DONE GONE WRONG

by Cathy Pickens

  I flipped through Tunisia’s record, then picked up Tabitha’s chart, looking for what I dimly remembered. In his notes on Tabbi’s last visit, Mark’s cryptic scrawl explained everything: SOB and acute HA, shortness of breath and a bad headache. Tunisia’s blood pressure had risen to 164/110.

  “Cas.” His head was back, his feet on the window seat. I got no reply, so I spoke louder. ‘Tunisia had an appointment with Langley Howard at Barnard Medical the day she disappeared. Well, at least the last day her family saw her. Her grandmother or her aunt told me that.

  “The day before, she told Mark Tilman she was having trouble breathing, that she was having severe headaches and her vision was blurred. Mark told her to stop taking the experimental medication and to see Howard. If Hilliard saw her, he surely would’ve recognized the importance of her symptoms.”

  I paced the small room. “Cas, it has to be the research project Tunisia was enrolled in. Hilliard was studying some kind of intranasal contraceptive, one that Pendleton Rabb and his pharmaceutical company were interested in licensing. The exact symptoms she reported are printed in every packet of birth control pills as severe warning signs. Damn.”

  Cas wasn’t listening to a word. He’d fallen asleep.

  Granted, my life as a defense attorney irrevocably altered my view of medicine and its practitioners. I no longer doubted their fallibility. But how could Langley Hilliard miss such clear danger signs, symptoms that must have killed a young woman very shortly after she last saw him? How the hell could he have missed seeing it earlier?

  More importantly, could he have saved her life if he’d done something?

  Bits fell into place: her grandmother’s thick body and heavy arms, Tunisia’s disorientation, her headaches and blurred vision. Together, everything pointed to a stroke risk. The fact that she was black and—I flipped to her record—had started the study with an elevated blood pressure screamed stroke risk. With her absentee mother’s medical history unknown and so many risk factors, why had she been allowed to enroll in the study? Even worse, how could Hilliard have missed the warning signs when she saw him for her two-week checkup?

  Langley Howard had seen Tunisia only two weeks before she’d brought Tabbi in to see Mark Truman, two weeks before Mark was concerned enough about her symptoms that he told her to stop taking the medication and to see Hilliard again.

  Langley Hilliard might have a plausible explanation, but I could only come up with one: first, he’d signed her up because he desperately needed study subjects for his pet project; later, he hadn’t wanted to report negative results on the eve of signing the licensing agreement. So he ignored problems when they presented themselves. Either that or he was just rock-stupid and had missed the signs.

  Hilliard was far from stupid.

  What had Pendleton Rabb’s lawyer said about the contract? They’d reached an understanding a couple of weeks ago, but they hadn’t signed anything—because Mark Tilman had called Rabb headquarters.

  What could Howard have hoped to gain? Sooner or later, something had to happen to Tunisia, using the contraceptive with those symptoms.

  Something had happened. Tunisia Johnson had died. How could it benefit him to ignore her problems? Why not just drop her from the study? Why try to cover up? Rabb’s attorney had mentioned an audit of the research records. Perhaps dropping Tunisia from the study would have waved a red flag at the wrong time.

  Langley Hilliard would certainly benefit from a successful contraceptive, once developed. Could he be so greedy, so blinded by dollar signs dancing before his eyes, that he simply ignored what he didn’t want to see?

  Of course Hilliard was capable of deluding himself. That’s what made him an effective witness, particularly when the facts on his side were weak and his first hurdle was convincing himself of their merit.

  What had I told Jake? The cornerstone of the Uplift lawsuit was greed. Pure, plain, green-eyed greed. I needed to check a couple of things tomorrow. How long before a blood clot developed? How long before it hit the brain? What would tip off a physician that a problem existed? What was the standard medical response? I had to think of somebody to call.

  I paced about in my bare feet, careful not to wake Cas. I tried not to look at him. It embarrassed me to see him sleeping, his mouth slightly open, his neck exposed. Thank goodness he wasn’t snoring.

