A MAN WITH a deep voice answered the phone. Karen identified herself and asked to speak to Bonnie Bach.
“She ain’t feelin’ so good,” said the man. “She’s in bed.”
“Please tell her the lawyer from Shoreview Memorial is calling.”
Half a minute later, Bonnie was on.
“Sorry to bother you,” said Karen. “I had just a couple of more questions for you. Do you remember if Mrs. Winslow had anything to eat other than her hospital meals?”
“Well, let me think . . .”
“How about chocolate?”
“Oh, yes. She had a box of those really good candies, the ones that come in the gold box.”
“Lady Coventry?” said Karen.
“That’s right. They were delicious.”
“You had some?”
“Mrs. Winslow was so nice to offer them. They’re sooo expensive.”
“You told me you saw dark brown blood in Mrs. Winslow’s mouth,” said Karen. “Could it have been chocolate?”
A pause. “I guess it could have been.”
“Might that explain why Dr. Hazelwood didn’t see it?”
“Chocolate dissolves,” said the nurse. “Blood stains the mouth. Say . . . you don’t think I got sick from Lady Coventry chocolates, do you?”
“Do you?”
“Just the thought of chocolates right now is making me feel like puking again.”
“Did anybody else eat any of Mrs. Winslow’s candy?” asked Karen.
“The box was about half empty when I first saw it. I had three or four pieces. I think Mrs. Winslow finished it.”
And vice versa, thought Karen.
CHAPTER
14
Downtown Jefferson straddled the Weyawega River just below a dam that was built in the mid-nineteenth century to power a grain mill The mill was defunct, but the flowage created by the dam was enjoyed by fishermen, boaters and waterfront property owners like Arthur Winslow and Matthew Stoker. The weathered gray building that housed the mill had been converted to retail space and a restaurant, the Mill Wheel, that served salads and sandwiches. In the summer the restaurant offered outdoor seating with an elevated view of the flowage and the river below it. Karen, dressed in a white suit, sat at a resin table under a Cinzano umbrella, watching a pair of kayakers practice their whitewater technique in the spill below the dam. She wondered how they managed to arrange their lives for fun at noon on a Tuesday. She also wondered if anyone at this restaurant had ever once ordered Cinzano.
Matthew Stoker arrived twenty minutes late, his necktie loosened and his hair looking windblown. He doffed his suit coat and tossed it over the back of an empty chair. Judging from his tan, he, too, had found time for recreation outdoors.
“Winslow’s having a rough time of it,” he said. “He was a wreck when Lopopolo interviewed him yesterday. Lopopolo was ticked off when I cut the interview short, but I had to. Arthur’s so spaced out, no telling what he might say to the police.”
“What was Lopopolo after?”
“I don’t know exactly. He asked Arthur where he was the day before Lorraine died. The warrant for the house had the same gobbledygook as the one you described for his office. One thing’s clear, Lopopolo thinks he can make Arthur for Lorraine’s murder.”
The waiter appeared and Karen ordered a salad. Matthew opted for an Italian sausage sub. On the river below, one of the kayakers capsized and immediately righted himself with impressive agility. Karen waited until the waiter was out of earshot.
“Do you know why Lopopolo thinks Lorraine was murdered,” she said, “let alone that Arthur did it?”
“I didn’t say he thought she was murdered or that he thinks Arthur did it. What I said was he thinks he can make Arthur for it. I swung by the courthouse this morning.” Matthew removed his aviator sunglasses and polished them with his napkin. “Karen, our boy Arthur is in deep doo-doo.”
“What was at the courthouse?”
“The affidavits filed to show probable cause when Lopopolo got the search warrant. His own affidavit has stuff about Arthur having a history of domestic violence. No surprise there. But his evidence that a crime was committed comes from your lab. He talked to a lab tech, I forget the name, who gave him a verbal on the stool sample from Lorraine that they cultured. Based on what the tech said, Lopopolo got an affidavit from a toxicologist at the state crime lab that the food poisoning was probably not accidental.”
