Crisis

16

"It's about time!" Laurie said curtly.

Jack winced. Her greeting was 180 degrees from the night before, heralding the kind of conversation he feared.

"It's almost ten o'clock!" Laurie complained. "Why haven't you called? It's been eight hours since your cowardly message on my voicemail."

"I'm sorry," Jack said as contritely as he could. "It's been a rather strange evening."

Although such a comment was a deliberate understatement, it was hardly the kind of sarcastic humor that Jack was capable of. He was making a conscious effort to resist the tendency that had become reflex with his devil-may-care approach to life after his family tragedy. Being careful with his vocabulary and as succinctly as possible, Jack told Laurie about the break-in, the terrorizing of the children, and the visit by the police made possible by Lou's timely intercession. Jack then told her about Tony Fasano and his threat, as well as about Franco, including the previous day's episode, which he had not mentioned to her the evening before.

"This is incredible!" Laurie said after a pause. Most of the anger had gone out of her voice. "Are you all right?"

"I've got a swollen lip and a few busted capillaries over a cheekbone, but I've had worse from basketball. I'm okay."

"I'm nervous about this Franco. He sounds like a lunatic."

"He's been on my mind as well," Jack said. He thought about mentioning the gun but decided it might make her more nervous.

"I'm gathering you believe Tony Fasano is behind the episode with the children."

Jack repeated some of the conversation he'd had with Liam Flanagan.

"How are the children?"

"They seem remarkably poised, considering what they've been through. Maybe it has something to do with their mother being a psychologist. Alexis is terrific with them. She took them to their grandparents', Craig's parents', for a few days. To give you an idea, the littlest one was together enough to empathize with me about my kids when they were saying good-bye. It took me completely by surprise."

"She sounds precociously self-possessed," Laurie said. "That's a blessing for the Bowmans. Now, let's talk about us. What's the bottom line about you coming back here?"

"Worst case is tomorrow evening," Jack said. "I'll do the autopsy write up the results, whatever they turn out to be, and give them to Craig's lawyer. Even if I wanted to, he doesn't think he could get me on the stand as a witness, so that's not an issue."

"You are cutting this mighty close," Laurie said. "If I end up being the bride left at the altar, I'll never forgive you. I just want you to know that."

"I said worst case. Maybe I'll be there in the middle of the afternoon."

"Promise me you're not going to do anything foolish."

Jack could think of a lot of great retorts for that setup, but he resisted. Instead, he said, "I'll be careful." Then he added, to make her even more comfortable, "The Newton police have promised extra surveillance."

Confident Laurie was reasonably assuaged, Jack extended some appropriate endearments and then said good-bye. He then made two other quick calls. He spoke briefly to Lou to explain what had happened with Liam Flanagan and to thank him for his help. He told him he'd see him at the church on Friday. Next, he called Warren and told him that not only was David a good b-ball player, but he'd also saved Jack's ass. Jack had to hold the phone away from his ear when Warren responded. Jack told him he'd see him at the church also.

With all his calls out of the way, Jack once again took in the peaceful scene. The concave snippet of moon had moved a little higher in the sky and had cleared the black silhouettes of the trees. A few stars even twinkled in the sky despite the general nighttime glow sent heavenward from the entire Boston metropolitan area. Jack took in a big lungful of the cool, fresh air. It was bracing. In the distance, a dog barked. The serenity made him wonder what the morrow would bring. Would there be violence at the exhumation? He didn't know, but the thought made him glad Liam had insisted he keep the gun. He patted it in his pocket. Its weighty solidness made him feel more secure, even though he knew statistics suggested the opposite. With a sense of fatalism that whatever was going to happen would happen no matter what he did, Jack shrugged, turned, and headed into the house.

Without Alexis and the children at home, Jack felt somewhat like an intruder. After he closed the front door, the silence of the house was almost palpable, even though he could hear Craig's and Randolph 's muffled voices from the library. He walked into the great room and went to the refrigerator. There were plenty of fixings, and he quickly made a sandwich. He popped open a beer and took both over to the couch. Careful to keep the sound low, he turned on the TV, and after rapidly scanning the channels, he found a news broadcast. Still feeling like a stranger in a strange land, he sat back and ate.

By the time he had finished the food and most of the beer, he heard raised voices coming from the library. It was obviously a disagreement. Jack quickly turned up the TV to keep from hearing. It made him feel similar to when he'd almost been caught snooping into Craig's doctor's bag. A few minutes later, the front door to the house slammed hard enough for Jack to feel the vibration. A few minutes after that, Craig came into the great room. It was apparent he was fuming from the way he acted, particularly the way he threw ice cubes into an old-fashioned glass and slammed shut the glass-front cabinet door. He helped himself to a healthy dollop of scotch, then brought the drink and bottle over to the couch.

"Do you mind?" Craig asked, motioning to the couch where Jack was sitting.

