Stress Test

by Richard Mabry

  “Why . . . . are you reading . . . my rights?” Matt asked, after the recitation ended. “I’m . . . the victim—”

  Gordon interposed himself between the detectives and Matt. “Stop right there. I’ll testify in court that he cannot possibly have understood his Miranda rights. I’ve already told you that Dr. Newman has suffered a very serious injury to his brain. He’s had major surgery, and although I’m happy to see him wake up, there’s no way he’s in full possession of his faculties. I suggest you come back when I’ve pronounced him fit to answer your questions. Until then, I’m going to ask you to leave and stop upsetting my patient.”

  “If you think I’m upsetting him now, he’s going to be a lot more upset before we’re finished.” Grimes shrugged as if trying to settle his shoulder holster a bit more comfortably. “We’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “What’s . . . happening?” Matt rasped.

  Grimes fixed Matt with a glacial stare. His lip curled a bit, but he remained silent. Then he turned on his heel and stalked from the room, the other detective close behind him.

  Hank’s face showed his puzzlement. “I’ll look in on you later,” he told Matt, and followed the detectives out.

  Ken looked into the eyes of his patient, eyes that were still a bit glazed. “You’re not going to be in any shape to talk for another day or so. I think I can keep that detective away from you until your head clears a bit. But it looks to me like you’re going to need a lawyer. If you know one, I suggest you call them.”

  “I . . . I can . . . call—”

  Ken consulted his watch. “It’s late. Just rest now. Tomorrow will be soon enough.” I hope.

  “Felony Trial Division, Jennifer Ball.”

  “It’s Matt. I need your help.” The voice on the other end of the phone was weak, the words a little slurred.

  Jennifer glanced around to make sure none of her coworkers in the DA’s office were in earshot. For once, the area around her cubicle was deserted. “Matt, where have you been?” She made no effort to hide the anger in her voice.

  “I . . . I don’t know where to begin. I’m—”

  “You didn’t show up for our date two days ago. It’s not like I’m that hard to reach, and you didn’t call me, didn’t text, didn’t email. I tried to call you, but there was no answer. I left messages on your machine and your cell phone, sent you texts and emails, but you never called back.”

  “Jennifer, let me explain.”

  “It’s as though you just dropped off the face of the earth.” She squinted her eyes to force back the tears she felt forming. “Listen, I thought—”

  “Jennifer, will you let me try to explain?” Matt’s voice was still weak, but there was an urgency, a desperation to his tone now. The words were halting at first, then came out faster and faster “I’m in . . . Parkland Hospital . . . in the ICU. I was kidnapped. I . . . I ended up with a head injury. They did a craniotomy . . . Sorry, that’s doctor-speak. Uh . . . I had bleeding on the brain. They . . . they did an operation to relieve the pressure. I began to come out of it yesterday, but I’m still sort of fuzzy.”

  Jennifer tightened her grip on the phone. “Oh, Matt. I’m sorry. What happened? Are you all right? What can I do?” She opened her desk drawer and grabbed her purse. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Wait. Let me tell you the rest of it.” She heard him take in a big breath. “I’ve had a visit from a detective who said he was from homicide. He tried to read me my rights until my surgeon ran him off. I don’t know what he wanted, but a homicide detective doesn’t hand out parking tickets. This is serious. I need a lawyer.”

  Jennifer dropped the purse back into the drawer and eased it shut. Her mind churned, looking to escape any possible blowback from this sudden turn of events. She tried to tell herself she was being paranoid, but she knew how the politics of her office worked. Guilt by association was a very real threat to the status she’d achieved, and could put her position in jeopardy.

  Jennifer’s master plan changed as thoughts of life as a doctor’s wife gave way to visions of visiting Matt in prison. The feelings she had five minutes ago were forgotten as new plans evolved. An hour ago, she’d wanted nothing so much as to talk with Matt. Now she wished he’d never called. She wanted all this to go away. No phone call. No Matt in trouble. And definitely no request for help.

