Illegally Dead

by Gregg E. Brickman

  "Something like that. It seems too much of a coincidence that so many of the suits originated on the same nursing unit, and I have a good idea already about who it might be. I just have to get time to look at the rosters, pull a few files, and check things out."

  "Go for it, man. We've had enough."

  "I intend to. But today, I'm going home with Jen, and Monday is a school holiday. I plan to do something, anything, with the family. I'll have plenty of time to poke around on Tuesday."

  "Meanwhile, I need to suture a small laceration on the little guy in room eight. Want to give me a hand?" Nick stood and stuck the chart under his arm.

  "Sure thing, Doc. I'd love to help. Little kids are my specialty."

  "Hi, Anthony." Tony slipped in behind the curtain shielding the four-year-old from the busy ED traffic. "My name is Anthony, too, but you can call me Tony. What do they call you?"

  The child's round eyes looked huge in his dark brown face and followed Tony's every move. The child said nothing.

  "Mrs. Gulliver, I'm Tony Conte. I'll help Dr. Messing with the suturing." He removed a blue padded board from the lower cabinet and held it for the child to see. "I'd like you to lie on this so I can put these straps around you. They'll help you be still while the doctor fixes that cut on your forehead."

  "Will it hurt?"

  "He'll put some medicine in the cut with a very tiny needle. That will sting and hurt a little. After that, you won't feel it anymore. Is that okay?"

  "Yes." Big tears puddled in the corners of Anthony's dark eyes, and his lower lip quivered.

  "You're very brave," Tony said, strapping him onto the papoose board. "Mom, are you staying with us?"

  "Can I? Is it okay?"

  "It's better for your son to have you here."

  The boy cooperated and hardly cried. Nick sutured the wound, and the child was on his way with a large, bright yellow sticker attesting to his bravery adorning the front of his bloodstained shirt. Tony was cleaning up the treatment area when Abigail called him to the telephone, saying the OR supervisor was on the line.

  Tony hit the stairs at a trot, taking them two at a time. He arrived on the second floor a heartbeat before Thorne emerged from the operating suite.

  "Tony, I thought I'd find you here." He paused, concern on his face. "Jennifer came through the surgery like a pro. She'll be in recovery in a few minutes. I took several nodes. She has three small incisions. Now, we wait for them to get back from pathology."

  "W . . . when do you th . . . think?"

  "I don't expect to have a final report until the middle of next week."

  "Wow, the middle of next week. Jennifer won't like the wait. She's uptight already. That seems like a long time."

  "It is." Thorne sighed. "I suspected lymphoma. I didn't see anything today to change my mind. I've asked pathology to send the specimens down to the university. I want to get the diagnosis confirmed so we can start treatment as soon as possible."

  "Merda. Couldn't it be something else besides a malignancy? Aren't we looking at the dark side?"

  "The cause of her swollen nodes could be viral or bacterial. But I didn't see anything in her labs or physical exam to make me believe that's the case. We have to wait and see. And, of course, we need to know if it's a lymphoma, then whether it's Hodgkin's Disease or non-Hodgkin's."

  "Why?"

  "Because if it's a lymphoma, we want it to be Hodgkin's. As you may know, Hodgkin's is more treatable, curable. It's the lesser of the evils."

  "I pray she has Hodgkin's Disease, is that it?"

  "Yes, that's about the size of it."

  "Listen, Chamberlain, when you get the report, I want to know first. Whatever it is, I need to be able to tell her about it, support her."

  "You're sure you don't want to be there when I talk with her?"

  "No. She'll feel better hearing it from me, whatever it is. During the war, and after the war, she was the only sanity I had. She helped me get on track and helped me put things in perspective. We're soul mates."

  "You're a lucky man. A soul mate is hard to find."

  "Depends where you look, my man, it depends." Tony pushed the hand-sized square stainless steel automatic door opener. The large double doors to the operating room suite swung toward him. He stepped into the suite, being careful to stay on the outside of the red-lined barrier on the floor indicating the beginning of the sterile corridor. He made a quick right into the recovery room.

