by Robin Cook
“Well, I’m not going to be a party to it. I’ll sign the exhumation permit.”
9
NEWTON, MASSACHUSETTS
Tuesday, June 6, 2006
7:30 p.m.
By the time Jack got back to the Bowman residence, it was too late to consider going for exercise. He’d also missed dinner with the girls, who had retired to their respective rooms and were studying for their imminent final exams. Apparently, his presence was already commonplace because none of them came down to say hello. To make up for the girls, Alexis had been effusively welcoming but had immediately noticed the redness, bruising, and swelling on the left side of his face.
“What in heaven’s name happened?” she had questioned with concern.
Jack had brushed her off, saying it was nothing, but offered to explain it later after he’d cleaned up. He’d changed the subject by asking for Craig. Alexis had told him merely that he was in the great room, without elaborating.
Jack had jumped into the shower to wash away the day, and now, as he got out, he wiped the mist from the bathroom mirror to look at his face. After the hot water, the redness was even more intense than it had been before. What he had not noticed was a small, bright crimson flame-shaped hemorrhage on the white, scleral part of his eye. Leaning closer to the mirror, he saw a few tiny subcutaneous hemorrhages over the lateral aspect of his cheekbone. There was no doubt that Franco had packed a wallop. Jack couldn’t help but wonder how Franco looked, because Jack’s palm was still tender from the impact, suggesting he’d hit him equally hard.
After a change of clothes, Jack tossed his laundry into the basket in the laundry room, per Alexis’s instructions.
“How about some supper?” Alexis offered. She was standing in the kitchen area.
“That would be terrific,” Jack said. “I’m starved. I never had time for lunch.”
“We all had steaks from the grill, roasted potatoes, steamed asparagus, and salad. How does that sound?”
“Like a dream,” Jack said.
During this exchange, Craig hadn’t said a word. He was sitting forty feet away on the sofa in the great room, in exactly the same place he’d been that morning, but without the newspaper. He was dressed in the same clothes he’d had on during the day, although the shirt was now wrinkled and its top collar button open and his tie loosened. Like a statue, he was staring at the flat-screen television, completely motionless. Jack wouldn’t have thought anything abnormal except that the TV wasn’t on. On the coffee table in front of him stood a half-empty bottle of scotch and an old-fashioned glass brimming with the amber fluid.
“What’s he doing?” Jack asked, lowering his voice.
“What does it look like he’s doing?” Alexis responded. “He’s vegetating. He’s depressed.”
“How did the rest of the day go in court?”
“I’d have to say pretty much the same as the part you watched. That’s why he’s depressed. The plaintiff’s first expert witness out of three testified. It was Dr. William Tardoff, who is chief of cardiology at the Newton Memorial Hospital.”
“What kind of witness was he?”
“Unfortunately, very credible, and he didn’t talk down to the jurors. He was able to make it crystal clear why the first hour, even the first minutes, are so important for a heart-attack victim. After a number of attempted objections from Randolph, he was able to get it into the record that it was his opinion that Patience Stanhope’s chances of survival had significantly decreased because of Craig’s delay in confirming his diagnosis and getting her to the treatment facility—namely, the hospital.”
“Sounds rather damning, especially coming from a department head in Craig’s own hospital.”
“Craig has reason to be depressed. Criticism from anyone is hard for a doctor to take, since they put themselves on a pedestal, but coming from a respected colleague is a quantum leap worse.”
“Was Randolph able to reduce Dr. Tardoff’s impact on cross-examination?”
“I’m sure, at least to an extent, but it’s like he’s always playing catch-up.”
“It’s the rule for the plaintiff to present his case first. Defense will have its time.”
“The system doesn’t seem fair, but it’s not like we have an alternative.”
“Were there only two witnesses today?” Jack asked.
“No, there were three total. Before Dr. Tardoff, Darlene, Craig’s nurse, testified, and she was grilled on the ‘problem patient’ designation the same way Marlene had been, with the same result. During the lunch break, Randolph was furious at Craig for not having told him about it, and it’s easy to understand why.”
