"Howard, is that true?" Tony said, his voice sharp. What he didn't need to hear right now was that Jennifer's surgeon was in more trouble.
"Let's go down to your office. We'll talk." Howard led the way.
Tony ducked into the lounge and grabbed a couple of coffees. He'd pick one up for his mother before he went upstairs. As he settled into the side chair next to Howard and handed him his coffee, he said, "What's up?"
"A couple of things." Howard took a sip and made a face. "You guys really drink this shit?"
"And what's wrong with it?"
"It's horrible. That's what."
"Don't drink it then."
Howard sat the cup on the edge of Tony's desk. "I ran into Abigail and her boyfriend in Sprouts last night."
"A lot of people eat there."
"But a lot of people haven't had repeated tours of the kitchen."
"And they have?"
"Not they. Thorne." Howard paused before continuing. "Courtney told me this morning Thorne showed particular interest in the operation in the back, how the fresh produce is purchased and prepared. That sort of thing."
"He is something of a gourmet cook."
"That's what Courtney said, too. But Tony, it gives him opportunity. He knows the layout and could have slipped the potato sprouts into the place."
"Really? And how would he make sure the intended victim ate them?"
"I figure Thorne, or someone else perhaps, hired the new kitchen helper to do the deed."
"Doesn't Courtney check references?"
"He usually does, but he lets them start first. Courtney said the new guy was a salad maker. No real talent, other than the ability to follow directions, was required."
"That's interesting. At least it answers the question of how the poison sprouts ended up in Henninger's salad."
"It does. I think Thorne passed the sprouts off to the kid. The problem is the kid denies ever meeting Thorne."
"Oh? Then it sounds like a stretch on your part." Tony glanced at his watch.
"We found the kid, Norris is his name, at his house. He said a delivery guy brought some special stuff and paid him."
"W . . . what did the guy look like?" Tony glanced at his watch again.
"Who knows? Norris said he didn't notice, didn't care. The man gave him some real good shit, he said. So he went home, started to do the shit, which turned out to be crack, and the rest is history. Norris never made it to work the next day."
"How so?"
"We arrested him for possession, then took him downtown to the psychiatric unit and had him admitted on police hold. The problem is we'll never get any decent information out of him."
"Makes the tie to Thorne pretty weak."
"No. We checked. He had time during the day to slip away from his office and the hospital to meet with the kid. He was in surgery when Henninger dined at the restaurant, a perfectly arranged alibi if you ask me. And, he knew the operation in the kitchen."
Tony glared at Howard and raised a questioning eyebrow. "You've joined with Hernandez in presuming Thorne is guilty."
"Tony, how can I not? He had motive and opportunity for Valentine. Thorne was in the back room of King's before Valentine drank the fateful drink."
"So were a lot of other people," Tony said.
"Not a lot of other people with motive." Howard leaned forward in his chair. "And Thorne is hateful about the legal profession."
"Wouldn't you be?"
"Maybe, but then I don't know my way around the back of the kitchen."
Tony looked again at his watch. He'd been downstairs for an hour. "Listen, Howard, I need to go back upstairs. I don't want my mother to be there alone if they come out with any news."
"Won't they page you?"
"Sure, but I want to be close by."
"I understand," Howard said.
"One last thing. Why would Thorne do Iglesia? That certainly doesn't fit."
"Iglesia was murdered. He worked on Thorne's case with Valentine and continued with Henninger after Valentine died. Iglesia also helped Schmeck on the new case."
"They're suing me, too. Maybe I did it," Tony snapped.
"Hernandez did put you on the list of suspects, but I told him he was crazy."
"Vaffanculo!" Tony threw a clenched left fist into the air and slapped his right hand on his biceps. "Stronzo! The son-of-a-bitch." He thought about his illegal entry into the legal offices and the glowing light in the computer monitor. He wondered if a video record existed that would make him a real suspect.
"Calm down, Tony."
"Tell Hernandez to go to hell."