  I hesitated to wake him. He might be one of those ex-military types who’d break my neck if awakened suddenly.

  I left him in the chair and stretched out on the bed, not bothering to undress. I thought I’d lie there contemplating the ceiling until morning, but I didn’t remember another thought until 6:00 A.M.

  27

  EARLY THURSDAY MORNING

  The next morning Cas was gone. Maybe it had been the door closing that woke me. Sheesh. Had I snored or talked in my sleep or drooled? He hadn’t even heard my brilliant deductions about Hilliard and his complicity in Tunisia’s death.

  I called the station. He was out. I didn’t bother leaving a message. Plenty of time to fill him in after I’d double-checked a couple of things.

  I tried to shower, massage, and makeup the grit out of my eyes, but succeeded only partially.

  Fortunately for me, Dr. Redfearn in Dacus is an early riser. Semiretired, he was waiting for the rest of his patients to die off quietly. Despite his quirks and oddities, he’s still one of the best doctors I’ve ever known.

  “You home, Avery?”

  “No, sir. Just calling to—”

  “You heard about the excitement in town yesterday?”

  “Yessir—”

  “Your mother, you know. Deranged man with the hots for some little girl. Don’t know her, you know. Lots of new folks in town. Much too young for him, even if he hadn’t been somewhat unlatched. Not sure there’s more of that these days, but you sure do hear more about it. Folks used to have the decency and good sense to keep ’em up, you know, out of sight.”

  “Yes, sir. I was—”

  “Where was I? Your mother. She talked this fellow out of blowing up the Burger Hut. Not that the place would be such a loss. Dreadful food. Can’t figure out why the Rescue Squad trucks always park around there, unless they’re waiting on a ptomaine outbreak. He had enough dynamite strapped to his chest to blow a crater in the entire block. Not to mention himself and all those kids.

  “There was your mom. Right there on the evening news. Sent a crew all the way from Greenville to cover it. The national news even picked it up. ‘Course, they showed such a short piece that anybody seeing it would think the whole town wasn’t anything but toothless wonders. Except your mama, who wouldn’t talk to them.

  “She swatted one of those reporters with something. Heard it was her purse. Or her fist. You know how folks are, tellin’ a story. Rarely get it right.”

  I leapt in as soon as he took a breath. I still hadn’t talked to Mom—and she hadn’t called. “Dr. Redfearn. I had some quick questions I wondered if you could help me with. An embody stroke.”

  “Goodness, darling. That’s not something I can help you with over the phone. That’s serious—”

  “It’s a case I’m working on, Doc. I just need to pick your brain.” I kept talking over his oohh. “How quickly does it progress? How do you know when somebody has one? How would you treat it? How risky is it for someone taking birth control Pills?” I got all my questions out at once. He’d remember them—and be more likely to stay on the subject without straying than if I introduced them one by one.

  “Somebody on birth control pills?”

  “Well, a hormone-based contraceptive delivered intranasally.”

  “What’s the blood pressure reading?”

  “164/110, at the last check.”

  “That right there is cause to assess somebody. Any risk factors for stroke? Other than living in South Carolina, which is risk enough.”

  I ran down the list, describing her grandmother and the missing pieces of her medical history.

  “Honey, she�
�s an extremely high risk. I wouldn’t keep her on something like that.”

  “Even if the drug was expected to produce fewer side effects than oral contraceptives?”

  He harrumphed. “That’s what they always claim, isn’t it?”

  “Suppose she took this stuff and developed severe headaches and had trouble with her vision. How long would that take to develop?”

  “I’d expect to see signs within the first two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?”

  “Mm-hmm. Then I’d take her off it immediately. A lot of blacks, particularly down state it seems, just can’t take hormonal contraceptives. You got to be careful.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Redfearn. You’ve been a big help.”

  “You gonna tell me what this is all about? Or do I have to wait to see you on the evening news, like your mama?”

  I didn’t laugh. I promised to fill him in later.

  As I crossed the street to my car, I called directory assistance for Tunisia’s grandmother’s number. I hoped she too was an early riser.

