Crisis

9

By the time Jack got back to the Bowman residence, it was too late to consider going for exercise. He'd also missed dinner with the girls, who had retired to their respective rooms and were studying for their imminent final exams. Apparently, his presence was already commonplace because none of them came down to say hello. To make up for the girls, Alexis had been effusively welcoming but had immediately noticed the redness, bruising, and swelling on the left side of his face.

"What in heaven's name happened?" she had questioned with concern.

Jack had brushed her off, saying it was nothing, but offered to explain it later after he'd cleaned up. He'd changed the subject by asking for Craig. Alexis had told him merely that he was in the great room without elaborating.

Jack had jumped into the shower to wash away the day and now, as he got out, he wiped the mist from the bathroom mirror to look at his face. After the hot water, the redness was even more intense than it had been before. What he had not noticed was a small, bright crimson flame-shaped hemorrhage on the white, scleral part of his eye. Leaning closer to the mirror, he saw a few tiny subcutaneous hemorrhages over the lateral aspect of his cheekbone. There was no doubt that Franco had packed a wallop. Jack couldn't help but wonder how Franco looked, because Jack's palm was still tender from the impact, suggesting he'd hit him equally hard.

After a change of clothes, Jack tossed his laundry into the basket in the laundry room, per Alexis's instructions.

"How about some supper?" Alexis offered. She was standing in the kitchen area.

"That would be terrific," Jack said. "I'm starved. I never had time for lunch."

"We all had steaks from the grill, roasted potatoes, steamed asparagus, and salad. How does that sound?"

"Like a dream," Jack said.

During this exchange, Craig hadn't said a word. He was sitting forty feet away on the sofa in the great room, in exactly the same place he'd been that morning, but without the newspaper. He was dressed in the same clothes he'd had on during the day although the shirt was now wrinkled and its top collar button open and his tie loosened. Like a statue, he was staring at the flat-screen television, completely motionless. Jack wouldn't have thought anything abnormal except that the TV wasn't on. On the coffee table in front of him stood a half-empty bottle of scotch and an old-fashioned glass brimming with the amber fluid.

"What's he doing?" Jack asked, lowering his voice.

"What does it look like he's doing?" Alexis responded. "He's vegetating. He's depressed."

"How did the rest of the day go in court?"

"I'd have to say pretty much the same as the part you watched. That's why he's depressed. The plaintiff's first expert witness out of three testified. It was Dr. William Tardoff, who is chief of cardiology at the Newton Memorial Hospital."

"What kind of witness was he?"

"Unfortunately very credible, and he didn't talk down to the jurors. He was able to make it crystal clear why the first hour, even the first minutes, are so important for a heart-attack victim. After a number of attempted objections from Randolph, he was able to get it into the record that it was his opinion that Patience Stanhope's chances of survival had significantly decreased because of Craig's delay in confirming his diagnosis and getting her to the treatment facility – namely, the hospital."

"Sounds rather damning, especially coming from a department head in Craig's own hospital."

"Craig has reason to be depressed. Criticism from anyone is hard for a doctor to take, since they put themselves on the pedestal, but coming from a respected colleague is a quantum leap worse."

"Was Randolph able to reduce Dr. Tardoff's impact on cross-examination?"

"I'm sure, at least to an extent, but it's like he's always playing catch-up."

"It's the rule for the plaintiff to present his case first. Defense will have its time."

"The system doesn't seem fair, but it's not like we have an alternative."

"Were there only two witnesses today?" Jack asked.

"No, there were three total. Before Dr. Tardoff, Darlene, Craig's nurse, testified, and she was grilled on the 'problem patient' designation the same way Marlene had been, with the same result. During the lunch break, Randolph was furious at Craig for not having told him about it, and it's easy to understand why."

"It still boggles my mind that Craig would permit something like that in his practice."

"I'm afraid it speaks to a kind of arrogance."

"I'd be less generous. To me, it's pure stupidity, and it's certainly not going to help his cause."

"I'm amazed it's been allowed to be introduced. It's clearly prejudicial in my mind, and has nothing to do with alleged negligence. But you know what bothers me the most?"

"What?" Jack asked. He noticed that Alexis's face had flushed.

"Craig's case is going to suffer, but the secretaries' designation for those patients was actually appropriate."

"How so?" Jack asked. He couldn't help but notice that Alexis's color had deepened. This was an issue she felt strongly about.