"Not at all," Jack said, wondering why he bothered to ask. Jack moved closer to the opposite end. He turned off the TV and twisted around to face his host, who'd plopped down, still holding both bottle and glass.

Craig took a large slug of his scotch and swished it around in his mouth before swallowing. He was staring into the empty fireplace.

"How did the rehearsal go?" Jack asked. He felt obligated to try to have a conversation.

Craig merely laughed scornfully.

"Do you feel prepared?" Jack persisted.

"I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be. But that's not saying a whole bunch."

"What was Randolph 's advice?"

Craig forced another laugh. "You know, the usual. I'm not supposed to pick my nose, fart too loudly, or laugh at the judge."

"I'm serious," Jack said. "I'd like to know."

Craig regarded Jack. A bit of the tenseness that had been so apparent drained from his face. "The usual admonitions like I mentioned at lunch and maybe a few more. I'm supposed to avoid stuttering and inappropriate laughter. Can you believe that? Tony Fasano is going to verbally attack me, and I'm supposed to calmly let it happen. If anything, I'm supposed to look hurt and not angry so the jury will sympathize with me. Can you imagine?"

"I think it sounds reasonable."

Craig's eyes narrowed as he looked at Jack. "Maybe to you, but not to me."

"I couldn't help but hear raised voices. I mean, I couldn't hear what it was about. Did you and Randolph disagree on something?"

"Not really," Craig said. "He just pissed me off. Of course, that was what he was trying to do. He was play-acting as if he were Fasano. You see the problem is that when I'm on the stand, I'm sworn, whereas Tony Fasano won't be. That means he can make up and say whatever allegation he wants, and I'm supposed to have thick skin, but I don't. I even got mad at Randolph. I'm hopeless."

Jack watched as Craig drained his glass and then poured another drink. He knew that often the personality traits of really good clinicians like Craig made them susceptible to malpractice suits, and the same traits made them poor witnesses in their own defense. He also knew that the opposite was true: Really bad doctors made an effort at bedside manner to make up for their professional deficiencies and avoid suits, and the same doctors, if they were sued, could often offer Oscar-worthy performances on their behalf.

"It's just not looking good," Craig continued, more sullen than angry. "And I'm still worried Randolph is not the right guy despite his experience. He's so damn pretentious. As slimy as Tony Fasano is, he has the jurors eating out of his hands."

"Juries have a surprising way of eventually seeing through the fog," Jack said.

"The other thing that really pisses me off about Randolph is he keeps talking about the appeal," Craig said as if he'd not heard Jack. "That was what put me over the top right at the end of our session. I couldn't believe he'd bring it up at that point. Of course, I know I have to think about it. Just like I have to think about what I'll be doing with the rest of my life. If I lose, I'm sure as hell not going to stay in practice."

"That's a double tragedy," Jack said. "The profession cannot afford to lose its best clinicians, nor can your patients."

"If I lose this case, I'm never going to be able to look at a patient without worrying about being sued and having to go through this kind of experience again. This has been the worst eight months of my life."

"But what would you do if you don't practice? You've got a young family."

Craig shrugged. "Probably work for big pharma in some capacity. There are lots of opportunities. I know several people who have gone that route. The other possibility is managing somehow to do my research full-time."

"Could you really do that sodium-channel work full-time and be content?" Jack questioned.

"Absolutely. It's exciting stuff. It's basic science yet has immediate clinical application."

"I suppose big pharma is interested in that arena."

"Without doubt."

"Switching subjects," Jack said. "While I was outside saying good-bye to everyone, I had a thought that I wanted to run by you."

"About what?"

"About Patience Stanhope. I've got the whole case file, which I've read over several times. It includes all your records, but the only thing from the hospital is the emergency-room sheet."

"That's all there was. She was never admitted."

"I know that, but there's no labwork other than what is mentioned in the notes, and no order sheet. What I'm wondering is whether a major mistake could have occurred at the hospital, like the wrong drug given or a large overdose. If so, whoever was responsible could be desperate about covering up their tracks and be more than happy you are set up to take the fall. I know it's a theory somewhere out there in left field, but it's not as far out as the conspiracy idea. What's your take? I mean, it's clear from what happened here this afternoon to your children that someone is very, very against my doing an autopsy, and if Fasano is not to blame, the reason has to involve something other than money."

Craig stared off for a minute, mulling over the idea. "It's another wild but interesting thought."

"I assume that during discovery all the pertinent records from the hospital were obtained."

"I believe so," Craig said. "And an argument against such a theory is that I was there with the patient the whole time. I would have sensed something like that. If there's a major overdose or the wrong drug, there's usually a marked change in the patient's status. There wasn't. From the time I first saw her at the Stanhope residence until she was pronounced, she just faded away, unresponsive to anything we did."

"Right," Jack said. "But maybe the idea is something to be kept in mind when I get to do the autopsy. I was planning on a toxicology screen regardless, but if there's a chance of an overdose or the wrong drug, it's more critical."

"What does a toxicology screen pick up?"

