by Sydney Bauer
*
‘All right, Deputy Superintendent, Detective. Let's cut to the chase here, shall we?’
Davenport had barely planted his too-tight ass in his fancy leather chair before placing his glasses on his desk and ‘laying down the law’ Dick Davenport style. The man was ridiculously attractive in a central casting sort of way – all cocktails and Cadillacs with Brylcreem in his hair.
‘Sienna Walker is my patient – was before her daughter was born and still is to this day and, as such, any information I have regarding her medical condition, or of the conversations we shared and the subsequent treatment I recommended, fall under the sanctity of doctor/patient privilege, which means I am afraid that your visit here is really a waste of –’
‘This your way of apologising for keeping us waiting for half an hour?’ Joe wanted this asshole on the back foot from the get-go.
‘Certainly not. I was going to say this was a waste of my time, Deputy Superintendent.’
Joe paused. ‘I get it, Doc,’ he said eventually. ‘You're a busy man.’
‘Yes.’
‘With lives to save.’
‘In some cases, yes.’
‘So your priority is protecting your patients.’
‘If they need protecting – of course.’
‘And you are protecting Sienna Walker?’
‘If that is some trick you use on other more gullible interviewees to try and get them to divulge confidential information, I warn you it will not work on me, Deputy Superintendent.’
‘No trick, Doctor. I am just trying to establish the identity of your patient.’
‘What do you mean the identity of my patient?’ asked a now indignant-looking Davenport, a single facial line materialising in the form of a lone horizontal crevasse across his brow.
‘If it was the mother or the baby,’ said Joe.
A short pause. ‘I am an OB/GYN, Deputy Superintendent, not a paediatrician, but if you are asking me if Eliza was a patient of mine as far as an extension of her mother's care is concerned, then the answer would most definitely be yes.’
‘But according to the birthing hospital records you did not deliver her,’ said Joe.
And at this the seemingly calm and collected doctor physically shivered, a shudder he disguised by pretending to cough. Joe sensed the doc was not too pleased with Sienna Walker's decision to go elsewhere for the actual delivery. Like he had turned up at all the rehearsals only to have Walker cast someone else for the main show.
‘The engagement of the midwife was Sienna's choice. Many mothers prefer to have a woman deliver their baby.’
‘Kind of unfair, isn't it?’ asked Joe. ‘You know – how you put in all the prep work and someone else gets to …’
‘Ms Brown was an experienced midwife,’ Davenport interrupted, referring to the midwife whose name was listed as Mary Brown on the birth certificate.
‘Did you recommend her?’
Another shiver. ‘No.’
‘So you don't know where we can contact her?’ Joe was not desperate to speak to the woman whose role in this drama was perfunctory bar the fact that she had rubbed the good doctor up the wrong way. But he figured his asking might ruffle the doc's feathers, so he threw the question in.
‘I believe she returned to her native Ireland soon after Eliza's birth.’
‘Which meant Eliza returned to your care?’ Joe added some salt.
‘The woman was a midwife, not a trained physician, and as I have already explained, I attended to the child as an extension of the mother.’
‘So Eliza didn't have her own paediatrician?’
‘No. That was not necessary. Eliza was in perfect health and Sienna was grateful for my care of her. Sienna had not been in the US long – and she had a small circle of friends who she trusted.’
‘Including you.’
‘Yes.’
‘And Daniel Hunt.’
‘Yes.’
There was silence, as Joe allowed the last statement to hang in the air a second longer than necessary.
‘So allow me to confirm, Doc,’ said Joe, needing to stress the point, ‘Eliza Walker was your patient.’
An obviously exasperated Davenport sighed. ‘I already said as much, Deputy Superintendent.’
‘But Eliza is dead.’
‘Sadly so.’
‘So her records no longer fall under doctor/patient privilege.’
Davenport's mouth, which had been open at the ready for another slick reply, snapped shut in fury.