  “Miz Linnie Ann? This is Avery Andrews. I met you—yes, ma’am. I was so sorry to hear about Tunisia. I hate to bother you, but it’s very important. Tunisia had been using a nasal spray. Could you tell me, was she still using it right before she disappeared?”

  “Well, now.” Linnie Ann paused. “Tunisia didn’t really take much of anything. Had been like that for a long time. Wouldn’t hardly even take aspirin or nothing, but she had been using some kind of spray. Here’s the bottle. Let me get my glasses. Yep.”

  “Was she still using it the last time you saw her?”

  “As a matter of fact, the day before—well, when she took Tabbi to the doctor for her ear infection, she said Dr. Tilman had tole her to quit using it.”

  “But she was using it up until then?”

  “She was. She said she needed to go back over to the clinic to see another doctor the next day about it.”

  “Who was that? Do you know?”

  “The one here on this bottle, that wrote it for her.”

  I exhaled as she read it out for me. “Hilly-yard,” she pronounced it. “L. Hilly-yard.”

  “Thank you very much. That’ll be a big help.” I didn’t know what to say, what to offer in exchange for intruding on her grief.

  “Um. Miz Andrews? I was wondering. Have the police—have you heard anything? They haven’t tole us... Bessie says I’m bein’ too nice and not askin’ enough.” Her voice trailed off.

  “I don’t know much yet, ma’am. As soon as I do, I’ll let you know. You’ve been a big help.”

  “They said they’d probably release the body by the weekend, so we could plan the funeral.”

  Oh, dear. I was chasing shadows while she faced much more practical—and painful—tasks. “I’d appreciate you letting me know about the arrangements. And just as soon as I know something, I’ll call you. You still have my number?”

  After we said good-byes, I thought about marching straight into Langley Howard’s office to confront him with what I knew. Now that the trial testimony had ended, the judge couldn’t rap my knuckles for contacting him. Then I hit on another plan. Better gather all my ammunition first. I dialed Linnie Ann again and asked if she’d sign a release form for me. Better keep this strictly legal.

  28

  EARLY THURSDAY MORNING

  I stopped by Jake’s office to pick up a medical records release form and drove to Mt. Pleasant to get Linnie Ann’s signature.

  My plan carried high stakes and I needed to think through each move. A call to Gatekeeper Deb confirmed where the research records were stored—at a small clinic office on a side street near Barnard Medical. I recognized the street address; Langley Howard and other staff physicians had private practice offices in the vicinity.

  In the shrub-sheltered lot behind the brick building sat only two cars: a Mercedes sedan and a Honda. Patients hadn’t started arriving yet. The young woman behind the sliding glass window in the office matter-of-factly looked over the release form, went to pull the file folder, and offered to copy the slender chart while I waited.

  “Would you mind if I look through it first?”

  “Sure,” she said, with only a moment’s hesitation. “You can sit back here.” She walked around to open the waiting room door for me and left me alone in an examining room with the folder. She had more pressing duties before the day’s patients filled the waiting room.

  Most of the pages in the slender file were multipaged consent and patient history forms. I thumbed quickly through those looking for the physician’s notes. Exactly as I’d suspected, Langley Howard had been Tunisia Johnson’s physician contact for the Rabb study. He’d conducted the initial intake interview with her, had seen her vital signs with the slightly elevated blood pressure. Not that I’d needed this puzzle piece to see the picture, but it was nice to know it fit in place so neatly.

  “Avery! You are an early bird!”

  I jumped, startled. Blaine Demarcos stood smiling in the doorway.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to surprise you. Annie said you were here.”

  “Dr. Demarcos. You work out of this office?”

  He nodded, hands in his pockets. “Several of us use this office for research patient follow-up. It helps keep things centralized.”

  I hadn’t expected to see Demarcos, but, as Barnard Medical’s head of research, what lay in my hands would soon be his problem.

  “We need to talk.” No need to drag this out. “About Tunisia Johnson. Did you know the police found her body?”

