Chapter 7
Clinics went slowly that day for James. He even felt somewhat depressed in contrast to the start of his day when he felt everything began well. At 4 o’clock, he felt the gnaw in his stomach. He tried to chase it away. How long had it been since he’d had to deal to deal with the demons? A year or more. Since that last bad scare in the delivery room with the bad shoulder dystocia.
His office phone rang. “James, this is Josiah Skinner here. Just giving you some long lost follow-up on that O’Brien case. The boys at the state lab forgot to send me the final report on the cocaine testing.”
“What testing is that,” asked James.
“The hair testing I ordered on Mary O’Brien. You know that you can date the use of cocaine by testing hair samples?” replied Josiah Skinner.
“I don’t think I follow you, Josiah.” James was having trouble focusing on the conversation.
“You can test the hair at various points along the hair shaft and tell if the patient used cocaine at a specific time. We know that hair grows at a specific rate in various parts of the body. Short hair on the eyebrows, eyelashes, or arms and legs grow at a constant rate in what is called the anagen phase over two to four months. The longer hairs of the head grow over one to six years in time. Each type of hair has a resting phase called the telogen which corresponds to its respective growth pattern. It is sort of like using the rings of a tree to date the age of the tree itself. If Mary used cocaine chronically, we ought to find a consistent pattern of cocaine levels in her various hair shafts. If she used cocaine in the last two to four months, we ought to find it in all her hair samples including her eyebrows and the hair from her head. If she used it greater than four to six months ago, we ought to find cocaine only in the long hairs from her head. The short hairs shouldn’t have any evidence of cocaine in them since they turn over so rapidly. Acute, recent use would show up as a negative result in all the hairs involved since there would not be sufficient time to absorb the cocaine and deposit it in the hair shaft,” Skinner finished.
“And what did you find? The forensic pathology lesson is good but I’m dying to know the lab results!” exclaimed James eagerly.
“The crime lab at the state found no evidence of cocaine in her hair shaft,” began Skinner. “That means. . .”
“No chronic cocaine use,” answered James triumphantly pumping the air with a fist.
“Bingo, James! I don’t know quite what we’ll do with the information but perhaps we’ll get that pompous buffoon of an Edwards to at least reevaluate the case? At any rate, this certainly clinches our suspicions that Mary was not a long time drug abuser,” finished Skinner.
“You’ll call Edwards then?” said James
“Of course I’ll do it! Unfortunately, I still take some gleeful satisfaction in getting ‘one up’ on Sheriff Edwards. A bit childish I know, but he really aggravates me and tries my patience at times.” There was a long pregnant pause in the conversation. “Are you feeling alright, James? You sounded a bit strange,” shared Skinner.
“I’m fine, just a little tired and confused right now. This new development in the O’Brien case has shaken me. I’ll talk to you later. I have to get back to my clinic,” responded James.
“I’ll call you later in the week to let you know what is going on with Edwards,” finished Skinner.
“Sure, thanks. Talk to later,” said James hanging up the phone.
The sweat began to form on James’ brow even though his hands were icy. He strode to the rest room and looked in the mirror. His face looked pasty so he splashed some water on it and wiped his cheeks dry. His skin seemed determined to detach from his body. All this new information sent his mind whirling. The nausea came in waves and he knew he needed to call Jonesy. Jonesy would know what to do. He rushed to his own, private office, and, with trembling hands dialed the number in Watsonville ten miles away.
“Hello, is Jonesy there, “ James said tightly into the phone.
“Sure. Who is it?” came the female voice.
“Tell him it’s James over in New Bedford,” Phelan stumbled out as he wiped his forehead. His hair was damp with sweat.
“Jonesy here. What can I do for ya buddy?” said Jonesy.
“I’m bad right now Jonesy. I need to talk to someone. I’ll get my partners to cover the rest of the clinic.”
“I’ll meet ya at the Cozy Corner in 15 minutes,” replied Jonesy.
“Thank God,” breathed James. “Laura, I’m going to meet a friend. Please have Don cover the last two patients would you. Thanks.”
“Sure Dr P,” replied Laura. “Are you alright? You look a little pale Dr P,” observed Laura.
“I’m alright. I just need some air and to talk with a friend. See you in the morning.”
James took his lab coat off, donned his light jacket, and raced out the back door. He’d walk to the Cozy Corner. It was only about six blocks away. James kept putting one foot in front of the other. His goal was to reach the restaurant, get a cup of decaf coffee, and wait for Jonesy.
The Cozy Corner sat on the corner of Steuben Avenue and Ash Street. The brightly lit sign welcomed the hungry, weary, and social to its rich smells. Tom and Julie Swanson ran the place but they were mostly just called “Mom and Pop” by all the younger customers. They dispensed great food at reasonable prices as well as priceless wisdom. And on one ever went hungry at the Cozy Corner if they couldn’t pay. They always had dishes to wash and tables to push for a meal.
The décor looked liked an art deco American diner from the 1920’s or 1930’s with the bright chrome stools with red vinyl at the formica counters, the tables with bright red, plastic table clothes, and the black and white patterened, linoleum floor. It made a homey place to eat, drink coffee, or just talk.
