Courting Death

by Carol Stephenson

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Find anything of interest?”

  I pointed to the clipboard and paper bag. “Once a week Danny’s been driving about one hundred miles—the distance of a round trip to this clinic in Belle Glade.”

  Sam held out his hand and helped me out of the truck. He cupped my elbow and started in the direction where I’d parked the car. “I’m going to be here a while, so rather than you giving me even more white hairs, why don’t you go to my place? I’ll pick up something to eat and then fill you in on what I can discuss when I get there.”

  I stopped at the edge of the lot. “First, I don’t have a key to your townhouse—”

  “Got one right here for you.” He fished a key out of his jean pocket and extended his palm.

  I looked from his face to the key and back again.

  “What? It’s only a key, Nicole.”

  “Isn’t this the part where most men run a finger under their collar and have palpitations over giving a woman entrance to their sacred cave?”

  Sam rocked back on his heels. “It makes sense. With our crazy schedules, I thought it would be easier if you could let yourself in rather than waiting outside for me.”

  My heart twisted. This wasn’t a snap decision. This was something he’d been considering for a while. Another step forward for both of us.

  I curved my fingers around the offered key and took it. I stood on my toes and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Thanks. But since I really should get home, why don’t you come over when you’re finished, no matter how late, and I’ll fix dinner?”

  He wrapped his hand around my neck and took the kiss deeper. When he finally raised his head, I answered the question I saw shining in his eyes. “And I’ll give you a key but we’ll have to have a few ground rules, such as calling ahead. With three women in the house…”

  “Don’t want to walk in on the wrong one walking around naked.” He grinned.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On Saturday Sam and I were at a home improvement store selecting new door locks when Gabe Chavez called me on my cell.

  “Hi, Gabe.” Sam continued to debate the clerk over the merits of locks so I moved a few steps away. “What’s up?”

  “Rumor has it that tall, dark and ugly is with you.”

  I flashed Sam a smile. “That’s right. He’s helping me beef up security at the house.”

  “That’s easy. Buy a big dog.”

  “Yeah right.”

  “Or put Sam out front on a leash. Nothing like a cop with a gun to scare off a burglar.”

  I chuckled. “Great visual.”

  “Listen, I’ve been checking into that clinic for you. I found a woman I think you should speak with. Why don’t you and Sam meet me at his place in thirty? He’s going to want to be in on this.”

  “We’ll be there.” I disconnected and looked at Sam. “All right, it’s decision time. Gabe wants us to be at your place in a half hour. I think he’s turned up something on that Belle Glade clinic.”

  Sam gathered several packages and dumped them into the cart. “Thanks, we’ll take these,” he said to the visibly relieved clerk.

  An hour and a half later Gabe parked his truck in front of a dilapidated house in Belle Glade. He’d chosen to play mysterious as to where he was taking us so for the better part of the drive he and Sam, who’d sat in front, had debated college football and the bowl games.

  I didn’t blame them for passing the time debating sports. From my position in the back of the cab, there wasn’t much to see between West Palm Beach and Belle Glade. The agricultural community squatted on the edge of Florida’s heart blood, Lake Okeechobee. For years sugar had been king, but now land was set to be turned into the Everglades restoration effort. However, for the most part the region still consisted of endless miles of flat land covered with crops and crisscrossed by endless canals.

  Many migrant workers, who followed the seasonal crops, lived in Belle Glade. Other than the lake, the community’s other claim to fame was killer high school football teams. Something to take pride in and ease the bite of poverty.

  Along this poor excuse of a road the houses were little more than shacks. However, here and there several were already decorated for the holidays. Sam opened the door and held a hand out for me. “Okay, Gabe,” I said. “Why are we here? I thought you had a lead on the clinic.”

  “Patience. You’re about to find out.”

  Sam snorted. “You try to get her to wait for anything. Mission impossible.”

  I bumped my hip against his. “Not true.”

  Amusement glinted in Gabe’s eyes but his expression grew somber once he led us up a thin, worn path through the tall weeds in the front yard. He rapped on the door. “Señora Cabrera? I brought the people I told you about.”

  A woman of indeterminate age answered, and he spoke rapidly in Spanish. She nodded and motioned us inside. At Gabe’s gesture, Sam and I moved past him to enter the house.

  In the cramped living room three young children popped up over the edge of the battered sofa and regarded us with dark, serious eyes. Mrs. Cabrera led us to a wood table scoured clean and we sat down.

  She said something to Gabe and he interpreted. “Would anyone like coffee?”

  Sam and I glanced at each other and shook our heads. “No, pero graciás,” I said to her. She smiled shyly, folding her chapped and callused hands on top of the table. Up close I could see the woman was in her early thirties, but a life spent working in the sun hadn’t been kind to her. Despite being obviously poor, she wore a clean T-shirt and jeans. Her kids, two girls and a boy, who had ventured from the sofa, were also in mended but tidy clothes.

  Gabe leaned toward her and braced his elbows on his knees. “I’m going to ask Lucia to repeat her story and I’ll interpret for you.” He spoke softly to her.

  She took a deep breath and began to talk, haltingly at first. I kept my gaze on her, and with his smooth translation Gabe faded into the background.

