Alexis spread her hands palms up and…

Alexis spread her hands palms up and shook her head. "I don't quite know what to say. I don't know whether to respond emotionally or professionally."

"Try professionally. I think I need the reality check. I'm in free fall here.

And you know why? I'll tell you why. When I went to college and worked

my balls off, I thought it sucked but that once I got into medical school, I'd be home free. Well, medical school sucked, too, so I looked forward to residency. You're probably getting the picture. Well, residency was no picnic, yet around the corner was opening my practice. That's when reality really set in, thanks to insurance companies and managed care and all the bullshit that has to be endured."

Jack looked at Alexis. He could tell she was struggling with what to say to these sudden revelations, but he was hoping she'd come up with something, since he was incapable. He was shocked by Craig's monologue. Psychology was not his forte by any stretch of the imagination. There'd been a time when it was all he could do to hold himself together.

"Your insight is dramatic," Alexis began.

"Don't give me any patronizing bullshit," Craig snapped.

"Believe me, I'm not," Alexis said. "I'm impressed. Truly! What you are trying to communicate is that your romantic nature has been constantly suffering disillusionment as reality has failed to meet your idealized expectations. Every time you get to a goal, it was not what you thought it would be. That's tragic."

Craig rolled his eyes. "That sounds like bullshit to me."

"It's not," Alexis insisted. "Think about it."

Craig pressed his lips together and knitted his brows for a long moment.

"Okay," he said finally. "It does make sense. Yet it seems like a damn convoluted way of saying, 'Things just haven't quite worked out'. But then again, I've never been up on psychologyspeak."

"You have been struggling with some conflicts," Alexis continued. "It's not been easy for you."

"Oh, really," Craig said with a touch of superciliousness.

"Now, don't get defensive," Alexis urged. "You specifically asked for my professional response."

"You're right! Sorry! Let me hear the conflicts."

"The easiest one is your conflict between clinical medicine and research medicine. That has caused you some anxiety in the past because of your need to apply yourself one hundred percent in any pursuit, but in this case, you've been able to strike a balance. A more problematic conflict is between devoting yourself to your practice or devoting yourself to your family. This has caused a lot of anxiety."

Craig stared back at Alexis but remained silent.

"For obvious reasons, I cannot be objective," Alexis continued. "What I'd like to do is encourage you to explore these insights of yours with a professional individual."

"I don't like to ask for help," Craig said.

"I know, but even that attitude says something that might be valuable for you to explore." Alexis turned to Jack. "Do you want to add anything?"

Jack raised his hands. "Nope. This is an arena I'm not good at." Actually, what he was thinking was that he'd been struggling with his own conflicts

— namely, whether to start a new family with Laurie, as he was scheduled to do come Friday. For many years he'd said no, he didn't deserve to be happy, and that another family would demean his first. But then as the years had gone by, it had changed to a fear of putting Laurie at risk. Jack had struggled with the admittedly irrational fear that his loving someone put them in jeopardy.

The conversation took a lighter turn, and Jack seized the moment to excuse himself to use his phone. Walking out onto the bricked esplanade, he dialed the OCME. He had meant to leave a message with Calvin's secretary. His hope was that Calvin would be out of the office at lunch. Unfortunately, that

wasn't the case. It was the secretary who was out to lunch. Calvin answered the phone.

"When the hell are you getting yourself back here?" Calvin demanded when he heard Jack's voice.

"It's looking bad," Jack said. He then had to hold the phone away from his ear while Calvin cursed and carried on about Jack's irresponsibility. After Jack heard, "What the hell are you doing, anyway?" he put the phone back to his ear and explained the proposed autopsy. He told Calvin about being introduced to the Boston chief medical examiner, Dr. Kevin Carson.

"Really! How is that old southern boy?" Calvin questioned.

"Seemed fine to me. He was in the middle of a case when I met him, so we chatted only briefly."

"Did he ask for me?"

"Oh, yeah!" Jack lied. "He said to say hello."

"Well, tell him hello from me if you see him again. And then get back here.

I don't have to tell you that you've got Laurie all up in arms with the big day just around the corner. You're not going to try to rush down here at the last minute, are you?"

