“Yes, to me, and to my men, and to others as well.”
“And when the boy was taken—against his parents’ will—”
“The mother’s will maybe; the father was okay with it,” Sadler said, correcting him.
“Okay, against the mother’s will from the apartment,” Rottingham continued, “did the Reverend LaFontaine attempt to physically block the paramedics?”
“No.”
“So all he did was voice his displeasure?”
“He was agitating the crowd, trying to get them to stop us.”
“Did he say that?”
“No, he implied it.”
“I see, so you’re a mind reader,” Rottingham said scathingly. “Did anyone in this crowd attempt to physically stop the paramedics from transporting Micah Ellis to the hospital?”
“No. Like I said, the father interceded and things calmed down.”
“So essentially, the Reverend LaFontaine and his congregation were exercising their free speech rights?”
“No, that would not be the case,” Sadler shot back. “Inciting to violence and obstructing police action is not a First Amendment right, most respectfully.”
After the midmorning break, Karp called Dr. Aronberg to the stand and began by asking him to lay out the chronology of Micah’s diagnosis and treatment. “It was hard on the boy,” the doctor said, “but I was encouraged by the results. But then he failed to return for post-treatment checkups, and his parents did not respond to our attempts to contact them.”
“What is the likelihood he would have survived if this treatment plan had continued?” Karp asked.
“With his type of tumor, which was slow-growing, the survival rate is about seventy percent if we get to it in time and treat it aggressively,” Aronberg said.
“And if untreated?”
“The child would die.”
“Doctor, you are aware of what happened to Micah Ellis and Natalie Hale, is that correct?”
Aronberg dropped his head for a moment and then nodded, looking up. “Yes, they are deceased.”
“And did you recently look for their medical records at the hospital where they were treated by you?”
“I did.”
“What did you find?”
“Nothing. Their records had been expunged.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Yes. It’s simply not done … at least it’s not supposed to be done.”
“Can you think of any legitimate reason why they would have been expunged?”
“No. There is no legitimate reason to expunge patient records.”
“Is this something that could have happened by accident, or say a power failure, or any other reason aside from an intentional effort to get rid of these records?”
“No. It was intentional. Even the backup files had been erased.”
“Objection!” Rottingham bellowed. “The witness is not competent to come to that conclusion. I ask that his answer be stricken from the record!”
Judge Temple held up his hand to have Rottingham hold his thought. He then leaned toward the witness and asked, “Doctor, how do you conclude that this was intentional?”
“Your Honor, when I was questioned about this matter, I conducted my own inquiry with the hospital computer technicians,” he said. “They demonstrated how the system works, including its fail-safes that would prevent anything except an intentional purging of the records. Which in their experience, and mine, had never occurred before.”
“Very well, thank you, doctor,” Temple said, and turned back to Rottingham. “Do you wish to probe further, now that you’ve opened the door?”
Red-faced, Rottingham stood silently, reached into his vest pocket, and withdrew a handkerchief that he used to mop his brow. He then sat down, ignoring the angry glare of his client.
Karp let Dr. Aronberg’s explanation sink in for a moment and then changed direction slightly. “Doctor, when a new patient is admitted to the hospital for treatment, do they—or in the case of a minor, do their parents—fill out any forms regarding family history, religious preferences, and economic status?”
“Yes, a fairly large document actually, particularly if they are applying for financial assistance.”
“So this form might indicate which religious denomination the parents might adhere to?”
“Yes.”
“And whether one or both parents were unemployed?”
“Yes.”
“So someone with access to this form, as well as the medical records, would know quite a bit about the patient and his family, including their home address?”
“Absolutely.”
“And who would have access to the medical records and this personal information?”
“Someone in the hospital administration.”
“Thank you, doctor, those are all of my questions for now,” Karp said.
Rottingham rose and walked over to the jury box, turning to Aronberg as he asked his question. “Do patients with Micah’s diagnosis always die if untreated?”
The doctor looked at him for a long moment before answering. “As with any disease, there are extremely rare instances of an astrocytoma tumor going into spontaneous remission.”
“And what causes a spontaneous remission?” Rottingham asked, looking now at the jury.
“We don’t always understand the mechanism,” Aronberg admitted. “We do know that the human mind and body sometimes surprise us with their ability to combat disease without medical assistance.”
“Or what some people might call a miracle, or divine intervention?”
“Perhaps,” Aronberg said. “And I have no problem with the idea of divine intervention, though I believe that God works through the intellect of human beings and that, God-inspired or not, there is a scientific reason behind spontaneous remission that is beyond our current understanding.”
“That’s a nice speech, doctor,” Rottingham said, “but what it boils down to is that sometimes spontaneous remissions, or what some people would call miracles, occur and you don’t have a scientific, or medical, explanation for it. Isn’t that true?”
“That’s correct,” Aronberg said.
“But until, or perhaps I should say if, that day comes, when you can explain these occurrences, your thoughts on the matter are no more valid than those of someone who believes that a spontaneous remission is an act of God.”
“I suppose so,” the doctor replied.
