Critical Condition

by Richard Mabry

  “Call my boss and make an excuse,” Megan said. “Parker will know the number.”

  “Do you understand these rights?” Callaway said again. Receiving no reply, he shrugged and looked at his partner. “You witnessed me giving her the warning. That’s good enough.” He gave Megan a slight shove. “Let’s go.”

  Shannon had her cell phone out before the detectives cleared the front door. She punched in a number she’d had the presence of mind to put on speed dial, and while it rang she thought back to what she’d just seen. If she lived another hundred years, Shannon knew she’d never forget the look Megan gave her as Callaway herded her toward the door. It said, better than any words could convey, “Help me.”

  ELENA FROWNED WHEN SHE HEARD THE RINGING OF HER CELL phone. A call this early was either a client in significant trouble or a wrong number. Please don’t let it be an emergency.

  “You girls finish your breakfast. We need to leave in ten minutes.” She hurried to the table in the front hall where her purse lay, snatched the phone from it, and answered, “Elena Waites.”

  “Elena, thank goodness I caught you. This is Shannon Frasier. The police just arrested Megan. Can you—”

  “Hold on,” Elena said. “Take a deep breath. A minute or two won’t make any difference. Tell me exactly what happened.” She reached for the ever-present yellow legal pad, pulling a pen with it from the drawer of the table holding her purse.

  She scribbled notes as Shannon talked, occasionally interrupting with a question. When it was clear that Shannon had finished, Elena said, “And you told her not to say a word? You’re sure?”

  “Positive,” Shannon said. “So what happens next?”

  “Just go about your business and let me get started on this. It may take awhile, though. Can I reach you on your cell?”

  “Yes. I’m in clinic seeing patients all day, but I’ll keep the phone with me. When—”

  “The answer to every question you may want to ask is the same—I don’t know. But trust me, I’ll take care of things.”

  “So what can I do?” Shannon asked.

  “Let me handle this. I’ll call you as soon as I know something. And don’t worry.” Like that’s going to happen.

  MARK WAS TAKING A BREAK IN THE SURGEONS’ LOUNGE WHILE waiting for the next scheduled frozen section. He was sipping a cup of what was probably the world’s worst coffee and letting his mind wander when the intercom startled him into wakefulness. “Dr. Gilbert, please call your office for a message.”

  Mark picked up the phone and called his secretary.

  “Dr. Frasier asked that you call her cell phone. She said it’s urgent.”

  “Thanks.” Mark broke the connection and dialed.

  Shannon answered on the first ring. “Mark, I don’t know what to do.”

  This wasn’t the cool and competent surgeon Mark expected to hear. “Tell me about it. Whatever it is, together we can handle it.”

  Mark sat with the receiver pressed against his ear, frowning as Shannon related the details of Megan’s arrest. “And you’ve called your attorney already?”

  “That was the first call I made,” Shannon said. “She said she’d take care of things and get back to me, but I feel like I need to be doing something. What can I do?”

  Megan again. How many times . . . Never mind. Mark took a deep breath. “Let me ask you this. When a patient of yours goes into surgery, how do you think the family feels?”

  There was a momentary pause. “I think they feel helpless. For the next hour or two, their loved one’s life might be in danger, but there’s nothing they can do about it.”

  “So what can they do?”

  “They have to trust the surgeon. And sometimes . . . sometimes they pray.”

  “Right now there’s nothing you can do. You’ve called in the specialist. You’re in the waiting room. So trust your attorney. And pray.”

  MEGAN HAD NEVER BEEN THROUGH ANYTHING LIKE THIS. WHEN she and Shannon were at the police station previously, she’d had her attorney on one side, her sister on the other. Their presence had been comforting, their guidance important. But right now she sat on her bunk in a holding cell, shaken by the experience of being photographed and fingerprinted. She still wore her regular clothes. She wondered when those would be replaced by prison coveralls . . . or whatever prisoners wore here.