‘Listen to me, Deputy Superintendent, Sienna Walker is more than just a patient, she is a friend – I was good friends with her husband and since his death I have done everything in my power to make sure she is supported. Single parenthood is not easy, and so I took it upon myself to look out for her as a matter of priority – to oversee the care of both mother and child and do everything in my power to make Sienna's life as stress-free as possible.’
‘I have four kids, Doctor – there is no such thing as “stress-free” in the first few months of a kid's life.’
‘Perhaps your wife saw the wrong physician.’
‘And perhaps you're some sort of medical obsessive who likes to control every aspect of his patients' lives.’
Davenport shook his head, placing his hands on either side of his ergonomic throne as if about to get to his feet.
‘Sit down,’ said Joe, now pushing forward in his seat.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You can either do this the easy or the hard way, Doc,’ continued Joe. ‘You either help us with what we need, or we get a warrant to turn this spotless sanctuary of yours upside down.’
‘I told you, Sienna's records are privileged.’
‘But the kid's aren't.’
‘But you know that her file exists as an extension of her mother's.’
‘Then maybe you need to come up with a better filing system.’
Davenport was struck silent once again, his arms relaxing as he sat back in his seat.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Time out, Deputy Superintendent. I believe I may be coming across as unreasonably antagonistic.’
Joe could think of a million responses to this particular observation, but at this stage decided to pass.
‘But as I mentioned previously, Sienna Walker is a friend and what is happening to her is, well … beyond preposterous.’
‘She didn't resent having the kid?’ It was a shot from left field, but Joe figured he had nothing to lose.
‘Absolutely not. Why on earth would you say that? She and Jim fought hard to conceive that little girl.’
Joe glanced at Frank. ‘What do you mean “fought hard”?’ asked Joe.
‘Eliza was conceived using IVF.’
‘Did Mrs Walker have a fertility problem?’
‘Yes, as did Jim. They were in effect a fertility nightmare. But Jim was particularly desperate for a child and got over the initial shock of his situation quickly. As for Sienna, she may not have been as desperate as Jim for things to happen so quickly, but she loved her husband and, as such, approached the whole in-vitro thing with enthusiasm.’
Joe paused, wondering for the first time if Dick Davenport's comments should be taken at face value.
‘Was the kid his?’ asked Joe, knowing in some cases couples opted for donor sperm if the problems with the real dad were substantial.
‘Of course, Jim's sperm and Sienna's eggs were harvested for fertilisation outside the womb. They used a form of IVF known as intracytoplasmic sperm injection or ICSI, where a single sperm is injected into the ova. The technology is reasonably new but remarkably effective.’
‘Did Mrs Walker have a change of heart about the pregnancy when her husband passed away?’
A pause. ‘Certainly not. If anything, the child meant even more to her.’
‘But you said he was the one desperate for the child.’
‘He was, but what I meant by that was, Sienna's career was in its infancy, she was highly
sought after by galleries here and overseas and …’ Davenport hesitated once again, as if he had said too much. ‘But as I stressed previously, she loved her husband very much.’
There was definitely something there, thought Joe as Davenport met his eye, but he could not tell if the doctor was feeding it to him on purpose or simply gauging Joe's reaction to his comment.
‘Did Daniel Hunt's firm encourage their staff to have families?’ Another question left of centre, one he did not expect Davenport to answer. But Joe was wrong.
‘Of course,’ replied Davenport, his deep blue eyes set directly on Joe. ‘Daniel Hunt is a good friend of mine, Deputy Superintendent, as you already know. Daniel knows his employees give a lot to his firm and he encourages them to balance such dedication with a happy home life.’
‘Pay packets and picket fences.’
‘If you like.’
‘But what if the wife isn't ready to start a family?’
‘Then that is her choice – just like it was Sienna's to forgo certain career opportunities to have a child with her husband.’
Another look from Davenport, and yet again Joe was unclear on its intent.