  “My husband Guadalupe and I worked the fields. We saved what we could, but there never seemed to be enough. Then I had Margarita, our third child.” She paused as the toddler, hearing her name, scrambled off the floor and came to her mother holding out her arms. Lucia scooped her up and settled the girl on her lap. As only a child can, Margarita immediately zeroed in on me as the source of her mother’s upset and frowned.

  Lucia continued. “The bills were large. We had no insurance and public health care covered only a portion of them. The creditors began to call day and night. Guadalupe found a night job but it still wasn’t enough.”

  She dropped a kiss on the toddler’s curls. “Then one day my husband came home all excited. Several men he met in the field told him how he could make a lot of money. I was afraid he would get into drugs like his older brother, and I told him that was not the answer.”

  Lucia drew in a breath. “He said it wasn’t drugs. He said rich people who were sick would pay to get a healthy kidney. Someone at the clinic knew the right people and would pay Guadalupe a thousand dollars for a kidney. I didn’t want him to do it, and finally he promised he wouldn’t.

  “But the bill collectors got worse, and one frightened my oldest. One Sunday Guadalupe went out without telling me where he was going. I waited all day. No one knew where he was. That night a truck pulled up, and some man dumped my Guadalupe’s body in front of the house like he was no better than a dog.”

  Tears began to stream down her face. “He was bleeding, all cut up and the stitches…” She put her lips together and made a spitting sound. “I could sew better than that. A neighbor drove us to the hospital but it was too late. My husband died.”

  Lucia looked straight at me, and I saw the anger in her eyes. “They took both of his kidneys and paid him nothing. There was no money in his pockets. Guadalupe lost his life for nothing.” She buried her head in her child’s hair.

  After a while, when her shoulders had stopped shaking, I reached out and touched her arm. “Did yo
u know either the man who left your husband that night or who he spoke with at the clinic?”

  “Sí,” she said when Gabe translated. “One man. His name is Danny Lopez.”

  With an intent expression Sam leaned forward. “Does Danny live here in Belle Glade?”

  “He used to, but his mother told me he moved to the city because he was making so much money. He certainly loved to show off by driving around in that shiny truck on those big wheels.” She gestured to indicate the large size of the tires.

  “Did you confront anyone at the clinic?” Sam continued to question her.

  Lucia shook her head. “No, the clinic has been closed. The nurses are local and were told the doctor who ran it left the state. He ran out without paying their salary for the last month.”

  “Have you ever heard of or met a man named Joe Poellinger?”

  “No.”

  “What about a company called OraGen?”

  “No.”

  In terms of the Whitman case or the threat to my family, the Belle Glade connection was not critical. It simply was another link that might lead back to OraGen, another opportunity for Sam to bring down the black market. I let him continue asking Lucia more questions.

  Yet, when I met Gabe’s intense gaze as he continued to interpret, I knew why he’d thought my meeting Lucia had been important. She’d been robbed of her husband, but it wasn’t right she should also be robbed of the money he died for. The Cabrera family needed legal help.

  I rose and moved away from the table to make a call. When I returned, Sam wrapped up his interview and raised a brow. I pointed to my phone. “Lucia, I’ve called an attorney.”

  Alarm appeared in her eyes. “I don’t want any trouble with the law.”

  “You’re not going to be in any trouble. This attorney is with the migrant workers’ assistance office. She’s going to guide you to resources to help you through the loss of your husband. You said others here have done this, sold a kidney?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then there could be others who haven’t been paid. When Sam catches whoever is responsible—” I touched his shoulder, “—claims for damages could be made against the company. This attorney could bring a lawsuit on behalf of everyone here who has been harmed. She might be able to get money for you.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Sterling.”

  Margarita sensing the change in her mother blew me a kiss.

  After getting Lucia to agree to make a formal statement, we left. Not wanting to ride in the back alone, I sat squeezed between the solid, reassuring presence of both men.

  Sam stared out the window as we made our way through the streets. “Thanks, Gabe, for finding Lucia and getting her to talk. We knew the operation included more than desecrating corpses but this community is tight-lipped. Many are illegal and don’t want to be within a country-mile of anyone wearing a badge.”

  “You’re welcome. I knew this wouldn’t help Nicole’s legal case, but I couldn’t let it go.”

  Gabe turned onto the two-lane highway and sped up. Sam reached over and laced his fingers with mine. We rode in silence for a while. As we came out of a sweeping turn, we saw blue lights flashing ahead and a long line of traffic backed up.

  Since it was obvious we wouldn’t be going anywhere soon, Gabe switched off the engine. “I’ll walk up and find out what’s going on.”

  Sam also got out and then held up his hands. I scrambled down. Sam leaned against the front fender, drew me against him and wrapped his arm across my chest. The sun rested low in the sky, casting a haze across the land. A canal that ran along the highway glimmered like a gold ribbon.

  Sam lowered his head and lazily nibbled at my ear. All he had to do was touch me and I was primed and ready. “How about I grill us a couple of steaks when we get back to my place?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Then maybe we could sit outside and watch the stars.”

  I felt his arousal press against me. “Are you sure you want to watch the stars?”