  From force of habit, Megan looked at her bare wrist. Her watch was gone, together with her belt. She was glad she was wearing flats instead of sneakers so there were no laces to give up, and that her jeans fit well enough they weren’t falling off her hips in the absence of a belt.

  She’d received what passed for lunch—a bologna sandwich on dry bread, tasteless pasta salad, green gelatin with a few chunks of fruit, and Kool-Aid. Megan was able to choke down a bit of food and wondered what it would be like to have this meal on a regular basis.

  Megan guessed it was now early afternoon, although it seemed she’d sat here alone for an eternity. Surely Shannon would have contacted Elena Waites. Where was her attorney? For that matter, where were the detectives who’d arrested her? How long would she have to sit here before something happened? Anything!

  She felt as though she’d wandered into a strange country where she didn’t speak the language, couldn’t read the road signs, and had no idea what was around the next bend. She was truly lost.

  The rattling of the cell door made her look up.

  “Megan Frasier?” a policewoman said.

  It wasn’t really a question, but Megan nodded.

  “Let’s go. Back up to the cell door, hands behind you. I have to cuff you.”

  Megan complied meekly. “Where am I going?”

  “Interrogation room. The detectives want to question you, but first your attorney needs a few words.”

  The room was familiar. Either it was the same one where she’d met with Shannon, Elena, and the detectives, or all these rooms looked alike.

  The officer unlocked the cuff from one of Megan’s wrists and relocked it into a ring on the side of her chair, which was in turn bolted to the floor.

  “Here’s your attorney.” The policewoman opened the door, Elena Waites walked into the room, and the officer started out.

  She stopped when Elena said in a voice full of authority, “Hold on! Uncuff her!”

  The policewoman’s expression didn’t change. “Can’t. Standard procedure.”

  “This woman isn’t dangerous,” Elena said. “Talk with one of the detectives who brought her in. Until she’s out of those handcuffs, I can guarantee she’s not going to say a word.”

  The policewoman turned on her heel and walked out the door. In a couple of minutes, she returned, unlocked Megan’s cuffs, shoved them into a pouch on her belt, and exited without speaking.

  Elena took a seat across the table from Megan and removed a pad and pen from her briefcase. “Initially I was hired as your sister’s attorney and agreed to take you on without additional charge. To clarify, and establish attorney-client privilege, do you promise to pay me a dollar when you get your purse back?”

  “What? Of course.”

  “Then you’re officially my client. If your interests and Shannon’s diverge, I’ll have to step away, but we’ll worry about that if and when it happens. For now, everything you tell me is protected, and I can’t be forced to reveal it unless it involves a crime you’re planning to commit. Understand?”

  Megan nodded.

  “One thing is paramount—never lie to me. If you don’t tell me the truth, I can’t help you. Are you clear on that?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’ll tell the truth.”

  Elena leaned in and whispered, “I presume you saw the two-way mirror on the wall. Shield your mouth behind your hand to guard against lip reading. Got it?”

  Megan nodded.

  “Did you kill Tony Lester?”

  Megan recoiled at the direct question. “No,” she almost shouted. Then her voice dropped to a low whisper. “Why would you—”


  “These are questions the detectives are going to ask. Get used to them,” Elena said. “We know the gun that killed Lester was at one time in your possession, but according to Shannon it disappeared from her house. Anything to add to that?”

  Megan hesitated for a moment before saying, “No.”

  “Was Tony dealing drugs?”

  Megan pursed her lips. She didn’t want to get into that. But the stakes were too high for her to keep silent. “I tried to turn a blind eye to it, but I’m pretty sure he was. And I think he was using as well.”

  “What was involved?”

  “He dealt it all—uppers, downers, narcotics, you name it. What he mainly used himself was coke.”

  “Did you do any drugs while you lived with him?”

  Megan looked down at the tabletop, then raised her eyes to meet Elena’s. “Right after I first moved in, he had some folks over for a party. He tried to get me to do a few lines with him, but I wanted to stay clean. I kept turning down his offers, and eventually he stopped asking.”

