed a form to the desk secretary in exchange for another.
    “Peter, we had Harold on steroids and acyclovir as shotgun treatment before cultures and sensitivity results were back. You still had him on those, correct?”
    “Correct. Our best guess using acyclovir didn’t cut it.”
    “Infectious diseases and the CDC are involved,” Danny said. “We’re working doggedly on this. We better have answers soon.” Danny’s finger tapped the end of the desk. “I’ll keep you in the loop. Also, I bet reporters will be contacting Robert Madden. If need be, steer any news people our way.”
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    On the top floor of one of the medical complex buildings across from the medical school, Joelle Lewis and Ralph Halbrow were in their element. Here, among the lab tables, incubators, growth mediums, clear encased laboratory shelving, and the