[Lady Justice 06] - Lady Justice and Dr. Death

by Robert Thornhill

  REVIEWS

  “Walt Williams is back in the 6th installment of the Lady Justice series.

  This time, Walt and his partner, Ox, are looking into the case of assisted suicide.

  When an ALS patient dies, his daughter is not sure if it’s of natural causes. Soon, they find out that someone had assisted in his death. They are on the trail of a man who they are calling ‘Dr. Death’.

  This is a controversial subject and the book brings out both sides of the issue. Some feel Dr. Death is a hero, putting terminal patients out of their misery and allowing them to die with dignity. Others feel he is a cold-blooded murderer.

  Walt is faced with these moral issues in one of his toughest cases yet.

  All of the lovable characters are back and they are faced with their own mortality.

  Filled with laugh-out-loud comedy, danger and suspense, Mr. Thornhill brings up a sensitive subject in a unique and satisfying way.

  A thought provoking and satisfying read with a perfect ending.

  If I could only read one book this year, this would be my choice!”

  Sheri Wilkinson (Goodreads)

  “I love it when authors use the genre of fiction to raise awareness of issues the general public should be more aware of.

  I’ve long known that we have corruption and collusion in our government, and it’s nice to see it be more exposed in an accessible manner.

  Euthanasia, which is the main focus of this novel, is a touchy subject to deal with. However, the author, Robert Thornhill, does it in a way that presents all sides fairly and evenly.

  I don’t want to spoil the ending by telling you how it ended. I think that your personal views notwithstanding, you’ll appreciate the ending.

  Nothing about this short novel bored me. Thornhill moved through the plot efficiently without wasting the reader’s time.

  Overall, this was a thoughtful novel with plenty of character and intrigue to keep the reader engaged.”

  April Rabian (Goodreads)

  LADY JUSTICE

  AND

  DR. DEATH

  A WALT WILLIAMS

  MYSTERY/COMEDY NOVEL

  ROBERT THORNHILL

  Lady Justice and Dr. Death

  Copyright September, 2011 by Robert Thornhill.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way, by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

  This novel is a work of fiction. However, the names, descriptions, entities and incidents included in the story are based on the lives of real people.

  Published in the United States of America

  Cover design by Peg Thornhill

  Fiction, Humorous

  Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General

  LADY JUSTICE AND DOCTOR DEATH

  PROLOGUE

  The life of eighty-six year old Roger Beckham had been as full as any man could have hoped for.

  His parents were warm and supportive and he had many fond childhood memories.

  He was the first in his family to graduate from college and he was fortunate to have gotten into the ground floor of the growing dot com industry.

  His wife of forty years had given him two lovely daughters and they, in turn, had given him three doting grandchildren.

  Of course there were adjustments after his wife passed away ten years ago, but for a man of means, life was still good.

  He loved to travel, enjoy good food, vintage wine, an occasional fine cigar and now and then, the company of a lovely young lady.

  All that changed six months ago.

  He had begun to feel tired and out-of-sorts, not his usual self, so he scheduled a checkup.

  After a round of tests, Dr. Billings gave him the news that brought his world crashing down around him.

  He had cancer.

  Not just any cancer, but the aggressive kind that had rapidly metastasized and spread throughout his internal organs.

  Encouraged by his family to fight the deadly disease, he began a rigorous round of radioactive treatments and chemotherapy.

  The treatment had taken its toll.

  His hair was gone, he had lost thirty pounds and, worst of all, he had lost his will to live.

  He could no longer travel, his food, no matter how tasty, would come back up and even the thought of female companionship had lost its allure.

  His doctor had assured him that the treatments could prolong his life for another six months, maybe even a year if he was lucky.

  Lucky!

  He had perused the Internet and read the pamphlets, so he knew what was coming.

  Soon he would be confined to his bed; then would come the catheter and intravenous feeding and finally the morphine drip that would ease the pain through the final weeks.

  Not only had he lost his health, but he would lose his dignity as well.

  But he discovered that even a dying man has options if he is well connected.

  He made some discreet inquiries and was directed to a man that he came to know only as 'Thanatos.'

  The initial contacts with the man were much like the first meeting between a ‘john’ and a high-priced hooker.

  Each knows what the other wants, but neither wants to come right out and say it just in case one of them is a cop.

  Finally, after a very painful night, Beckham called Thanotos.

  “I want to die! Can you help me?”

  “I can, but you have to do exactly as I say.”

  The first thing that Thanatos had done was to get Beckham to change physicians.

  He switched to Dr. Graves under the premise that the new doctor had some different treatment options.