"Of course not," Jack said. He knew that Calvin was one of the people from the office she'd insisted on inviting. If it had been up to him, he wouldn't have invited anyone other than Chet, his office mate. The office already knew too much about their private life.

After finding Craig and Alexis, whom Jack joined for a short stroll in the sunshine, they returned to the courthouse. When they arrived outside the courtroom, other people were just filing in. It was quarter after one. They followed suit.

Craig went through the bar with Randolph and his assistant. Jordan Stanhope was already at the plaintiff's table with Tony Fasano and Renee Relf. Jack guessed that Tony was giving Jordan last-minute advice before his testimony. Although the sound of his voice was lost in the general babble of the room, his lips were moving rapidly, and he was gesticulating with both hands.

"I have a nagging suspicion this is going to be pure theater this afternoon,"

Jack said as they worked their way into the same row they'd occupied that morning. Alexis had said she liked to be near the jurors to watch their expressions and gestures. At that moment, the jurors had yet to be brought in.

"I'm afraid you are right," Alexis said, taking her seat and putting her bag down on the floor in front of her.

Jack sat down and adjusted himself as best he could on the unforgiving oak.

His eyes wandered aimlessly around the courtroom, taking in the bookcase filled with law books behind the judge's bench. Within the well was a blackboard on wheels in addition to the plaintiff's and defendant's tables, all of which stood on a speckled carpet. When Jack's eyes moved all the way to the right to take in the court officer's box, they overshot their mark. Once again he found himself confronting Franco's beady-eyed stare. In contrast with the morning, and thanks to the sun's current position, Jack could now see the man's eyes within their deep sockets. They were like two gleaming black marbles. Jack felt the urge to wave again, but rationality prevailed.

He'd had his fun that morning. Being overly provocative made no sense whatsoever.

"Did you find Craig's comments at lunch as surprising as I did?" Alexis questioned.

Happy to break off with Franco, Jack swung around to face his sister. "I think astounding would be a better word. I don't mean to be cynical, but it seems out of character. Do narcissists recognize themselves as such?"

"Not usually unless they are in therapy and motivated. Of course, I'm talking now about someone with a real, dysfunctional personality disorder, not just a personality trait, where most doctors fall."

Jack held his tongue on that issue. He wasn't about to get into an argument with Alexis about which group Craig belonged in. Instead, he asked, "Is this the kind of insight that's a temporary response to stress or a real change in self-knowledge?"

"Time will tell," Alexis said. "But I'll be hopeful. It would be something very positive. In a real way, Craig is a victim of a system that pushed him to compete and excel, and the only way he knew when he was excelling was when he got praise from his teachers, like Dr. Brown. As he admitted, he became addicted to that kind of approbation. Then, when he finished his training, he was cut off like an addict being denied his drug of choice while simultaneously feeling disillusioned about the reality of the kind of medicine he was forced to practice."

"I think that happens to a lot of doctors. They need praise."

"It didn't happen to you. How come?"

"It did to a degree, back when I was an ophthalmologist. Randolph got Dr.

Brown to admit that it's due to the competitive way medical training is structured. But when I was a student, I wasn't as monomaniacal as Craig. I had other interests than just medicine. I only got an A-minus in my third-year internal-medicine rotation."

Jack started when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He'd taken it off the ring mode. Frantically, he tried to get it out of his pocket. For reasons he couldn't fathom, the phone always startled him.

"Is something bothering you?" Alexis asked, eyeing his contortions. He'd slid his pelvis forward to straighten himself out.

"The damn phone," Jack explained. At last he was able to pull it free. He glanced at the LCD. It was a 617 area code, meaning Boston. Then he

remembered the number. It was the funeral home.

"I'll be right back," Jack said. He got up and quickly moved out of the row.

Once again, he was conscious of Franco's stare, but Jack did not return it.

Instead, he headed out of the courtroom. Only then did he answer the call.

Unfortunately, the reception was bad, so he disconnected. He quickly took the elevator down to the first floor and then out the door. He used his received-calls function to retrieve the number.

