Tony glanced at his watch, then rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the kinks. He already felt tense, and he'd have to wait his turn.
Nick's deposition with Emily Schmeck, Carlson's attorney, was stretching to three hours, and he'd only treated the patient for an hour or so in the ED. Schmeck was, Tony imagined, taking the opportunity to work Nick over, softening him for the Rivera case, where she was the plaintiff's counsel as well. Attempts at settlement on the Rivera case had failed. It was scheduled to go to trial in a couple of weeks.
"Merda. I'm n . . . not even sure wh . . . why he's included." Tony took a deep breath, exhaled against puckered lips, then dropped into an upholstered chair next to Thorne.
"When are you scheduled?" Thorne wore a starched white coat buttoned over a crisp shirt and tie. The sharp crease of his slacks settled onto glossy Johnston & Murphy loafers.
"Now. I went home, changed clothes." Tony had left the ED a half-hour early. He wanted to be credible and didn't think his scrubs with twelve hours of wear, including his nocturnal breaking and entering adventure, would give a professional impression. He'd dressed in a well-fitted, though not expensive, dark blue suit, white shirt, and red print tie.
"You're early."
Tony helped himself to coffee from a side table An array of fancy cookies from the hospital's kitchen was there for the taking.
"Maybe they'll cancel me. To tell you the truth, I'd rather face a room full of armed Iraqi soldiers than one attorney." Tony scanned the familiar waiting room. There were six chairs clustered in the corner. A telephone sat on the corner table for the convenience of waiting professionals or visitors, and an efficient-appearing receptionist sat behind a high counter on the far side of the elongated room, her head and shoulders visible above the polished dark oak.
"Did the hospital counsel prepare you?"
"Yes, I guess so. We met again yesterday, and they coached me on what to say. Not to volunteer anything. Be sure I understand the questions. Things like that." Tony tapped his fingers on the end table. He needed to relax. What could they do to him? After all, they only had paper and a court reporter, not knives or AK-47 assault rifles.
"I went inside to chat with my lawyer for a minute during their break. There are six lawyers counting Schmeck," Thorne said.
"Six! Why?" His skin tightened and sprouted goose bumps.
"Because every lawyer involved in the case has the opportunity to attend, ask questions, get a transcript. They're sitting all lined up on both sides of a rectangular table in the small conference room. There is a court reporter at the head of the table next to the guest of honor, in this case Nick."
"And what, may I ask, is at the other end of the table. Schmeck?"
"No, a video camera focused on the person being deposed. And, of course, there is the bored video technician."
"Expensive process." Tony pressed his open palms against his thighs, trying, with little success, to quiet the trembling of his hands.
"It's designed to intimidate. Keep the witness uncomfortable by the sheer nature of the setting."
"Merda, it's working already."
"My advice is to relax and ignore the camera. Keep your eyes on the lady asking the questions, and listen to every word. She twists your statements, repeats them back to you inaccurately, tries to get you to say things you didn't mean."
"How?"
"Easy. She'll say things like, 'now you meant' and then twists your answer into something you didn't mean at all. You'll need to keep correcting her, stick to your guns."
"What can they ask me? I took care of the patient for a thirty minutes, implemented all of the orders, and transferred him to the sixth floor."
"They'll ask you about every line you wrote—what it says, what it meant. They'll ask your opinion about what Nick did. They'll ask if it was unusual—that sort of thing."
"My lawyer warned me about that. I'll say I'm a nurse and don't have the qualifications to judge medical practice."
"That works." For several minutes, the two men sat in silence. Then Thorne changed the subject. "I really owe you."
"Why is that?" Tony was happy to think about something else. He brushed the hair out of his eyes and gave Thorne his full attention.
"For one thing, you convinced Abigail to stay at the hospital. Other than my daughter, she's the only bright spot in my life."
"Abigail's an excellent nurse. She's my right hand. I'm lucky to have her working with me."
"The other thing is I appreciate your involvement in the whole mess about the murders. Eventually, the detectives will figure out I'm not involved, but meanwhile, I'm looking over my shoulder. It seems like my whole world is crashing down, all except for Abby that is."
