Thriller Box Set One: The Subway-The Debt-Catastrophic

by Dustin Stevens

  The offer brought a small snort. “What’s this really about?”

  A heavy sigh rolled from Shane as he eased back, circling his gaze around the room once more, not-so-subtly checking out each of the other patrons in the bar.

  Across from him Christine rolled her eyes, making no effort to hide doing so. “Is all that necessary?”

  “Prescott was attacked outside his home last night,” Shane said without preamble, dropping the statement on the table as an answer to every question she’d already asked. It had the intended response, concern clouding her face as she leaned back an inch.

  “Attacked? How? Is he okay?”

  “Okay in that he’s alive, but he has a snapped femur and a ton of tissue damage. He’s lucky it didn’t tear his whole knee out.”

  Christine’s jaw sagged open, her expression blank. “My God, that’s terrible. Do they have any leads yet?”

  Shane leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping just a bit. “Officer Ryan from CPD called me this morning and told me what happened, said they wanted to speak to me later in the afternoon about the incident, they had reason to believe it was connected to Heath’s truck blowing up.”

  No change of expression at all, Christine’s complete attention focused on Shane. “Is it?”

  Shane paused a moment, considering where to jump into the story. The details he was about to share had not be released to the public, and while he wasn’t worried about telling Christine everything he knew, he still wanted to be careful as to how he approached it.

  “Earlier this week, after they moved Heath’s truck, they found the words stay away spray painted on the ground beneath the truck in neon green. They took pictures of it, included it in the incident report, but nobody thought a whole lot of it. Heck, I saw the pictures in Heath’s hospital room and didn’t put much stock in it.

  “Last night, the assailant spray painted the word stop beside Prescott’s body. Same neon green color, same handwriting, lab tests even proved it to be the same can of paint.”

  Christine nodded her head, taking in the information. “And I’m willing to guess the only thing that tied those two together, besides being around the law school, was working on your case.”

  “Yeah,” Shane said, another rush of guilt rising to the surface.

  “So they figure out what the enormous interest is in your case, they should be able to figure out who the attacker is.”

  “Doesn’t even take that much detective work,” Shane said, turning his head from side to side. “They left us a note, something I should have noticed the first time and didn’t.”

  “Stay away? Come on, how were you supposed to have picked up anything from that?”

  Shane looked at her, his expression dour. “The ST in stay was capitalized. Same with the ST in stop last night.”

  He watched as Christine’s gaze moved back and forth, focusing on nothing, putting the pieces together. After a moment the information clicked, her face registering clear understanding.

  “Son of a bitch. They wrote it in paint on their crime scenes, daring somebody to come get them.”

  “Ballsy, huh?” Shane asked, nodding in agreement.

  “And then some,” Christine agreed, a perplexed look on her face, shaking her head in dismay.

  Shane watched as her face worked through the various emotions, running the gamut from surprised to repulsed and on into dejected. He remembered earlier in the day going through the same sequence of thoughts, his own interlaced with a heavy dose of guilt.

  “See why I’m asking you to go?” Shane asked, his head turned to the side, watching as a middle-aged man in a trucker’s cap and jean jacket departed, the bell above the front door announcing it for all to hear.

  A soft chuckle slid out of Christine, a hand snaking across the table and resting on his forearm. “Those weren’t your fault you know. Someone called and asked you to take a case, you did it, the defendants happened to be a large organization used to throwing their weight around.

  “It’s unfortunate, in the case of Wilson and Prescott even tragic, but it isn’t your fault, and there was no way to see it coming.” She shook his arm, lowering her face so she could look up into his. “You hear me?”

  “I’m listening to you,” Shane responded, lowering his face so it was even with hers, “it’s the same thing I’ve been telling myself all day, but that doesn’t mean I hear you. Not yet anyway.”

  “And that’s why you think it’s time I took a vacation,” Christine said, a flat statement, no inflection of a question at all in her voice.

  A half-smile creased Shane’s face. “No, that was more out of concern for your tan. Been a long winter, you’re looking rather pasty.”

  Christine squeezed his arm and used it to push herself back away from the table, a snort rolling out of her. “That’s crap and we both know it. I’ve got an olive complexion, ten minutes in front of a strong lamp and I’m tan.”

  The smile on Shane’s face grew wider, a mix of mirth and knowing she was right. “Just tell me you’ll think about it. There are only two people that I really care about, and I’ve already made arrangements to make sure Mom is covered.”

  The statement brought faux flattery to Christine’s face, her hands pressed to her chest. “Aw, you think of me in the same category as your mom.”

  Shane dropped his gaze to the table and shook his head, drawing in a long breath and releasing it. He raised his gaze up to see Christine smiling above him, hands still pressed to her chest, body twisting back and forth at the waist.

  “Don’t make me beg. Please.”

  One last chuckle shook Christine’s upper body as she leaned forward, her forearms resting on the table, each hand gripping an opposite elbow. “I tell you what, you agree I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll agree to be more careful until this thing’s over.”