  Then he presented Beckham with a written questionnaire requiring specific answers as to why he wanted to die, and finally, he signed a declaration asking for euthanasia and absolving Thanatos and all parties connected with the act, of any coercion or wrongdoing.

  That was a month ago and at last the time had arrived.

  Beckham lived alone and he had chosen a night when he knew that his family would be occupied, so that there would be no interruptions.

  Thanatos had encouraged Beckham to create a computer disk of things and places that had been important to him in his life and to select his favorite music.

  When he arrived, Thanatos directed Beckham to relax in his recliner, with his computer close at hand.

  He sat a small folding table beside the recliner on which he placed a machine with three vials connected to an IV tube.

  Another line running from the machine was connected to a toggle switch.

  “This is how it will work,” Thanatos said. “I will connect this IV tube to a syringe that I will insert into your vein.

  “When you are ready, simply press the toggle switch to activate the machine.

  “The first chemical to enter your system will put you to sleep; the second will relax your muscles and the third will deliver the relief you have been seeking.

  “This is your time, so take as much time as you need. Enjoy your video and your music.

  “I will leave you to be alone with your thoughts.”

  “What about my family?” Beckham asked.

  “When you have finished, I will remove everything connected to your final act. Your family will simply believe that you passed away during the night.”

  Beckham looked deep into Thanatos’ eyes. “Thank you for this; for letting me die with dignity.”

  Thanatos smiled with genuine compassion. “That’s what we do.�
��

  Thanatos left the room and Beckham turned on the computer.

  Images of his childhood, his early years, his wife and his children passed before his eyes while the notes of Elvis’ haunting Memories filled the room.

  The only thing that could have been more perfect was if his daughters and grandchildren could have been with him in his last moments, but with the laws as they were, he knew that it could never be.

  He quietly sang along:

  “Quiet thoughts come floating down and settle softly to the ground, like golden autumn leaves around my feet.

  “I touch them and they burst apart with sweet memories. Sweet memories.”

  A photo of him and his wife on their wedding day filled the screen and he pressed the toggle switch.

  His last words were, “I’m coming, dear. I’m coming.”

  Thanatos returned and seeing Beckham slumped in the recliner, felt for a pulse.

  There was none.

  Quietly, he removed the IV from Beckham’s arm, packed his machine and put the computer away.

  He looked around the room.

  When Beckham’s family found him, they would believe that he had passed peacefully in his sleep.

  He slipped out the door and disappeared into the night.

  CHAPTER 1

  The life of a cop is mostly the same boring, routine stuff day after day, punctuated by interludes of adrenaline-pumping excitement and, sometimes, near death experiences.

  The ‘near-death’ thing was fresh in my mind having just survived an assassination attempt by a hired killer.

  We had just wrapped up a ‘sting’ operation involving a large pharmaceutical company and corrupt politicians, so I was more than ready for a few days of the ‘boring’ stuff.

  My partner, Ox, and I were on routine patrol in our old black and white Crown Vic.

  Ox and I had been together almost three years and riding with him was as comfortable as wearing an old shoe.

  Not many cops with Ox’s twenty-plus years on the force would have wanted to be paired with a sixty-five year old rookie, but he had taken it in stride and somehow, it had worked.

  The unlikely combination of Ox’s two hundred and twenty pounds and twenty years on the streets and my hundred and forty-five pound body, with gray hair and seemingly incredible good luck, had compiled quite an arrest record.

  We were cruising just south of the Country Club Plaza when the radio came to life.

  “Car 54. What’s your twenty?”

  Ox keyed the mike. “Car 54. We’re at Fifty-fifth and Wornall.”

  “Proceed to the eighty-four hundred block of Holmes Avenue. The family called in a death.”

  “Understood. We’re on the way.”

  Most people don’t realize that every death that occurs outside a medically supervised facility requires a police investigation, and there are a lot of them.

  Now that I have reached the ripe old age of sixty-eight, I find myself paying more attention to the obituaries in the Kansas City Star.

  Every day there are thirty to sixty new listings.

  Once in a while, I will see an old classmate or a client to whom I sold a house during my thirty-year real estate career.

  It always brings back memories and I always feel sad.

  I don’t know why I do it.

  On an average, Ox and I respond to two to four calls a week involving a dead body.

  Thankfully, none, so far, have been people I know.

  Most are simply the result of a natural death caused by illness or trauma. Some are suicides and, of course, the occasional murder.

  Our job is to try to determine which of those occurred and respond accordingly.

  This is the part of the job that I dislike the most.

  Death is never a pleasant time under any circumstances.

  Even when it is the result of natural causes, the family is wracked with grief.

  In suicide and murder, disbelief and anger are thrown in with the grief.

  I have always had great respect for those whose professions require them to deal with death on a continual basis, the doctors and nurses and staff in nursing homes, to name just a few.