“It still boggles my mind that Craig would permit something like that in his practice.”
“I’m afraid it speaks to a kind of arrogance.”
“I’d be less generous. To me, it’s pure stupidity, and it’s certainly not going to help his cause.”
“I’m amazed it’s been allowed to be introduced. It’s clearly prejudicial in my mind, and has nothing to do with alleged negligence. But you know what bothers me the most?”
“What?” Jack asked. He noticed that Alexis’s face had flushed.
“Craig’s case is going to suffer, but the secretaries’ designation for those patients was actually appropriate.”
“How so?” Jack asked. He couldn’t help but notice that Alexis’s color had deepened. This was an issue she felt strongly about.
“Because they were problem patients, each and every one of them. In fact, calling them problem patients wasn’t strong enough. They were hypochondriacs of the worst sort. I know because Craig would tell me about them. They were wasting his time. They should have gone to a psychiatrist or a psychologist, someone who could possibly have helped them process their issues. Patience Stanhope was the worst of the lot. There had been an interval of time about a year ago when she was dragging Craig out of bed once a week to make an unnecessary house call. It was affecting the whole family.”
“So you were upset about Patience Stanhope?”
“Of course I was upset. It wasn’t long after that particular period when she was so demanding that Craig moved out.”
Jack studied his sister’s face. He knew her personality tended toward the histrionic back when they were kids, and this reaction about Patience Stanhope suggested the trait hadn’t completely disappeared. She had gotten herself completely worked up.
“So you weren’t sorry when she passed on?” Jack said, more as a statement than a question.
“Sorry? I was happy. I had told him he should drop her from his practice many times: find her another doctor, preferably a psychiatrist. But you know Craig. He always refused. He had no trouble referring patients to specialists for specialty care, but the idea of giving up on a patient was tantamount to failure. He couldn’t do it.”
“How much has he been drinking?” Jack asked, to change the subject. He nodded toward Craig’s motionless form.
“Too much, just like every night.”
Jack nodded. He knew that abuse of drugs and alcohol by doctors was not an uncommon sequela to being sued for malpractice.
“While we’re on the subject, what would you like to drink?” Alexis asked. “Beer or wine? We’ve got both in the fridge.”
“A beer would hit the spot,” Jack said.
Jack got his own beer, and while Alexis busied herself with Jack’s dinner, he wandered out of the kitchen area and over to the sofa. Although Craig did not move his body, his bloodshot eyes rose up and engaged Jack’s.
“I’m sorry it was a discouraging day in court,” Jack said, in hopes of engaging Craig in conversation.
“How much of it did you see?” Craig asked in a monotone.
“Only the testimony of your receptionist, Marlene, which was upsetting to hear.”
Craig waved a hand as if he were shooing away invisible insects but didn’t comment. His eyes switched back to the dead TV screen.
Jack would have liked to ask abo
ut the “PP” designation to try to fully understand the mind-set that would have allowed Craig to do something so politically incorrect and foolish, but he didn’t. It wouldn’t have helped anything and was just for his morbid curiosity. Alexis had been right. It had been arrogance. Craig was one of those doctors who unquestioningly thought everything he did was noble because the core of his life in terms of dedication and sacrifice was indeed noble. It was an unfortunate sense of entitlement.
With Craig incommunicative, Jack wandered back into the kitchen and then out onto the patio with Alexis while she grilled his steak. Alexis was eager to talk about something more upbeat than the malpractice suit. She wanted to hear about Laurie and the wedding plans. Jack related the basics but wasn’t thrilled about the conversation, since he was feeling guilty about being in Boston and leaving all the last-minute details to Laurie. In many respects, it was an untenable position. He was fated to feel guilty no matter what he did; if he left for New York, he’d feel he was abandoning Alexis. Either way, he was slighting someone. But rather than wallow in the dilemma, he went for another beer.
