Harmful Intent (48 page)

“I was supposed to send you to St. Louis alive,” Frank snarled, “but your hitting me with that stinking slop changed that. You're going to St. Louis, all right, but in a pine box, my friend.”

For the second time in his life and in so many days, Jeffrey was forced to helplessly watch the end of a gun move forward and jiggle slightly as pressure was applied to the trigger.

“Frank!” a harsh voice called. The name echoed in the small chamber.

Frank spun away from Jeffrey, whipping his gun around. A blast rocked the tiny chamber. Then a second blast reverberated within the mausoleum. Jeffrey hit the ground. Frank's lighter went out. A ringing silence and utter blackness descended.

Jeffrey stayed perfectly still with his hands over his head and face pressed to the cold stone floor. Then he heard the sound of a flint being struck.

Jeffrey slowly raised his head, terrified at what he might see. Frank was just in front of him, sprawled out on the floor, facedown. His gun was on the floor in front of him, just beyond his reach. Beyond Frank was a pair of legs. Raising his head further, Jeffrey looked up into the face of Devlin O'Shea.

“What a surprise,” Devlin said. “If it isn't my favorite doctor.” He was holding a lit cigarette lighter in one hand and a gun in the other, just as Frank had.

Jeffrey struggled to his feet. Devlin went to Frank and rolled him over. Squatting, he felt for a carotid pulse. “Damn,” he said. “I got too good an aim. I really didn't want to kill him. At least
I think I didn't want to kill him.” Devlin straightened up and stepped over to Jeffrey. “No poison darts, now,” he warned.

Jeffrey backed up against the wall. Devlin looked worse than Frank.

“Like my new hairstyle?” Devlin asked, aware of Jeffrey's reaction. “It's thanks to that goon on the floor.” Devlin gestured toward Frank. “Listen, Doc,” he said, “I got good news for you and I got bad news. Which do you want to hear first?”

Jeffrey shrugged. He knew it was all over now. He was only sorry that Devlin had to step in now when they were so close to getting their much-needed proof.

“Come on,” Devlin warned. “We don't have all night. There's still a young hoodlum out there holding your friends at gunpoint. Now do you want to hear the good news or bad?”

“The bad news,” Jeffrey said. He wondered if Devlin would respond by shooting him point-blank. The good news, which he'd never live to hear, would be that at least he'd be killed quickly.

“And I would have bet good money you would have wanted the good news first. Considering what you've been going through, I think you need some. However, the bad news is that I'm going to take you to jail. I want to collect that reward money from Mosconi. But let me tell you the good news. I've uncovered some information that will probably get your conviction overturned.”

“What are you talking about?” Jeffrey asked, dazed by this revelation.

“I don't think this is the time or place for a friendly chat,” Devlin said. “There's still wiseass Vinnie D'Agostino out there with a firearm. Now I'm going to make a deal with you. I want you to cooperate with me. That means no running away, no sticking me with needles, or hitting me with briefcases. I'll take care of Vinnie so no one gets hurt if you would be so good as to create a little diversion. After I get Vinnie's gun, I'll handcuff him to that vault lid that's sitting on the ground. Then we'll call the Edgartown police. This will be more excitement than they've seen since all those rubbers washed up on the beach at Chappaquiddick Island. Then we'll all go and have some dinner. What do you say?”

Jeffrey could hardly answer, he was so dumbfounded and confused.

“Come on, Doc!” Devlin said. “We don't have all night. Do we have a deal or don't we?”

“Yes,” Jeffrey said. “It's a deal.”

 

The Charlotte Inn had a charming restaurant overlooking a tiny inner courtyard with a fountain. The tables were covered with white tablecloths and the chairs were comfortable. A team of attentive waiters and waitresses responded to the diners' every need.

If someone had described the scene that Jeffrey was now enjoying to him at some earlier time, he would have laughed it off as an impossibility. There were four people at the table. To Jeffrey's right was Kelly. She was obviously still anxious, but she looked radiant. To Jeffrey's left was Seibert. He wasn't particularly calm either, worried about the forged exhumation documents and the fact that the episode at the graveyard would be investigated. Across from Jeffrey was Devlin, who was the only one at the table who appeared completely relaxed. Instead of wine he was drinking beer, and he was already on his fourth.

“Doc!” Devlin said to Jeffrey. “You're one patient man. You still haven't asked me about the liberating information I mentioned back at the mausoleum.”

“I've been afraid to,” Jeffrey answered honestly. “I've been afraid to break the spell that I've been under since we walked out of there.”

Everything had happened as Devlin had said it would. Jeffrey had made a commotion as if he and Frank were having a knockdown drag-out fight near the rental car. When Vinnie moved closer to see if he could help his boss, Devlin had walked up behind and disarmed him in the blink of an eye. Then on went the cuffs.

The only departure from the original plan had been that Devlin had not handcuffed Vinnie to the vault lid. Instead, he cuffed him directly to one of the handles of the casket. “You and Henry can keep each other company,” he'd said to the terrified kid.