A moment later, he had Harold on the phone, and Jack apologized for the poor connection earlier.

"No problem," Harold said. "I have good news. The paperwork is done, the permits have been granted, and everything is arranged."

"Terrific," Jack said. "When? This afternoon?"

"No! That would have been a miracle. It will be tomorrow, mid-morning.

It's the very best I could do. Both the vault truck and the backhoe are fully committed today."

Disappointed a miracle had not been forthcoming, Jack thanked the director and hung up. He stood for a few minutes, debating whether to call Laurie to let her know about the autopsy timing. Although he knew calling was appropriate, he was less than enthusiastic about doing it, since he had little doubt what her response would be. Then he had a cowardly idea. Instead of calling her landline at the office, where he'd probably get her, he had the idea of calling her cell phone and just leaving a message on her voicemail, since she rarely turned on her cell phone during the day. In that way, he'd avoid her immediate response and give her a chance to adjust before he phoned her that night. As the call went through, he was relieved to hear the recorded message.

With that mildly unpleasant task out of the way, Jack returned to his seat next to Alexis. Jordan Stanhope was in the witness box, and Tony was at the podium, but no one was talking. Tony was busy with his papers.

"What did I miss?" Jack whispered to Alexis.

"Nothing. Jordan was just sworn, and he's about to begin testifying."

"The autopsy is on for sometime tomorrow. The body is to be exhumed in the morning."

"That's good," Alexis said, but her reaction was not what Jack had expected.

"You're not sounding very enthusiastic."

"How can I be? As Craig said at lunch: Tomorrow might be too late."

Jack shrugged. He was doing the best he could.

"I know this is difficult for you," Tony called out in an empathetic voice so everyone in the courtroom could hear. "I will try to make this as short and painless as possible, but the jury needs to hear your testimony."

Jordan nodded appreciatively. Instead of the erect posture he had been maintaining at the plaintiff's table, he now had his shoulders hunched over, and instead of his previously neutral facial expression, he now had the corners of his mouth turned down in a look of despondency and despair. He was dressed in a black silk suit, white shirt, and black tie. Peeking from his breast pocket was a barely visible black pocket square.

"I suppose you miss your wife," Tony said. "She was a wonderful, passionate, cultured woman who loved life, wasn't she?"

"Good grief!" Jack moaned in a whisper to Alexis. "Having visited the man, this is going to make me sick. And I'm surprised at Randolph. I'm not a lawyer, but that's certainly a leading question. Why doesn't he object?"

"He told me that the testimony of the widow or widower is always the most problematic for the defense. He says that the best strategy is to get them off the stand as soon as possible, which means giving the plaintiff attorney rather free rein."

Jack nodded. The pain of losing a family member was an emotion that resonated with everyone as a fundamental human experience.

Jordan proceeded to wax cloyingly sentimental about Patience: how wonderful she was, how storybook their life together was, and how much he loved her. Tony asked additional leading questions whenever Jordan faltered.

As this stage of Jordan's testimony tediously proceeded, Jack turned his head and searched the spectator gallery. He saw Franco, but the man was watching the witness, which was a minor relief. Jack hoped bygones would remain bygones. He was looking for someone else, and he found her in the back row. It was Charlene. The woman looked quite fetching in her black mourning outfit. Jack shook his head. There were times when he truly couldn't believe the degeneracy of which humans were capable. Even if just for appearances, she shouldn't have been there.

As the eulogy dragged on, Jack began to get progressively antsy. There was no need for him to listen to the drivel the phony Jordan was offering. He glanced at the back of Craig's head. Craig was motionless, as if in a trance.

Jack tried to imagine what it would be like if he were ensnared in such a nightmare. Jack hazarded a quick glance in Alexis's direction. She was concentrating intensely with her eyes slightly narrowed. He wished the best for her and was sorry there wasn't more he could do.

Just when Jack had decided he could not listen to another word of Jordan's testimony, Tony switched gears.

"Now let's talk about September eighth, 2005," Tony said. "I guess your wife wasn't feeling so well that day. Could you tell us in your own words what happened?"

Jordan cleared his throat. He pulled his shoulders back and sat up straight.

