Blood Money (10 page)

Chapter Seventeen

J
ackson Memorial Hospital is virtually around the corner from Miami International Airport, right on the way home for Jack. His flight from LaGuardia was a few minutes late, but the Laramores were at their daughter’s side around the clock. Jack made a quick stop to give Ben Laramore a flavor of how the meeting with BNN’s lawyers had gone.

“We’ve got a battle on our hands,” said Jack.

They were at a table in the ground-floor cafeteria, which had stopped serving for the night and was a few minutes from closing. Most of the chairs were upturned and resting on the dining tables, out of the way for a floor mopping. Only one other table was occupied, an intern on her cell phone.

“Is there any hope of a quick settlement?” asked Laramore.

“It’s going to take more than filing a complaint to bring them to the bargaining table. We need to push the case forward, take some depositions. Even then, this could be one of those cases that doesn’t settle until the eve of trial, if it settles at all.”

“Then we need to push the case to trial. Fast.”

“We’ll push, but civil suits don’t typically move quickly. Realistically, the soonest we can expect that judge to set the case for trial would be six to eight months from now, and we can pretty much bank on at least one continuance. Probably a year or more, when all is said and done.”

“A
year
?” Ben said, running his hand through his hair. The worry lines in his face seemed carved in wax, each day taking a toll. Laramore dug an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Jack. “I can’t wait a year.”

Jack checked inside. It was a hospital expense report. “Ninety-two hundred dollars,” said Jack, reading the bottom line aloud.

“That’s just for
today
. No insurance. Virginia doesn’t work. I’m a laid-off plumber. Whoever strangled my daughter is still out there, and I can’t even afford to post a security guard outside the door. I asked for daily printouts, just so I can keep a handle on expenses, but what’s the point? How are we supposed to pay for
this
?”

“First off, I wouldn’t worry about a guard. This happened only because her attacker thought she was Sydney, and even if for some reason he comes after Celeste now, he has to get past the cameras, security guards, locked doors, and all the other restrictions on access to the ICU. But the bills . . .” Jack paused, searching his mind for some way to help. “I’m no expert in this field, but I believe that if we can get Social Security to determine that Celeste qualifies for disability income, Medicaid will cover her hospitalization.”

Laramore shook his head. “I’ve already had that conversation with the hospital. This place deals with brain injury every day. They know the ins and outs of these programs. To be eligible for Social Security, you have to be totally disabled for a full year.”

“There has to be an exception for a patient in a coma.”

“There’s not. The problem is that no doctor can tell the Social Security Administration when Celeste will recover or what her recovery will look like. She could be in a coma a year or more and end up totally disabled. Or, God willing, she could snap out of it tomorrow and be just fine.”

Jack could hear it in Ben’s voice—the fear that each passing day made the chances of “just fine” all the more remote.

“I’ll do some research. If not disability, maybe there’s another way to qualify Celeste without bankrupting you and your wife.”

“I spent over two hours with a hospital administrator today. She truly wanted to help, but we simply fall through the cracks in the system. Even if Virginia and I could qualify our family for Medicaid, we couldn’t get Celeste covered as our child because she’s over the age of nineteen. And Celeste can’t apply for Medicaid on her own because she has no kids and is under age sixty-five.”

Jack took another moment to think. “When my grandfather was in a nursing home, I read about something called the medically needy program. It’s for people who don’t strictly qualify for Medicaid. It may be worth looking into.”

“Let’s be real, Jack. Most Medicaid programs in this country are on life support themselves. How long do you think the state of Florida is going to pay for us to keep Celeste on life support?”

“We have to be prepared to fight day to day.”

“I appreciate your intentions. But each day Celeste spends in a coma, the pressure to pull the plug is going to build. I want to give my daughter a fighting chance. I don’t want a bunch of bean counters telling me it’s time to give up hope. BNN caused this mess. They should at least pay the hospital bills to fix it.”

“That’s part of our claim.”

“But we can’t wait for trial. Our only real hope is for you to find the magic bullet that brings those bastards to their knees.”