Then the rest of them had gone back to the Charlotte Inn, where, true to his word, Devlin called the Edgartown police. Although they'd been invited to stay for dinner, Chester, Martin, and Harvey politely declined, each preferring to unwind in their respective homes after the cemetery ordeal.

“Then I'm going to tell you whether you ask me or not,” Devlin said. “But let me preface what I'm about to say with a few comments. First, I'd like to apologize for shooting at you in that
fleabag hotel. At the time, I was pissed and I thought you were a real criminal. A kind I'd learned to hate. But as time went on, I learned more about your case, bit by bit. Mosconi wasn't all that helpful, so it wasn't easy. Anyway, I knew something was up when you stopped acting like the usual bail-jumper. Then, when Frank entered the picture, I really knew that something strange was happening, especially when I got the word that he was supposed to get seventy-five grand for shipping you to St. Louis. That didn't make any sense at all until I found out that the people who had hired Frank were interested in interrogating you for something you'd learned.

“At that point I decided to find out who these big out-of-town spenders were. I figured with the kind of money involved it had something to do with drugs. But then I found out it didn't. Here's the part I discovered that you'll find interesting. What would you think if I told you that the guy who hired Frank Feranno is a guy by the name of Matt Davidson? A Matt Davidson of St. Louis?”

Jeffrey let his spoon drop to the table. He looked at Kelly. “The Matt in Harding's address book,” she said.

“More than that,” Jeffrey said. He reached under the table for his duffel bag. He fished inside for some papers and came up with two copies from the defendant/plaintiff book he'd made at the courthouse. He set them on the table so everyone could see.

Jeffrey pointed to Matthew Davidson's name where it appeared as the plaintiff attorney for the malpractice case at Suffolk General Hospital. “Matthew Davidson was also the plaintiff attorney on my case,” Jeffrey told them.

Kelly snapped up the other paper, containing the information on the Commonwealth suit. “The plaintiff attorney on this case, Sheldon Faber, was the same as on my husband's,” she said. “Now that I think of it, he was from St. Louis.”

“Let me check something,” Jeffrey said, pushing back from the table. To Devlin he added, “Stay put, I'll be right back.” Devlin had started to follow. Jeffrey left the group to go to the public phone. Calling information in St. Louis, he asked for the business phone numbers for each of the two attorneys. The numbers were the same!

Jeffrey came back to the table. “Davidson and Faber are partners. Trent Harding had been working for them. Kelly, you were right. It was a conspiracy. This whole mess was being run by
the plaintiff attorneys, creating their own demand and their own cases!”

“That's about the way I have it figured,” Devlin said. He laughed. “I've heard of ambulance chasers, but these guys are making their own accidents. Needless to say, I think all this will have a positive effect on your appeal.”

“That puts the burden on me,” Seibert said. “Me and my gas chromatograph. These malpractice attorneys must have recruited Trent Harding to contaminate Marcaine ampules and place them in OR supplies. All I can say is that I hope Henry Noble comes through this one last time. I've got to isolate the toxin.”

“I wonder if these lawyers are involved in any other cities?” Kelly asked. “How extensive is their operation?”

“I'm only guessing,” Jeffrey said, “but I would think it all depends on how many psychopaths like Trent Harding they're able to find.” He shook his head.

“I never did like lawyers,” Devlin said.

“Kelly,” Jeffrey said, suddenly overcome with emotion. “You know what this means?”

Kelly smiled. “No South America.”

Jeffrey drew her into his arms. He couldn't believe it. He was getting his life back after all. And just in time to share it with the woman he loved.

“Hey!” Devlin called to one of the waiters. “Bring me another Bud and how about a bottle of champagne for the lovers?”

Randolph adjusted his glasses so he could read. He cleared his throat. Jeffrey was seated at a simple oak table directly across from him, drumming his fingers on its scarred surface. Randolph's leather briefcase was on the table to Jeffrey's right. It was open. Jeffrey could just see that it contained a pair of squash sneakers as well as a wealth of legal papers and forms.

Jeffrey was dressed in a light-blue denim shirt and dark-blue cotton pants. As Devlin had promised, he'd brought Jeffrey back to Boston, where he'd turned him over to the authorities.

Jeffrey had not enjoyed his time in jail, but had tried to make the best of it. He lifted his spirits by repeatedly reminding himself that his stay would be temporary. He'd even had time to start playing pickup basketball, something he'd not done since his days in medical school.

Jeffrey had gotten in touch with Randolph from the Charlotte Inn after the celebration dinner with Devlin. Randolph had gotten right on things, or so he'd said. That had been over a week ago. Now Jeffrey found himself losing patience.

“I know you think that this should all be done overnight,” Randolph said, “but the reality is that the wheels of justice take time to turn.”

“Tell me the bottom line,” Jeffrey said.

“The bottom line is that I have now formally filed three motions,” Randolph said. “The first and most important is the one I have filed for a new criminal trial. I've filed that with Judge Janice Maloney, asking her to set aside the verdict on the ground of errors in the trial . . .”