"I wish I could say I helped, but I do have reason to believe they've found themselves another viable suspect." Tony imagined Gross was out on bail, back on the street. He'd talked to Howard earlier and told him about the client referrals and payments. Howard had wanted to know the source of his information, but Tony held firm. He couldn't admit to entering the law offices in the middle of the night and seeing Gross arrested. He gave Howard check voucher numbers, names, and dates. Howard would subpeona the file.
"What other suspect?"
"A private investigator. This is confidential. Don't even tell Abigail, please. A PI by the name of Paul Gross." Tony updated Chamberlain on Dori Grilley, and Gross's referrals for dollars scheme, and the visit to Gross's office.
Tony said, "Eva fired Dori, so there's a tourniquet on the bleeder at least. The cops arrested Gross this morning after building guards caught him breaking into the law firm's offices."
Thorne nodded. "You do come up with the most interesting things."
"I have friends on the force."
"That explains it."
"But you're the prime suspect. The police, especially Hernandez, think you have the strongest motive."
"Which is?" Thorne shuddered and continued without waiting for Tony's reply. "Besides, they have three murders on their hands, and I have no motive or opportunity for the last two, one whose life I saved, I might add."
"I'd say the motive they're working on is revenge against the law firm for all the aggravation they caused you."
"It's a thought, but I'm not the type. Sometimes I wish I were."
"I know what you mean."
The large, double doors into the administrative suite inched open and a shaky Nick Messing emerged. He sank into a seat next to Tony. "Wow." There was a long pause. "It's been a long, long day."
"I'll say," Thorne said, "and getting longer."
"It doesn't look like they're going to depose you today, Chamberlain. They're worrying about the time. Schmeck wants to get Tony out of the way, says it'll be quick, and do you the first thing Tuesday morning."
"Just a minute," Tony broke in. "Jen's surgery is the first thing Tuesday morning. She can't stand to wait. I can't either. We need to get her treatment started."
"I agree," Thorne said. "I'll refuse, and they'll have to adjust to my schedule."
Schmeck appeared in the doorway. Strands of braided gold draped around her neck and softened the severe tailoring of her pants suit and high-button blouse. She wore small diamond earrings, and her hair was cut shorter than Tony's.
Tony stared. He hadn't met Schmeck. As a topic of conversation, someone mentioned she was lesbian, but they hadn't prepared him for the image. She stood six feet tall, weighed at least one-seventy and lifted weights. That much was obvious even through the suit.
"Mr. Conte." She extended her hand as Tony rose to greet her. "I'm Emily Schmeck." They stood eye to eye. "We'll be ready to take your deposition in a few minutes."
With his appointment rescheduled for a couple of weeks in the future, Thorne left the suite. Tony entered the conference room in his stead. At least today, Thorne had a break.
***
Courtney, the proprietor of Sprouts, led Thorne and Abigail to a table for two in front of a window. Bamboo screens and hangin
g plants veiled the tables, providing openness and privacy at the same time. They ordered the house special, a spicy eggplant and nut casserole, then sipped fresh vegetable juice and nibbled on crackers and imported cheeses.
"Abigail, I don't think we should make wedding plans right now."
She squinted and rubbed her eyes, smudging her makeup and leaving damp streaks on the back of her hand.
"Give me a minute here." He pushed aside his drink and reached across the table to touch her hand. "I expect I'm to be arrested for murder. Everything points to it. Tony's convinced one of the detectives can't see beyond me to other viable suspects. I don't want to get married until I'm free of this mess. I don't want you stuck with me."
"Stuck with you?" Her blue eyes narrowed. "How can you say I'd be stuck with you? I love you."
"I love you, too. But I don't have control over what's happening."
"But Chamberlain, you didn't kill Warren Valentine. How can Tony think you're the primary suspect?"