"Because they were problem patients, each and every one of them. In fact, calling them problem patients wasn't strong enough. They were hypochondriacs of the worst sort. I know, because Craig would tell me about them. They were wasting his time. They should have gone to a psychiatrist or a psychologist, someone who could have possibly have helped them process their issues. Patience Stanhope was the worst of the lot. There had been an interval of time about a year ago when she was dragging Craig out of bed once a week to make an unnecessary house call. It was affecting the whole family."

"So you were upset about Patience Stanhope?"

"Of course I was upset. It wasn't long after that particular period when she was so demanding that Craig moved out."

Jack studied his sister's face. He knew her personality tended toward the histrionic back when they were kids, and this reaction about Patience Stanhope suggested the trait hadn't completely disappeared. She had gotten herself completely worked up.

"So you weren't sorry when she passed on?" Jack said, more as a statement than a question.

"Sorry? I was happy. I had told him he should drop her from his practice many times: find her another doctor, preferably a psychiatrist. But you know Craig. He always refused. He had no trouble referring patients to specialists for specialty care, but the idea of giving up on a patient was tantamount to failure. He couldn't do it."

"How much has he been drinking?" Jack asked to change the subject. He nodded toward Craig's motionless form. "Too much, just like every night."

Jack nodded. He knew that abuse of drugs and alcohol by doctors was not an uncommon sequela to being sued for malpractice.

"While we're on the subject, what would you like to drink?" Alexis asked. "Beer or wine? We've got both in the fridge."

"A beer would hit the spot," Jack said.

Jack got his own beer, and while Alexis busied herself with Jack's dinner, he wandered out of the kitchen area and over to the sofa. Although Craig did not move his body, his bloodshot eyes rose up and engaged Jack's.

"I'm sorry it was a discouraging day in court," Jack said, in hopes of engaging Craig in conversation.

"How much of it did you see?" Craig asked in a monotone.

"Only the testimony of your receptionist, Marlene, which was upsetting to hear."

Craig waved a hand as if he were shooing away invisible insects but didn't comment. His eyes switched back to the dead TV screen.

Jack would have liked to ask about the "PP" designation to try to fully understand the mind-set that would have allowed Craig to so something so politically incorrect and foolish, but he didn't. It wouldn't have helped anything and was just for his morbid curiosity. Alexis had been right. It had been arrogance. Craig was one of those doctors who unquestioningly thought everything he did was noble because the core of his life in terms of dedication and sacrifice was indeed noble. It was an unfortunate sense of entitlement.

With Craig incommunicative, Jack wandered back into the kitchen and then out onto the patio with Alexis while she grilled his steak. Alexis was eager to talk about something more upbeat than the malpractice suit. She wanted to hear about Laurie and the wedding plans. Jack related the basics but wasn't thrilled about the conversation, since he was feeling guilty about being in Boston and leaving all the last-minute details to Laurie. In many respects, it was an untenable position. He was fated to feel guilty no matter what he did; if he left for New York, he'd feel he was abandoning Alexis. Either way, he was slighting someone. But rather than wallow in the dilemma, he went for another beer.

Fifteen minutes later, Jack sat down at the large, round family table while Alexis put a plate of heavenly food in front of him. For herself, Alexis had made a cup of tea, and she joined him, sitting directly opposite. Craig had rallied enough to turn on the TV and was watching a local news broadcast.

"I'd like to tell you about my day," Jack said in between mouthfuls. "There's a decision to be made about my role here and what you people want me to do. I have to say, I had a rather productive afternoon."

"Craig!" Alexis called over to her husband. "I think you should turn off the life support and come over here to hear what Jack has to say. Ultimately, this is your decision."

"I don't appreciate being made fun of," Craig snapped, but he did turn off the TV with the remote. As if exhausted, he got up, picked up the scotch bottle and the glass, and walked to the table. He put the glass down first, filled it with scotch before putting the bottle down, and took a seat.

"I'm going to have to cut you off," Alexis said. She reached out for the scotch bottle and slid it out of Craig's reach.

Jack expected Craig to throw a temper tantrum about his bottle, but he didn't. Instead, he gave Alexis an overly fake smile to sarcastically thank her.

While he ate, Jack told them about his activities chronologically, and he tried to be complete. He told about going to the medical examiner's office and meeting Dr. Latasha Wylie and what she was able to tell him about exhuming a body in Massachusetts – particularly, about needing the approval of the next of kin.

"Wouldn't that be Jordan Stanhope?" Alexis questioned.

"He'll never agree," Craig said.

"Let me finish the whole story," Jack said.

Jack told about visiting the Langley-Peerson Funeral Home and his discussion with Harold Langley and getting the permit forms. He then told the Bowmans what he had learned about Jordan Stanhope.