“Are they going to arrest Arthur?”
“I don’t think they have enough for an arrest yet,” said Matthew, “but I’d give you any odds they’ll charge him at some point.”
The waiter brought the food. Karen silently cursed herself for forgetting to order her salad dressing on the side. Matthew dug into his sub with gusto.
“Did they find anything at Arthur’s house?” asked Karen.
Matthew talked while chewing. “They took some documents that supposedly had to do with Lorraine’s health care, which were covered by the warrant. Insurance policies, stuff she brought home from the doctor’s office. But judging from Lopopolo’s demeanor I don’t think they got what they were after.” He looked at Karen. She could see tiny, reflected sailboats moving about on the surface of his sunglasses. “Do you have any idea why they were looking for medical documents?”
If Matthew was going to defend Arthur, he needed to know more than Karen had told him about Lorraine’s death. The parts that were pure speculation, such as Karen’s theory about the Lady Coventry chocolates, she would keep to herself. But the alteration of Lorraine’s medical record was not mere conjecture. Karen asked Matthew if he had talked to Arthur about Lorraine’s death, and Matthew said he knew about the food poisoning and Lorraine’s fatal allergic reaction to the antibiotics. When Karen went on about the apparent removal of the drug allergy sheet from Lorraine’s chart prior to her final hospitalization, he turned to the side, his mouth in a pensive frown.
“According to the nursing supervisor,” said Karen, “Lorraine had a Medic Alert bracelet during previous hospitalizations. The night she died, it was gone.”
Matthew removed his sunglasses and set them on the resin table. He rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. “Damn. Now that’s a disappointment,” he said.
“How so?”
“Something I observed at the Winslow place. Have you decided yet about our job offer?”
“I have until Friday,” Karen replied. “What has that got to do with what you saw at Arthur’s?”
Matthew turned to look directly at Karen. Minuscule sailboats coasted on his brown irises. “If you’re coming to Van Dyke, you’ll be co-counsel on Arthur’s defense. As the hospital attorney, you may actually be adverse to Arthur.”
“Arthur assures me he’s not going to sue the hospital,” said Karen.
“If you were his lawyer, you might try to change his mind. That aside, the hospital could be at odds with Arthur’s strategy on the Billick sexual harassment claim. Especially with a felony charge hanging over his head.”
Karen felt a sudden dryness in her mouth. Matthew was evidently a step ahead of her. She had not even considered whether Lorraine’s death had any effect on the defense of the harassment claim. Now that Matthew mentioned it, she could see that it did.
“You mean he might be more inclined now to settle the claim rather than risk publicity that draws his character into question.”
“Yeah,” said Matthew, “but more than that, the Billick claim complicates the criminal defense.” Matthew paused to take a bite of his sub and wipe olive oil from the corners of his mouth. “You see, if he gets charged with murdering his wife, it might be better for him to admit to sexual harassment than to insist the relationship was consensual. Assuming she’s able to show there was a relationship.”
Karen had little doubt that Shari Billick could prove something was going on between her and Arthur. Jake had seen them together; surely others had. Twisted as it was, she could see the logic in what Matthew was sa
ying. If you were accused of murdering your wife and they were looking for a motive, better to be caught harassing than carrying on a consensual affair.
“When I talked to him,” said Karen, “Arthur adamantly denied the allegations in the draft complaint. Would he admit to them now to avoid complicating his criminal defense?”
“He wouldn’t necessarily have to,” said Matthew. “He could pay off the claimant with no admission of liability and a secrecy agreement. My nose tells me these people just want money. Would the hospital be willing to kick in?”
The question opened a can of worms. Normally Karen got approval for settlements from the CEO, but Arthur had a conflict of interest: he couldn’t approve a settlement concerning his own actions. In this case she would have to go to the board of directors. They would be offended at paying off a claimant to hide information from the police in a criminal investigation. On the other hand, it would not do the hospital any good to have its CEO convicted of murdering his wife, while she was in the hospital no less. Plus, most of the board members were former clients or colleagues of Arthur. Karen was not confident she could be objective herself, considering her sympathy for Arthur.