  "I was expecting you. Mrs. Rich said you'd be here to sit with Jennifer. We'll put her there." The recovery room charge nurse pointed toward an empty space at the far end of the room. There were several curtained cubicles where stretchers with recovering patients would soon be parked. Oxygen, suction, emergency equipment, monitors, and a stool for the nurse equipped every space. It was early, and Jennifer would be their first recovering patient.

  Tony watched as the operating room and recovery room staff admitted Jennifer to the area. She was wide-awake and had pulled the blue gauze OR hat off her head. Long strands of dark hair spilled over the pure white pillowcase. The anesthesiologist flagged Tony over to the stretcher.

  "She's all yours. They'll take her downstairs to the outpatient area in about thirty minutes, and then you'll be able to take her home. She's a trooper."

  "Jen, honey, how are you?" Tony bent close to her and kissed her forehead.

  "It was nothing, a snap, but a little boring. I slept right through it."

  "Cute."

  "Will we know tomorrow?" Jennifer squeezed his hand and searched his dark eyes for a clue.

  "No, baby, not until the middle of next week."

  "I can handle that. We'll just have a nice long weekend with the kids and think of other things."

  "That's a plan." Tony watched as Jennifer drifted to sleep. He thought her beautiful and knew he was lucky to have her as his wife. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  Ten

  Howard Epstein was in his cubicle when Alfonzo arrived for work.

  "Shit, man, the end of another week." Alfonzo leaned his dripping umbrella against his cubical partition and flopped into his chair. He reached for the coffeepot.

  "You'd think you'd have been on time."

  "We can thank the weatherman for that." Alfonzo poured a liberal amount of sugar into his cup and added an equal portion of powdered creamer. "It's cold outside. I drove Alfie to daycare for Janie. She hates the cold as much as I do."

  "What are you, a weather wimp? You'd think it was freezing down here." Howard grimaced at his partner, a look of disgust on his face.

  "Hey, man, I was born and raised in the sub-tropics. Not like you, up there freezing your ass off in some friggin' snowbank."

  "But at forty degrees?"

  "It's cold, man, and it started to pour just as I got to the door." Alfonzo wore a heavy wool cardigan over a long-sleeved cotton tee shirt similar to the kind teenagers favored. His olive complexion glowed pink from the cold wind whipping through the parking lot. Torrents of rain blasted the windows.

  "Kidding aside, I dread going out in this stuff today." The knot of Howard's red tie was visible above the v-neck of the lightweight sweater he wore instead of his usual suit jacket. White starched cuffs extended an inch beyond the sweater's ribbed sleeves.

  "I can see you're ready." Alfonzo pointed to the summer-weight London Fog raincoat hanging behind Howard. "What is that? You fixing to be Columbo?"

  "Maybe I should. It would be a novel approach at the law firm."

  "We need to go there first. You'd think they'd have been more willing to talk to us yesterday. I wonder if they know about the autopsy results on Valentine."

  "Most likely Irene called them right after you left her house."

  "I'd make no bets on that. She doesn't like the firm. It estranged her from her family. Yesterday, her brother, the big heart surgeon, was being very protective. It was clear to me there was no love lost between him and his dearly departed brother-in-law."

  Howard re
moved his small leather bound notebook from his pants pocket and flipped it open. "So far we've got Valentine as a possible suicide, his wife with an unspecified motive . . . other than dislike . . . hate." He paused, looking through the fogged window at the rain. "What else could her motive be?"

  "She isn't grief stricken. His change of career focus embarrassed her."

  "I don't think you kill your husband because his career embarrasses you. Look at the amount of money he brought home."

  "Irrelevant. They didn't need the money." Alfonzo drained his cup and reached for the pot.

  "And then we have the brother-in-law. Motive?"

  "He'd hate having a lawyer who sued doctors in his family."

  "Wouldn't he pick something more easily controlled, more predictable than cyanide? He has the means to kill and have it look natural. No risk of discovery," Howard said.

  "I hadn't thought of that. Maybe he wanted this conversation to occur."

  "Why risk including other people? Anyone could drink out of a poisoned soda bottle."