‘So the baby was healthy?’ asked Joe, coming full circle on purpose.
‘Perfectly.’
‘And Sienna Walker?’
Davenport forced a smile. ‘There you go again, Deputy Superintendent. I understand what you are getting at – you want to know if Sienna was being treated for PPD.’
Now that was surprisingly straight down the line, thought Joe. ‘Was she?’ he asked.
‘I am not at liberty to say.’
‘Then we'll stop wasting your time and take Eliza Walker's file – the one that exists as part of her mother's.’
Davenport hesitated as if trying to decide which way to go, but then those arms were up on the side of his chair once again. ‘I am afraid you are going to have to get that warrant, Deputy Superintendent,’ he said, getting to his feet.
Joe sighed. ‘Have it your way, Doc.’ He and Frank stood to follow Davenport to his door.
‘You still hold it against me, don't you,’ asked Davenport as he turned to face them, ‘my sedating Sienna on the night of the murder?’
‘That, and the fact that you told her to change her clothes.’
Frank shot him a glance – it was a risk, but Joe figured they had nothing to lose.
‘I did no such thing,’ said Davenport, turning away from him as he spoke.
But Joe caught it, the slightest of trembles in his voice. ‘The thing is, Doc, the woman is charged with killing her kid, so it could be said that assisting her in any fashion is tantamount to aiding and abetting.’
‘And why would I aid and abet a killer?’
‘I'm not sure – but a logical guess would be that you were trying to prevent her from saying something to incriminate herself.’
‘Then that would make me a very good friend.’
‘Which you are at pains to describe yourself as being.’
Davenport stopped short then, his clenched jaw finally relaxing into one of those conceited-as-all-hell smiles. ‘You know, Deputy Superintendent,’ he said at last as he reached for the doorknob to let them out into reception, ‘I shall try to ignore your ignorant jibes on the grounds that just being here must be difficult for you. After all, you deal in death and I – well … there is a reason why doctors have God complexes, you know, because we save – and in my case create – lives.’
‘And I thought it was because you God complex-types were all a load of up-yourselves pricks,’ said Joe as he pushed past the doctor and out into the reception area beyond. ‘But I am just a lowly cop who puts liars in prison – so what the fuck would I know?’
*
Minutes later Dick Davenport was on the phone, outlining the entire conversation. And his friend listened intently, without interrupting, before hanging up the phone.
24
Joe Mannix and Frank McKay were holed up in the back of a Downtown Crossing coffee shop, one of those places where the regulars sat at the counter and the transients took what was left to them – in Joe and Frank's case, a rickety table with two mismatched chairs. They had not had a chance to talk, Joe instead using the ten minutes in the car – they were on their way to visit the DA at his One Bullfinch Place offices when they decided to make a slight detour to this café to discuss their meeting with Dick Davenport – to listen to the messages on his cell: three long ones which came from an impatient Roger Katz, and one brief ‘call me’ request from his good friend, the attorney for the defence.
‘There were actually two to begin with, you know,’ said Frank McKay, his eyes now focused on the old-fashioned TV above the counter, currently airing one of those morning entertainment news programs on the celebrity-obsessed channel E!
‘Two of what?’ asked Joe, knowing his partner was going to expand on his random observation, whether Joe liked it or not.
‘Two yellow brick roads,’ said Frank, now pointing his half-eaten cinnamon donut at the show which was currently running some old archival footage of the original Wizard of Oz.
Well blind Freddie could have seen that one coming, thought Joe. What the hell else have we got to discuss this morning bar Judy Garland and her hairy mutt's route?
‘You're talking about the movie,’ he replied, knowing Frank would want to run this out – and truth be told, Joe was on board with it, knowing Frank's crazy musings often had a point.
‘Not exactly. I'm talking about one of the books on which the movie was based. It was called “The Patchwork Girl of Oz” – which was, as a matter of interest, the third in the series by L. Frank Baum.’