“I . . . I’m not prepared to discuss that at this time,” said Karen, feeling cowardly for hiding behind such a spineless lawyer-ism.
“Look, Karen,” said Matthew, “why don’t you make this easy? Just accept our job offer and you can start helping Arthur and make some decent money while you’re at it. We’d make a great team. You know you want to, and Arthur wants you to.”
“He said that?”
Matthew picked up his suit coat and reached into the inside breast pocket. He handed Karen a cellular phone. “Call and ask him. His home number is 0-4 on speed call. Work is 0-5.”
A flight of wooden stairs led from the restaurant deck to a grassy area on the riverbank. Karen descended the steps, sat on a bench and looked around to be sure she was alone. She reached Arthur at home.
“Of course I want you at Van Dyke,” said Arthur. “That detective has me scared. Matthew is sure I’m going to be charged. I want you on my side.”
“But Matthew is a very good lawyer,” said Karen.
“He’s very au fait” said Arthur, “and he’s an aggressive young Turk. He reminds me a little of myself at that age, only hungrier. But he’s not as brainy as you, Karen, and he’s not as trustworthy.”
“You don’t trust him?”
“It’s a matter of degree,” said Arthur. “You’re the most dependable lawyer I’ve ever worked with. I see Matthew as the kind of guy who wants to win so bad that he might pursue a strategy that I’m against. If you were his co-counsel, you could keep tabs and let me know if he’s, say, trying to defend me by casting suspicion on someone I want to protect.”
“You’ve lost me, Arthur.”
“That’s all I can say until you’re signed on.”
“I’m in the middle of a lot of things at the hospital right now,” said Karen.
“You’ll still be the hospital’s general counsel. On the outside. You can even use your office at Shoreview when you’re working on hospital stuff.”
“Okay. Well, you’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“Karen?”
“Yes?”
“I need you,” said Arthur.
The kayakers drifted by, laughing and bobbing in the swift current. Karen’s vicarious participation in their zesty pleasure seemed to relax her. She found herself listening to the soothing rush of the water cascading over the dam and along the rocky riverbank, observing the sun sparkling on the waves and feeling its warmth on her face and hands. She was close to making a decision.
JAKE ANSWERED ON the first ring. Karen went over the pros and cons, the pluses and minuses of making a move.
“Sounds like Arthur has the skids greased,” said Jake.
“It’s okay with you?”
“Whatever clicks your castanets, baby. It’s your gig.”
“Hey, McKinley’s not crying,” said Karen.
“Don’t be late,” said Jake. “Your mom’s coming over.”
Karen clicked off. Jake opened the door. The baby was wailing like a wounded coyote. Jake smiled. The studio was almost ready.
“WELCOME TO THE team,” said Matthew, extending his hand. “I’ll send a messenger over to pick up the signed contract this afternoon. You can start Monday.”
“Can we wait until the first of the month? I want to tie up some loose ends, and I’d like to make a few adjustments to the contract.”
“Sorry, Karen,” replied Matthew, “no can do. Contract partner agreements are standardized. Except for the money.”
“The money is fine,” said Karen, noting Matthew’s surprise that she didn’t ask for more. “But there’s some hospital work I need to finish up.”
“I’ll intake Shoreview Memorial today. Starting Monday, that work will all be billable hours for you, so you might not want to finish up too much of it, if you catch my drift.”
In one sentence Matthew had reminded Karen of what she considered to be the two biggest drawbacks of practicing in a law firm. Billable hours and the pressure to market services.
“One thing I do want you to do this week,” said Matthew, “is talk to your board about what the hospital is willing to contribute to settle the Billick claim.”
“But there’s been no discovery yet,” said Karen. “How can we evaluate the claim without at least some investigation?”
“So do some investigation, if you want to. I’ll see if Shari Billick’s lawyer will let us take her deposition before the claim is filed. But remember, what we’re paying for is to make sure the claim doesn’t get filed. I say dangle fifty grand in front of her and the case is gone in a New York minute.”