"It was mid-morning when I was first aware she was not feeling well. She called to me to come into her bedroom. I found her in great distress."

"What was she complaining about?"

"Pain in her abdomen, gas, and congestion. She said she was coughing more than usual. She said she'd not slept all night, and she couldn't take it any longer. She told me to call Dr. Bowman. She said she wanted him to come right over. She said she would not be able to go to the office."

"Were there any other symptoms?"

"She said she had a headache, and she felt hot."

"So that was it, as far as the symptoms were concerned: abdominal pain, gas, coughing, headache, and feeling hot."

"Essentially, yes. I mean, she always had a lot of complaints, but those were the main ones."

"Poor woman," Tony said. "And it was hard on you, too, I presume."

"We did our best to cope," Jordan said stiffly.

"Now, you called the doctor, and he did come over."

"Yes, he did."

"And what happened?"

"Dr. Bowman examined her and recommended that she take the medication he'd already prescribed for her digestive system. He also recommended she get out of bed and cut down on her smoking. He also told her he thought she was more anxious than usual and suggested she try a small dose of an antidepressant medication, which she was to take at bedtime. He said he thought it was worth trying."

"Was Patience satisfied with these recommendations?"

"No. She wanted an antibiotic, but Dr. Bowman refused. He said she didn't need one."

"Did she follow the doctor's recommendations?"

"I don't know what medications she took, but she did eventually get out of bed. I thought she was doing quite a bit better. Then around five, she said she was going back to bed."

"Did she complain of anything at that point?"

"Not really. I mean, she always had a few complaints, which is why she was going back to bed."

"What happened next?"

"She suddenly called me sometime around seven to come to her bedroom.

She wanted me to call the doctor again because she felt terribly."

"Did she have the same complaints as that morning?"

"No, they were completely different."

"What were they now?" Tony asked.

"She had chest pain that she'd had for an hour."

"Which was different from the abdominal pain she had in the morning?"

"Completely different."

"What else?"

"She was weak, and she said she had vomited a little. She could barely sit up, and she said she was numb and had a feeling as if she were floating.

And she said she was having difficulty breathing. She was very ill."

"It sounds like a very serious circumstance. It must have been frightening."

"I felt very upset and worried."

"So," Tony intoned for dramatic effect, "you called the doctor, and what did you say?"

"I told him Patience was very sick, and she should go to the hospital."

"And how did Dr. Bowman respond to your urgent request to go to the hospital immediately?"

"He wanted me to describe her symptoms."

"And you did? You told him what you told us today?"

"Almost word for word."

"And what was Dr. Bowman's response? Did he tell you to call an ambulance and say he'd meet you at the hospital?"

"No. He kept asking me more questions, such that I had to go back to Patience and ask her."

"Let me make sure I understand. You told him your wife was in this terrible condition, and he had you going back to her multiple times to ask specific details. Is that what you are saying?"

"That's precisely what I am saying."

"During this question-and-answer period, while valuable time was passing, did you again mention your belief she should go directly to the hospital without delay?"

"Yes, I did. I was terrified."

"And you should have been terrified, since your wife was dying before your eyes."

"Objection," Randolph said. "Argumentative and prejudicial, and move to strike."

"Sustained," Judge Davidson said. He looked at the jury. "You will disregard that last statement by Mr. Fasano, and it should play no part in your consideration of this case." He then switched his attention to Tony. "I warn you, counsel, I will not tolerate any more comments like that."

"I apologize to the court," Tony said. "My emotions overcame my better judgment. It won't happen again."

Alexis leaned toward Jack. "Tony Fasano scares me. He is slick. He knew what he was doing."

Jack nodded in agreement. It was like watching a street fighter in a no-holds-barred brawl.

Tony Fasano went to the plaintiff's table for a drink. Out of the view of the judge, Jack caught him give a wink to his associate, Renee Relf.

Back at the podium, Tony returned to the narrative. "During your telephone conversation with Dr. Bowman while your wife was gravely ill, did he mention the word heart attack? "

"Yes, he did."

"Did he say she was having a heart attack?"

"Yes. He said that was what he was thinking."