  Shane continued to shake his head, the half-smile returning. After eight years, he knew it was the best he was going to get.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “Dr. Pinkering, what is your relationship with SynTronic Corporation?” Shane asked, not even making it out of the counsel chair before launching into his cross-examination. The front row had thinned even more, the only people sitting there being Abby and Margie, both pressed tight against one another, their faces solemn. At the counsel table sat Tyler, weathering the storm of trial, knowing that his part was over, just wanting the rest to be done so he could return home.

  Shane had called a meeting with all three of them at eight o’clock that morning to tell them in person what happened to Prescott and the connection between each of the crime scenes. He explained to them that he understood if any of them wanted to back off, to go away until everything was done, but that after speaking with Prescott he was going to continue on. It was uncharacteristic for a plaintiff not be in the courtroom during trial, but not impossible. If the Bentley’s wanted to go into hiding, they could do so until it was time for a verdict to be read.

  He would go it alone until the end.

  All three had just as much reason as he did to keep going, each acting like they were offended that he even suggest such a thing. Unable to shake them from their stance, he insisted that the Bentleys stay together and take extra precautions at every turn, that Abby be with him or some male she trusted at all times until things quieted down.

  They had agreed to the terms, but only after Shane explained to them that he had put both his mother and Christine under extra precaution as well.

  “My relationship?” Dr. Pinkering asked, adjusting his glasses and squinting out at Shane, acting as if the question was coming from left field. Unlike Manningham, he had chosen to wear his white physician’s coat into court, a move that was no doubt suggested by Reed and Ramirez.

  Shane smirked when he saw the attire upon arriving, driving home the fact that his opponents had no idea where they were or the crowd they were working with.

  “Yes, the terms of your arrangement, how Ohio Tech and SynTronic cam
e to be in business together,” Shane asked. “You spoke at length under direct examination about the products that were offered by SynTronic and the exemplary record they have, but you seemed to have skipped right over how the two sides came together.”

  Pinkering shifted in his seat, his forehead revealing a sweaty film under the overhead lights. “Every procedure that requires implants of any kind, whether they are simple screws or an entire joint replacement, must have them supplied from somewhere. No hospital manufactures those things themselves.”

  “I’m not questioning why there was a partnership Dr. Pinkering, I’m asking how this one came to be. I must not be making myself clear, so allow me to back up and come at this again. You are the head of the orthopedics department here at OTU hospital, are you not?”

  “I am.”

  “And as the head of the department, it is under your authority to select a medical equipment provider, correct?”

  Pinkering nodded, his demeanor stiff. “Yes, that is correct.”

  “Now, prior to you taking over, the department had a long standing tradition with EquipMed, didn’t they?”

  “They did.”

  “So what made you decide to switch providers?”

  Pinkering reached up and adjusted his glasses, running his thumb across his forehead in an attempt to wipe away a bit of perspiration. “Our existing contract with EquipMed had expired.”

  Shane continued moving back and forth in an even pace across the floor, one hand in his pocket, the other out in front of him, controlling the cadence of his words like a conductor leading an orchestra. “Okay, so your existing contract expired, and you decided to open the floor up to all bidders for the next one, that kind of thing?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  The walk came to a halt, Shane just feet away from the jury, his body facing towards the box, his head shifted to look at Pinkering on the stand. “So what made SynTronic the winner? What set them apart from all the others?”

  Pinkering slid his tongue out over his lips, wetting them as he drew in a deep breath. Shane could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t appreciate where the questioning was going, a fact that made it all the more imperative he continue.

  “Mr. Sarconi and SynTronic were by far the most innovative of the equipment manufacturers we spoke with. The new product designs they were looking to introduce would put us at the cutting edge of orthopedic medicine.”

  “And no doubt turn a tidy profit for the hospital,” Shane added, picking up right where the doctor left off.

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Ramirez said, rising from his stand and adjusting his solid orange tie against his midsection. “Prejudice.”

  Judge Lynch swung his attention to Shane, asking with a wave of the hand if he would like to respond.

  “Your Honor, I am just trying to ascertain the exact relationship of SynTronic with OTU Hospital, since the very device in question here was an innovative design that sprang from it.”

  Judge Lynch nodded a bit, his eyes closing as he lowered his head toward Shane. “Overruled.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Shane said, shifting back to Pinkering, no reaction to winning the objection on his face. “Doctor, if you’d please.”

  Pinkering’s jaw dropped open for a moment, followed by a flush of color rising to his cheeks. He opened and closed his mouth several times before any sound escaped.

  “I’m not sure I understand what you’re insinuating.”

  Shane took two quick steps forward before stopping again, drawing the jury’s focus tighter on Pinkering. “I’m not insinuating anything Doctor, I’m just saying, it bears to reason that if you were going to partner with SynTronic in designing new devices and serve as a training ground for them, there must be some compensation, right?”

  Two loud huffs were pushed out from Pinkering, his chest swelling with defensiveness. “OTU is a non-profit teaching facility. We do not accept kickbacks of any kind.”