Both Alexis's and Craig's mouths sagged open simultaneously as Jack gave them Jordan 's short biography.

Craig was the first to speak. "Do you think it is true?" he sputtered.

"Harold Langley has no reason to lie. It must be common knowledge in Brighton; otherwise, Harold Langley certainly wouldn't have told me. Funeral directors are generally and rather notoriously tight-lipped."

"Stanislaw Jordan Jaruzelski," Alexis repeated with disbelief. "No wonder he changed his name."

"I knew Jordan was younger than Patience," Craig said, but I never suspected anything like that. They acted as if they had been married for twenty-five-plus years. I'm amazed."

"I think the interesting part is that Patience was the one with the money."

"She's not the one with the money anymore," Craig commented. He shook his head with disgust. " Randolph should have discovered this. This is another example of his ineptitude. I should have demanded another lawyer."

"Normally, this is not the kind of information necessary to litigate a malpractice claim," Jack said, although he was surprised himself it didn't come out in Jordan 's deposition. "It's not relevant."

"I'm not so sure," Craig said.

"Let me finish," Jack interrupted. "Then we can talk about the whole situation."

"Fine," Craig said. He put his drink down and eagerly leaned forward. He was no longer a pathetically brooding individual.

Jack then took the Bowmans to the Newton Memorial Hospital with his dialogue and related his conversations with Dr. Noelle Everette, Dr. Matt Gilbert, and Ms. Georgina O'Keefe. He talked about his sense that the cyanosis issue was unresolved. He said that Georgina 's main point was that the cyanosis was even, not just in the extremities. Jack asked Craig if he had had the same impression.

"I suppose," Craig said. "But I was so overwhelmed by her grave general state that I really didn't look at her with that question in mind."

"That's exactly what Dr. Gilbert said as well," Jack added.

"Wait a second!" Craig said, holding up his hand. "Did learning what you did about Jordan make you think this cyanosis issue is more significant? I mean, this money situation with a younger man marrying a wealthy widow…" Craig let his sentence trail off as his mind toyed with the idea and its implications.

"I have to say it did," Jack agreed, "but relatively briefly. In many respects, it's too soap-operaish, if that's a word. Besides, it's been documented by the biomarkers that Patience had suffered a heart attack, as Dr. Gilbert rightfully reminded me today. At the same time, Jordan 's curious biography should not be dismissed entirely." Jack then went on to tell the story he'd related to Matt and Georgina about his case involving the elderly woman who'd died of a heart attack after being robbed at gunpoint.

"I think this is all very significant," Craig said, "and it continues to make me question Randolph 's competence."

"What about the bruising on the side of your face?" Alexis asked, as if suddenly remembering that Jack had agreed to explain it.

"What bruising?" Craig asked. Jack was to his left, meaning the left side of Jack's face was angled away.

"You didn't notice?" Alexis questioned with amazement. "Take a look."

Craig stood up and leaned over the table. Reluctantly, Jack turned his head so the left side of his face was in Craig's view.

"My gosh," Craig said. "That does look raw." He reached out and touched Jack's cheekbone with the tip of his index finger to assess the amount of edema. "Does it hurt?"

Jack pulled his face away. "Of course it hurts," he said irritably. He'd always hated how doctors did that. They always poked the place you said hurt. Orthopedic guys were the worst, in Jack's experience, which he had a lot of, thanks to all the bumps and bruises he got playing street basketball.

"Sorry," Craig said. "It looks raw. Maybe a cold pack would be a good idea. Want me to get one?"

Jack declined Craig's ministrations.

"How did it happen?" Alexis asked.

"I'm coming to it," Jack said. He then related the visit to the Stanhopes'.

"You went to the Stanhope mansion?" Craig questioned with obvious disbelief.

"I did," Jack admitted.

"Is that legal?"

"What do you mean legal? Of course it's legal. I mean, it's not like seeking out the jurors or anything. If there was any chance of getting a signature, I had to go." Jack then told them about the Bentley and then the unexpected Charlene.

Craig and Alexis exchanged glances of surprise. Craig gave a short, derisive laugh.

"So much for a long mourning period," Alexis said indignantly. "The man is shameless, likewise for the elaborate gentleman facade."

"This is starting to remind me of another notorious case that took place in Rhode Island but involved diabetes," Craig said.

"I know the case you are referring to," Jack said. "But even in that case, the suddenly wealthy heir was acquitted."

"What about your face?" Alexis said impatiently. "The suspense is killing me."

