I should be rounding on my patients, then getting the fuck out of the hospital. Or else forgetting about my patients, and going straight to the getting-the-fuck-out part.What I should not be doing is standing here trying to figure out who killed Squillante. I mean, who cares, and what difference does it make? Is there some hitman still in the hospital who’s about to get a call saying “Wait up. While you’re there, would you mind whacking the Bearclaw, too?” Unlikely. I probably have about ninety minutes.But no one’s ever whacked a patient of mine before, and I can’t get past it. It pisses me off in a whole new way.I give myself one hundred seconds to think.The obvious suspect is someone from Squillante’s family. Someone who was hoping Squillante would die in surgery so there could be a big malpractice suit, but was willing to take matters into his or her own hands when Squillante pulled through. So an insurance beneficiary.*But it’s also someone who knew to use two whole vials of potassium.