Jack noticed Craig lean over and whisper something to Randolph. Randolph nodded.

"Now," Tony continued. "When Dr. Bowman arrived at your house and saw Patience, he acted differently than he had on the phone. Is that correct?"

"Objection," Randolph said. "Leading."

"Sustained," Judge Davidson said.

"Mr. Stanhope, would you tell us what happened when Dr. Bowman arrived at your home the night of September eighth of this past year."

"He was shocked at Patience's condition and told me to call an ambulance immediately."

"Had Patience's condition changed dramatically between your telephone conversation with Dr. Bowman and his arrival?"

"No, it had not."

"Did Dr. Bowman say anything to you at that point that you found inappropriate?"

"Yes. He blamed me for not having described Patience's condition adequately."

"Did that surprise you?"

"Of course it surprised me. I had told him how bad she was, and I had urged more than once that she should be taken directly to the hospital."

"Thank you, Mr. Stanhope. I appreciate your testimony about this tragic event. I have one more question: When Dr. Bowman arrived that fateful night, what was he wearing? Can you remember?"

"Objection," Randolph said. "Immaterial."

Judge Davidson twirled his pen and looked at Tony. "Is this relevant or mere embellishment?"

"Very relevant, Your Honor," Tony said, "as will be clear with testimony from the very next plaintiff witness."

"Objection overruled," Judge Davidson said. "Witness may answer the question."

"Dr. Bowman arrived in a tuxedo with a young woman in a low-cut dress."

Some of the jurors exchanged glances with their immediate neighbors, as if wondering what he or she was thinking.

"Did you recognize the young woman?"

"Yes, I had seen her at Dr. Bowman's office, and he said she was his secretary."

"Did their formal attire strike you as odd or significant?"

"Both," Jordan said. "It was odd because it suggested they were en route to a social function, and I knew Dr. Bowman was married, and significant because I wondered if their attire had anything to do with Dr. Bowman's decision to come to the house rather than meet us at the hospital."

"Thank you, Mr. Stanhope," Tony said, gathering his papers. "No more questions."

"Mr. Bingham," Judge Davidson said, nodding in Randolph's direction.

Randolph hesitated for a moment. It was clear he was in deep thought. Even when he stood up and approached the podium, he seemed to be moving by reflex rather than by conscious intention. The courtroom was hushed in attentive expectancy.

"Mr. Stanhope," Randolph began. "I will ask you only a few questions. All of us at the defense table, including Dr. Bowman, are saddened by your loss and can appreciate how difficult it is for you to revisit that fateful evening, so I will be brief. Let us go back to the telephone conversation you had with

Dr. Bowman. Do you recall telling Dr. Bowman that it was your recollection that Patience had never complained of chest pain before?"

"I'm not certain. I was very upset."

"And yet with Mr. Fasano, your memory of the same telephone conversation seemed impressively complete."

"I might have said she'd never had chest pain. I'm just not sure."

"I should remind you that in your deposition, you did so state. Should I read it to you?"

"No. If it is there, then it is true. And now that you remind me, I believe I did say she'd never had chest pain. It was eight months ago, and I was under duress. The deposition was much closer to the event."

"I can appreciate that, Mr. Stanhope. But I'd like you to search your memory for Dr. Bowman's response. Do you recall what he said?"

"I don't believe I do."

"He corrected you and reminded you she had had chest pain on several previous occasions, for which he came to the house."

"Maybe he did."

"So it seems that your memory of what was said during this phone conversation is not as clear as we were led to believe just a few minutes ago."

"The phone conversation was eight months ago, and I was frantic at the time. I don't think it's unreasonable."

"It is certainly not unreasonable, yet you are certain Dr. Bowman specifically said Patience was having a heart attack."

"He said that it had to be ruled out."

"Your choice of words suggests that Dr. Bowman was not the one who brought up the subject."

"I brought up the subject. I asked him if that was what he was thinking. I guessed, from the questions he was asking me to ask Patience."

"Saying it has to be ruled out is a lot different than stating Patience was having a heart attack. Would it surprise you if I told you Dr. Bowman never used the words heart attack in your conversation?"