Jack told them about how he brought up the issue about exhuming Patience's body, fully expecting to be rebuffed. He then described Tony Fasano's arrival, along with an associate dressed in an almost identical outfit.

"His name is Franco," Alexis said.

"You know him?" Jack questioned. He was surprised.

"I don't know him. I've just seen him. He's hard to miss. He comes to the courtroom with Tony Fasano. I only know his name because I heard Tony Fasano call to him yesterday when they were leaving the courtroom."

Jack related Tony's vehement objection to the idea of exhuming Patience and doing an autopsy. He told them he'd been threatened that he'd be "history" if he did the autopsy.

For a few moments, both Alexis and Craig merely stared at Jack. They were both dumbfounded by what he had just told them.

"That's weird!" Craig said finally. "Why would he be so against an autopsy?"

Jack shrugged. "Presumably, because he feels confident in the case he has and doesn't want to rock the boat. He's invested some serious money on contingency, and he's expecting a mammoth payoff. But I have to tell you, it makes me more motivated."

"What about your face?" Alexis asked. "You keep avoiding telling us about it."

"That happened at the end, after Franco gave me the bum's rush. I was being cute and stupid. I told both of them I thought their matching outfits were sweet."

"So he struck you?" Alexis questioned with consternation.

"Well, it wasn't a love pat," Jack said.

"I think you should press charges," Alexis said indignantly.

"I don't agree," Jack said. "Stupidly, I hit him back, so trying to press charges would just get into an argument of who hit whom first."

"You hit that hulky hoodlum?" Alexis questioned with disbelief. "What have you become in your adulthood, self-destructive?"

"People have accused me of that in the not-too-distant past. I like to think of myself as occasionally impulsive with a touch of self-righteous recklessness."

"I don't find this at all funny," Alexis said.

"Nor do I," Jack agreed. "But the episode, especially me getting whacked, helped my argument with Jordan that I originally thought was hopeless." Jack reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out the exhumation permit. He placed it on the table and smoothed it out with the palm of his hand. " Jordan signed the exhumation permit."

Alexis drew the form closer to herself. She looked at Jordan 's signature and blinked several times as if she expected it might disappear.

"That kind of eliminates any suspicion of his involvement," Craig said, looking over Alexis's shoulder.

"Who knows," Jack said. "What it does for certain is that it puts the idea of an autopsy on the table as a legitimate option. It's no longer a mere theoretical possibility, although now we're up against a time constraint. Assuming that can be overcome, the question is whether you people want me to do it or not. It has to be decided tonight."

"My feelings have not changed from this morning," Craig said. "There's no way to be sure whether it would help or hurt, and I can make an argument in either direction."

"I think there's slightly more chance it might help than hinder because of the cyanosis issue," Jack said. "There must be some anatomical explanation, some contributory pathology. But you are right: There are no guarantees." Jack shrugged. "But I don't want to push the idea. I'm not here to make things worse. It's your decision."

Craig shook his head. "As confused as I am, it's hard to make a decision. I think I'm against it because of the unknown, but what do I know. I'm hardly in a position to be objective."

"How about asking Randolph?" Alexis suggested. "If something positive were found by the autopsy, he'd have to figure out how to get it admitted as evidence. With rules of discovery, it is not a given it could be."

"You're right," Jack said. " Randolph should be consulted. It would be an exercise in futility if the findings couldn't be introduced."

"There's something not right in this picture," Craig said. "I'm questioning the men's competence and considering replacing him, and you both think we should let him decide whether or not to do an autopsy."

"We can tell him Jordan Stanhope's story at the same time," Alexis said, ignoring Craig.

"Can we get him on the phone and discuss it with him tonight?" Jack asked. "The decision about whether or not to do the autopsy really cannot wait. Even if it's given a green light, I can't be certain it will happen. There are too many variables and not a lot of time."

"We can do better than call him," Alexis said. "He lives just around the corner."

"Fine," Craig said, throwing up his hands. He didn't feel strongly enough about it to overrule both Alexis and Jack. "But I'm not going to be the one to call."

"I don't mind calling," Alexis said. She got up and went over to the desk.

"You seem to be feeling better," Jack said to Craig while Alexis was using the phone.

"It's up and down," Craig said. "One minute I'm depressed and the next minute hopeful that truth will win out. It's been that way since this mess started back in October. Yet today had to be one of the worst days, hearing Bill Tardoff testify against me. I've always been friendly with the man. I really don't understand it."

"Is he a good doctor?"

Craig glared at Jack before saying, "Ask me that in a couple of days. At the moment, I'd be giving you an emotional response. Right now, I'd like to kill the guy."

