Cell (27 page)

LOS ANGELES CRIMINAL COURT

DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

SUNDAY, JULY 6, 2014, 9:45
A.M.

G
eorge was ushered into the courtroom along with three other men. A cramped seating area with a thick glass partition running up to the ceiling separated him from the courtroom proper. A narrow opening ran the length of the glass at face level so that the imprisoned men could be heard by the judge and attorneys.

George had met with Bonifacio and a bail bondsman early that morning in an interview room to take care of the necessary financial transactions after the lawyer had secured George's credit card. George thought both men had been sent from central casting. They were tall, overweight, and practiced marginal personal hygiene.

George was more exhausted than he could ever remember being in his life, which was saying something after slogging through four years of medical school and three of residency. During the night he had been joined by a number of other cellmates, and their activities squashed any hopes of getting even the briefest spell of shut-eye. One man had tried to “cuddle up” to George. The biker, apparently not concerned with politically correct attitudes toward gay men, had put an end to that in a terrifying flash of homophobic violence.

The topper for George had been when stomach cramps necessitated his use of the toilet. It was so filthy, he refused to sit down and tried to suspend himself in midair. As if he hadn't been self-conscious enough, his antics made his cellmates burst out laughing, taunting him as a “fucking aristocrat.” Even the experience of obtaining toilet paper had been humiliating. The jailors literally made him beg for it.

George was a physical mess. He hadn't showered or brushed his teeth. Neither had the three men standing next to him. Their stench was nauseating, and he imagined he might not be much better.

Bonifacio, as big and beefy a man as the fellow who had recommended him, made his way over to George. The one thing he had going for him was that he was obviously very familiar with the goings-on.

“Doing okay still?”

George nodded.

“Good. I talked with the prosecutor. The deputy DA has assigned your case to a guy I know. He can be a dick, but the judge isn't so bad, so we might be okay. With your credit card limit, anything under seventy-five grand is good.”

“What's the likelihood of that?”

Bonifacio shrugged. “Like I said, they got a lot of counts against you. We could be talking as much as a couple hundred Gs plus. But don't despair, I'm pretty well connected around here.” The man smiled. From the looks of his teeth, George understood why he had such bad breath.

•   •   •

I
n keeping with his luck of late, George had to wait while the other three men were called before him. George's nervousness mounted as none of them made bail, which suggested that the judge was not in the best of moods. When George's name was finally called, Bonifacio and the deputy district attorney assigned to the case stood and announced their credentials. Then Bonifacio waived a prolonged reading of the charges and told the judge that his client pleaded not guilty on all counts and wanted a speedy trial to prove it.

The judge looked up, obviously surprised, and stared at George. “You don't wish to waive your right to a preliminary hearing within ten days?”

All three of the previous prisoners had waived their right to a speedy trial in the hope that by extending the process to the maximum, the DA might reduce the charges to get the case off the books. Bonifacio had explained to George that by insisting on his right it sent a psychological message to the judge that he was innocent, a ploy that enhanced his chances of being offered bail at a lower rate. Bonifacio insisted it was a strategy he had used to great effect. George hoped he was right. Getting released on bail was George's number one goal. His only chance to defend himself from the charges against him was to substantiate that iDoc was being sabotaged, which wouldn't happen if he was sitting in jail. There was no plan B.

“Your Honor, my client is absolutely not guilty. We believe these charges will not survive a preliminary hearing, and we want to move quickly. We do not waive.”

The judge looked down and studied his calendar, looking for the appropriate date, while George watched, his mind spinning. His eyes anxiously scanned the room as the seconds ticked by. Then by chance, he noticed a copy of the
L.A. Times
sitting on the corner of the attorney's table. Under a headline George couldn't make out was a headshot of Zee.
What the hell?

George pressed his head into the slot to get a better look. It
was
Zee! And from this angle George could decipher the headline, too: “Unemployed Gamer Killed in High-Speed Crash.” The subtitle read: “Yet Another Runaway Accelerator Suspected.” George's body went numb with fear. Could Zee's death be just an awful coincidence? He sincerely doubted it. Remorse at possibly involving Zee in something that led to his death overwhelmed him almost as much as his fear.

“George? George, you paying attention?” It was Bonifacio. He was looking at George with concern.

“Sorry,” he managed. “What?”

“Your court date is set for July eighteenth,” Bonifacio whispered. “Pay attention or you are going to irritate you know who. Jesus . . .”

The deputy DA was standing now and addressing the judge. “Due to the seriousness of the charges, the people urge the court to set bail in the amount of five hundred thousand dollars.”

George's mouth dropped. Such an amount was far beyond his credit. On top of his fear and remorse was a sense of near-incapacitating anxiety that spread through him like wildfire. Was he doomed to stay in jail? How would he ever survive it? After the experience of the previous night, he didn't know. And after what had apparently happened to Zee, George felt as a matter of survival a need to get away from the clutches of the authorities.

The judge looked up at the deputy DA. “That seems excessive, Counselor. Why so high?”

“Because of the seriousness of the charges, we believe the defendant to be a flight risk.”

Bonifacio cleared his throat. “Your Honor, Dr. Wilson is a fourth-year resident doctor at L.A. University Medical Center. He's always been an upstanding member of the community and has never been charged with any crime, not even a speeding ticket.”

“What kind of bail were you seeking?” the judge asked Bonifacio.

“Sir, considering my client's blemish-free record, twenty-five thousand dollars would be more than enough.”

“This was an assault on both corporate and federal government entities involving health care records, sir,” the deputy DA countered.

The judge looked at George, evaluating him, and then began scribbling on the court documents in front of him. He looked up. “Bail is set at fifty thousand dollars.”

George's knees buckled in relief.