  We pulled up in front of the Holmes Avenue address.

  Two cars and an ambulance were already there.

  An EMT met us at the door.

  “What have we got?” Ox asked.

  “An old guy, in his eighties. One daughter found him this morning. She called her sister and then us. They’re with him now.

  “His name is Roger Beckham. He was in the last stages of cancer. Looks like he died around midnight.”

  The two sisters were consoling one another when we entered the room.

  “I’m Officer Williams and this is Officer Wilson. We’re sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. I’m Willa Parker and this is my sister Mary Payne. We knew it was coming, but I guess you’re never ready.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Who is Mr. Beckham’s doctor?”

  “Uhhh --- Dr. Graves. I have his number here.”

  “My partner has a few more questions for you while I call Dr. Graves.”

  I dialed the number and was transferred.

  “Dr. Graves. This is Officer Williams with the Kansas City Police Department. We’re at the home of Roger Beckham. He passed away during the night. I understand that he was one of your patients.”

  “Indeed he was. He fought a valiant fight --- cancer, you know.”

  “Yes, that’s what we were told. So you’ll sign the death certificate?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks for your time.”

  I returned to Ox and the sisters.

  “Dr. Graves is on board with the death certificate, so we can release the body. Where would you like him taken?”

  “After he was diagnosed, he made all the arrangements himself so that we wouldn’t have to,” Willa said. “He has arranged for cremation at Newcomers, so I guess he can be taken there.

  “Can we take a moment to say ‘good bye’?”

  “Of course.”

  The EMT was waiting outside.

  “Funeral home or morgue?” he asked.

  “Funeral home. Newcomers. The doctor signed off.”

  In my early days on the force, I had been surprised to learn that any death that was not signed off by a doctor, required that the body be transported to the morgue where the coroner would establish cause of death.

  Most of the examinations were cursory, but occasionally, when the circumstances surrounding the death were in question, there would be a complete autopsy.

  We wrapped things up at the Beckham home and resumed our regular patrol.

  Neither of us spoke. We were each immersed in our own thoughts.

  Death will do that.

  I was mostly past my ‘death funk’ by the time I got home that evening.

  I try my best to not bring my work home to my sweet wife, Maggie, but so far, that hadn’t been working out too well.

  We’ve been a couple for many years, but living together as husband and wife, less than a year.

  We had worked together at City Wide Realty until I retired and got the bright idea to become a cop.

  Maggie has supported me all the way.

  I’m guessing that she didn’t realize, when she said, “I do, for better or for worse,” that the ‘for worse’ part would include being abducted, kidnapped and nearly shot.

  I suppose any relationship is filled with surprises, but most don’t include murder and mayhem.

  In our most recent narrow escape, a hired assassin was holding Maggie and me at gunpoint and was about to pull the trigger.

  The day had been saved by our old friend, Mary Murphy, who took out the bad guy with one swing of her thirty-six inch, white ash baseball bat.

  The Bible has its story of a giant being taken out by a shepherd boy with a slingshot.

  We’ve got Mary Murphy and her bat.

  Mary manages my Three Trails H
otel.

  I own it, but I’m not proud of it.

  There are twenty sleeping rooms sharing four hall baths, plus Mary’s small apartment.

  Its occupants are mostly old retired guys on Social Security or men with questionable job skills that work out of the labor pool.

  Let’s face it; it’s all they can afford.

  An old friend of mine is fond of saying, “Well, everybody’s got to be somewhere.” These guys might as well be there.

  Even at the age of seventy-three, Mary is an imposing figure.

  She has the demeanor of a pit bull. That, along with her two hundred pounds and her bat, makes her the perfect housemother to my twenty misfits.

  Maggie and I had been worried about Mary.

  After dropping the assassin with one fell swoop, Mary had collapsed into my arms and wept.

  I’m still not sure if the tears were tears of relief that we were safe or tears of regret that she had taken a life.

  Even professionals, with years of experience in law enforcement, have difficulty coming to grips with the realization they had taken a life.

  Officers are encouraged to seek counseling from the department’s psychologist and that service was offered to Mary, but she politely refused.

  We decided to drop by and see if Mary was doing all right.

  When we pulled up in front of the hotel, Lawrence Wingate was just leaving.

  Lawrence is the one exception to the motley crew that inhabits the hotel.

  He is actually a well-educated computer technician who got cleaned out by a bitchy wife and had to start life from scratch.

  “Walt. Maggie. How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Great, Lawrence,” I replied. “We just stopped by to see how Mary was getting along --- you know --- after the incident.”

  Lawrence gave us a big grin. “You absolutely wouldn’t believe the changes around here.”