"I understand," Jack said, and he did. "What about Dr. Noelle Everette? Does she have a good reputation?"

"With me or the hospital community?"

"Both."

"Like with Bill, my feelings changed after this malpractice suit. Before I thought she was okay, not great but okay, and I referred to her on occasion. After the suit, I'm as mad at her as I am at Bill. As far as her general reputation is concerned, it's fine. She's well liked although not so dedicated as most."

"Why do you say that?"

"She only works half-time officially, although it's more like three-quarters time. Her excuse is her family, which is nonsense. I mean, we all have families."

Jack nodded as if he agreed, but he didn't. He thought Craig should have given Noelle's work ethic a try. He probably would have been happier and a far better husband and father.

"The reason I asked about Noelle Everette," Jack said after a pause, "is because she said something interesting today. She said some of the old-fashioned physicians, a group in which she included herself, were angry about you concierge doctors. Does that surprise you?"

"Not really. I think they might be jealous. Not everybody can switch to a retainer practice. It depends a lot on their patient base."

"You mean whether the patient base is wealthy or not."

"That's a big part of it," Craig admitted. "Concierge practice is an enviable lifestyle compared with the mess standard practice is being put in. I'm making more money in a lot less time."

"What happened to your patients from your old practice who couldn't come up with the retainer fee?"

"They were referred to other people's standard practice."

"So they were in a sense abandoned."

"No, not at all. We spent a lot of time giving them names and numbers of other doctors."

To Jack it sounded very much like abandonment, but he didn't argue. Instead, he said, "So you see the kind of anger Noelle was talking about as stemming from envy."

"I can't think of any other reason."

Jack could think of a number, including the concept of professionalism Noelle had mentioned, but Jack wasn't interested in a debate. It was the malpractice case he was most interested in, so he asked, "Was Patience Stanhope an old patient of yours from your old practice?"

"No. She was a patient of the physician who started the concierge practice that I'm now essentially running. He's in Florida and not in the best of health."

"So in a sense you inherited her?"

"In a sense."

Alexis came back to the table. " Randolph is coming right over. He's interested in the autopsy idea but has reservations, including its admissibility, like I feared."

Jack nodded, but he was more interested in his conversation with Craig, and he had been debating how to word his next question. "Craig, remember this morning when I mentioned the idea of smothering or strangulation in relation to Patience Stanhope, which I later realized was ridiculous, since she died of a heart attack?"

"How could I forget?"

"It's an example of how medical examiners like me think. I mean, I wasn't making any allegations of any sort. I was kind of thinking out loud, trying to relate central cyanosis to the rest of the facts. In retrospect, you understand, don't you? At the time, you were bothered by the suggestion."

"I understand, but I'm not myself these days for obvious reasons. I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize. I'm bringing it up only because I want to ask you a question which occurred to me when Noelle Everette made her comment about a group of old-fashioned doctors being angry about concierge doctors. It's a question you might think outlandish the same way you responded to the mentioning of strangulation and smothering this morning."

"You've piqued my curiosity. Ask your question."

"Can you think of any remotely possible way you could have been set up by Patience Stanhope's death? What I'm suggesting is that someone might have seen her passing as a way to put concierge medicine in a bad light. Does this idea resonate at all, or am I once again somewhere beyond the orbit of Pluto?"

A small smile appeared at the corners of Craig's mouth and slowly spread inward until he laughed and shook his head in wonderment. "What you lack in rationality, you certainly make up for in creativity."

"Remember, it is a rhetorical question. I don't expect an answer; just tuck it away in the archives of your brain and see if it resonates with any other facts you've not told anyone."

"Are you suggesting some kind of conspiracy?" Alexis asked. She was as taken aback as Craig.

"Conspiracy implies more than one," Jack said. "Like you asked me to do on the phone, I'm thinking out of the box."

"That's way out of the box," Craig said.

The doorbell precluded any more talk of malevolent medical machinations, which was how Craig referred to Jack's idea as Alexis went to the door. When Alexis returned with Randolph Bingham in tow, Jack and Craig were chuckling at other clever names Craig was able to conjure up. Alexis was pleasantly surprised. Craig was showing more normal behavior than he had in months, which was even more unusual, considering the stressful day in court.

Jack was reintroduced to Randolph. The first time had been outside the courtroom that morning before the trial had recommenced. There hadn't been much time, and Alexis, who'd done the introducing, merely said that Jack was her brother, whereas now she included details of Jack's professional qualifications.

Randolph didn't say anything during Alexis's monologue, although he nodded a few times at key points. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance again," he said when Alexis concluded.