"I'm sure one day he'll find his own way there." Howard touched Tony's arm. "Sit for one more minute."
Tony obeyed. "And?" He grasped at the frayed edges of his temper. The situation had unnerved him. That wasn't good. It would be much too dangerous. He had to keep control.
Howard waited for Tony to regain his bearing. He knew what Tony could do. He'd witnessed his skills when he attended the finals of a local karate tournament, which Tony won with apparent ease.
Tony took several controlled breaths, exhaling through pursed lips. He felt a sense of calmness and control return.
He remembered his lack of restraint before his training in the Special Forces. By now, he would have done damage, either to Howard, the bearer of the news, or to an inanimate object. His mother encouraged him to take karate, thinking it would give him confidence. It had, but it also gave him real power. Still, he studied the art. Soon, he would possess his fifth degree black belt. He was joining the ranks of the elite in the sport.
Tony glanced at his watch. "What else?"
"We have three suspects, actually four. Thorne. DiGiovanni and Backus, who we can't find."
"They're your hoodlum and drunk driver?"
"Right. And Paul Gross. You were right about him breaking into the office building to look for the billing records. The secretary found them in the drawer. It's a wonder Gross didn't get them. He claims someone else entered before him, took them, and put them back."
"Ya, right."
"Anyway, the law firm held back on Gross, so he raised the ante. They refused to play, and he threatened to go public with the scheme."
"Motive."
"Maybe, but killing the gander who snatched the golden egg would be an extreme reaction, and Gross would never get his money."
"I've met Gross. He's extreme." Tony tapped the face of his watch, then brushed his hair from his face.
"One last thing."
"You said that before." Tony wondered if Howard was prolonging the conversation for a reason, trying to find out if he had any part in Gross's arrest.
"Hansen, the lawyer for the Villegas case that started—"
"What about him?"
"He asked for police protection during the trial. He figures the last two lawyers from his firm finished their cases, then were expeditiously murdered. He thinks he might be next."
"Has anyone made a threat?" Tony asked.
"No, but we have no reason to suspect the other two were threatened before they were killed either."
"Maybe that's the whole point." Tony stood.
"Huh?" Howard stared at Tony under a raised eyebrow.
"Maybe the murderer's purpose is to exact revenge on the legal profession, to strike fear, to make them afraid to bring suit. Maybe the murderer isn't one of the current suspects at all. Maybe we have to force ourselves to explore the less obvious players in the cast." He walked out of the room without looking back.
***
Tony sat next to Jennifer's bed. It was early in the morning, and Tony saw the night shift nurses going about their business, their voices hushed and their crepe-soled shoes soundless on the glossy tile. The dim glow of the night-light in the room looked eerie against the brighter lights in the corridor.
One of the staff nurses popped her head into the doorway. "Everything okay in here, Tony?"
"She's asleep."
"Can I get you
anything?"
"No, just a better pathology report."
"Can't do that. I'm sorry. I would if I could."
"I know."
"Let me know if you need anything. I'll be back in an hour with her antibiotic."
"Okay." Tony stared into space. "Thanks."
Elena had taken the three kids home earlier. Even Monica sat in silence so she wouldn't disturb her mother. The boys wanted to see for themselves that Jennifer was okay, and once satisfied, they left without a fuss.
Now Tony sat with his own thoughts. Thorne had said the Hodgkin's Disease was Stage III, no doubt about it. That meant, as Tony understood it at least, the disease was found on both sides of the diaphragm. The spleen was involved, but Thorne found no major involvement in the chest. The fact she had weight loss and night sweats associated with the disease made it type B.
Josh Jackson, the oncologist, led Tony to believe the prognosis was excellent for a five-year survival. The aggressive treatment plan included chemotherapy and radiation. Treatment would start as soon as Jennifer recovered from the surgery. Meanwhile, she would be given a series of vaccinations to help her fight off infections during the treatment. Jackson was clear about that, one of the biggest risks would be infection.