James stirred his coffee absent mindedly and hoped Jonesy would hurry. Jonesy, really Robert Jones, ran the local filling station and garage in Watsonville. Jonesy’s place reminded James of the old gas stations he knew as a boy. They still pumped your gas, checked your oil, and washed the windows. It remained truly a “service station”. There were always a gaggle of preteen and teenage boys rummaging around under the car with Jonesy. He taught auto mechanics and hard work springled with the gospel. Many a local hoodlum owed his salvation to Joensy. They came to work on cars and left with their cars and lives back in running order. If you couldn’t pay him, you didn’t worry Jonesy. God had it worked out, and, his family always ate well with a tight roof over their heads. In fact, Jonesy lived with family over the garage in a spacious condominium style abode.
They became friends at local AA meetings and chose each other as partners. Every AA requires two people to team up to help each other out in just such situations. James fidgeted and felt the old longings coming back. He did not want to descend into the hell of alcohol again.
Jonesy strode through the door and Julie Swanson waved a cheery hello, “A cup of my best java for you, Jonesy? How about a piece of pie?”
“Sure, bring me a hot cup of coffee and let me have a piece of that blueberry pie you make. Now, my good friend what is going on with you?” Robert Jones only stood five foot-seven but could lift an engine out a car without any help. His muscles rippled under his work shirts as he walked. He had intense, brilliant grey eyes that seemed to look into your heart and a mop of black hair he kept covered with a hat. Jonesy always wore an old baseball hat with the words “I work for Jewish carpenter” on the front. Most of all he had a wry wit and never was without a ready word to cheer you up.
“It’s Mary O’Brien’s death and the other deaths we’ve had at the hospital lately. We’ve had several people die recently, sort of unexpectedly. I called my Dad about it today. I was fine until this afternoon with I began to crave the booze again. I’m a mess right now.
“I can see that,” said Jonesy. “I think we need to get right to it James. This sort of temptation needs prayer and
lots of it. I’ll start us off and you chime in as you feel the Lord leading you. Father-God we come to you in humble request for my brother, James. Satan is buffeting him now and he is feeling weak and confused. Lord, you just confuse those emissaries of the evil one and restore my friend’s confidence in Your loving power. Take this desire for drink away and let him get on with things. In Jesus name we pray,” shared Jonesy
“Lord, I have been too much depending on my own power. I need to have my brother’s help me in this case with Mary O’Brien. I am confused by it and disheartened by all of this. Take away this desire for the bottle oh Lord! Keep me as your man and let me be able to do Your will. Forgive me my pride and selfishness. In Jesus name,” finished James.
James felt the oppression of his spirit lift. He closed them with a heart felt ‘Amen’.
“Now let’s talk a bit about this whole affair with Mary O’Brien,” began Jonesy. “What do you think happened? The papers said she died of a heart attack but you don’t seem convinced. And what about these deaths you mentioned?” asked Jonesy.
“There are just some things that don’t fit. Mary did not have a medical condition. She was not a know drug abuser but her autopsy supports a drug overdose with cocaine as the cause of her cardiac arrest. The police found traces of cocaine on her night stand. Although there was no syringe by her bedside at the hospital to inject the drugs, a syringe with a needle with traces of cocaine did appear in her personal belongings at the hospital. She did not appear to have any track marks on her arms from IV drug use. Seems strange to put the needles and syringe neatly in an overnight bad and leave traces of cocaine by the bedside. Skinner just talked to me today about her final crime lab report which shows no evidence for long term ore recent cocaine use. The evidence is not fitting together very well.”
“But we all know how good abusers are at deception, don’t we James? But you are right. I never pictured Mary as an abuser. That crime lab report is hard to square away with the death isn’t it? What about the other deaths? How do they fit in with this?” asked Jonesy.
“I’m not sure they do but Elizabeth Flint and Dan Fields both died unexpectedly of heart attacks. Aunt Bessie died last night and Dan Fields a couple of months ago. Both were older, had medical problems, and were on state assistance. I don’t see how they fit with Mary yet, though. What do you think, Jonesy?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not a doctor and older people do die suddenly sometimes. Do you know of any enemies that Mary had or anyone who would want her dead?” asked Jonesy.
“There aren’t really any suspects right now or motive for the deaths,” said James running his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“Don’t you think are overreacting a bit? I mean this phone call to me today shows that you are under some real stress over the death of Mary O’Brien. Maybe you are making too much of it. Perhaps Mary did jus start to use drugs for some reason and she went too far and overdosed herself. Happens all the time,” shared Jonesy.
“I suppose you are right. I just don’t think Mary died from an overdose. I guess I am looking for a reason to reopen her case even though the sheriff’s office has officially closed it,” sighed James. He looked much better now talking with Jonesy. The pallor was gone and the sheen of sweat no longer sat on his brow. James knew the crisis had passed. He would be safe to go home now.
“I’ll tell you what though, James. I’ll do some asking around in my unofficial channels and see if anyone knows anything about Mary or the others. Maybe there is a money motive or something we missed. You gonna be okay now? If so, I need to get back. I pulled the engine from Bill Smith’s truck and I need to get back to the overhaul if I’m going to get it done by Friday. I’ll keep in touch,” finished Jonesy getting up from the table.
“Thanks pal. I needed the prayer time and the advice. I’ll be okay now. Keep the faith,” said James.
“Certainly, old buddy,” said Jonesy with a slap on James’ shoulder. “See you in church on Sunday.”
Death By Intention Page 7