"Likewise," Jack said. He felt there was an unease about the situation. Randolph was irrepressibly staid. Although he'd changed from his meticulously tailored courtroom suit, his idea of relaxed wear was a heavily starched, freshly pressed, long-sleeved white oxford shirt, pleated summer-weight wool pants with a knifelike crease, and a summer-weight cashmere sweater. As further evidence of his primness, he appeared to have shaved, in contrast to Jack and Craig, who both had the expected evening stubble, and his silver hair was as perfectly styled as it had been in court.

"Should we sit here at the table or go into the living room?" Alexis asked as the host.

"Wherever you'd like," Randolph said. "But we must be expeditious; I have a lot of preparation yet to do tonight."

They ended up sitting around the table where they'd been before Randolph 's arrival.

"Alexis has told me about your suggestion of doing an autopsy on the deceased," Randolph said. "Perhaps you can tell me why this might be important at this eleventh hour."

To Jack's ear, he spoke with the true melodiousness that Jack associated with elite New England schools, and it suddenly occurred to him that Randolph was the archetype to which Jordan aspired. The question of why Jordan wanted to do so was another matter, since Jack found Randolph a passionless man, a prisoner of his restrained formality.

Jack ran down his short list in favor of an autopsy sans any reference to conspiracy or individually motivated foul-play theories. Then he gave his patented spiel about the role of a medical examiner's talking for the dead. "In short," Jack said as a kind of summation, "I believe an autopsy would afford Patience Stanhope her last day in court. My hope is to find enough pathology to clear Craig or, worst case, provide an argument for contributory negligence, since there is documentation the deceased refused a recommended cardiac workup."

Jack looked across at Randolph 's arctic-blue eyes for some response. There was none, nor was there from his mouth, which was a small, almost lipless horizontal slash halfway between his nose and the point of his chin. "Any questions?" Jack asked, hoping to generate a response.

"I don't believe so," Randolph said at length. "You've stated your case succinctly and well. It is an intriguing possibility, which I had not thought of since the clinical aspects of the case are so clear. My biggest concern involves the admissibility of whatever you might find. If something were to be found truly relevant and exculpatory, I would have to petition the court for a continuance to allow for proper discovery. In other words, it could be up to the judge."

"Couldn't I be called as a surprise rebuttal witness?"

"Only to refute previous testimony not to offer new testimony."

"I would be refuting the testimony of the plaintiff's experts claiming malpractice."

"It's stretching the rule, but I see your point. It would be up to the judge at any case, and he'd be ruling over strenuous objections from the plaintiff's attorney. It would be an uphill struggle and would afford the plaintiff foundation for appeal if it were granted.

"A final thought that adds to the difficulties of presenting such new evidence is my experience with Judge Davidson. He is known to like to move things along and is already irritated at the slow pace of this trial. There's no doubt he wants to bring it to a close. He would not look kindly on new evidence brought in at the very last minute."

Jack shrugged and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "So you are against it?"

"Not necessarily. This is a unique case with unique challenges, and we would be foolish not to do everything we possibly can for a positive outcome. New exculpatory evidence could be used as the basis to argue for a new trial through appeal. On the other hand, I believe the chances of finding something exculpatory are slim indeed. With that said, I'd come out sixty-forty in favor of doing it. So there you have it."

Randolph stood, as did the others. "Thank you for inviting me over and briefing me," he said, shaking hands all around. "See you all in court."

As Alexis accompanied Randolph to the door, Jack and Craig sat back down. "He fooled me," Jack said. "Just when I thought he was telling us he was against my doing the autopsy, he tells me he's for it."

"I had the same reaction," Craig said.

"One thing this little meeting made me realize is that I don't think you should change attorneys," Jack said. " Randolph might be priggish, but he strikes me as keenly intelligent, and under that gentleman veneer, he's a competitor. He definitely wants to win."

"Thanks for your opinion," Craig said. "I wish I unquestioningly shared it."

Alexis returned. She acted mildly irritated. "Why didn't you tell him about your run-in with Tony Fasano and the threat he gave you?"

"I didn't want to confuse the issue," Jack said. "Same reason I didn't bring up my wild theories of foul play or the surprising biography of Jordan Stanhope, aka Stanislaw Jaruzelski."

"I think that threat issue is more important," Alexis said. "Doesn't that bother you, being threatened like that?"

"Not really. Tony Fasano's worried about his investment, since he's surely taken the case on contingency. With that said, he strikes me as someone who blows a lot of hot air."

"I don't know," Alexis said. "It concerns me."