Fifteen minutes later, Jack sat down at the large round family table while Alexis put a plate of heavenly food in front of him. For herself, Alexis had made a cup of tea, and she joined him, sitting directly opposite. Craig had rallied enough to turn on the TV and was watching a local news broadcast.
“I’d like to tell you about my day,” Jack said in between mouthfuls. “There’s a decision to be made about my role here and what you people want me to do. I have to say, I had a rather productive afternoon.”
“Craig!” Alexis called over to her husband. “I think you should turn off the life support and come over here to hear what Jack has to say. Ultimately, this is your decision.”
“I don’t appreciate being made fun of,” Craig snapped, but he did turn off the TV with the remote. As if exhausted, he got up, picked up the scotch bottle and the glass, and walked to the table. He put the glass down first, filled it with scotch before putting the bottle down, and took a seat.
“I’m going to have to cut you off,” Alexis said. She reached out for the scotch bottle and slid it out of Craig’s reach.
Jack expected Craig to throw a temper tantrum about his bottle, but he didn’t. Instead, he gave Alexis an overly fake smile to sarcastically thank her.
While he ate, Jack told them about his activities chronologically, and he tried to be complete. He told about going to the medical examiner’s office and meeting Dr. Latasha Wylie and what she was able to tell him about exhuming a body in Massachusetts—particularly, about needing the approval of the next of kin.
“Wouldn’t that be Jordan Stanhope?” Alexis questioned.
“He’ll never agree,” Craig said.
“Let me finish the whole story,” Jack said.
Jack told about visiting the Langley-Peerson Funeral Home and his discussion with Harold Langley and getting the permit forms. He then told the Bowmans what he had learned about Jordan Stanhope.
Both Alexis’s and Craig’s mouths sagged open simultaneously as Jack gave them Jordan’s short biography.
Craig was the first to speak. “Do you think it is true?” he sputtered.
“Harold Langley has no reason to lie. It must be common knowledge in Brighton; otherwise, Harold Langley certainly wouldn’t have told me. Funeral directors are generally and rather notoriously tight-lipped.”
“Stanislaw Jordan Jaruzelski,” Alexis repeated with disbelief. “No wonder he changed his name.”
“I knew Jordan was younger than Patience,” Craig said, but I never suspected anything like that. They acted as if they had been married for twenty-five-plus years. I’m amazed.”
“I think the interesting part is that Patience was the one with the money.”
“She’s not the one with the money anymore,” Craig commented. He shook his head with disgust. “Randolph should have discovered this. This is another example of his ineptitude. I should have demanded another lawyer.”
“Normally, this is not the kind of information necessary to litigate a malpractice claim,” Jack said, although he was surprised himself it didn’t come out in Jordan’s deposition. “It’s not relevant.”
“I’m not so sure,” Craig said.
“Let me finish,” Jack interrupted. “Then we can talk about the whole situation.”
“Fine,” Craig said. He put his drink down and eagerly leaned forward. He was no longer a pathetically brooding individual.
Jack then took the Bowmans to the Newton Memorial Hospital with his dialogue and related his conversations with Dr. Noelle Everette, Dr. Matt Gilbert, and Ms. Georgina O’Keefe. He talked about his sense that the cyanosis issue was unresolved. He said that Georgina’s main point was that the cyanosis was even, not just in the extremities. Jack asked Craig if he had had the same impression.
“I suppose,” Craig said. “But I was so overwhelmed by her grave general state that I really didn’t look at her with that question in mind.”
“That’s exactly what Dr. Gilbert said as well,” Jack added.
“Wait a second!” Craig said, holding up his hand. “Did learning what you did about Jordan make you think this cyanosis issue is more significant? I mean, this money situation with a younger man marrying a wealthy widow…” Craig let his sentence trail off as his mind toyed with the idea and its implications.