No pressure.

“I’ll do my best,” said Jack. “Step one is to file the complaint as soon as the court opens tomorrow.”

“What about suing the Department of Corrections, like I asked about in the first place? Maybe they’d be quicker to settle.”

“That’s actually more complicated. You can’t just sue a state agency in Florida. We have to give the department written notice of our claim. We’re working on that now. The department has six months to respond before we can even file suit.”

“Six months?
I can’t believe this.” Laramore’s cell rang. Jack heard one side of the conversation, which lasted only a few seconds, ending with Laramore telling the caller that he was in the cafeteria.

“UPS,” Laramore told Jack. “Got a delivery for me.”

“At eleven o’clock at night?”

A man approached, interrupting. “Mr. Laramore?”

“Yes.”

The man wasn’t wearing a UPS uniform and wasn’t even dressed in brown. “This is for you,” he said as he handed him a packet. He left quickly, without asking for a signature.

Jack said, “That was a process server if I ever saw one.”

“Am I being sued?” Laramore asked, opening the packet. He handed it to Jack, who read it quickly.

“It’s a temporary restraining order,” said Jack.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that while I was in New York meeting with BNN’s lawyers, another team of lawyers for BNN went before a judge in Miami and got him to enter an order against you, your wife, and me.”

“Don’t we get to present our side of the story?”

“It’s called an ex parte order. It’s not an easy thing to get, but sometimes judges will enter orders without notice to the other side.”

“An order to do what?”

Jack found the operative language in the order. “It requires us to file our complaint against BNN under seal, meaning that it won’t be part of the public record. And it forbids us from discussing the allegations publicly. Essentially, it’s a gag order.”

“They convinced a judge to issue a gag order
before
we even filed our lawsuit? What kind of system is this?”

Jack considered the question, which strangely echoed public sentiment since the Sydney Bennett verdict.

“This can work to our advantage,” said Jack.

“How?”

“Right out of the blocks, BNN’s lawyers have overplayed their hand. And I intend to make them pay.”

Laramore’s cell rang a second time. Again, Jack got a one-sided perspective on the conversation, but this time he could tell who was on the line: Celeste’s mother.

Laramore ended the call and put his phone away. “I need to go back upstairs,” he told Jack. “Virginia could use some company.”

“I understand. I’ll call you in the morning,” said Jack.

They shook hands. Laramore went to the elevators, and Jack stopped in the men’s room. He was actually hungry enough to eat hospital food, had the cafeteria been open. On the way out, he stopped at the vending machines for a granola bar.

“Hey, stranger.”

Jack turned at the familiar voice. Rene had popped into the vending room after him.

“Hi,” said Jack. “You working tonight?”

She dropped a few coins into the soda machine. “Yup. You?”

“No. Well, I was. Working. Not for the hospital. Law stuff. You know.”

She grabbed her diet soda and smiled. “You’re cute when you’re tongue-tied. I’m off at midnight.”

“Rene, I told you, I’m enga—”

She laughed. “Got ya. You are such an easy target. Stefan is picking me up in an hour. I’d ask you to join us, but you look really tired. Plus, Stefan’s not really into that stuff.”

Jack was a half beat behind her.

“Got ya again, Swyteck. This is way too easy.” She popped open her soda and gave him a wink. “I’ll see you around.”

As she headed out, a folded yellow Post-it fell from her pocket to the floor. Jack was about to say something, but he quickly realized that the drop had been intentional. He opened it and read.

Can’t talk here. There’s more. 2
P.M.
tomorrow. Same place.

“More” obviously meant about Celeste Laramore. “Same place” was the coffee shop in Little Havana. Jack tucked the note away and headed for the exit.

Things had been quiet outside the hospital when he’d arrived, but the eleven o’clock news had since started, and “coma watch” had returned for the obligatory live update. The media presence was nothing compared to what it had been earlier in the week. Tonight it was down to a handful of news vans. Tomorrow was sure to bring an uptick in coverage with the filing of the lawsuit against BNN—or not, with a gag order in place. Jack hurried out the door and down the sidewalk before anyone could recognize him. He chose the long route through the parking lot, trying not to walk so fast that he might draw attention to himself. He took a modicum of satisfaction in getting all the way to his car without having a single microphone thrust in his face. He found his key and was aiming in the dark at the ignition when his phone rang. It was an unknown number, but he answered anyway.