  “Jennifer, are you there?” Matt’s voice held a note of desperation.

  “I’m thinking. You know I’m not a lawyer. I’m only a secretary.”

  “Jennifer, I don’t have the strength to argue.” He cleared his throat. “You work in the DA’s office, and you’re bound to know of some lawyers—criminal lawyers. When you come, can you—”

  “Matt, listen to me. If you’re a suspect in a homicide case, this changes everything. I can’t come to visit you. I shouldn’t even be talking with you. If things get serious, the detective will bring in an assistant district attorney. It would be one of the ADAs I work with. This is a clear-cut conflict of interest.” Not to mention what it would do to my future in this office.

  “But I need you—”

  Jennifer drew a shuddering breath. “What’s your room number? I’ll call you when I have a name.”

  Ken Gordon stopped at the door of Matt’s room and surveyed his patient. “You’re looking better today, a little more bright-eyed.”

  Matt managed a weak smile. “Bits and pieces are coming back. And I don’t feel quite so much like there’s a blacksmiths’ convention using my head as the anvil.”

  Gordon eased into the chair at Matt’s bedside and stretched out his legs. “What do you remember about what happened?”

  “I vaguely recall being called out for an emergency at Metropolitan Hospital. It was probably about two in the morning when I left. In the parking garage, somebody—a couple of guys, I think—jumped me, trussed me up, and tossed me into the trunk of my car. From what I could hear, they planned to take me somewhere to kill me. I managed to escape, hid from them on top of a pile of wooden pallets. I started to climb down after they left, and I must have fallen. That’s when the lights went out.”

  “You have a couple of cracked ribs,” Gordon said. “Think you did that falling off your perch?”

  “Those are probably from when they jumped me, or maybe when I rolled out of the trunk of the moving car.”

  Gordon nodded. “You have some cuts and scrapes on your wrists. You’re not trying to cover up a suicide attempt, are you?”

  Matt started to shake his head, but pain stopped him. “No, they taped my wrists with duct tape. I used the sharp end of a road flare to scrape the tape until it parted. I turned my hands and wrists into mincemeat in the process, but I figured that was better than the sort of ending they had planned for the trip.”

  Gordon shifted in the chair. “So why did they kidnap you?”

  Matt tried to read the neurosurgeon’s expression, but it remained a perfect poker face. “Honestly, I have no idea. Just as I have no idea why a homicide detective has such an interest in me.”

  Gordon levered himself to his feet. “Well, you seem to be doing pretty well after the injury. We’ll keep you here in the ICU today. Probably transfer you to a regular room tomorrow. And when that happens, I won’t be able to keep detective what’s-his-face away from you. So if I were you, I’d get a lawyer as soon as possible.”

  “I hoped to get a call with a name yesterday.” The phone at Matt’s bedside rang. “Maybe that’s it.”

  “I’ll give you some privacy,” Gordon said. “See you later.”

  Matt gave a feeble wave and lifted the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Matt, I can’t talk long.” The sounds of traffic in the background told Matt Jennifer wasn’t calling from her office.

  “I asked you to call me yesterday. What took so long?”

  “I shouldn’t talk with you at all. This could get me in a lot of trouble.”

  Matt couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Jennifer, we can
argue about this later. Right now, I’m in trouble. Did you find me a lawyer? A good one?”

  “Write this down.”

  Matt reached for the pad and pencil he’d asked for in anticipation of this call. “Okay.”

  “Sandra Murray. Her number is 214-555-7208.”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  “She’s supposed to be the best criminal defense lawyer in the city.”

  “Anything else?”

  There was a brief silence, as though Jennifer was choosing her words carefully. “They say she’s not only good . . . she’s good looking.”

  “Don’t worry about her looks. I promise I only want to hire her, not date her.”

  Jennifer refused to take the bait. “Matt, I don’t know what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, but I don’t think we should see each other or even talk until it’s cleared up.”

  Matt heard a click. He rattled the receiver back onto its base and lay back, staring at the ceiling. He’d never felt so alone. The girl he thought he might someday marry had effectively washed her hands of him at a time when he most needed her.