  “Well, ma’am. Where I come from, there’s nothing sexier than seeing the night sky frame a pretty lady while she’s naked and riding you.”

  I reached around, grabbed some rib flesh and pinched hard.

  “Ow.” His chest shook with laughter. “What was that for?”

  I folded my arms and stared at the investigation scene. “How many ladies did you have such a memorable experience with?”

  He blew a breath in my ear and drew me even tighter against him. “Up until now, none. But I can see that hair of yours, with the moonlight shooting flames through it.”

  Mollified, I relaxed once more against him. “Better, Bowie. Much better.”

  Where the lights flashed, a tow truck backed up to the water. “Oh God. Someone took a header into the canal.”

  “Sure looks that way.”

  Two dark forms emerged from the water—divers—who gestured at the truck. There was a whining sound and the cable turned. Soon the water bubbled and the tailgate of a black truck popped up. The chrome on monster tires glistened in the sun.

  “Oh no, it couldn’t be…”

  Sam cursed and set me apart from him. “Make yourself comfortable, Red. We may be here a while.”

  “You don’t think that’s Danny Lopez’s truck?”

  He stalked forward. “With my damn luck and the way this case has been going, I’m willing to bet you that steak it is…and that he’s inside it.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  On Monday following court I entered my office and saw the red folder on my desk, signaling an urgent matter requiring my immediate attention. I sat down and flipped it open. Inside was a pleading in the Whitman case, “Notice of State’s Intention to Use Evidence of Other Crimes, Wrongs or Acts.”

  The folder also contained the state’s preliminary list of witnesses and documentary evidence. I scanned it, frowning over several names. One was a Dr. Truman McGill in Chicago, Illinois. I jotted down a note to ask the Whitmans if he had been their pediatrician.

  Then I reviewed the notice of the state’s intent to use the following evidence: Sarah Whitman, a seven-month-old infant daughter of the defendant, Claire Whitman, died while in the sole care of the defendant.

  I flipped to the attached brief containing the argument. The prosecution proposed that Claire’s knowledge about the circumstances of the first death should be considered by the jury in determining whether her actions in regard to Rebecca were culpably negligent.

  Negligent? I skipped over the string of case law citations to read on. The Defendant having the knowledge as a result of the death of Sarah Whitman should have been expected to act differently in her care of and action toward Rebecca Whitman, to wit: The Defendant should have been aware of the risk inherent in not utilizing the apnea monitor on the infant Rebecca and that her disregard of that risk constituted a gross deviation from ordinary care.

  Damn.

  I punched the intercom. “Maria, get the Whitmans in to see me at once.”

  As I sat back, I spotted a thick folder with a sticky note in Melissa’s precise handwriting. Whitman Financial Research. I glanced at my calendar and saw that I had a new client interview appointment in five minutes. No time to look at it now. I tucked the folder into my bag to review later.

  An hour later Brian helped his wife into one of the chairs and then took the other. Claire’s condition alarmed me. It was as if some psychic vampire had drained her very life force. She was only an inanimate shell of her former self.

  God, I hated what I had to do, but the couple hadn’t been truthful from the start.

  I tapped one of the documents spread in front of me. “Who is Dr. McGill?”

  Claire gasped, but it was Brian who answered. “He was our first baby’s pediatrician in Chicago.”

  “Did he recommend you use an apnea monitor if you had another child?”

  “Yes—”

  Brian reached out and squeezed his wife’s hand. She subsided. Brian finished for her. “He m
ay have discussed using a monitor, but I don’t believe he went as far as recommending one.”

  I opened a folder of photos and flipped one to face them. “Here is a picture the investigators took of Rebecca’s room. You didn’t use a monitor for her, correct?”

  “No, Rebecca was a full term baby unlike Sarah. Becca was healthy and strong and perfect. She didn’t need any machine to be attached to her.”

  Because they hadn’t listened to medical advice, they had lost another child.

  A tendon ticked along Brian’s jaw. “Why is this important?”

  I took a deep breath to keep my tone even. “I’ve received the state’s brief. Rather than focusing on the intentional homicide charges, the prosecutor is seeking to introduce evidence of the circumstances surrounding Sarah’s death in order to show that, given Claire’s knowledge of how Sarah died and her medical training, she’s criminally negligent.”

  “That’s prejudicial.” Brian pounded the chair arm. Claire didn’t even flinch. “They can’t do it.”

  “I’ve drafted a motion to exclude the evidence, but while waiting for you, I’ve researched the case law and it’s not favorable. Although I think the state’s brief frames the argument wrong, the issue the judge will be deciding is whether Claire’s knowledge about Dr. McGill’s medical recommendation is relevant circumstantial evidence.”

  “So?”

  “So, I think the judge will have sufficient basis to find that, based on her prior experience with Sarah, Claire was aware that an infant, if not properly attached to an apnea monitor, as previously recommended by your pediatrician, could die from asphyxiation. In other words, that she consciously disregarded the risk and negligently caused Becca’s death.”

  Claire wasn’t even looking at me anymore. She stared dully through the window. In contrast, Brian’s face had turned so red that I was afraid he would have apoplexy.