  “Have you used alcohol or drugs since you left rehab?”

  “No!” Megan said. “It hasn’t been easy, but I’m determined to stay clean and sober.”

  In a few moments the door opened, and Detectives Callaway and Alston walked in. Callaway took the chair next to Elena, directly across from Megan. Alston, as usual, leaned against the doorframe.

  Callaway set a tape recorder in the center of the table, checked the sound level, said a few words to make it all official, then looked Megan in the eye. “Well, Ms. Frasier, are you ready to confess?”

  STEVE ALSTON PASTED A DISINTERESTED LOOK ON HIS FACE AS the questioning continued. Jesse had been right, of course—Steve had let personal feelings interfere with his professional judgment. He hated to go through with this arrest, but he really had little choice in the matter.

  The questioning had gone on for well over an hour when Jesse stabbed the Off button on the recorder. He rose, stretched, then walked to the doorway to stand beside Steve, his back to Megan and the attorney.

  “Do you want to take a turn?” he whispered. “All I’m getting is a rehash of what she said the last time we had her in here.”

  “If by a rehash you mean the attorney is making you wonder why you were so anxious to arrest her client, I can see that.” Steve smothered a smile. He shoved away from the doorframe and said over his shoulder, “But I’ll give it a try.”

  Steve took the chair that was still warm from Jesse’s presence. He didn’t reach for the recorder. Instead, he leaned across the table and said to Megan, “Do you need a break? Would you like something to drink?”

  Megan turned to her attorney with a questioning look.

  Ms. Waites spoke directly to Steve. “It’s refreshing to see the ‘good cop’ take over, but nothing’s going to change. I’m waiting for you to realize you don’t have any more evidence against my client than you had the last time we wasted an hour here.” She dropped her pen onto her legal pad. “We’ve told you what I’m sure you already know—that her ex-boyfriend’s death was probably drug-related. We’ve explained why her fingerprints were on the gun that killed Lester, and told you repeatedly that we have no idea how the gun got there. We’ve answered every question you’ve asked. So when will you admit that this arrest was pointless?”

  “Sorry, Counselor. Just doing our job,” Steve said.

  Waites snorted. “At this point, if you release her, my client may decide not to pursue legal action against you two, the Dallas Police Department, the City of Dallas, and the judge who signed that warrant . . . which I still need to see, by the way.”

  “I’ll take that as a no for the break,” Steve said. He turned on the recorder. “Back on the record. This is Detective Steve Alston, continuing the interrogation of Ms. Megan Frasier, in the presence of her attorney, Mrs. Elena Waites.” He cleared his throat. “Megan, let’s take a different tack. When Walt Crosley came to visit you and Barry Radick in First Step, what did you talk about?”

  “I . . . He didn’t . . . I mean—”

  “What does that have to do with the charges against my client?” Waites said.

  “Counselor, although the arrest warrant is for the murder of her boyfriend, Ms. Frasier has previously admitted to us that she saw Walt Crosley, a known criminal, during her most recent rehab stint. We know he signed in as a visitor for Barry Radick, but we have reason to believe he made a connection with Ms. Frasier at that time. I’m simply trying to establish the facts of the matter.”

  Megan whispered in Waites’s ear. She received an affirming nod, so she turned to Steve. “I saw Walt Crosley once, maybe twice, at First Step, but I never actually met him. I was acquainted with Barry Radick, but not Crosley.”

  Steve was unfazed. “So tell me—did your friend Radick tell you about the bank robbery he was planning with Crosley? Did he ask if you’d be willing to drive the car for them?” He leaned forward but kept his voice soft and calm. “Was there some disagreement about the way the loot was to be divided? Is that why Radick was killed?” He paused a beat. “Were you the one who shot him?”

  Waites rose partially from her chair. “That will be enough. My client has already stated she hardly knew Barry Radick. She had nothing to do with the bank robbery he was thought to have participated in, or with his death. And unless you have evidence that will allow you to broaden the scope of your questioning, I believe you’re out-of-bounds here.” She turned to Megan. “Don’t say another word.”