Rottingham strolled over to the defense table and stood next to his client. “Doctor, have you ever had any contact with the Reverend LaFontaine?”
“No.”
“Have you ever seen him before arriving in this courtroom?”
“No.”
“Did the parents of Micah Ellis or Natalie Hale ever tell you that they were no longer going to allow their children to be treated by you because the Reverend LaFontaine told them not to?”
“No.”
“And, doctor, in your research into the expunged records, did you turn up anything that indicated that the Reverend LaFontaine had anything to do with it?” Rottingham asked, placing a hand on his client’s shoulder.
Aronberg looked down at his hands. “No, I saw nothing to indicate he was involved.”
Rottingham smiled. “Thank you, no more questions.”
As Aronberg stepped down and passed between the defense and prosecution tables, Karp glanced at LaFontaine, who was looking at him with a slight smirk on his face. Pride before the fall, Karp thought, and turned away.
26
KARP WAS STILL THINKING ABOUT LAFONTAINE’S SMIRK, AND ego, when he hurried into the reception area of his office, where Darla Milquetost told him, “Your visitors are already here.” She pointed to the larger room where Nadya Malovo and company waited before adding, “That woman gives me the creeps.”
Karp laughed. “She has that effect on a lot of people.”
“Oh, by the way, I’m not exactly sure where this came from, it was on my desk after I let
them into the meeting room and got them coffee,” Milquetost said, handing him an envelope, “but it’s addressed to you.”
Walking into the room, Karp quickly took in the scene. Seated at the conference table were Nadya Malovo, her attorney Bruce Knight, Espey Jaxon, and Mike Rolles. Marshal Jen Capers was standing behind her prisoner, talking quietly to Clay Fulton.
Malovo spoke first. “It is my good friend Butch Karp,” she said. “Apparently we will have yet another conversation that does not involve a witness stand.”
Karp, tight-lipped, ignored her as he made his way around the table and took a seat. He looked at Jaxon. “So I got your message; what’s up?”
Jaxon pointed. “Hello, Butch. I’ll defer here to Agent Rolles, who called me just before I called you this morning and asked for this meeting.”
Karp raised an eyebrow and looked at the other agent, who said, “As you know, Nadya has been hearing from her sources for months now about a possible terrorist attack aimed at the parade in the Village on Halloween night. She’s been in contact with these people in the past week and the threat has gained credibility.”
“It has gone from the planning to implementation stage,” Malovo said.
“We’ve been worried for some time about the possibility of this particular attack,” Rolles added. “Think about it. The parade draws two million spectators and fifty thousand participants, almost all of them wearing costumes, and all crammed into a one-mile stretch of Sixth Avenue. Although the NYPD tries to control entrance to the parade itself from the side streets, it’s nearly impossible, not to mention there are several subway stops in that immediate area.”
“It’s a security nightmare,” Jaxon said. “With everyone in costume, the police can’t check beneath each robe and look in every backpack or behind every mask.”
“Osama bin Laden could have come as himself,” Malovo interjected, “and everybody would have congratulated him on his costume.”
“So where do we go from here? Call off the parade?” Fulton asked.
The room went quiet until Rolles cleared his throat and spoke. “National security policy has been to keep these threats quiet,” he said. “While we believe that this particular threat is very credible, if we stopped events every time there was a credible threat—meaning we are aware that some lone wolf or group is planning something—there would be no football games or World Series or concerts.”
“There is something else,” Malovo interjected. “Along with a desire to strike a major blow against America, those behind this operation have one very specific target.”
“And that is?” Karp asked.
“You,” she replied with a smile. “Apparently, they have tired of your … interference with their plans and want to repay you for the downfall of my former colleagues Amir al-Sistani and the imam Jabbar. These are people who believe in revenge.”
“That does it; whatever happens with the parade, you’re out,” Fulton snarled, glaring at Malovo. “We’ll make up some excuse … work or illness or—”
Karp held up his hand. “Hold on, Clay,” he said. “I don’t see how I can live with saving myself while agreeing to allow this parade to go forward.”
“It might actually work against us,” Malovo said. “If they don’t see you, they will assume that their plan has been discovered. But they have a separate Plan B.”
“And what is that?” Fulton scowled.
Malovo shrugged. “I haven’t been able to find out yet. But if they stay with the original plan, we have a better chance of stopping them. I think they may even be growing suspicious of me … after the ferry attack was thwarted, they have been more circumspect, though they have still needed Ajmaani—me of course—to supply them with their materials and financing. They are expecting me to be at the parade, too.”
“You’re not going to any parade,” Capers argued.
Malovo looked at Rolles, who shook his head. “I’m afraid that she has to,” he said. “Not only would her absence warn them that something isn’t right, she can identify at least some of the participants.”
“If you know who these people are, why not just intercept them now?” Fulton said.
“It may have to do with their distrust of me,” Malovo explained, “or they’ve learned not to put all of their eggs in one basket—that is the saying, no?—but I have only been able to meet with the two main leaders. There has been no contact with their teams.”