The waiter appeared and made a show of cleaning the table. Matthew had already paid, so it was obvious that other customers must be waiting. But Karen was not ready to end the conversation.
“Are you able to tell me now what you saw at Arthur’s yesterday that concerned you?”
“Not here,” said Matthew.
Karen followed Matthew down the wooden steps to the park bench on the riverbank. The kayakers had gone home or back to work or perhaps on to another adventure. No one else was nearby, and the roar of the river tumbling over the dam gave Matthew and Karen further privacy. Nevertheless, Matthew leaned toward Karen conspiratorially. She noticed he used an aftershave that smelled pricey.
“You can’t repeat this to anyone,” said Matthew. “Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“I took my runabout to Winslow’s right after you called. I wanted to get there before Lopopolo showed up. You said he had a search warrant for Winslow’s office, I figured he’d have one for the house, too. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who guessed that.”
“What do you mean?”
Matthew leaned closer and lowered his voice. “When I’m about two hundred yards from Winslow’s place, I see a blond girl in a blue sundress walk out on the pier.”
“Arthur’s daughter?”
“Yeah. I met her later. Anyway, she kneels on the end of the pier and drops something in the lake that flashes in the sun as it falls from her hand. Then she runs down the pier and up the hill to the house. When I tie up at the pier, I see something on the bottom of the lake, right where she was kneeling, that I thought at the time was a fishing lure, like a spoon of some kind. It was silver and had red markings that looked like a face, with a big red sparkly eye. You know how they paint fishing lures. It didn’t make sense, but I didn’t think much of it until you told me about the missing Medic Alert bracelet. I’d give you any odds that’s what I was looking at.”
“Are you sure?” asked Karen.
“No. I mean, why leave the thing lying around the house? Why not toss it in a trash receptacle or down a sewer?”
Karen knew, but she did not say. “This was a piece of jewelry,” the nursing supervisor had said. “Expensive-looking, with a gem-stone and ever
ything.” Something one might not want to throw down a sewer, if one could avoid it.
“That’s why you said you were disappointed,” said Karen.
Matthew removed his sunglasses. His eyes were focused in the distance, his forehead wrinkled. “I’ve gotten over 80 percent of my criminal defendants off,” he said, “and every one of the sons of bitches was guilty. One hundred percent of them paid their bill. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, but it does.” He turned to Karen and shook his head. “Just once I’d like to defend someone who’s innocent. I really, really hope Arthur wasn’t in on Lorraine’s death.”
CHAPTER
15
When Karen returned to her desk, she found a note from her secretary saying that Max Schumacher, the head of hospital security, would be available to meet with Karen at 2:00 P.M. Subtle.
Avoiding contact with Margaret, Karen used her two-finger typing method to prepare a memorandum to all lab personnel reminding them about the confidentiality of patient information and that requests from the police should be referred to legal counsel. Lopopolo had already shaken Lorraine Winslow’s lab results out of one of the techs, so this was closing the barn door after the horses were out. But there was always the next case. She printed out the memo and walked it down to the lab in the hospital basement.
A female clerk greeted Karen at the front counter and escorted her down a short hallway where the offices of the pathologists were located, into the central room of the laboratory. Karen had never been in the lab before. It was larger than she expected, brightly lit and noticeably colder than the rest of the hospital. Several full-sized freezers took up half the space in the room, and a number of centrifuges that looked like extraterrestrial spacecraft seemed ready to take off. What looked like acres of countertop, nearly all of it covered with microscopes, slides, petri dishes, incubators and logbooks, took up the rest of the room. Karen diverted her eyes from the jars containing organs and tissue samples marinating in formalin. She could smell them nevertheless.
The lab supervisor was a short, attractive Hispanic woman about Karen’s age. The name on her ID badge was Rosalinda Fuentes. She was not apologetic that Lorraine Winslow’s lab results had been leaked to the police.
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