  "I get the idea it was fairly common knowledge that it was a special brew. Whoever did it was probably confident about who would drink it." Howard stood, flexed his arm and neck muscles for a second, and reached for his coat.

  "Only you, Boston boy, would wear a raincoat and carry an umbrella. True Floridians grab an umbrella and run."

  Howard ignored the remark and loosened the strap on his umbrella. "Let's go to that law firm. I'm not buying either of our current possibles."

  "Shit, I just came in out of the rain."

  "Run, man, run. Dodge the rain drops like a true Floridian."

  "I'm Cuban."

  "Born-in-Florida-Cuban. Asshole. I'll pull the cahr to the door for you. I don't want to listen to you piss and moan all day about being soaked."

  It was a short drive south on Flamingo Road to the office park housing the law firm of Valentine, Hansen, Henninger, and Schmeck. The top floor of the tallest building in the park afforded them a panoramic view. The Sawgrass Expressway, one of many south Florida toll roads, divided civilization from the Everglades. The detectives had called ahead and Henninger, the now ranking partner, expected them.

  The ride to the fifteenth floor took a few seconds. The high-speed elevator reminded Howard of the ones in the newest, tallest buildings in Boston. Other things reminded him of the bigger city. The marble floor in the lobby reflected in the crystal clear mirrors on the lobby walls. The uniformed guard at the security desk kept a watchful eye on everyone passing through the double-doored entry foyer. Howard felt at home as they approached the receptionist station on the top floor in the functional- looking office suite.

  The young red-haired woman looked up from her computer screen. "May I help you?" she said, her smile warm.

  Howard presented his badge. "Detective Epstein." He tipped his head to Alfonzo who stood a few steps back. "This is Detective Hernandez. Mr. Henninger is expecting us."

  "You can go to his suite." She walked around her desk and pointed down a long hallway, one of the three from which she could choose. The top floor of the building was triangular shaped with the elevators opening in the central core.

  Textured wallpaper covered one side of the eight-foot-wide corridor. Open doorways broke the expanse at regular intervals. As the men walked the hall, Howard saw clerical personnel in each fiefdom tapping away on computer keyboards. He surmised the closed inner office doors led to the private sanctums of lesser associates. Floor-to-ceiling wood file cabinets paneled the other side of the hall.

  Henninger's personal offices occupied the western point of the building. A spacious secretarial area accommodated several paralegals and secretaries. One of the secretaries, an attractive Hispanic matron, directed the two detectives to a grouping of upholstered Casimir chairs and offered them their choice of Cuban or American coffee.

  A long moment later, Henninger appeared in the doorway of his office. "Come in, gentlemen."

  A twenty-foot expanse of sliding glass panels revealed a diamond-shaped, covered patio connecting two adjacent offices. Howard imagined the other office was also spacious. Henninger took a seat in one of the diamond-tufted leather chairs pulling it close to the teak conference table. They were in the throne room of the reigning partner.

  "Nice digs." Alfonzo looked around the room before taking his seat at the table.

  "Warren believed our clients like to see a prosperous office. It gives them confidence in our success."

  "This much success must make some enemies." Alfonzo shifted his weight in the chair and stared at Henninger.

  "Yes, maybe it does. I've often thought maybe we go overboard. Warren Valentine was the senior partner when he was alive. He believed we needed to look the part. I believe it has paid off."

  "Do you plan to make any changes, substantial ones to your image I mean?" Howard asked, continuing to study the office. The smell of fresh cut roses filled the room. The source was a vase holding a dozen red blooms sitting on a marble table in the corner. He suppressed the urge to sneeze.

  "Not right away. As time goes on, we'll tone it down and bring it more in line with the rest of the building." Henninger, a tall, thin man with a gentle face, paused while a wizened woman placed a serving tray containing several pastries and two porcelain coffee services, one standard, one espresso, on the table between Henninger and his visitors. "Thank you, Miss Wiles."

  "You're welcome, sir." She left the room and closed the tall door behind her, making nary a sound.

  "Miss Wiles was Valentine's secretary for twenty-five years, working with him at the State Attorney's office, then following him into private practice. Quite naturally, she is heartbroken. She's a couple of years to retirement, so we'll keep her employed. She has agreed to provide a training program for the younger support staff."

