The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [67]
Peggy nodded and returned the smile.
Dorothy Dalrymple did indeed know Peggy well. From the beginning Dotty had followed her rise—had even been party to her decision to enter medical school at a time when it was difficult enough for a woman, let alone a nurse, to do so. She had followed Peg’s astounding success in the field of cardiology and her marriage to one of the most famous scientists and human rights advocates in the world. She had watched her assume the leadership of the medical staff of one of the largest hospitals in the country.
She knew, as surely as she knew sunrise, that Margaret Donner Armstrong could accomplish anything. The sentence they had voted for David Shelton was as good as carried out.
With a few parting words Barbara Littlejohn dismissed the meeting. As she said her good-byes, Dotty paused by the lavish bouquet, bending to inhale its strong perfume and briefly touch a feathery petal. Then, with a final glance at Peggy, she left.
The room emptied quickly. Soon only two remained—Peggy Donner, gazing serenely out the window, and Sara Duhey, who paused outside the doorway, then returned. She was still ten feet away when, without turning, Peggy said, “Sara, how nice of you to stay. We so seldom get a chance to talk.”
The willowy black woman froze, then noticed her own reflection in the glass.
“So this is how Peggy Donner earns the reputation for having eyes in the back of her head.”
“One of the ways.” Margaret Armstrong turned and smiled warmly. Sara had been a personal recruit of hers. “I see a troubled look in those beautiful eyes of yours, Sara. Are you concerned about what happened here tonight?”
“A little. But that’s not what I stayed to talk to you about.”
“Oh?”
“Peggy, a few days ago Johnny Chapman died at your hospital of a massive allergic reaction—probably to some medicine, they’re saying. Had you heard of him and the work he’s done?” Armstrong nodded. “Well, I’ve known Johnny for years. Served on so many committees with him I’ve lost count.”
“And?”
“Well, I’ve talked to a few people about his death—you know, people from my community. At least one of them felt there was nothing accidental about it. You can probably guess that Johnny’s been a thorn in the side of a lot of important people over the years.”
“My dear, every time an important or influential person dies, someone has a theory about why it couldn’t have been a natural or accidental occurrence. Invariably their theories are nonsense.”
“I understand,” Sara said, “and I hope you’re right in this case. We’ll never know for certain, because Johnny’s church forbids autopsies. His wife told me that. She had it written in big red letters on the front of his chart, along with a list of the things he was allergic to.”
Armstrong shifted uncomfortably. “Just what is it you’re driving at?”
“Peggy, this man told me he had heard ahead of time that Johnny Chapman would not leave Doctors Hospital alive. He didn’t. Then, two days after Johnny suddenly goes into anaphylaxis and dies, Senator Cormier has a fatal cardiac arrest on the operating table. The papers said it was a heart attack, but they also said that because the attack was instantly fatal there was no definite cardiac damage on his autopsy.”
“Sara, I still don’t see what—”
“Peggy, two of the cases I have handled through The Sisterhood involved intravenous ouabain. Both of them looked like heart attacks. The drug is impossible to detect. Isn’t it possible that someone could be—”
“Young lady, I think I’ve heard enough. Your insinuations are in poor taste and way off base. Worse than that. They come at a time when our movement needs total unity.”
Sara Duhey stiffened. “Peggy, please. Don’t lash out at me. I don’t want to stir up any hornet’s nest. All I’m asking is whether it’s possible that someone in your hospital is using our methods. There are still more Sisterhood members on the staff of Boston Doctors than at any other single hospital.”
“And I know every one of them personally,