“I heard your conversation with Sydney,” the caller said.

It was that thick, disguised voice again—Jack’s attacker, the man with cotton in his mouth. “You’re eavesdropping on my cell?”

“Does that really surprise you? How else would I have known that I could find you walking down Main Highway to Cy’s Place Monday night? Remember that text to your buddy Theo?”

Need a ride tonight. Walking over now.

“Nothing surprises me anymore,” said Jack. “What do you want?”

“There’s been a change in our arrangement.”

Jack massaged between the eyes, staving off a massive headache. “There is no arrangement.”

“Relax and listen. This is all good. See, now that I heard you and the party slut talk, I believe you. You really don’t know where she is.”

“That’s what I told you from the beginning.”

“No worries. Just a little glitch. We can work around this.”

“I’m not interested in working anything out.”

“Sydney won’t just walk away from a book and movie deal. She’ll call you again. Especially after that lawsuit is filed tomorrow against BNN.”

“How do you know about—”

“I know these things, Jack. When she calls, I want you to insist on meeting her face-to-face.”

“No.”

“Don’t tell me
no
. You know what happens if you don’t do your part.”

Jack said nothing, but he remembered the threat well:
Someone you love will get what Sydney deserves.

“We’re a team, Jack. We’ll find her.”

The call ended, and the light from Jack’s keypad faded, leaving him alone in the dark.

Chapter Eighteen

J
ack met Andie the following morning in Miami Gardens, a short ride away from the FBI’s Miami field office. Andie didn’t want a meeting at the office. Over the years, Jack had done legal work for the St. Thomas University Center for Justice and Peace, and he’d spent enough time on campus to remember that the coffee at the book center was drinkable. They each grabbed a cup and a bagel and walked across the parking lot to the baseball diamond, where a travel team was practicing. Alone in the bleachers behind home plate, they could talk freely.

Jack had left a message for Andie immediately after the call from his attacker. It had taken another phone call and two text messages to get a callback, which told him either that she was really mad at him, or that something big was in the works.

“I’m going undercover again,” she said.

Something big—which explained her hypersensitivity about the publicity over the Sydney Bennett case. But it didn’t rule out the possibility that she was also mad.

“When?” he asked.

“You know I can’t tell you that. But soon.”

The
ping
of an aluminum bat sounded on the other side of the batting cage. The baseball team was fielding ground balls. Jack watched, working on a chewy bagel. He was reluctant to ask, but he needed to know.

“Is this in response to the threat?”

Andie seemed put off by the insinuation. “Are you asking if I’m going undercover to run away from the man who attacked you?”

Hearing Andie rephrase it made the question sound insulting. “Sorry,” said Jack. “I asked only because you were the one who immediately thought that the threat against ‘someone you love’ meant you.”

“It has nothing to do with that. This assignment has been in the works for months.”

Jack’s attention turned briefly to the infielders, then back to Andie. “So . . . where does this leave us?”

“We’ll be fine,” she said.

He smiled a little. “Does that mean I’m off the FBI’s ten most
unwanted
list?”

She returned the smile, more with her eyes. “You’re such a goofball. Yes, you’re off the list. Or at least out of the top ten.”

“So you still love me?”

She gave him a little kiss. “Yes, I love you. Even though I was right.”

Jack knew it wouldn’t be simple. “Right about what?”

“That photograph of us walking out of the emergency room. It took less than eight hours for it to show up on the Internet.”

“True. But you’re barely recognizable. Obviously, the bureau doesn’t think it’s an issue if they’re sending you back undercover.”

“We got lucky. This time.”

Jack drank his coffee, watched the infielders turn a double play. There was more to sort out. “Who will be my contact at the FBI when you go undercover? It’s clear I haven’t heard the last from this guy.”

