Medical Judgment

by Richard L. Mabry M. D.

  * * *

  “I think Prince is glad to see you.”

  Sarah Gordon had dreaded the reception she’d get from what she’d already come to think of as “her” dog, but it wasn’t what she feared. Either Prince didn’t blame her the way she was blaming herself for the gunshot wound inflicted on the German shepherd, or the dog had a very forgiving nature. Either way, it was obvious that Prince was glad to see her. “The feeling is mutual,” she said as she knelt in front of the dog.

  After a few minutes with Prince, she turned to Selleck and said, “Thanks again for what you did for Prince.”

  “I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done—actually, what you do on a regular basis in your profession.”

  “How about getting rousted out at midnight to do emergency surgery?”

  “No problem,” Selleck said. “Part of my practice. Besides, I didn’t have anyone waiting for me at home.”

  Sarah added that to what she already knew about the man. No wedding ring, a fiancée who’d married someone else, the man now living alone. Her curiosity wanted one more piece of the puzzle, but she didn’t know how to go about getting the information without being too direct. “Well, anyway, thanks.” Sarah started to turn away, but the veterinarian’s next question stopped her.

  “You don’t recognize me, do you?” Selleck said.

  The question made Sarah frown. She began to run scenarios through her brain. Had she seen him in the emergency room, either as a patient or accompanying one? Did their paths cross at a store in some fashion? Had she encountered him in a parking lot when their grocery carts bumped?

  “After your husband and daughter were killed in that auto crash, you pretty much stopped attending church, but I joined right before all that happened. My first thought was that maybe you’d started attending somewhere else. But now I figure that wasn’t the case. I’m guessing you just stopped going to church altogether. Was that it?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Well, I was glad to see you back in church last Sunday,” he said. “It’s important, after a loss like you’ve suffered, to let God back into your life. I hope you’re doing that now.”

  And in those few, brief sentences, the last bit of information Sarah wanted about what seemed at first like a chance encounter fell into place. There was very little doubt left in her mind. Her meeting with Brad Selleck wasn’t really a chance circumstance. It was what Harry had liked to call “a God thing.”

  Now what am I going to do about it?

  21

  Larson found the apartment he wanted with no trouble. He shrugged to settle his shoulder holster a bit more comfortably under his sport coat, then knocked. The man who opened the door for him was probably in his sixties. His hair, what there was of it, was silver. He wore what appeared to be the pants to an old suit, a rumpled and stained dress shirt, and a look of pure disdain. “Yeah?” he said.

  “I’m Detective Larson,” Bill said, holding up the badge wallet containing his gold shield. “You have a tenant here named Jerger?”

  “Apartment 3-B. But he works nights, so I don’t think he’d want to be disturbed.”

  Larson resisted the temptation to respond with a sarcastic remark. Instead, he said, “Thanks for your help,” and looked for the stairs.

  A few minutes later, the detective was knocking on the door of 3-B. He wondered once again if he should have called his fellow detective or a uniformed patrolman to provide backup. No, he simply couldn’t imagine a scenario where this man—or Kline, for that matter—would give him any trouble. Besides, and this was probably the real reason he was here alone, this had become his personal quest, and he wanted to be the one to end it.

  Larson increased his knocking to a pounding, then a voice within the apartment responded, “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.” The man who opened the door was wearing a Dallas Cowboys tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He was barefoot. His hair was mussed, and there were bedding wrinkles along his right cheek.

  “Larry Jerger?”

  “Yeah, what’s so important that you woke me up?”

  Larson held up his shield and identified himself. “Is Darrell Kline a friend of yours?”

  “Sort of. We were in the same classes in high school. We go out together to eat once in a while, have a few drinks. Why?”

  “I’m trying to locate him. Do you know where he might be?”

  The man ran his fingers through his disarrayed hair without much effect. “Yeah. He called early yesterday morning and asked me to get his mail and check on his apartment while he’s gone. Hang on. I’ve got the address here somewhere. I think he gave me the phone number, too.”