"We talked about it. That I remember."

"You brought it up. He merely said, 'It has to be ruled out.' He never even said the term."

"Maybe that is the way it happened, but what difference does it make?"

"I believe it makes a lot of difference. Do you believe that whenever someone has chest pain — like yourself, for instance — and a doctor is on call, he or she thinks a heart attack has to be ruled out?"

"I assume so."

"So when you told Dr. Bowman Patience had chest pain, it is not surprising that Dr. Bowman would think it had to be ruled out, even if the chances were very, very small."

"I suppose not."

"And on those previous house calls Dr. Bowman made to see Patience in response to a complaint of chest pain, what was the ultimate diagnosis on each occasion?"

"It was assumed to be intestinal gas."

"Correct! Intestinal gas in the splenic flexure of the colon, to be exact. It was not heart attacks or heart pain, since ECGs and enzymes were normal and stayed normal on subsequent examinations."

"They were not heart attacks."

"Dr. Bowman made a lot of house calls to attend to Patience. In fact, the records show a rate of visitation approximately once per week over an eight-month interval. Is that consistent with your recollection?"

Jordan nodded, which brought an admonition from the judge: "The witness will speak up for the benefit of the court reporter and the record."

"Yes," Jordan called out.

"Was it Patience's preference to be seen at home?"

"Yes. She did not like to go to the doctor's office."

"Was she fond of hospitals?"

"She was terrified of hospitals."

"So by making house calls, Dr. Bowman was catering to your wife's needs and wishes."

"Yes, he was."

"Since you are semiretired and spent a good deal of your time at home, you had a lot of opportunity to interact with Dr. Bowman, with his making so many house calls."

"Indeed," Jordan agreed. "We spoke on each visit and were quite congenial."

"I assume you were always in attendance when Dr. Bowman attended Patience."

"Either I or our maid."

"During any of these conversations with Dr. Bowman, which I assume dealt primarily with Patience, did the term hypochondriasis come up?"

Jordan's eyes darted to Tony's and then back to Randolph. "Yes, it did."

"And I assume you know the definition of the term."

Jordan shrugged. "I suppose."

"It's applied to an individual who has a preoccupation with normal sensations and functions and believes them to be indicative of severe problems needing medical attention. Is that generally your understanding of the term?"

"I would not have been able to define it quite like that, but yes, that's my understanding."

"Did Dr. Bowman ever apply that term to Patience?"

"He did."

"Did he use the term in a derogatory context?"

"No, he did not. He said that it was always important to remember that hypochondriacs could have real illnesses as well as their psychological ones, and even if their imaginary illness were not real, they still suffered."

"A few moments ago, when Mr. Fasano was questioning you, you testified that Patience's condition did not change dramatically between your telephone conversation and Dr. Bowman's arrival."

"That's correct."

"During your conversation, you told Dr. Bowman that you believed Patience was having some difficulty breathing. Do you remember that?"

"Yes, I do."

"You also said you believed she appeared rather blue. Do you remember that as well?"

"I don't know if those were my exact words, but it is the gist of what I was saying."

"I contend that it was exactly what you said or extremely close. In your deposition, you agreed it was extremely close. Would you like to read the relevant portions?"

"If I said it was extremely close, then it was. At this point, I don't remember."

"When Dr. Bowman arrived, he found Patience totally blue and hardly breathing at all. Would you say that was a big difference from your description over the phone?"

"I was trying to do my best in a difficult situation. I made it very clear to him she was very ill and that she should be seen at the hospital."

"One further question," Randolph said, straightening his tall, lean frame to its six-foot-plus limit. "Taking into account Patience's long history of hypochondriasis, along with a number of previous episodes of chest pain caused by intestinal gas, do you believe on the evening of September eighth, 2005, that Dr. Bowman thought Patience Stanhope was having a heart attack?"

"Objection," Tony cried, getting to his feet. "Hearsay."

"Sustained," Judge Davidson said. "The question can be posed to the defendant himself during his testimony."

"No more questions," Randolph said. He strode back toward the defense table.

"Do you wish to redirect?" Judge Davidson asked Tony.

