Chapter 9

A/N: I may work in a medical school but I am by no means a medical expert, especially in regards to brain tumors. I have attempted to make this as realistic as possible. Any inaccuracies are my own, for which I apologize. At least I got the HIPAA privacy requirements right!

Stella Bonacera nodded greetings to the three men in the office--Mac Taylor, Tom Robbins, and Larry Baynes--in time to hear Robbins report, "Ross has the 'eye' set up. The picture's not optimal--we had to settle for a floor view instead of a birds-eye, but we can get enough information to keep track of everyone's condition and position."

Baynes asked, "Where is Collier?"

"He's in a chair next to the window," Robbins said. "The hostages are between him and the door."

"How are they?" Mac asked.

"It looks like the report we received during the call was accurate. Hawkes has a bandage on his forehead, and Monroe is on the floor. I really couldn't see anything about her injuries, except to judge by the blood, they're extensive. It looks like Hawkes has done all he can for her for the moment."

"Who is monitoring the video feed--Adam?"

"No," Robbins shook his head, "he's taken the audio of the first call to his lab. I have one of my men watching what's happening inside."

Mac opened his mouth to ask another question. When he spotted Stella, he turned his attention on her and barked, "Anything?"

"Nothing." Stella frowned, taking the lack of helpful information personally. She paced back and forth and fought to control her temper. "I spoke with the Wayne Delacort, the Dean of Fine Arts at Chelsea. He was Professor Collier's colleague and supervisor for over thirty years. He personally recommended Collier for Emeritus status after Collier retired from the University five years ago. Dr. Delacort couldn't recall anyone Collier was particularly close to, at least anyone who is still alive. All of his contemporaries are either dead or suffer from conditions like Alzheimer's or dementia. He couldn't think of a single person who might talk Nathan Collier into ending this standoff."

"Not even himself?" Mac asked. Considering the circumstances, he had little patience for half-answers or people who 'just didn't want to get involved.' "If he was Collier's contemporary and superior for thirty years, he must have some influence on his behavior."

Stella shook her head. "They had a major falling out about ten months ago, a disagreement over significant alumni donations. Collier expressed very opinionated and racist ideas on the types of grants that should be offered to incoming undergraduate students. Security escorted Collier off campus. It was around the time when Collier finally went to the doctor and discovered his condition. One thing Delacort did mention--the racist angle was new. Collier had never exhibited any kind of ethnic-oriented problems before that day."

Larry Baynes speculated on the cause, saying, "Behavior changes due to the tumor, maybe?"

"We'll know more after Sid speaks with his oncologist." Mac turned back to Stella. "What about his personnel records? Anything helpful there?"

Again, Stella shook her head and ran nervous fingers through her blonde hair.

"Nothing, Mac. I checked emergency contacts and next of kin. They were both blank. No one in Personnel or Benefits--who were still in the office, at least--could even remember him. There were over two hundred letters in his personnel jacket from former students going back to the start of his tenure. Most were very positive, but tracking these students down at this late date might be a waste of time. We don't know if," she ticked off each point by tapping an fingertip, "we can find them easily even with the help of the Chelsea Alumni Association, they live close enough to get here in time to talk to Collier, or a plea from a former student could break through his psychosis."

"I'm afraid, my news isn't much better."

Sid Hammerback stood in the office doorway, looking like someone had kicked his puppy into a muddy ditch.

"I don't know how much more bad news I can take." Mac sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed again. Putting it off would not help his friends. He waved to the Medical Examiner, a combination 'come in' and 'give it to me.' "What do you have, Sid?"

"Thanks to the names Stella found in his personnel file, I was able to track down his primary care physician and his oncologist." The ME came into the room and joined the group. "Under normal circumstances, the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act would have prevented either physician from releasing any sensitive PHI to me."

Baynes and Robbins looked at one another, puzzled. Baynes asked for both of them, "PHI?"

"Personal health information, specifically any sensitive data that would allow someone to track down another person or discover specifics about their medical histories, treatments, etcetera. HIPAA, however, has a loophole for situations such as this. If the patient is a danger to himself or others, the doctor is required by law to report any and all information to the police."