“Who cares about the errors in the trial?” Jeffrey cried, exasperated. “Isn't it more important that the whole affair was caused by a couple of plaintiff attorneys filling their coffers?”

Randolph removed his glasses. “Jeffrey, will you allow me to finish? I know you are impatient, and with good reason.”

“Finish,” Jeffrey said, mustering as much patience as he could.

Randolph replaced his glasses, then looked back at his notes. He cleared his throat again.

“As I was saying,” he continued, “I filed a motion for a new trial on the basis of errors in the trial and on the basis of newly discovered evidence that warrants review.”

“My God!” Jeffrey said. “Why can't you say that in plain English? Why this beating around the bush?”

“Jeffrey, please,” Randolph said. “There are procedures to be followed in this kind of situation. You can't demand a new trial just for any kind of new evidence. I have to make it clear that this new evidence we have is not something I could have learned with reasonable diligence. They don't give new trials for lawyers' malpractice. May I go on?” he questioned.

Jeffrey nodded.

“The second motion that I have filed is to amend the record on appeal of the malpractice judgment,” Randolph said. “This is a Petition of Extraordinary Equitable Relief because of newly discovered evidence.”

Jeffrey rolled his eyes.

“The third motion I have filed is for a new bond hearing. I've spoken with Judge Maloney to explain that there had been no harmful intent on your part, and that you had not jumped bail but had simply been conducting a commendable and eventually successful investigation leading to the uncovering of the new evidence.”

“I think I could have worded that a bit simpler,” Jeffrey said. “So what did she say?”

“She said she'd consider the motion,” Randolph said.

“Wonderful,” Jeffrey said sarcastically. “While I rot here in prison, she'll consider the motion. That's wonderful. If all the lawyers became doctors, all the patients would die before they got through the paperwork!”

“You have to be patient,” Randolph advised, accustomed to Jeffrey's sarcasm. “I imagine I'll hear tomorrow about the bond hearing. We should have you out in another day or so. The other issues will take a little longer. Lawyers, like doctors, are not supposed to give guarantees, but it is my belief that you will be totally exonerated.”

“Thank you,” Jeffrey said. “What about Davidson et al. ?”

“I'm afraid that's a different story,” Randolph said with a sigh. “We will of course cooperate with the district attorney in St. Louis, who has assured me that there will be an investigation. But I'm afraid he feels the chances of an actual indictment are slim. Other than hearsay, there is just no evidence of any business association between Davidson and Trent Harding. The only evidence of an association is the entry in Mr. Harding's address book, which does nothing to demonstrate or prove the nature of that association. By the same token, there is no evidence directly linking Trent Harding to the batrachotoxin that Dr. Warren Seibert has found in all the cases after having isolated it from the gallbladder of Mr. Henry Noble. With Mr. Frank Feranno dead, and any alleged association between him and Davidson also based on hearsay, so far the case against Davidson and Faber is quite weak.”

“I don't believe this,” Jeffrey said. “So for Davidson and his colleagues, it will soon be back to business as usual, although probably not in Boston.”

“Well, I don't know about that,” Randolph said. “As I mentioned, there will be an investigation. But if it doesn't turn up any new and convincing evidence, I suppose Davidson might try it again. His firm is certainly highly regarded in the malpractice field. And the field remains highly lucrative. But maybe next time they will make a mistake. Who knows?”

“What about my divorce?” Jeffrey asked. “You must have some good news.”

“I'm afraid that also could be trouble,” Randolph said, putting his papers in his briefcase.

“Why?” Jeffrey asked. “Carol and I have no disagreements. It's a mutual and amicable divorce.”

“It may have been,” Randolph said. “But that was before your wife retained Hyram Clark as her divorce attorney.”

“What difference does it make who she uses?”

“Hyram Clark goes for the jugular as a matter of course,” Randolph said. “He'll consider the silver in your dental fillings as part of your assets. We'll have to be prepared and retain someone equally aggressive.”

Jeffrey groaned aloud. “Maybe you and I should get married, Randolph. That's how much it sounds like we'll be together.”

Randolph laughed in his contained, Boston Brahmin fashion. “Let's talk about the lighter side,” he said. “What are your general plans?” Randolph stood up.

Jeffrey brightened. “As soon as I get out of here, Kelly and
I are going on a vacation. Someplace in the sun. Probably the Caribbean.” Jeffrey stood up also.

“What about medicine?” Randolph asked.

“I've already spoken with the chief of anesthesia at the Memorial,” Jeffrey said. “They'll be working quicker than the wheels of justice. I'll be reinstated shortly.”

“So you'll go back there?”

“I doubt it,” Jeffrey said. “Kelly and I have pretty much decided to move on to a new state.”

“Oh?” Randolph questioned. “Sounds like a serious relationship.”

“It most certainly is,” Jeffrey said. “As serious as it gets.”

“Well then,” Randolph said. “Perhaps I should draw up a preliminary premarital agreement.”

Jeffrey stared at Randolph in disbelief, but then he saw the corners of Randolph's mouth curl up into a smile.

“It's a joke,” Randolph said. “What's happened to your sense of humor?”