"Well, folks!" Jack said. "It's time to fish or cut bait. Am I going to try to do this autopsy or not? One thing I haven't mentioned. From my experience, juries use a commonsense gut reaction in their decision-making, but they like facts. Autopsy results are facts that they can grasp in contrast to testimony that is ephemeral and open to interpretation. Try to keep that in mind."

"If you can honestly tell me you are not concerned about Tony Fasano's threat, then I'll vote for the autopsy."

"And you, Craig?" Jack asked. "You're the principal here. Your vote can trump the rest of us."

"My feelings haven't changed," Craig said. "I think there's more chance finding stuff we don't want to know than things we do. But I'm not going to vote against the two of you and Randolph." He stood up. "Now I'm going to go up and put myself in the warm and fuzzy hand of a strong hypnotic. With the rest of the plaintiff experts, Jordan Stanhope, and possibly Leona Rattner slated to testify, it's going to be a taxing day tomorrow."

For a few minutes after Craig had disappeared upstairs, Jack and Alexis sat at the table, lost in their own thoughts. Jack was the first to speak after reaching out and picking up the scotch bottle. "Mixing this hard stuff and a strong hypnotic is not a good idea."

"I can't argue with that."

"Have you been at all worried about Craig injuring himself?"

"You mean overdosing?"

"Yes, either intentionally or otherwise." Jack could remember his own struggles with self-destructive thoughts during his years of fighting depression.

"Of course I've thought about it, but that's one aspect of narcissism in his favor. The devotees generally don't hurt themselves. Also, his depression has been far from incapacitating, and he has been cycling regularly through periods of normalcy – like tonight, for instance. He probably wouldn't admit it, but I think you have raised his spirits by being here. It means you care, and he respects you."

"That's nice. But what's he been taking for sleep? Do you know?"

"Just the usual. I've kept close tabs. I'm embarrassed to say, I've even been counting the pills behind his back."

"You shouldn't be embarrassed. That's being prudent."

"Whatever," Alexis said. She stood up. "I think I'll head upstairs, check on the girls, and turn in myself. I hate to abandon you, but if Leona Rattner testifies tomorrow, it's going to be particularly taxing for me, too."

"No problem," Jack said. He got to his feet as well. "I'm tired myself, although I want to read over some of the depositions again. I keep thinking I might be missing something that would be key to keep in mind if and when I do the autopsy."

"I certainly don't envy you working on someone who's been buried for almost a year. How do you do this kind of work day in, day out? Isn't it repulsive?"

"I know it sounds unpleasant, maybe even ghoulish, but it's actually fascinating. I learn something every day, and I don't have any problem patients."

"Don't remind me about problem patients," Alexis said. "Talk about self-inflicted wounds; that's a prime example!"

The silence of the big house settled over Jack after Alexis said good night and climbed the stairs. For a few minutes, he reflected on Alexis's curiously emotional response to Patience Stanhope being a problem patient and how Alexis was willing to say she was glad Patience was gone. She'd even alluded to thinking that Patience Stanhope had had something to do with Craig's moving out. Jack shook his head. He didn't know what to think. Instead, he finished the beer he'd been nursing, then went down to his room to retrieve the case file and his cell phone. With those in hand, he made his way back to the study where he'd inadvertently spent the night. The room had a comfortable, familiar feel.

After getting himself situated in the same reading chair he'd been in the night before, Jack flipped open his cell phone. He felt ambivalence about calling Laurie. He wanted to hear her voice, but he was not excited about dealing with her inevitable resentment when he told her about the possible exhumation and autopsy. It was already Tuesday night, which meant there were only two more full days before Friday. The other problem was that Jack had phoned Calvin during the day to say he wasn't going to be at the OCME on Wednesday and that he'd keep him informed. There was a chance Calvin had said something to Laurie, so she'd be miffed hearing things secondhand.

As the call went through, Jack wiggled to get as comfortable as possible, and his eyes swept over the shelving that filed the opposite wall. His line of sight stopped on a large, black, old-fashioned doctor's bag next to a portable ECG machine.

"The busy traveler at last," Laurie said brightly. "I was hoping it would be you."

Jack launched into an immediate apology for calling late but explained that he wanted to wait until a decision had been made. "What kind of decision?"

Jack took a breath. "A decision to do an autopsy on the patient whose death is the basis of Craig's lawsuit."

"An autopsy?" Laurie questioned with consternation. "Jack, this is Tuesday night. The wedding is one thirty on Friday. I don't have to tell you that's right around the corner."