"Tony," Jennifer muttered. "It hurts." She awakened every thirty minutes or so and said the same thing.
"Push the button on the pain machine, Jen."
"Where is it?"
"It's in your left hand, Sweetie." He took her right hand in his. "Push the button."
Jennifer pushed the button, and a little bit of morphine flowed into her veins. The machine, called a patient-controlled analgesia pump or PCA, was designed to give the patient control over the pain medication. Only the patient could push the button. That meant the patient had to be awake enough to handle the task and would not be over-sedated. Jennifer drifted back to sleep.
Tony held her hand and imagined the changes in their lives. Jen's sick pay and small disability policy would help with the money problems, and he would work extra if necessary. He'd also take whatever days off he needed to stay with her. He had a lot of time on the books, and he knew Eva Grear would grant any request. Thank heavens, Ma was available to help with the kids.
"Please God, let her be okay." He blessed himself, then checked the pumps. "With God as my witness, I'd take her place if I could." He closed his eyes to contain the tears.
Twenty-one
The next morning, Wednesday, the second of February, Howard Epstein sat in the last row behind the plaintiff's table. He had complained about the assignment, but the captain insisted either he or Hernandez be at the trial for the protection of Brent Hansen, the plaintiff's attorney.
Hansen was born in Broward County and received his education, including law school, locally. Because of the influence of his father, he secured a position with the successful firm of Valentine, Hansen, Henninger, and Schmeck. Now he held his father's place as partner, one of the youngest in the city. What he lacked in experience, he made up in energy and commitment. He had earned his reputation as the rising star of the firm, leaving no potential defendant untouched and no plaintiff unbilled.
Chances were good, even before the trial started, the case would go Hansen's way. He told Howard he worked to his limit trying to get Villegas to settle out of court, making more than one fair and reasonable offer. Villegas, the slightly built Hispanic obstetrician who sat at the defendant's table, refused to consider compromise. Hansen talked about his murdered partners throughout the brief interview, making his fear obvious.
Hansen confirmed Villegas was sued before and elected to settle before the trial. This time Villegas couldn't seem to conceive that even though he had done what the mother asked at the time of delivery, the jury would side in favor of the injured child. They almost always did, and they almost always would. Show them a few pictures and get them to believe the physician could have done one more thing to convince the woman to have the C-section. At the final meeting, before all hopes of settlement broke down, Villegas had shouted at Hansen, "If you want the settlement, you'll have to earn it. I'm not giving in again."
To Howard, Hansen seemed to walk the fine line between stress and panic, threatening to fall to either side at the slightest provocation. Today, he trod on the side of stress. His dilated pupils eclipsed his iris, leaving a slim circle of blue and giving him a wide-eyed stare. This, coupled with his short stature and slim build, made him look more like a high school kid waiting to meet his girlfriend's father than a successful plaintiff's attorney.
A few supportive family members representing both sides were scattered throughout the small courtroom. The senior Hansen, who often attended his son's trials, sat near the back. Howard surveyed the immediate area, alert for anything unusual, any sign of threat.
A heavy-set man in his mid-forties took a seat in the back row, across the aisle from Howard. The man placed his eelskin briefcase on the floor and fumbled with a small cell phone. Howard watched him mute the ring. The guy must be an attorney, Howard thought. The man looked accustomed to the routine. A couple of young women dressed in slacks and sweaters and carrying notebooks took seats in the back row. They looked like students.
The preliminaries completed, the first witnesses took their oaths. Pictures of the four-year-old boy circulated around the jury elicited a wave of sympathetic expressions. Paid expert witnesses testified Villegas was negligent in not insisting the mother have the C-section when her labor stopped progressing. One said, "He should have made it perfectly clear the baby suffered from a lack of oxygen and would have cerebral palsy if the labor continued. What mother could refuse such a warning?"
Howard watched as Villegas scribbled an angry note and slid it under his attorney's nose. Tony had told Howard Villegas bordered on threatening the mother at the time, but she insisted on natural childbirth. In the end, she consented to the c-section, but her decision was too late.
