Crisis (26 page)
For more than a quarter of an hour, Jack drove in a circuitous route through residential areas, taking turns haphazardly but not wanting to stop. He did not want anyone following him or finding him, particularly a large, black Cadillac. He knew he'd been stupid at the end of his visit to the Stanhope mansion. It had been a brief resurgence of the risk-taking, defiant personality that had emerged after the depression the plane crash and the loss of his family had caused. As he came down from the adrenaline rush, he felt weak. Totally lost but within sight of several street signs, he pulled over to the side of the road in the shade of a gigantic oak tree to get his bearings.
As he'd been driving, Jack had toyed with the idea of driving out to the airport, washing his hands of the whole affair, and flying back to New York. The burning skin on the left side of his face was an argument in favor, as was the fact that the possibility of doing an autopsy to help his sister and brother-in-law was now defunct. The other compelling argument was that his wedding was approaching at warp speed.
Yet Jack couldn't do it. Sneaking out of town was a cowardly thing to do. He picked up the Hertz map and tried to guess which main thoroughfare he should try to find and in which direction it would be. It wasn't easy, because the street he was on wasn't on the map. It was either too small or beyond the map's range. The problem was he didn't know which was the case.
Just as he was about to start driving again blindly to find a main street, his cell phone came to life. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out. He didn't recognize the number. He answered the call and said hello.
"Dr. Stapleton, this is Jordan Stanhope. Are you okay?"
"There have been happier times in my life, but basically I'm okay." Jack was taken aback by the call.
"I wanted to apologize for the way Mr. Fasano and his associate treated you at my home."
"Thank you," Jack said. He thought of other, more clever retorts, but he held his tongue.
"I saw you being slapped. I was impressed by your response."
"You shouldn't have been. It was an embarrassingly dim-witted thing to do, especially considering the man was armed."
"I felt he had it coming."
"I doubt he shares your opinion. That was my least favorite part of my visit."
"I've come to realize just how boorish Mr. Fasano is. It's embarrassing."
It's not too late to call off the hounds,
Jack thought but did not say.
"I'm also questioning his tactics and his blithe disregard for finding the truth."
"Welcome to the legal profession," Jack said. "Unfortunately, in civil procedures, the goal is dispute resolution, not finding the truth."
"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 the 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 have 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 about the "PP" designation to try to fully understand the mind-set that would have allowed Craig to so 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.