  "Kind of you," Howard said, thinking about the pleasant looking woman.

  "It's sorely needed. I swear they don't learn the necessary skills in school these days. Besides, as gracious as she seems, she's a hard-driving old broad. She was the perfect person for Warren."

  Howard thought looks could be deceiving. "I presume you are aware the Medical Examiner ruled Warren Valentine's death a homicide." He sneezed. "Did Irene Valentine tell you the body was exhumed by the ME?" He was anxious to finish and leave.

  "We knew the medical examiner was examining the body. Irene called with the information."

  "The ME confirmed lethal levels of cyanide in the body."

  Henninger raised an eyebrow. "When was Irene told?"

  "Yesterday," Alfonzo said. "I have the idea there was no love lost between her and the firm."

  "No, there wasn't." Henninger reached for the larger pot and poured. The rich aroma filled the room. He poured some for Howard, then glanced in Alfonzo's direction.

  "No, thank you," Alfonzo said, reaching for the smaller carafe and a tiny espresso cup for Cuban coffee.

  "Irene came from a wealthy family who gave a lot to charity," Henninger said. "She wanted Warren to work as a public defender but thought the State Attorney's office was a respectable alternative. Then he decided to go into private practice, refusing to live off her wealth. That didn't make Irene a happy woman. Warren always said his brother-in-law was an egotistical bastard who would never let him live it down if he accepted one penny of the family money rather than making his own."

  "Do you know anything more about that relationship?" Howard said.

  "Warren didn't talk much about her family. They were a real sore spot with him. Irene's brother was quite vocal about disliking Warren."

  "We're hoping whoever was at the courthouse with Valentine brought his belongings here. We know he carried a large duffle bag to court. Is it here?" Alfonzo said.

  "I put it in his office myself after his young associate brought it from the courthouse. I removed the firm's papers from it and left his personal belongings. It's in the next office waiting for Irene to come for his possessions."

  "Has anyone
handled it?"

  "I'm afraid I did. I removed the bottle to get to the papers. The outside of the bottle was sticky. I washed it off, dried it, and put it back in the bag. I was going to throw it out. I don't know why I didn't or why I thought Irene might want a half-empty bottle of spiked 7 UP."

  Henninger opened a hidden panel door connecting the two offices and disappeared into the next room. Seconds later, he returned with the duffle bag. Remaining standing, he placed it on the table and removed the bottle of 7 UP. "It's here."

  Alfonzo unscrewed the lid and smelled. "Booze."

  "We'll take it with us to the department and find out what's really inside." Howard sniffed the contents.

  "Is there anything else I can do for you gentlemen?"

  "Who would want to harm Warren Valentine?" Howard asked as he stood up. It was obvious to him Henninger considered the interview complete.

  "Most of the defendants in the cases he won, and he won most of his cases."

  "Anyone in particular?"

  "Not that I can think of off hand. You may want to talk to Miss Wiles. His histrionics generated many irate calls. She kept a log."

  ***

  Howard and Alfonzo settled into the booth at Sam's Deli.

  Alfonzo bit into his chili dog and said, "Where are we?"

  "Miss Wiles called. She identified three defendants she described as exceptionally angry from the recent three months of cases."

  "Anyone we know?" A drop of chili ran down Alfonzo's chin.

  Howard set his turkey sandwich on his plate and wiped his chin with a napkin. "Nicholas Prior lost a bad baby case, as she put it. He closed his practice and moved north, somewhere. Dr. Sampson is still local, but he won the appeal and quit calling the office. Then there's Chamberlain Thorne. His case was in progress at the time Valentine was murdered."

  "Didn't Conte tell you what a wonderful man Thorne is?" Alfonzo continued to eat, ignoring the chili on his chin.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, he did." Howard wiped his chin again. Then staring at Alfonzo, said, "Wipe your chin, man, wipe your chin." He watched, smiling, as his partner used a napkin, then took another bite of the chilidog. A fresh glob of chili appeared. "How did I end up with you? You're a slob."