"The usual drugs, and even some unusual ones if they have high enough concentrations."

Craig polished off his second drink, eyed the scotch bottle, and thought better of pouring a third. He stood up. "Sorry not to be a better host, but I have a date with my favorite hypnotic agent."

"It's bad news mixing alcohol with sleeping pills."

"Really?" Craig questioned superciliously. "I never knew that!"

"See you in the morning," Jack said. He felt Craig's provocative comment did not deserve a response.

"Are you worried about the bad guys coming back?" Craig asked in a taunting tone.

"I'm not," Jack said.

"Me neither. At least not until after the autopsy is done."

"Are you having second thoughts?" Jack asked.

"Of course I'm having second thoughts, especially with you telling me the chances of finding something relevant are small and Randolph saying it's not going to influence the trial irrespective of what's found, because it won't be admissible."

"I said the chances of finding something were small before someone broke into your house warning you not to allow me to do it. But this isn't an argument. It's up to you and Alexis."

"She's set on it."

"Well, it's up to you guys. You have to tell me, Craig. Do you want me to do it?"

"I don't know what to think, especially after two double scotches."

"Why don't you just give me your final word in the morning," Jack said. He was losing patience. Craig was not the easiest guy to like, even without two double scotches.

"What kind of person would be willing to terrorize three young girls to make a point?" Craig asked.

Jack shrugged. It was the kind of question that didn't need an answer. He said good night, and Craig did the same before walking unsteadily out of the room.

While staying on the sofa but leaning his head way back and hyperextending himself, Jack could just catch a glimpse of Craig slowly mounting the stairs. It seemed to him Craig was already evidencing a touch of alcohol-induced dyskinesia, as though he didn't quite know where his feet were. Always the doctor, Jack wondered if he should check on Craig in the middle of the night. It was a question with no easy answer, since Craig would not take kindly to such solicitousness, with its implication of neediness, an anathema to him.

Jack got himself up and stretched. He could feel the weight of the revolver, and it was comforting even though he was not concerned about any intruders. He looked at his watch. It was too early to try to fall asleep. He looked at the blank TV: no interest there. For lack of a better plan, he went to get Craig's case file and carried it to the study. As a man of habit, he sat in the same chair he'd occupied on previous occasions. After turning on the floor lamp, he searched through the file for the hospital ER record.

Pulling out the sheet, Jack settled back. He'd skimmed through it before, particularly the part about the cyanosis. Now he wanted to read every word. But as he was doing so, he became distracted. His eyes had drifted to Craig's old-fashioned doctor's bag. All of a sudden a new thought occurred to him. He wondered what the incidence of false positives was with the bedside biomarker kit.

First Jack went to the door to determine whether if he could hear Craig moving about upstairs. Even though Craig had implied he didn't care if Jack looked in his bag, Jack still felt uncomfortable. But when he was convinced all was quiet, he pulled the leather doctor's bag from its shelf, opened it, and got out the biomarker kit. Opening up the product insert, he read that the technology was based on monoclonal antibodies, which are highly specific, meaning the chance of a false positive was probably close to zero.

"Oh, well," Jack said out loud. The insert went back in the box and the box went back to its location in the very bottom of the bag among the three discarded vials, and the bag went back on the shelf. So much for another clever idea, he thought.

Jack returned to the reading chair and to the ER sheet. Unfortunately, there was nothing even remotely suspicious, and as he'd noticed on the first reading, the cyanosis notation was the most interesting part.

All of a sudden the two phones on the two desks sprang to life simultaneously. The raucous ring shocked Jack in the otherwise silent house. The insistent ring continued, and Jack counted them. After the fifth ring, he began to believe Craig might not be hearing it, and Jack heaved himself out of the reading chair. Turning on the lamp on Alexis's desk, he looked at the caller I.D. The name was Leonard Bowman.

After the seventh ring, Jack was certain it was not going to be answered, so he lifted the handset. As he suspected, it was Alexis.

"Thanks for picking up," she said after Jack's hello.

"I was waiting on Craig, but I guess his combination nightcap has him in dreamland.

"Is everything okay there?" Alexis asked.

"Peaches and cream," Jack said. "How are things there?"

"Quite well. All things considered, the girls are doing terrific. Christina and Meghan are already asleep. Tracy is watching an old movie on TV. We all have to sleep in the same room, but I think that's a good idea."

"Craig is having second thoughts about my doing the autopsy."

"Why? I thought that was all decided."

"He's having the jitters for the girls' sake, but it was after he'd had two double scotches. He's going to let me know tomorrow."

"I'll call him in the morning. I think it should be done, all the more so because of today's threat. I mean, that's one of the reasons the girls and I came out here. Plan on doing it! I'll bring him around."

After some final small talk, including that they would see each other in the courtroom, they both hung up.

Back in the reading chair, Jack tried to concentrate on the case file, but he couldn't. He kept marveling about how much was going to happen in the next few days and wondering whether there would be any surprises. Little did he know.