"I know there's a time crunch here. I'm keeping it in mind. Don't worry!"

"Are you doing the autopsy in the morning?"

"I don't think so, but there's a chance, I suppose. The problem is that the body is still in the ground."

"Jack!" Laurie whined, pulling out his name like taffy. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Jack gave Laurie the details of the case, everything he'd learned from the file, and then everything that had happened that day sans the episode with Franco. Laurie listened without interrupting until Jack was finished. Then she completely surprised Jack. She said, "Would you like me to fly up and assist you with the case?"

Wishing he could reach across the miles and give her a hug of appreciation, Jack said, "Thank you for your offer, but there's no need. It will not be a difficult case unless there's been a lot of water intrusion."

"Let me know. I'm certain as a team we could do it quickly."

After a bit of loving small talk and a promise to call as soon as he knew more, Jack flipped his phone closed. He was about to pull the case file into his lap when his eyes again spotted the doctor's bag. Jack got up and went over to the shelf. As he had implied to Alexis, he didn't think house calls were an appropriate use of a doctor's time, since they were limited to what could be done without the diagnostic tools available in a well-equipped doctor's office. But remembering the reference in the case file about a bedside assay kit for biomarkers to confirm heart attack, the thought passed through his mind that he might be outdated. In truth, Jack had not even heard about such a kit and was curious to see one. He pulled the bag from the shelf and placed it on Craig's desk. He turned on the goosenecked lamp and opened the bag. It opened like a fishing tackle box, with a number of small, chock-full compartments in trays on the top that opened to the sides. Below was the main space, with a collection of instruments including blood-pressure cuff, ophthalmoscope, and otoscope. Jack pulled out the ophthalmoscope. Just holding the instrument brought back a flood of memories.

Replacing the ophthalmoscope, Jack looked through the plethora of other material, including IV fluid, IV lines, thermometer, emergency medication, hemostats, culture media, and bandages. In the bottom, far corner of the bag he found the biomarker kit. He pulled it out and read the exterior. Hoping for an insert that might be more informative, he opened the box. The insert was directly on top.

After reading the insert, Jack realized he'd have to reassess his evaluation of house calls. With such products, including new and accurate ways of determining diabetic status, a physician could be quite effective in a home environment, especially with the portable ECG machine Jack had seen next to the doctor's bag.

Jack replaced the insert and then the biomarker assay kit. When he did so, he noticed some debris, including an empty atropine vial and an empty epinephrine vial. He wondered if they could have been from the time Craig had been treating Patience Stanhope. From the record, both medications had been used. Then Jack found something that made him sure they were. He found a small sample bottle of the antidepressant Zoloft with Patience Stanhope's name and the notation #6: one pill at hour of sleep. Jack opened the bottle and glanced in at the five pale blue tablets. Replacing the lid, Jack put the bottle back. Next, he lifted out the atropine and epinephrine vials. Both were empty.

Hearing what he thought were footsteps coming down the front steps caused Jack a pang of guilt about snooping into private property, even if just in a doctor's bag. It was a clear violation of the trust extended to him as a guest. With a bit of panic, he quickly replaced the vials, closed the bag, and jammed it back onto the shelf. He dashed across the room, leaped back into the club chair, and pulled the case-file material onto his lap.

It was none too soon. Craig shuffled into the study a few moments later. He was dressed in a bathrobe with open-backed slippers on his feet. He went over and sat in the other reading chair.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said.

"Don't be silly," Jack answered. He couldn't help notice that Craig's voice had a monotone that hadn't been there when he'd gone upstairs and that when he'd walked in, his arms had hung limply at his sides as though they were paralyzed. It was abundantly clear the man had already taken his sleep medication and hadn't skimped on the dose.

"I just wanted to say thank you for coming up here to Boston. I know I wasn't much of a host last night and this morning."

"No problem. I have a good sense of what you're going through."

"I also wanted to say that I'm behind the autopsy idea after giving it additional thought."

"That makes it unanimous. Now, after convincing everybody, I can only hope I can pull it off."

"Well, I appreciate your efforts." He struggled back to a standing position and wobbled before gaining his balance.

"I glanced in your doctor's bag," Jack said to clear his conscience. "I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not. Do you need something? Back when I was making a lot of house calls, I amassed a small pharmacy."

"No! I was curious about the biomarker kit for heart attacks. I never knew they existed."

"It's hard to keep up with technology. Good night."

"Good night," Jack said. From where he was sitting, he could see down the lengthy hall as Craig plodded toward the stairs. He was moving like a zombie. For the first time, Jack started to feel sorry for the man.