Bonifacio turned to him and winked. “I'll have you out of here in an hour.”

•   •   •

G
eorge was released and given back all his clothing and personal items, including his cell phone. He stepped out into the bright, hot sunshine. Oh, God! What relief! But then his mind returned to Zee.

George hustled down to the street corner and found a newsstand. He bought a copy of the
L.A. Times
and sat on the curb to read the article. Zee's car had apparently been going over a hundred miles per hour when it veered off the road and struck the concrete abutment of an overpass. The reporter believed it was another Toyota accelerator crash. George finished the article and sat staring into the gutter, his hands still trembling. It was definitely too much of a coincidence for the crash to have been an accident. There had been a number of such accelerator incidents in the past, sure, but what were the odds of it happening now? And if it wasn't an accident, it was murder. George had never been a conspiracy theorist, but this was turning him into one.

As he sat on the curb, George's mind went into high gear. He didn't see the traffic going by or the pedestrians who eyed him as they passed. He had started thinking something else. What if Zee had been killed not by the government, an idea that had been fostered in his mind by Zee's government paranoia, but rather by the individual or group of individuals behind the iDoc death panel conspiracy. In many respects this made more sense. After all, iDoc and Amalgamated were private entities.

George breathed out forcibly, unaware he had been holding his breath as his mind pondered this new concern. In many respects it was even scarier than worrying about the government, especially since the idea suggested he might have been safer in jail than out on the street.

Scrambling to his feet, George nervously looked around. He felt a bit of relief seeing that no one was paying him the slightest bit of attention now that he was standing. But this new line of thought evoked another worry: Maybe he shouldn't go back to his apartment, or at least not stay there. If the authorities knew he had been involved in hacking into the iDoc servers, then there was reason to fear that the person or persons responsible for the iDoc subversion knew as well.

Dusting himself off, he hailed a cab, giving the driver his address. He decided he wasn't going to stay there but needed some things, and reasoned that being there for a short time would be safe. After riding for a few minutes and allowing himself to calm down, he dialed Paula's cell. If he was to learn anything more about iDoc, he needed her help. Would she? He didn't know, but she was his only recourse.

As if expecting his call, she picked up on the first ring. “What the hell! You stood me up! I sat at that coffee shop for an hour texting you.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. My day didn't go as planned.” Understatement of the year.

“You'd better explain, and it better be good.” She was all business.

“I was arrested.”

Silence. George gave her a minute for his comment to sink in.

“You're joking.”

“I wish I was. The last twenty-four hours have been the worst I have ever spent. I knew you were waiting, but I couldn't call. I couldn't text. And, on top of being arrested, I've been placed on administrative leave from my residency, which is the equivalent of being fired, unless I'm acquitted, which probably won't happen, since I'm guilty as charged.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” she said.

“I was arrested for hacking into iDoc,” George said. “They grabbed me minutes after we spoke yesterday. I ended up spending the night in jail and just got out.”

“Where exactly are you, George?” she said gently.

“In a taxi. I'm heading back to my apartment.”

“What exactly are you accused of doing?”

“As I said yesterday morning, it wasn't I who actually hacked Amalgamated. It was someone I paid to do it. A professional gamer named Zee Beauregard. You can read about him on the front page of the local section of today's
L.A. Times
.” George fought back tears from a flood of emotion. He paused for a moment before continuing. “Zee said he was able to access iDoc records on the Amalgamated servers.”

“Really? You got through our firewall?”

“I didn't. Zee did.”

Paula let out a mirthless laugh. “No wonder you were arrested! Why in heaven's name did you do it? And why is it a story?”

George didn't want to explain any more over the phone. “Let's do this in person. I'm more afraid than ever that iDoc has been compromised. And I'm not referring to the hacking. I'm afraid your baby has been subverted and is now killing people.”

“George, do you know how that sounds?”

“Yes, I know. But meet with me. I'll explain it all. It's even more complicated than that. The federal government is also involved somehow on some level. Otherwise I wouldn't have been arrested quite so quickly. Look, it's truly complicated. After you hear me out, you decide if you buy any of it. But, please, let me explain it.”

“I can't get my head around any of this, George. But for the sake of our friendship I'm willing to listen. Now, don't take this wrong, but remember back in medical school that you had a tendency to subscribe to conspiracy theories. One time you even argued that there was no way Oswald had acted alone.”

“That was Pia's take. I was just mouthing it for her benefit.”

“Well, regardless. When you said iDoc was in direct competition with the medical profession, I could understand why you were so negative. I mean, you come up with this great idea and instead of it being embraced by the medical profession, it gets stolen by the insurance industry. I can see where resentment might build up. That's all I'm saying. But if you're able to offer me some proof that iDoc has been subverted, then I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But I need to know exactly what you think you've discovered right now, before you go spouting off to anyone else.”

“I'll tell you everything. But only in person. I'm going to need your help, too, to be one hundred percent certain.”

She sighed and paused a moment, thinking. “Okay, let's meet.”

“Great! How about now?”

“Okay.”

“I'm in a cab heading to my apartment, but actually I'm afraid to stay there.”

“What about your friend? Why is he in the paper?”

“Because he died.” George struggled to continue as emotion bubbled up. “He was driving on the freeway. The article says that his accelerator got stuck. It was an old Toyota. But that seems a little coincidental in light of the hack, don't you think? When he left me he was terrified the government was coming after him.”

“Come directly to my house,” she replied with an urgency that hadn't been there a moment ago. “Now! You can stay in my guest suite. Tell the driver to drop you at Four twenty-eight Sixteenth Street. It's north of Montana Avenue in Santa Monica. I'm not saying I'm buying all of what you're saying, but I don't want you to take any risk. So come now. Okay?”