‘You giving up your shield to become an American literature major, McKay? Because if you are, given literature majors don't have to put up with abusive pricks like our persistent DA or lying assholes like Davenport, I can certainly understand your motivation.’
‘That's a good point, Chief. But pricks aside, I was just thinking how interesting it is that Dorothy chose the harder of the two roads.’
‘Judy Garland took a wrong turn?’
‘Not Judy, she was in the movie.’
Of course.
‘I'm talking about the original Dorothy Gale. The one from the –’
‘Books,’ finished Joe. ‘Is there a point here, McKay?’
Frank held up his coffee as if to say, Give me a minute, I'm getting to it. ‘Both yellow brick roads started at Munchkin City, and both ended up in Oz, but one was longer and tricker to negotiate, and that's the one that Dorothy took.’
A frustrated Joe tried to make sense of it. ‘Maybe if she took the other one she wouldn't have met up with her pals, Frank – you know, the scarecrow, and lion and the guy made out of iron.’
‘Tin.’
‘What?’
‘Tin. The man missing the heart was made out of tin. But I think you're right, Chief,’ McKay pushed on, undeterred. ‘I think L. Frank Baum set her on that harder path so that we – the readers or the movie goers – could learn the things that she learnt along the way. Sort of like he was navigating our course from the get-go – you know, like the invisible captain, steering his ship.’
‘That's what authors do, Frank.’
‘Exactly – authors of books, makers of movies, anybody who has designs on how they want a certain story to be unveiled. People do it to us all the time, Chief, paint pictures in the way they want us to see them, not necessarily as they really are.’
Joe started to see it. ‘You're talking about Davenport,’ he said. ‘You think he paved his own yellow brick road for us,’ he added, recalling his own earlier suspicions that the conceited medico was choosing his words with deliberation.
‘I think the good doctor may have been showing us one road while steering us toward another. He spent a lot of time defending Walker, Chief, while simultaneously –’
‘– selling her up the river,’ finished Joe. ‘That stuff about her husband wanting the baby more th
an she did – about her career and so forth.’
Frank nodded. ‘Seems to me he went on and on about his denying us access to the file but gave us enough information to question the woman's possible motives. He seemed determined not to confirm she had PPD – but maybe there was a reason for that – like …’
‘Like she doesn't have PPD after all.’
‘And her motivations may be more self-centred in nature.’
Joe nodded, knowing exactly what Frank was getting at. ‘But to what end?’ he asked after a time. ‘I mean, what has Davenport got to gain from selling Sienna Walker out?’
‘Maybe he's a good guy after all – and wants to avenge the death of that poor little girl.’
‘Maybe, but I'm thinking not,’ said Joe.
Frank nodded again, as he used his index finger to scrape the sugared cinnamon from his now donut-free plate. ‘Maybe he held a grudge against Walker for deciding to go to that midwife for the child's birth. It certainly appeared to rile him.’
Joe nodded. ‘I noticed, but that could well be just his ego talking.’
‘I tend to agree with you,’ replied Frank. ‘But this is where the road gets foggy. If Davenport's motives are self-centred, then what the hell are they?’
‘The same as Daniel Hunt's,’ offered Joe.
Another nod from Frank. ‘Which are?’
Joe thought about it as he sipped his coffee, trying to use Frank's line of thinking to home in on Hunt's voracious interest in this case. ‘I think you may have something with that road theory, Frank. I think Hunt and his friend are steering us toward one road simply because they do not want us to find out what is down the other.’
‘Because the other road leads to the truth.’
‘And maybe screws their arrogant asses to the wall.’
Frank grabbed a napkin to wipe his mouth and fingers before continuing. ‘There is one person who might be able to help us,’ he suggested – perhaps wary of how his boss might take the proposition.
‘No, Frank,’ Joe said, already shaking his head. ‘David works for the defendant.’
‘Hasn't stopped us in the past, Chief.’
‘That was because we knew his clients were innocent.’