"No, Your Honor," Tony said.

As Jordan stepped down from the witness box, Jack turned to Alexis. He flashed her a thumbs-up on Randolph's cross-examination, but then his eyes went to the jurors. They didn't strike him as being nearly as riveted as he had been. Instead of many of them leaning forward as they'd been earlier, they were all leaning back in their chairs, arms folded across their chests, except for the plumber's assistant. He was back to fussing with his nails.

"Plaintiff, call your next witness!" Judge Davidson ordered.

Tony stood up and bellowed, "Ms. Leona Rattner to the stand, please."

12

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7, 2006

3:25 P.M.

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Jack twisted around. He had a mildly prurient interest in seeing the nubile hussy turned spurned-lover vixen. Having read her racy deposition, he was sure her testimony was going to be a show.

Leona came through the courtroom door and strode unhesitantly down the courtroom's central aisle. In contrast to Craig's description of her typically sexy apparel, she was now dressed demurely in a dark blue pants suit with a white blouse buttoned to the neck. Jack assumed it was at Tony Fasano's suggestion. The only hint of her normal style was extra-high-heeled sandals that made her walk slightly wobbly.

Although the woman's clothing was modest, Jack could immediately appreciate what had attracted Craig. Her individual features were not special, nor was her straw-blond, obviously dyed hair with its dark roots.

But her skin was flawless and radiant. She was the picture of youthful sensuality brazenly projected.

Leona went through the bar with a saucy shake of her head. She knew she was onstage and she loved it.

Jack hazarded a glance in Alexis's direction. Her face was set in stone, reflecting a determined expression with her lips pressed firmly together.

Jack had the sense that she was steeling herself for what was coming. He thought that was a good self-preservation ploy, having read Leona's deposition.

The court clerk administered the oath while Leona held her right hand heavenward. "Do you swear or affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

"I do," Leona said in a slightly nasal voice. She glanced modestly at the judge through eyelashes heavy with mascara as she stepped up into the witness box.

Tony took his time getting to the podium and arranging his notes. Then he hiked one of his tasseled loafers onto the brass rail, as was his habit, and began the direct. First off, he established a short biography: where she was born (Revere, Massachusetts); where she'd gone to high school (Revere, Massachusetts); where she was currently living (Revere, Massachusetts).

He asked how long she had worked in Dr. Craig Bowman's office (more than a year) and where she was going to night school three nights a week (Bunker Hill Community College).

As Leona answered these neutral initial questions, Jack had more of an opportunity to observe her. He noticed she and Tony shared the same accent, which to him seemed as much like a Brooklyn accent as a Boston accent. Jack could also see more evidence of the personality traits Craig had described: opinionated, high-spirited, and willful. What he had yet to observe was the mercurial petulance.

"Now, let's talk about your relationship with your boss, Dr. Craig Bowman,"

Tony said.

"Objection," Randolph said. "Immaterial."

"Counsels, approach the bench!" Judge Davidson ordered irritably.

Randolph complied immediately. Tony motioned to Leona to sit tight and followed.

Using his reading glasses similar to the way a person uses a newspaper roll to threaten a dog, Judge Davidson directed his attention to Tony. "This better not be an elaborate sham, and I want to be assured again that this social crap is germane to the plaintiff's case. Otherwise, we are going to be dealing with a mistrial and potentially a directed verdict for the doctor."

"It's absolutely germane. The witness will testify that Dr. Bowman did not consider meeting Patience Stanhope at the hospital because of their relationship and their evening plans."

"All right. I'm going to give you a lot of rope, and I hope you don't hang yourself with it. I'm going to allow the social testimony for the reasons I've already given in the past, specifically, the assurance that its probative value outweighs its prejudicial value." Judge Davidson waved the glasses in Randolph's direction. "As far as the defense is concerned, I will allow you wide latitude on your cross-examination, which Mr. Fasano will respect.

Now, within this framework, I want to move things along. Between the two of you, these interruptions are annoying me to death. Understood?"

"Yes, Your Honor," both counsels echoed in unison. They turned on their heels and returned to their respective spots.