“Until I’m reassigned, the contact is still me. Then it will be up to the assistant special agent in charge. Depending on how this plays out in the short term, it’s possible that the bureau will defer to local police. In that case, you would follow up with Detective Rivera.”

“Rivera?” Jack said, uneasy. “I’m not so keen on that guy.”

“He has an excellent reputation.”

“Do you agree with him? Celeste and I were victims of the same attacker?”

“Yes. Our forensic experts were already leaning that way based on the comparison of your photos to her bruises. Last night’s call removes all doubt. He attacked Celeste thinking she was Sydney. Now he’s after you to get to Sydney.”

“What’s the plan when he calls me again?”

“I wish you would listen to me and let us tap your phone.”

“I’m not going down that road. Mr. Shake-Hands-with-My-Throat has already hacked into my old phone.”

“What do you mean your ‘old’ phone?”

“I’m picking up a new one in an hour. I’ll text you the new number.”

“And exactly what is your plan to stop this guy from hacking into your new phone?”

“I’m meeting with a spyware expert to sort that out.”

“You’re going to pay a private spyware expert instead of trusting me?”

“It’s not a matter of trusting you. Just on general principle, a criminal defense lawyer doesn’t need the FBI checking out his address book and examining his call history, let alone tapping his phone conversations.”

“Well, you’ve already had one trip to the emergency room. Maybe you should reconsider.”

“I might if you were the only one involved. But I’m not going to share my line with any old agent in the FBI. And I’m definitely not sharing it with Detective Rivera.”

“I told you, Rivera’s a good guy.”

“Call it defense lawyer’s intuition. He’s got an ax to grind. He doesn’t even return my phone calls.”

Andie dug her cell from her purse. “I’ll take care of that right now,” she said, dialing.

“Don’t,” said Jack, but it was too late. Andie already had the detective on the line. Jack heard one side of the conversation as she gave Rivera the FBI lecture on the importance of communication with victims. A minute later, she put the phone on speaker and laid it on the bleacher seat between them. “Rivera has an update,” she told Jack. “Go ahead, Detective.”

“I had a very interesting heart-to-heart with Celeste’s friend this morning,” said Rivera, his voice a bit tinny on the speaker.

“You mean Celeste’s roommate?” asked Andie.

“Yeah. The girl who went to the detention center with her on the night of Sydney Bennett’s release. Her story has completely unraveled.”

“How so?”

“She told Faith Corso on the air that she and Celeste had just come from a Sydney Bennett look-alike contest at Club Vertigo on South Beach. We called the club manager. It turns out that the contest was canceled. Never happened.”

Jack and Andie exchanged glances. Andie followed up with the detective: “Why would she lie about that?”

“She was covering for her friend,” said Rivera.

“Covering up what?” asked Andie.

“It took me a while to get it out of her, but she finally admitted it this morning. Despite all the accusations that BNN reporters were making things up, it turns out that somebody did, in fact, hire Celeste Laramore to go to the women’s detention center that night.”

“Hire her—why?” asked Andie.

“Celeste’s friend doesn’t know why,” said Rivera, “but it’s at least plausible that it’s just like BNN reported it. Celeste got paid a thousand bucks to show up and make people think she was Sydney Bennett. She was a diversion to stir things up and draw the crowd’s attention so that Sydney could slip away.”

“That’s just not true,” said Jack.

Andie gestured, telling Jack to stay out of it. Then she put another question to Rivera: “Did Celeste’s friend tell you who put up the money?”

“She doesn’t know, and we’re still trying to find out. Mr. Swyteck, you got any ideas?”

“I told you it’s not true,” said Jack.

“Don’t get defensive,” said Rivera. “I didn’t accuse you. I asked if you had any idea who might have done it.”

Again, Jack’s first thought was the man who had met Sydney at Opa-locka Executive Airport. But he still didn’t trust Rivera. “No, I don’t have any leads,” said Jack.

“Well, if any names come to mind, you be sure to let us know.”