  “I—no, I hadn’t heard.” His face had frozen in an attentive look. I plowed on.

  “Did Dr. Hilliard say anything about Tunisia, about her reporting any problems to him? Anything that you can remember? It’s very important.”

  He shook his head slowly, his lips pursed. “No, he didn’t say anything. What would he have said? She was progressing just fine, no complaints.”

  “He told you she was fine?”

  Demarcos nodded. “We give routine updates on patients. Maybe not in so many words, but that would’ve been the gist of the conversation.”

  “So you know she was fine because Howard said she was fine.” I fought to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  “Certainly—and because I saw her myself.”

  “You saw Tunisia Johnson?” I kept my questions slow and measured, casual. “When?”

  “Umm. About two weeks ago, I guess. When she saw Dr. Hilliard.”

  I tried a smile. “You have a very good memory.”

  “She was Dr. Howard’s patient, so he had full responsibility for her, of course. But she was such a lively, funny young woman—sassy is a good word, I guess. We both enjoyed her visits, Howard and I. She had a great way with a story.”

  She wasn’t the only one.

  “This was a couple of weeks ago. What was that, just a regular visit?”

  “Her regular two-week checkup.” He nodded, indicating the file I held. “That’s only part of her file. If you have time, we can go across to the medical records office so you can have everything that pertains to Ms. Johnson. That might help give her family some—closure.”

  “Sure.” Might as well humor him. Did he have any idea what he was saying? He’d learned about Tunisia’s headaches and shortness of breath when Hilliard did, two weeks after she started using the contraceptive. Neither of them had done anything to help her, their inattention all because of the timing of their licensing contract.

  Hilliard and Demarcos let her die. I might believe one of them made a stupid mistake and overlooked her symptoms, but not both of them.

  I still couldn’t see them arranging Tunisia’s disappearance—and her reappearance in that obscene, humiliating stage set. What had happened?

  I calmly walked with Demarcos to the back door and waited while he locked it behind us.

  “Dam,” I said, looking at my watch. “I just remembered. I’ve got a meeting at Jake Baker’s this morning before court. I di
dn’t realize how close to time—”

  “I doubt that.” He turned to face me. His voice had a bitter edge.

  I raised my eyebrows but didn’t reply.

  “I heard a bit about the courtroom fiasco this week. From what I hear, baker’s be off somewhere licking his wounds.” His whole demeanor changed, his smile unpleasant.

  “Hilliard, I sup—”

  “No. I haven’t seen Langley. No, in fact it was a security fellow from Atlanta. They’ve been keeping something of a watch on you since your pathetic visit to Atlanta.”

  I forced myself not to glance frantically about. Only two cars sat in the parking lot. Ever since my swamp adventure, I’d felt a bit skittish. Shrubs surrounded the parking lot and blocked the view from the street or surrounding buildings. I wasn’t likely to spot someone skulking about, spying on me. But then, I hadn’t spotted anyone since Sunday, when I’d left Atlanta.

  “Oh, yes. He followed you here. But don’t worry. He’s gone to catch a shower and some breakfast. Seems you caught him a bit unawares by leaving so early this morning, after such a late night Some strapping fellow with a shoulder holster under his jacket, he said. You really should be careful about those late-night rendezvous, hmm?”

  Apparently the guy from Atlanta hadn’t recognized Cas Kirkland as a cop, even though he’d noticed the holster. No point in trying to defend my honor. I had more than that at stake here.

  “I really do need to be going.” I stepped off the sidewalk. I’d learned in a self-defense class years ago to keep my keys in my hand so I could enter my car quickly, better to avoid any unwanted problems in lonely parking lots.

  “I don’t think so, Avery.” Demarcos held, not keys, but a cute, dull black automatic, its unblinking eye pointed at my midsection, probably in the vicinity of some major blood pathway.

  “For Pete’s sake. What do you think you’re doing?” I sounded like my mother.

  I must have lacked her authority, because it didn’t faze him. He locked my arm against his, wedged the gun against my side, hidden from any passersby, and marched me across the parking lot toward the street.