"From Epstein. The police are even considering me a suspect in the murders of the other lawyer and Juan Iglesia, the paralegal who died of a cocaine overdose. Hernandez, the cop who's convinced I'm guilty, apparently thinks I have motive. He just hasn't answered the question of opportunity yet."
"Aren't there other suspects?"
"None that matter." Thorne stared into the parking lot where small trees with sparse foliage dotted the narrow parking lot.
"Those trees . . ." Abigail pointed through the window.
"They're almost leafless."
"They begin dropping their leaves now. Then by late March or early April, they'll be covered with butter-yellow blooms.
"Such beauty." Thorne took a sip of his juice. "One of my patients told me they were Angel's Trumpets and are extremely poisonous. I've never been able to understand why they're everywhere if they're poisonous."
"Your patient is misinformed. These trees are yellow tabs, and they aren't poisonous. The Angel's Trumpets have much larger flowers and are very poisonous. People confuse the names all the time."
Thorne and Abigail watched in silence as a black Firebird pulled into the parking lot and stopped next to Thorne's BMW M5 sedan. Howard Epstein climbed out of the Pontiac and stood admiring the BMW before staring absently into Sprouts' front window.
Thorne felt a chill. He should have thought twice about coming to Sprouts, but his mind didn't work like a criminal's.
Howard raised a hand in recognition, nodding to both Thorne and Abigail.
Howard stayed outside the restaurant for what seemed like hours. On one hand, Thorne wanted to avoid the encounter. On the other, he preferred to get it over with. Thorne also knew the Cuban officer, Hernandez, was trying to establish he had opportunity to murder Henninger, and Sprouts played into that equation—Henninger ate his last meal there. Courtney would verify Thorne was a frequent diner and toured the kitchen on more than one occasion.
***
Howard stepped into the cool, plant-filled interior of Sprouts.
Courtney met Howard at the door. "Detective Epstein, is this an official visit?"
"No Courtney, I want dinner." He pointed to a table for one across the room from Thorne and Abigail. "May I have that table, please?"
"Certainly, sir. Would you like fresh vegetable or fruit juice this evening? The vegetable juice is carrot, parsnip, and tomato, and the fruit juice is mango and pineapple with a splash of pomegranate."
"The fruit juice, please." Howard sat at the table. "I do have one question, if you don't mind."
"No, what is it?"
"The couple by the window. Do they dine here often?"
Courtney paused before answering. "Yes sir, they do. In fact, Dr. Thorne has been one of our most loyal customers. He started coming here during his divorce and now comes here at least once a week with Miss Stern."
"Thank you, Courtney. I'll have the special."
"Very good, sir." Courtney left the table, a worried expression on his face.
Howard sat a few more minutes, then rose and crossed the room to Thorne and Abigail.
"Dr. Thorne, Abigail, how are you this evening?" Howard stood close to the table, his voice low and out of the range of other patrons.
Tony had introduced Abigail to Howard during one of his many professional visits to the ED.
"Fine, Howard," Abigail said, her voice soft.
"Detective Epstein, what's on your mind?" Thorne faced Howard. "I'm sure you didn't come over just to chat." He motioned for Howard to take a chair.
"I'm surprised to see you here. Do you come often?" Howard sat and pulled closer to the table.
"Yes, I have for a long time."
"Did you ever see Mr. Henninger in here?"
"Certainly. He was usually here when we came for dinner."
"Did you ever talk to him here?"
"No." Thorne pointed to a booth on the far side of the restaurant. "He'd sit there and look like he was working. I'd have nothing to say to him in any event."
"You knew he was a member of the law firm then?"
"Trust me, every physician on staff at SMC knows every lawyer in that firm. They have harassed us to the point we are all paranoid."
"Thanks for the information. Enjoy your dinner." Howard stood and turned to Abigail. "Abigail, nice to see you again."
Abigail waited until Howard was away from their table. "Chamb, do you think you should have been so open about disliking those lawyers?"
"It's better to be honest with him. After all, I have nothing to hide."
Across the room, Howard summarized the conversation in his notebook. He wrote Thorne was forthcoming with his responses and obviously didn't like the lawyers in Valentine and Henninger's firm, but that reflected the opinion of the masses. Then he noted Thorne's comment to Abigail, wondering if Thorne knew he overheard.