  * * *

  “Your eleven thirty appointment had to reschedule,” Kyle’s secretary said.

  “Thanks,” he replied. “Then I’m free until one. Right?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Kyle released the intercom button on his phone and swiveled to look at his two partners, who sat across the desk from him. He noted that each had a yellow legal pad with notes on it. Sometimes he thought lawyers were born with those pads and would be laid to rest clutching them. “Anything else we need to discuss?”

  The male partner, Jerry Gilmore, spoke first. “I think that wraps it up.” He looked at the woman sitting next to him. “Ann?”

  “Just one thing,” Ann Stark said. “Remember that I’ll be on vacation next week. I don’t have any cases coming up soon, but if that will has to be probated—”

  “I’ll do it,” Kyle said. “You enjoy your time off with your husband.”

  In a moment, he had the office to himself. He reached for the phone, drew back his hand, reached once more, and finally picked it up and punched in Sarah’s number. She’d turned down several invitations to see him, but he intended to keep at it. Maybe his persistence would pay off.

  “Hello?”

  There was noise in the background, but he couldn’t identify it. For reasons he didn’t fully understand, Kyle reached for a switch located in the kneehole of his desk. “Sarah, this is Kyle. Do you have a moment to talk?”

  “Uh, sure, I guess. What’s up?”

  “I know you planned to go to the vet’s, but I was wondering, if you’re through there, if you’d like to reconsider my invitation to lunch.” When there was no response, he hurried on to say, “If you tell me where you are, I could meet you. Anyplace you choose.” C’mon, Kyle. Don’t push it so hard. You sound like a sophomore asking the Homecoming Queen out for a soda.

  “Kyle, when you called earlier I thought I told you that I wouldn’t be able to get together and have lunch with you. I know that you want to take care of me now that Harry’s not around. But I’m starting to get my life back on track. I really need some space now.”

  “Sure, sure,” he said. “Just know that the invitation’s there. Give me a call anytime.”

  “I will.” Her voice softened a bit. “And thanks, Kyle. I appreciate your concern, and I know Harry would be grateful.”

  After he ended the call, Kyle flipped a switch next to the phone console, and in a moment the conversation replayed through the speaker. As an attorney, he often needed to record a phone conversation. This was perfectly legal in Texas so long as one of the two parties involved knew about it. He wasn’t sure why he’d decided to record this one—but he was glad he did, because he wanted another chance to hear the background noise on Sarah’s side of the call.

  He listened twice more before he was certain. What he’d heard was the buzz of voices and the clatter of dishes typical of a restaurant at lunchtime.

  * * *

  “He was at his mother’s?” Cal Johnson asked.

  “Yep,” Larson said. He and Cal stepped off the elevator at police headquarters and moved toward the parking lot.

  The two men climbed into Cal’s car. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me about it.”

  “I got the address and phone number from the friend he’d listed on his registration form when Kyle Andrews represented
him. I took a chance and called the number, and Kline answered.”

  “He answered the phone at his mother’s house?”

  “Yep. He was staying there. Kline wasn’t running. He said he got a phone call late Sunday night from her neighbor that his mother, who lives about twenty miles away, had suffered a stroke and was in the hospital. Kline packed his things and took off but didn’t say anything to his landlord or his boss. I think his mind was on his mother’s stroke, and he just wanted to get there as quickly as possible.”

  “I thought you told me he left the ‘next of kin’ line blank on Andrews’ form,” Cal said.

  “He did. He and his mother were estranged at the time, but they made peace while he was in prison. He’s called her regularly since getting out. Even spends some time with her.”

  “Does he have alibis for the times when our mysterious Mr. X set the fire at Dr. Gordon’s house or took a shot at her or any of the other things he’s done?”

  Larson pulled a notebook from his inside coat pocket and flipped a couple of pages. “I’ll want to check these out, but he spent the night at his mother’s house on two of those occasions.”

  “You said she had a stroke. Is she able to speak?”

  “She’s still rocky, but the doctor is supposed to call me when she’s well enough to talk.” Larson stowed the notebook back in his pocket. “But for now, it looks like Kline may not be our man.”