  “Really?” Shane asked, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “You expect us to believe that you offered up your hospital as a testing center, gave up the university mascot for naming rights, extending the school’s star player to serve as a poster child for the new product, and there wasn’t a single cent of remuneration involved?”

  Pinkering stared hard at Shane for several moments, his lower lip quivering, though out of rage or indignity Shane wasn’t sure. “Again I say Mr. Laszlo, OTU is a non-profit teaching hospital.”

  Shane paused a full moment, staring at the jury, toying with the words in his head. He knew full well they would bring Ramirez to his feet, would draw a bit of ire from Judge Lynch, might even be the first real strike against him with the jury. Still, for all those thoughts telling him not to, the images of Heath and Prescott in their hospital beds, of Tyler hopping on one leg, of his mother with a guard outside her door trumped them.

  “So maybe OTU isn’t the one getting the kickback, are they Dr. Pinkering?”

  “Objection!” Ramirez shouted, on his feet with remarkable speed for a man his size.

  Shane ignored the objection, pressing in tight on Pinkering, watching the doctor squirm in his seat, his face quivering as he looked around for help from his counsel.

  “Maybe you made a deal with a company offering what you knew to be an inferior product because they offered you a sweeter retirement package?”

  “Objection, Your Honor! Please!” Ramirez said.

  “That is enough, Mr. Laszlo,” Judge Lynch said, dropping his gavel hard on the bench. In the background a ripple of energy went through the crowd, murmurs and glances exchanged.

  Shane could hear them back there, could feel their emotion swell, but it didn’t serve to deter him, only emboldening him more.

  “And maybe that deal is why Tyler Bentley is now missing his left leg?” Shane said, his voice loud enough so everyone in the courtroom could hear, even over the combined noises of all the commotion.

  As the last words left his mouth, Shane grasped the rail of the witness stand with both hands, peering straight in at Pinkering. In front of him, the doctor kept his gaze turned down, his entire body shifted to the side, cowering as if Shane might lash out at him at any moment.

  Above, the hammer continued to pound on the bench.

  “Counselor, one more word out of you and I will hold you in contempt of court,” Judge Lynch said, slamming his gavel down two more times for effect.

  Shane remained fixed in position a full moment before pressing himself back and straightening his cornflower blue tie atop his belt buckle.

  “Apologies Your Honor, withdraw the questions.”

  Spinning on a heel, Shane returned to his table, making a point of staring at his opponents as he went. On one side sat Reed, shaking his head, his jaw set, his gaze shifted down at the table before him. On the other stood Ramirez, still on his feet from the objection, complete surprise engulfing his features.

  In the crowd, people shifted in their seats to get a better look at him, extending their necks out to see where this side of Shane had come from. Abby and Margie both sat with their hands balled into fists, tense as they waited for his next move.

  Shane’s face gave away nothing as he walked. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Three hours had passed, but Shane could still feel the adrenaline pulsing through his veins, setting his skin on fire, making his muscles tingle. The first signs of it had settled in as he was talking to Prescott the day before, fighting its way to the surface once he released the guilt that he knew would consume him if he let it.

  “There are things you can control and there things you can’t,” his mother had always said when in the middle of a case. “The other guy is trying to win just as hard as you are, and they might not be willing to play by the rules the way you are. The key is to always react quicker and adapt better, that’s where victory lies.”

  It wasn’t a mantra per se, some recited line that preceded a movie
montage style rise to the front, but a deep rooted belief, in herself and in the system. Shane had heard the words over a hundred times throughout his childhood, the words sometimes a bit different, the meaning always the same.

  There will be times when you question your case, your abilities, even why you went to law school. Don’t fight against them, don’t try to win those internal battles. Just let them go, push them aside to another day if you must, and focus on the task at hand.

  Those very words came to his mind as he stood outside the 3C, right after listening to Reed try and convince him that settling for pennies on the dollar was his only recourse. The guilt of the morning was gone, the burning rage at Reed was receding, all that was left was an adrenaline drip that ebbed and flowed as needed, pulling back to near nothing as he ate with Christine, coursing through his body as he fired away at Pinkering.

  Sitting in his chair, watching Reed examine Sarconi, he could feel an internal dilemma begin to build. Whatever latitude he had with the court had been used that morning, well spent to crucify the doctor for crawling into bed with a corporate giant at the expense of his patients. The point was an important one and Shane was not the least bit sorry he’d made it, but he couldn’t afford such strong arm tactics again. The jury had spent two weeks watching him in his carefully selected attire delivering hand crafted statements, holding himself out as the antithesis of his opponents in every way.

  Two outbursts though, against the first two defense witnesses called no less, would go a long in destroying that image. He could not allow his temper to do that, to forget for a moment that this was about Tyler, and Heath, and Prescott, not himself.

  Shane sat leaning forward over his desk, taking notes he didn’t need, his pencil scratching across the yellow paper in even loops. Every few seconds he would look up at Sarconi, his face impassive, before going back to his legal pad. As he did so, he became aware that Reed was sneaking glances his way throughout his examination, the look a mixture of curiosity and revulsion.