“I have to say it did,” Jack agreed, “but relatively briefly. In many respects, it’s too soap-operaish, if that’s a word. Besides, it’s been documented by the biomarkers that Patience had suffered a heart attack, as Dr. Gilbert rightfully reminded me today. At the same time, Jordan’s curious biography should not be dismissed entirely.” Jack then went on to tell the story he’d related to Matt and Georgina about his case involving the elderly woman who’d died of a heart attack after being robbed at gunpoint.
“I think this is all very significant,” Craig said, “and it continues to make me question Randolph’s competence.”
“What about the bruising on the side of your face?” Alexis asked, as if suddenly remembering that Jack had agreed to explain it.
“What bruising?” Craig asked. Jack was to his left, meaning the left side of Jack’s face was angled away.
“You didn’t notice?” Alexis questioned with amazement. “Take a look.”
Craig stood up and leaned over the table. Reluctantly, Jack turned his head so the left side of his face was in Craig’s view.
“My gosh,” Craig said. “That does look raw.” He reached out and touched Jack’s cheekbone with the tip of his index finger to assess the amount of edema. “Does it hurt?”
Jack pulled his face away. “Of course it hurts,” he said irritably. He’d always hated how doctors did that. They always poked the place you said hurt. Orthopedic guys were the worst, in Jack’s experience, which he had a lot of, thanks to all the bumps and bruises he got playing street basketball.
“Sorry,” Craig said. “It looks raw. Maybe a cold pack would be a good idea. Want me to get one?”
Jack declined Craig’s ministrations.
“How did it happen?” Alexis asked.
“I’m coming to it,” Jack said. He then related the visit to the Stanhopes’.
“You went to the Stanhope mansion?” Craig questioned with obvious disbelief.
“I did,” Jack admitted.
“Is that legal?”
“What do you mean legal? Of course it’s legal. I mean, it’s not like seeking out the jurors or anything. If there was any chance of getting a signature, I had to go.” Jack then told them about the Bentley and then the unexpected Charlene.
Craig and Alexis exchanged glances of surprise. Craig gave a short, derisive laugh.
“So much for a long mourning period,” Alexis said indignantly. “The man is shameless, likewise for the elaborate gentleman façade.”
“This is starting to remind me of another notorious case that took place in Rhode Island but involved diabetes,�
�� Craig said.
“I know the case you are referring to,” Jack said. “But even in that case, the suddenly wealthy heir was acquitted.”
“What about your face?” Alexis said impatiently. “The suspense is killing me.”
Jack told them about how he brought up the issue about exhuming Patience’s body, fully expecting to be rebuffed. He then described Tony Fasano’s arrival, along with an associate dressed in an almost identical outfit.
“His name is Franco,” Alexis said.
“You know him?” Jack questioned. He was surprised.
“I don’t know him. I’ve just seen him. He’s hard to miss. He comes to the courtroom with Tony Fasano. I only know his name because I heard Tony Fasano call to him yesterday when they were leaving the courtroom.”
Jack related Tony’s vehement objection to the idea of exhuming Patience and doing an autopsy. He told them he’d been threatened that he’d be “history” if he did the autopsy.
For a few moments, both Alexis and Craig merely stared at Jack. They were both dumbfounded by what he had just told them.
“That’s weird!” Craig said finally. “Why would he be so against an autopsy?”
Jack shrugged. “Presumably because he feels confident in the case he has and doesn’t want to rock the boat. He’s invested some serious money on contingency, and he’s expecting a mammoth payoff. But I have to tell you, it makes me more motivated.”
“What about your face?” Alexis asked. “You keep avoiding telling us about it.”
“That happened at the end, after Franco gave me the bum’s rush. I was being cute and stupid. I told both of them I thought their matching outfits were sweet.”
“So he struck you?” Alexis questioned with consternation.
“Well, it wasn’t a love pat,” Jack said.
“I think you should press charges,” Alexis said indignantly.
“I don’t agree,” Jack said. “Stupidly, I hit him back, so trying to press charges would just get into an argument of who hit whom first.”