  Cal wheeled into the parking lot of his favorite barbecue restaurant. “Well, we have more people to investigate. Remember that you mentioned looking into the woman driving the other car in the wreck that killed Harry and Jennifer Gordon?”

  Larson unclipped his seat belt but stayed seated. “Yes?”

  “While you were talking with Kline this morning, I did a little computer work in that area.” He grinned. “And if you’re willing to spring for a plate of ribs, I might be persuaded to share what I’ve found with you.”

  * * *

  Sarah looked around the crowded restaurant. For some reason, she was relieved when she failed to see anyone she knew. “I shouldn’t have agreed to have lunch with you,” she said.

  “It’s not like it was a date or anything,” Brad said. “You came to see your dog, who’s recuperating after I did surgery for his gunshot wound. We talked, found that we had some common interests, and that talk carried over to lunch. No big deal.” He took a sip of water. “Happens all the time.”

  Sarah shook her head. “After the fire at my house, Kyle took me to lunch a couple of times. Other than that, this is the first time I’ve had a meal out with another man since Harry died.” She lifted her glass of iced tea to her lips, surprised to find that the mention of her late husband’s name hadn’t caused her to tear up. “And I have to admit, I’m feeling a little guilty about it.”

  “Look, I won’t say I know what you’re feeling. Losing a spouse and a child must be devastating. My break-up with my fiancée was tough, but nothing like what you’re going through. But I’m pretty sure you don’t have to feel guilty about enjoying yourself every once in a while.”

  Sarah wanted to believe what Brad was telling her. And she wanted to feel good about having lunch with someone else—not just with a handsome man, that was a bonus, but with a person who could make her smile, even laugh. Yet she still felt a bit of guilt about these few minutes of enjoyment. Maybe she’d get past it—she hoped she could. Right now, though, she was willing to take what she could get.

  Brad looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to the clinic, and I suspect you need to head back home to get ready for work.” He covered the check with his hand and pulled it to him.

  Sarah reached for her purse. “Please, let me pay for this. You can call it my thank-you for saving my dog’s life.”

  “We can split it if it would make you feel better, but it bothers me not to pay for a woman’s meal. It sort of undermines my masculinity, I guess. Would you humor me?”

  Sarah smiled. “If you insist. And perhaps you can come to my place and let me cook for you to sort of even things up.”

  “It’s a date,” Brad said. Then, apparently realizing what he’d said, he hurriedly added. “I mean, I’ll look forward to it.”

  As they left the restaurant and climbed into Brad’s car for the ride back to the clinic, Sarah wondered if the shiver she’d felt at Brad’s choice of words was because she felt guilty, or was it a by-product of her anticipation of what would be, despite whatever words they chose to use, a date?

  * * *

  Bill Larson watched Cal gnaw the last morsel of meat off the rib and add it to the pile of bones on his plate. “I can see why you like to come here,” Larson said.

  “Got to be true to my Southern heritage,” Cal said. He tore off a long piece of the paper towel the restaurant placed on the table in lieu of traditional napkins, and wiped his mouth and hands. “Now I suppose you want to know what I found out about the other driver in the Harry Gordon accident.”

  “I think I’ve been exceptionally patient,” Larson said. “Now give.”

  Cal dug into the inside pocket of his sport coat, which was hanging on the back of his chair, and pulled out his notebook. “The driver of the car was Mrs. Rena Hawkins. She was pronounced dead at the scene. Her husband, John M. Hawkins, was a CPA. He tried to go back to work after the accident, but either quit or was fired from his job within a couple of weeks.”

  “Children?” Larson asked.

  “No. According to one brief paragraph in a follow-up story, the fact that Jennifer Gordon was killed in the accident was a source of great anguish to Mr. Hawkins. He and his wife had wanted children but had been unable to have any. Then the accident took the life of someone else’s child.”

  “So, do you have an address for John Hawkins? I’ll talk with him this afternoon.”