“Will do,” Jack said.

Rivera had to take another call, so Andie thanked him and hung up. Jack was thinking about his case against BNN, but even his best poker face couldn’t stop Andie from reading his mind.

“You already told the Laramores that you would take their case, didn’t you?” Her question sounded more like a statement.

“Yes, I did.”

“You seriously plan to sue BNN?”

“Yup.”

Andie tucked her phone into her purse, then gave him a troubled look. “You
like
the publicity, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

She glanced toward the playing field, as if measuring her words, then looked right at Jack. “When we got engaged, you weren’t such a publicity hound. Tell me what’s going on?”

“Andie, this isn’t about the publicity.”

“Don’t kid yourself. If it weren’t about the publicity, you would have done the legwork, just like Rivera did. You would have talked to Celeste Laramore’s friend and realized that this is not a good case.”

“Hannah did call her. She wouldn’t talk to us.”

“Didn’t that tell you something?”

“Yeah, it tells me I need to file a lawsuit so I can get a subpoena issued and take her deposition. That truth is, it doesn’t matter if Celeste was hired to be a Sydney Bennett look-alike. The fact that she voluntarily put herself into an angry crowd might be an issue if we sue the correctional facility for providing inadequate security, but it doesn’t excuse what BNN did to her after she got hurt.”

“Exactly what did BNN do?”

“I can’t get into details. The judge issued a gag order before we could even file the complaint—which should only prove to you that I’m not doing this case for the publicity.”

“Fine. It’s not about publicity. The real issue—like
always
—is the clients you choose to represent.”

“Are you comparing Celeste Laramore to accused criminals now?”

“No. But Celeste obviously has something to hide. Don’t you think you should know her secrets before you haul off and file a lawsuit against one of the biggest media companies in the world?”

“You’re not hearing me, Andie. For purposes of our claim against BNN, it wouldn’t matter if Celeste Laramore had gone to that parking lot to set the building on fire and steal a getaway car. Once she got hurt, BNN had no right to interfere with her getting the medical treatment she needed.”

“Well, you’re the lawyer. But this can’t help your case.”

“There’s no such thing as a perfect client. Unless you’re a probate lawyer.”

“I just don’t want you to end up looking foolish.”

“If I tried to unravel every surprise before filing a lawsuit, I’d never file a lawsuit.”

“I’m not talking about
every
surprise. Damn it, Jack. Do you think it’s fun for me to turn on the television and watch the commentators make fun of you? I’ve never told you this, but every time Faith Corso blasts you, I get e-mails from other agents. The last one came from the head of our public-corruption unit and said something like ‘Looks like “MISTER Andie Henning” stepped in it again.’”

“Cop humor,” said Jack. “Lovely.”

“Fine. Dismiss it. But I don’t see why you can’t at least check this out before you file.”

Jack was already committed to the case, but there was no need to be a cowboy, even when trying to help a twenty-year-old college student in a coma. This was going to be a very public fight, and a little more sensitivity to the impact on the people in his life wasn’t too much for Andie to ask. “All right. It can’t hurt to make one more run at Celeste’s roommate before the complaint is filed,” he said as he dialed Hannah’s number.

“You’re suing BNN
today
?”

“And Faith Corso.”

“Oh, my God,” Andie said, groaning.

Hannah was on the line. She was riding in an open convertible, yelling into her cell above the wind noise, which forced Jack to hold the phone a comfortable distance from his ear, even if it did mean that Andie could overhear. “I was just about to call you with an update,” Hannah shouted.

“Has the complaint been filed yet?” asked Jack.

“Yessiree. Filed under seal this morning at nine-oh-five. BNN was served at nine thirty.”

Jack was silent.

“Jack?” said Hannah. “Are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Is everything okay?”

Jack looked at Andie. The glare she shot back at him could have melted steel. Professionally speaking, he was perfectly fine with letting the lawsuit go forward. The question was how to deal with the personal reality that his fiancée clearly wasn’t.

“Yeah,” Jack said into the phone. “Everything is just dandy.”