The back door of the courtroom opened, and the injured child's father pushed a small wheelchair into the room. Christopher sat upright, strapped into position, legs tied to the leg rests. His head lolled a bit to one side, while a U-shaped pillow and Velcro restraint across his forehead prevented excessive movement of his neck. Every juror watched as the father pushed the child down the center isle.
Out of the corner of his eye, Howard saw Villegas's attorney rise to his feet and sit back down. Bringing the child was an effective stunt. Howard felt sorry for Villegas. One look at the tear-streaked faces of the female jurors made it obvious the trial wasn't going in Villegas' favor. The jury would help the stricken child regardless of the circumstances.
***
Tony sat in Jennifer's hospital room all night, dozing and awakening at regular intervals to tend to Jennifer's needs. In the morning, when he was certain she was comfortable, he went home to shower, change clothes, and help Nonna get the kids ready for school and day care. Thanks to the convenience of twelve-hour shifts, he had the day off, and he planned to check out a couple of things before going back to the hospital. He knew Howard was in court and out of the picture, and his mother planned to go to the hospital and sit with Jennifer. It was the perfect time.
Tony's first stop was the Iglesia residence.
"Hello, Maria. Can I come in and talk to you?" Tony noticed her advancing pregnancy and the dark circles under her eyes. He smiled at the small child who peeked out from behind her ballooning housecoat.
"Sure, Tony. It's nice to see you." She stepped back to allow him entry. "Sit down, please."
"I'm sorry about Juan. I thought he was doing well."
"He was. That's the thing. The cops think he was using again, but I know he wasn't. And he paid off all the money he owed," she continued, sweeping her arm around the room. "That's why this place is empty. He sold everything he could to get the money to pay off his suppliers. And he went to Narcotic Anonymous meetings several times a week. He was working very hard at staying clean."
"That's what I thoug
ht." Tony paused. "But we should check, just to be sure. Can you tell me anyone he used to party with? I'll check it out."
"I told you he was clean."
"Yes ma'am, "I believe he was, but we need to be certain before we start accusing people of murder." Tony watched Maria's face. He saw a shred of doubt.
Her hands fell to her belly, which she rubbed and patted. The baby was due in three months. "I suppose you're right. I'll get his pocket calendar. I think there are names and numbers in there. We'll just have to figure out who's who."
Tony and Maria sat side by side on the sofa with the small calendar open on the low table in front of them. They studied each page from the beginning of the previous year.
Tony saw regular entries for NA meetings. In the rare instance he missed a meeting, he made a notation, then scheduled himself to attend another the next day. Juan's attendance appeared dedicated.
On the note pages toward the back of the book, Tony found several notations in Spanish with telephone numbers scribbled in the margins. "Maria, what does this say?"
"Promised to pay off by October."
"Who was he talking about?"
"Renaldo, his supplier. Renaldo was also one of the guys he'd get high with."
Tony took a small notebook out of his shirt pocket and wrote down the number. "Where does he live?"
"Down the street and two blocks over. Renaldo pushes as a sideline. He only uses socially, but he has contacts for good stuff." Maria rubbed the side of her belly. "Boy, this one sure kicks hard." She looked at Tony. "He fronts the money, adds a mark up, then resells the coke to his friends. Helps him afford his lifestyle, I think."
"Why did Juan sell everything to pay Renaldo back? Was he in fear of his life?"
"I really don't know. Juan borrowed money from Renaldo in addition to not paying for the coke he used, and Renaldo complained. Then Juan said something about Renaldo liking the money and getting into it in a bigger way. I know Juan even made a few deliveries for Renaldo."
"Sounds like Renaldo stepped things up a notch, and Juan ended up in debt to the main man."
"You're probably right. A lot of people called here, asking Juan for money, making threats. He kept telling them he'd pay every nickel, but he wouldn't make any more deliveries. The thing is Juan told me he paid off all the debt with interest."
Illegally Dead Page 16