  Who else did he have? Parents dead. A few friends, none of them close. Just his brother, and he was thousands of miles away. For two years Matt’s only communication with Joe had been via email and an occasional phone call.

  The emails all had the same central message, “Keep the faith. Have faith. God is in control.” Matt wished he could believe that right now, wished he were that strong. But he wasn’t. Maybe he should try to contact Joe, although he wasn’t sure how he’d do it.

  The throbbing in Matt’s head intensified. He relaxed back onto the pillow. Too much excitement. He’d try to get in touch with Joe later. Right now, he had to rest.

  As sleep began to overtake him, Matt felt like a man trapped in the vortex of a whirlpool, going inexorably down, down, down. As he drifted off, his last thought was that Joe would tell him what to do. He hoped so. Because he didn’t have a clue.

  SIX

  Lou entered the boss’s office and stopped at his usual spot in front of the desk. “We tracked him down.”

  It hadn’t been all that hard. When Lou canvassed the area, he learned that a shopkeeper had gone outside to empty trash and seen a man lying in the alley, unconscious, bleeding from a head wound. The shopkeeper called 911, and the EMTs had come and done their thing.

  The man was probably still in the hospital. Since Lou had the victim’s name and address from the wallet in the trunk of the car, he decided to check out his home first. “Edgar and I went over there late last night. Edgar’s pretty good at picking locks—learned about it during his last time at Huntsville. Said his cell mate was a lock man who—”

  “Get on with it!” The big man slammed his meaty hand down on the desk.

  “Uh, sure. Anyway, we checked out the house. After he goes home from the hospital, we can get to him—easy.”

  “And how are you going to get into his house again? Depending on Edgar to exercise his talent?”

  Lou felt the grin spreading over his face and made no attempt to stifle it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key suspended on a small loop of wire. “He had this hanging behind the door in his laundry room. I checked, and it fits the front and back doors. If he’s like most folks, he’ll never miss it. And if he does, he’ll probably decide he misplaced it.” He returned the key to his pocket. “We’ve got a free pass anytime we want it.”

  The boss nodded. “Very well. Now it’s time to rectify your mistake.”

  Lou nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “As soon as the man is back home, I want you to get rid of him. He’s a loose end. Do it in such a way that it looks like suicide. Depressed over the murder he committed, and so forth. That way, the whole thing goes away, and no heat comes down on our little enterprise.”

  “I’m on it.” Lou started for the door. He might have failed once, but he’d get this one right. Dr. Matt Newman was as good as dead.

  Jennifer dropped her cell phone into her purse and looked through her car windows at the almost-deserted strip shopping center. No familiar faces, no cars she recognized. Get real, Jennifer. Stop looking for trouble around every corner. There was no way anyone from her office would come to this area, and if they did, they would have no idea with whom she was talking. True, suddenly finding out she’d been dating an accused murderer might be an excuse for paranoia—but probably not this much.

  Jennifer started the car and headed back to her office. This call had used up her lunch hour, but that was okay. Her appetite disappeared when she learned of Matt’s predicament yesterday. She drove on automatic pilot as her mind churned with the implications of her situation.

  At first she’d figured that going out with Matt had no downside. Jennifer liked him—liked him a lot—maybe even started to love him. His good looks reminded her of Richard Gere, dark, wavy hair and all. He had a stable life, was a professional man who made a comfortable living. After the first few dates, the future that lay ahead of them looked as bright as a Hawaiian sunrise. Jennifer looked on the intrusions of his practice into their time together as a speed bump in their road to happiness, one she could eventually change. But linkage to a man targeted by a homicide investigator was a different thing altogether.

  Jennifer shook her head. No, she had to listen to her head, not her heart.

  Back at the office, she settled in at her desk and tried to put Matt’s predicament out of her mind. She was rummaging in her bottom desk drawer when a voice over her shoulder made her jump.

  “Jennifer, are you busy?”