“Then take down the leaders and the plan falls apart,” Fulton said.
“It is my understanding that if the two are captured or killed, the others will carry out Plan B,” she replied. “It may not be as dramatic as attacking the parade and trying to kill our friend Butch, but I am convinced it will be deadly and I have no idea how to stop it.”
“Nadya meets with these guys the night before Halloween. We’ll be tracking these two and we’ll try to intercept them before the parade if we can get them all together,” Rolles said. “But I think we need to be thinking in terms of making these guys think that their plan is working.”
Malovo turned from Rolles to Karp. “So, I guess you will be the bait to catch these fish. So what will your costume be, Butch? I am going as Little Red Riding Hood; perhaps you should be Big Bad Wolf, no?”
Karp mused. “The world is truly upside down.”
Laughing, Malovo left with Rolles and Capers. When they were gone, Fulton sat down at the table. “You know she’s egging you on to be at the parade,” he said. “And it’s not so she can help catch terrorists.”
“I know, Clay,” Karp replied. “But I don’t see any other choice.” He looked at his legal pad and saw the envelope that Milquetost had handed him stuffed in the pages. He opened it and read a note inside, then looked at his watch. “I have to be back to court in fifteen minutes. But I want to go get a newspaper.”
Fulton frowned. “I’ll go get it,” he said. “You got enough on your plate.”
Karp smiled. “Nah, I can use a breath of fresh air, too. Something about that woman; she’s truly the queen of darkness.”
Fulton laughed. “I know just what you mean.”
27
AS KARP TURNED TO WATCH, A SIDE DOOR IN THE COURTROOM opened and a frightened-looking man timidly entered. He stood for a moment as if debating whether to try to turn and run despite the imposing presence behind him of the large black detective who escorted him from the witness waiting room.
“Please approach the stand to be sworn in,” Judge Temple directed the man, who swallowed hard, adjusted his tie, nodded, and walked toward the low swinging gate between the spectator section and the well of the court. He glanced once at the defendant, who sat looking at him with an eerie smile plastered to his face, and then at Karp before fixing his eyes ahead on the court clerk who waited.
The phrase “stuck between a rock and a hard place” comes to mind, Karp thought as the man swore to tell the truth and took a seat in the witness box alongside the jury rail. He wondered if the red flush on the man’s cheeks was due to fear, shame, or embarrassment—or likely all three. It was certainly not the nip in the October air outside. Dr. Maury Holstein had not spent much time outside at all since his arrest that past April for his participation in the grand larceny/fraud case still pending against him and LaFontaine in Tennessee.
At Marlene’s suggestion, Detective Winkler had called Holstein following the shooting and asked if he could come in to talk to him about “the Reverend John LaFontaine and some irregularities in hospital patient records.” As expected, the doctor panicked and called LaFontaine in New York City to ask what he should do.
LaFontaine was smart enough not to say much. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the crafty con man responded. “And don’t call here again.” But scared, and now alone, Holstein had persisted with several more calls.
That was enough to link Holstein to LaFontaine and to get the Memphis judge, who had sufficient probable cause, to issue a wiretap order and authorize a subpoena for hospital tele
phone and computer records. The hospital records revealed numerous calls from Holstein’s office to cell phones registered to the Holy Covenant Church of Jesus Christ Reformed when LaFontaine was still in Memphis. And while the computer records had been wiped clean of references to Micah Ellis and Natalie Hale, a forensic computer expert had been able to determine that the records had existed and had been deleted from a computer in Holstein’s office.
Given the nature of the fraudulent schemes, Holstein was arrested. He’d immediately cracked under questioning from Winkler and Fulton and then gave a comprehensive, incriminating recorded statement to Guma.
When Guma asked what could have possibly driven him to become part of such an evil plot, the doctor began to cry. He had a gambling problem and was in the hole for fifty thousand dollars to LaFontaine’s thugs, who had approached him with a deal: “I could wind up in the Mississippi with a bullet in my head, or I could go along with the program. My debt would be forgiven, and I’d get paid.”
However, the threat wasn’t the only thing that sealed the deal. He’d been having an affair with a stripper named Sarah at the Gentleman’s Club. “They got some photos of me with her at a motel and said that if I ever told, they’d give them to my wife and put them on Facebook.”
Holstein had turned over the photographs, one of which Karp showed him on the witness stand after establishing that the doctor had been blackmailed into getting involved in a plan to identify seriously ill children being treated at the hospital. “Is this the woman you knew as Sarah?” he asked.
The doctor looked up and then quickly back down. He nodded his head.
“You’re going to have to answer yes or no loud enough for the court reporter and the jurors to hear you,” Karp said.
“Yes, that’s her … and me,” Holstein said.
Karp entered the photograph into evidence and then showed it to the jury before continuing his questioning. “Do you see the man who approached you about this plan sitting in the courtroom?”
“Yes, that’s him,” Holstein said, pointing.
“Let the record reflect that the witness identified the defendant,” Karp said. “And what did he ask you to do?”
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