Twenty
Tony sat in the surgical waiting room at SMC studying his watch. The first of February. He couldn't have imagined Jennifer would be undergoing cancer-staging surgery. He prayed to God to let her be all right. Then, his mind wandering, he thought about the deposition he had given a few days earlier. It was painless. Tony was adamant in his refusal to speculate about the appropriateness of the medical orders, and Schmeck excused him after he answered several innocuous questions relating to Carlson's nursing care.
His mother settled into the seat next to him.
"Buon giorno, Ma. I wasn't expecting you this early."
"I took the children to school. It'll keep them busy. Help them to not worry so much."
Tony patted her hand. "I agree, Ma. You did a good thing." He noticed his mother's feet and grinned. Although she sat on the edge of her seat, her toes just touched the floor. He allowed his mind to continue wandering as they sat in silence.
Jennifer's surgery was exploratory. Thorne would inspect her organs, searching for signs of swelling in the lymph nodes and involvement of the lymphatic organs. He planned to remove her spleen and take tissue samples in the abdominal area. She'd need a few days in the hospital to recover from the surgery, then she could rest at home while waiting for chemotherapy or radiation therapy to start.
Tony reminded himself Hodgkin's disease was curable. Before the day was out, they'd know her prognosis and have a treatment recommendation. Josh Jackson, the oncologist, had promised to be available later in the afternoon, and the hospital pathologist stood by to review the tissue samples. Tony and Jen were anxious to get things started.
"How long will the surgery take?" Elena Conte asked. She smoothed her sleeveless, flowered duster over her pale blue, double-knit skirt.
"I expect it'll be a couple of hours. They didn't kick me out of the holding area until a few minutes before you arrived. They're starting the procedure now."
"Why don't you take a walk, get some coffee? I'll stay here."
"Good idea, Ma." Tony stood. He was dressed in an old, soft pair of jeans, Nike's, and a well-worn golf shirt Jennifer gave him for his birthday a coup
le of years back. Without making a conscious decision, he'd worn the clothing Jennifer liked to see him in. She always commented on his build when he wore jeans. Even today, she had commented and patted him. Images of last night's lovemaking flashed into his mind making him smile. Jennifer had insisted and had been especially intense.
"What are you smiling about?" Elena asked.
"Oh nothing, Ma. I was thinking about Jen, that's all. Please God, that she be okay."
Tony took the stairway to the first floor. It exited on the main corridor, next to the ED's back door. He punched the code into the key pad—three, six, nine, eight, seven, star—and stood away as the automatic double doors swung open.
He heard the familiar noise of telephones, monitors, and squeaky stretcher wheels and smelled the mixture of blood, Betadine, and disinfectant peculiar to an ED. Feeling apart, he paused in the open doorway. Staff nurses hurried in and out of the patients' rooms, and a couple of physicians sat in the charting area writing. Howard Epstein stood next to the nurses' station talking to Abigail.
Tony was curious about Howard's presence. He snapped his neck and sent the errant lock of dark, straight hair out of his eyes. By the time he stood next to Howard and Abigail, the hair covered his forehead again.
"Hey, Howard, what brings you here?" Tony said when Howard acknowledged him.
"I came to talk to you. I see you're not working today."
"Jen is having her surgery. Ma's in the waiting room. She sent me away. I came here to make a pest of myself."
"When will you know the results of the surgery?"
"We'll know how she did in surgery as soon as it's over. The pathology report and the treatment recommendations will come this afternoon. Thorne promised to push for some resolution today, and the oncologist seems to be cooperating."
Howard pointed to Tony's office. "Got a minute?"
"Sure, why not?" He faced Abigail. "Everything under control here?"
"Of course. The ED goes as the ED goes. Your friend has been grilling me about my relationship with Chamberlain. He ran into us at Sprouts last night and now has the notion Chamberlain had the opportunity to poison both Henninger and Valentine."
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