  Jennifer swiveled in her chair and saw Frank Everett, one of the assistant DAs, perched with one haunch on her desk. “Uh, I have to finish this project for Mr. Tanner. Why?”

  “I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight.”

  Wow. She’d never really thought of him that way. But if Matt was on his way out and she wanted to hold on to her position here . . . “I . . . I’m not sure. I’m just out of a relationship, and—”

  “It’s only dinner. No pressure. But I hate to eat alone, and I’ll bet you do too.”

  Right. It’s only dinner—just two colleagues sharing a meal. What was the harm?

  “Well . . . I guess that would be okay, Mr. Everett.”

  He flushed slightly. “Please, it’s Frank.”

  Everyone in the office knew Frank Everett was on the rebound from a particularly messy divorce. He was never going to make D Magazine’s list of most eligible bachelors. Everett was a slightly overweight middle-aged man with a receding hairline, stuck in a midlevel job in the DA’s office. But as Jennifer worked to rationalize accepting the invitation, she decided that Frank Everett had three outstanding attributes: he was a professional, he appeared interested in her, and he wasn’t squarely in the sights of a homicide detective.

  Was it terrible to accept this invitation when Matt needed her? On the other hand, how would it help Matt if she sat at home in front of the TV? So why not? “Okay, Frank. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

  “Pick you up at your place about seven?” Everett asked.

  Jennifer did some rapid calculations. Straighten her apartment, in case they ended up back there after dinner. Do her hair. Squeeze into that slinky black dress she’d bought for the dinner with Matt that he’d canceled. If she sneaked out of the office a bit early, she could make it. “Sure. See you then.”

  “Ms. Murray’s office. Can you hold for a moment?”

  Matt gave silent thanks that at least the secretary didn’t sound perky. He figured that the phone in the office of a criminal defense attorney should be answered the same way as at a mortuary—with somber tones, reflecting an acknowledgment of, and sympathy for, the caller’s situation.

  He glanced at the yellow legal pad on the rolling table at his bedside. It contained the notes he’d made while he waited for the name of an attorney. Unfortunately, since he had no idea what was going on, only a few lines mar
red the otherwise pristine surface of the first page. Matt moved the table so it sat across his bed like a writing desk, then picked up his pen, ready for the secretary to return to the line.

  “Thank you for waiting. How may I help you?”

  Matt took a deep breath and launched into his prepared speech. “My name is Matt Newman. I’m currently a patient in Parkland Hospital’s ICU, recovering from surgery after a head injury. When I regained consciousness, a Dallas homicide detective showed up, but my doctor chased him away. He said he’d be back. I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m pretty sure I need an attorney.”

  “And you wish to employ Ms. Murray?”

  Did he? He wished to leave the hospital and get on with his life. But under the circumstances . . . “Yes, I do.”

  “She’s in court right now, but I expect to be in contact with her. May I have her call you?”

  “Sure.” He gave her his room number and the number on his phone. “I’m not going anywhere, but I don’t know when they shut off the phones in the ICU rooms.”

  Nothing seemed to faze this secretary. Matt hoped her boss was as efficient. “Very well. If she can’t get through on the phone, Ms. Murray will come to you.”

  “I don’t know about visiting hours. I think they’re sort of strict about those in the ICU.”

  The secretary’s tone held a smile when she responded. “Ms. Murray seems to have no problem getting around rules and restrictions. In the meantime, if anyone from the police tries to talk with you, say only this: ‘I’ve contacted my attorney and will have nothing to say until she is here.’ Is that clear?”

  Matt found that he was writing the words as she dictated them, even though they were easy enough to remember. Just staring at them on the page made him feel calmer. “Got it.”

  “Good. And if you have any problems in the meantime, call me. I’m Elaine.”

  Matt cradled the phone and thought back over the conversation. Was he overreacting? Couldn’t he simply ask the detective to tell him what was going on? Surely there was no need to engage an attorney. Maybe he’d call Sandra Murray’s office back and cancel the request. After all, criminal defense attorneys charged high fees, and his resources were limited.