"So what did these doctors have to say?" Stella asked.

"They both had pretty much the same news to report. Collier has a grade 4 glioblastoma in his temporal lobe." Hammerback pointed to the specific area on his own temple. "They're both sending their files over by courier. They should arrive inside the next 20 to 30 minutes."

"Grade 4. Is that bad?" Robbins asked.

"Grade 5 means he's dead."

"Oh."

Mac's voice took on a definite hint of scold and more than its share of 'get back to the point already'. "Sid."

"Yes. Sorry. By the time his behavioral problems and headaches became severe enough for him to seek treatment, the tumor was too far advanced for surgery. It's also metastasized--spread--to his spinal column, pancreas, colon, and prostate. His oncologist has him on AEDs--antiepileptic drugs--due to increasingly frequent seizures. Unfortunately, AEDs can also react with certain chemotherapy agents. These interactions can cause some rather nasty adverse effects."

"Nasty how?" Larry Baynes asked.

"Primarily sleepiness, depression, or confusion. He may also develop problems walking, speaking, or seeing. Occasionally, symptoms may include aggression, insomnia, and psychosis."

Stella bobbed her eyebrows and said, "So far, we've definitely seen the aggression and psychosis."

"According to his PCP, Dr. Stephen Tyler, there was an incident in his office during Collier's last appointment, around two weeks ago. Collier grew angry and violent, injured a nurse when he shoved her against a wall."

"The violence is escalating," Stella said.

"Since his pancreas isn't working properly, he's also on periodic injections of insulin. This might be a good thing," Sid continued. "If he didn't remember to bring his full battery of medications with him--including insulin--he will be susceptible to several debilitating conditions, including petit-mal or grand-mal seizures or diabetic shock. He could be fine one second and on the floor, seizing or passed out cold, the next."

Outside, one of the elevators arrived on the floor with a soft ding and a hiss of displaced air as the doors opened. Before the doors could close, Don Flack ran into Mac Taylor's office, out of breath with the rush to deliver his news.

"We're in trouble, Mac," Flack said the instant he stepped into the room. "Collier's grandson is dead."

Gasps and other sounds of dismay rocketed around the office.

"What happened?"

"He was killed during a race riot in the prison yard about a year ago. A white supremacist group and a Puerto Rican gang went toe-to-toe with homemade knives and bludgeons. According to the Fed's final report on the incident, Gavin Anderson wasn't in any gang. He was a bystander who got caught in a race-motivated fight between the two gangs. Took a homemade shank through his throat sometime during the scuffle, before the guards could hose down the yard with water cannons. Two other inmates died that day."

"Does Collier know this?" Robbins asked.

Don nodded. "Warden notified him personally."

"Then what is going on here?" Stella shared confused looks with everyone in the room. "Why is he doing this?"

Sid provided the answer. "Memory loss. He can't remember that his grandson is already dead. It could have a psychological origin, be a result of the pressure against or damage to his cranial tissue by the glioblastoma, or a combination of both. However it's happened, all he can remember is that tonight, midnight, was Gavin's scheduled time of execution."

"Gavin Anderson died in a race riot at the prison," Mac reasoned. "The racist angle of his disagreement with Dean Delacort may have its roots right there." He turned to Sid Hammerback. "What can we do about this? Do we tell him the truth?"

"No, no." Sid shook his head most emphatically. "Challenging his delusions is the last thing we should do. It could trigger an escalation of violent behavior, perhaps even spark his racial hatreds or a suicidal rage. He'd take it out on the closest possible targets."

"Lindsay, Danny, and Sheldon," Mac said.

Stella nodded. "Especially Hawkes."

"We have to play along," Sid offered, "make him think we're going to comply with his demands, keep him calm and as focused on the situation as we can, and pray something breaks that gives us an edge."

"But will-"

Tim Robbins' hand went to his radio's ear bud. He listened for a moment, tensed from head to toe, and said, "Something's happening in the break room."