  “I doubt that. Hawkins took his own life three weeks after his wife died in the car crash.”

  22

  Kyle Andrews couldn’t stop thinking about it, trying to figure out where he stood. When someone tried to burn down Sarah’s house, Kyle was the first person she called. When she was frightened, Sarah actively sought him for counsel and support. As it became apparent that whoever was behind this meant to harm her, she’d taken the revolver he offered—even let him help her learn to use it. It seemed that, as the stress mounted, he was becoming more and more a part of her life, someone she could lean on.

  But then she’d begun to distance herself. Oh, not in a rude fashion, but certainly one that indicated—at least, to him—that Sarah was trying to stand on her own two feet, to become the independent woman she’d once been. And that meant that she needed Kyle’s support less. Unfortunately, as Sarah had come to depend more on him, Kyle had noted his feelings for her getting stronger. But now her part of it was changing. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.

  His latest conversation with Sarah, the tape of which he’d just replayed for perhaps the fifth or sixth time as he sat in his office, seemed to confirm his suspicions. Not only didn’t Sarah appear interested in him as anything more than a friend, she was starting to see someone else—the person with whom she had lunch. Isn’t it a bit too soon after Harry’s death for her to start dating? And when she does, shouldn’t I be first in line?

  It didn’t take long before another small voice in his head chimed in, though. Trying to make Sarah dependent on you isn’t working. It’s going to take a more direct approach. You have to tell her straight up you have feelings for her. But what were those feelings?

  Kyle shoved the papers on his desk aside and put his head in his hands. Had his feelings moved to the point of obsession? Was this a rebound thing, as buried feelings for his dead fiancée surfaced? Did he want Sarah? Was he just trying to step into Harry’s shoes because he’d seen the happy family they had? What did he really want? The questions went on and on.

  What he needed was another opinion, an objective one, but where could he turn for it? He was unwilling to talk directly to Sara
h about his feelings—at least, not yet. His law partners were unlikely to be of help in a matter like this. And when he searched his brain for the name of a friend he could ask, he came up empty. Well, maybe there was one person he could talk with about his problem. Kyle reached for the phone, hesitated, then finally lifted the receiver and dialed.

  “Pastor . . . uh, Steve? This is Kyle Andrews. Could I drop by this evening after work? I need to talk with you about something.”

  “Certainly,” Farber said. “One of the ladies of the church brought over some spaghetti and meat sauce today, and there’s enough to feed a small army. If you come after five, we can talk awhile, then eat.”

  “Sounds good,” Kyle said. Now if he could find the courage to tell Steve everything that was on his mind.

  * * *

  Sarah’s mind was elsewhere as she changed into the scrubs she’d wear for work. She folded the slacks and blouse she’d worn to visit the vet’s and placed them on a chair in her bedroom. Sarah didn’t want to admit that, rather than throwing on her usual attire for running errands—a pair of jeans and a tee shirt—she’d dressed with care. She’d even sprayed on some cologne, an unusual act for her when she was just going out. Face it. She had been looking forward to seeing Brad Selleck. And although she wanted to deny it, even before leaving her house, she knew her encounter with him would end in lunch together.

  Harry, is it too soon for me to be interested in another man? You and Jenny have been gone for almost nine months. Should I wait a year? Should I ever date again? I need some help here. If Sarah was looking for a sign, something to help answer her questions, she was disappointed. Then she thought of what Connie had said. “Would Harry want you to mourn for a year, or two years, or whatever arbitrary length of time you choose? Or would he want you to be happy?” Sarah knew the answer—she just had to convince herself to accept it.

  Moving from her bedroom down the stairs, through the living room, into the kitchen, Sarah unloaded and reloaded her backpack. When she tossed it onto a chair in the kitchen, ready for her to pick it up as she left, she heard the “clunk” it made and froze. She’d forgotten the pistol inside. She recalled Kyle’s assurance that, with an empty cylinder under the hammer, the pistol was safe from accidental discharge. Sarah wasn’t sure whether she believed it or not and reminded herself to be more careful in the future.