  The attorney settled back into her chair and fixed Steve with a stern look. “This arrest was based on purely circumstantial evidence that we’ve already addressed. This new area you’re pursuing is just a fishing expedition. I’m going to apply for a writ of habeas corpus immediately. In the meantime, I suggest you do some digging and find that arrest warrant you so conveniently misplaced when I asked to see it.”

  Steve patted the air in a calming gesture. “No need to rush off to find a judge this late in the day. We plan to arraign Ms. Frasier in the morning, and the court can decide if we continue to hold her.” He stood and said, “I’ll let you know when and where the hearing will be held. And I promise we’ll have a copy of the warrant for you by then.”

  Mrs. Waites held up her hand. “Hang on. I need another few minutes with my client.”

  “Okay by me,” Steve said. He pushed back his chair. “Just bang on the door when you’re finished, and they’ll take her back to her cell.”

  MEGAN’S HEART WAS POUNDING. HER MOUTH WAS DRY. SHE turned to her attorney. “Do I have to—”

  Elena leaned in and spoke softly to Megan. “Whisper in my ear. Remember the two-way mirror.”

  Megan nodded. She whispered to Elena, “Do I have to stay in jail overnight?”

  “Not if I have anything to do with it. The moment I walk out of here, I’m going to go to work on this. To begin with, I want to see that warrant. Meanwhile, don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.”

  Megan jerked around like a startled fawn as the door opened. Was she being taken back to her cell already? Could she tolerate a night in jail?

  Steve Alston paused by Megan’s chair. “Come with me.”

  “What . . . what’s going to happen? Are you going to lock me up yourself?”

  Alston smiled. “No. We’re going to get your belongings.” He turned to Elena. “You can stand down. Megan’s free to go. I’ll see that she gets home safely.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  SHANNON WAS IN HER OFFICE, RETURNING THE LAST OF THE phone calls that had piled up while she was seeing patients, when she felt her cell phone vibrating in her pocket. “Thanks for the referral, Dr. Mann. I’ll look forward to seeing her tomorrow, and I’ll be certain to keep you posted.”

  Shannon hung up the landline and pulled out her cell phone, hoping she was answering quickly enough to keep the call from going to voice mail. “Dr. Frasier.”

  “Shannon, it’s me.”

  “Megan, where are you calling from? What happe
ned?” Shannon got up and closed her office door. “I’ve been waiting to hear from Elena Waites.”

  “I told her I’d call you,” Megan said. She sounded very tired, but otherwise there was no indication of stress in her voice.

  “Where are you? What happened?” Shannon repeated.

  “Let me have the phone.” The male voice sounded familiar, but Shannon couldn’t place it. “Dr. Frasier, this is Steve Alston.”

  Shannon didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or let loose a torrent of invective at the man she’d last seen putting her handcuffed sister into the back of a police vehicle. “Would you please explain to me what’s going on?” She tried to make her words neutral, but there was ice in her voice.

  “First, let me assure you we were only doing our job when we picked up Megan this morning. Frankly, when we arrested her we were acting on information that turned out to be flawed. We intended—well, at least it was my plan—to question Megan as soon as we got her to the station, then turn her loose if we cleared her. But we got called away to handle another case, a homicide, so it was after lunch before we could start the interview.”

  Interview, my foot. More like an inquisition. Shannon recalled how she’d felt when talking with the detectives, answering their questions, giving a statement. She couldn’t fathom how her sister would respond to more of that after being arrested and hauled away in handcuffs. “So what happened?”

  “My partner talked with her until he was satisfied we didn’t have enough to consider her a viable suspect in Tony Lester’s murder. I asked her a few questions. Then I convinced Jesse the arrest wouldn’t stand up at an arraignment, and there was no need for Megan to spend the night in jail.”

  “What did Elena Waites say about all this?”

  “She made noises about suing for false arrest, but we hear those threats all the time. I don’t think Megan is going to file charges.” He paused. “Are you?”