"Objection overruled," Judge Davidson called out for the court reporter's benefit. "Continue the direct of Ms. Rattner."

"Miss Rattner," Tony said. "Could you tell the court about your relationship with Dr. Bowman?"

"Sure. At first I was, like, just one of the employees. But about a year ago, I could tell Dr. Bowman was giving me the eye. You know what I'm saying?"

"I think I do," Tony responded. "Go on!"

"At first I was embarrassed and everything because I knew he was married with kids and the whole works. But then one evening when I was working late, he came into the file room where I was working and started talking.

One thing led to another, and we began hanging out with each other. I mean, it was okay since I found out he had moved out of his house and gotten an apartment in Boston."

"Was this a platonic affair?"

"Hell, no! He was a tiger. It was a very physical relationship. We even did it on the examination table one afternoon at the office. He said his wife didn't like sex and, besides, she'd gained all this weight after she'd had her kids and never lost it. It was like he was starving and needed a lot of attention, so I went out of my way. A lot of good it did me!"

"Your Honor, this is beyond —" Randolph began, rising to his feet.

"Sit down, Mr. Bingham," Judge Davidson snapped. Then he looked at Tony over his reading glasses. "Mr. Fasano, it is time to establish foundation, and it better be convincing."

"Of course, Your Honor," Tony said. He made a quick detour to take a sip of water at the plaintiff's table. Then, running his tongue around his lips as if they were dry, he returned to the podium and shuffled his papers.

There was a murmur of expectancy from the spectator area, and the jurors appeared more attentive than usual, with many leaning forward. Salacious material never failed to titillate.

Once again, Jack furtively glanced at Alexis out of the corner of his eye.

She'd not moved. Her grim expression had not changed. He couldn't help but feel a tender, brotherly compassion for her. He hoped her professional psychology training could provide some element of ego protection, as humiliating as the situation was.

"Miss Rattner," Tony began. "On the evening of September eighth, 2005, you were in Dr. Bowman's Boston apartment, where you were at that time residing."

"That's correct. I'd moved from the dump where I'd been in Somerville, because the landlord was an ass."

Judge Davidson leaned over toward Leona. "The witness will restrict herself to answering questions and refrain from spontaneous monologues."

"Yes, Your Honor," Leona said meekly through batting eyelashes.

"Could you tell the jury in your own words what you and Dr. Bowman were doing that evening?"

"What we had planned to do and what we did were two different things. We had planned to go to Symphony Hall for some kind of performance. Craig, I mean, Dr. Bowman, was on this Renaissance-man kick to make up for lost time, and he had bought me this terrific pink dress that came down low."

She traced a deeply concave arc across her chest with her finger. "We were both excited. The most fun was arriving at the Symphony Hall with all the bustle and excitement. I mean, the music was pretty good, too, but walking in was the best part for both of us. Dr. Bowman had season tickets and the seats were way down in the front. It was like being on stage walking down the aisle, which is why he liked me to look real sexy."

"It sounds as if Dr. Bowman liked to show you off."

"Something like that, " Leona agreed. "It was okay with me. I thought it was fun."

"But to do this, you had to get there on time or maybe a little early."

"That's right! If you got there late, sometimes you had to wait until intermission to sit down, and it wasn't the same."

"What happened on September eighth, 2005?"

"We were rushing around getting ready to go when Dr. Bowman's cell phone rang."

"I presume it was Jordan Stanhope," Tony said.

"It was, and it meant the evening was up in the air because Dr. Bowman decided he had to make a house call."

"Did you stay at the apartment while Dr. Bowman made the house call?"

"No. Dr. Bowman told me to come. He said if it turned out to be a false alarm, we could go directly to the concert from the Stanhopes'. He said the Stanhope house was not that far away from Symphony Hall."

"Meaning it was closer than Newton Memorial Hospital."

"Objection," Randolph said. "Lack of foundation. The witness said nothing about Newton Memorial Hospital."

"Sustained," Judge Davidson said with a tired voice. "Jury will disregard!

Proceed."

"Miss Rattner," Tony intoned, licked his lips as he was wont to do. "On the way to the Stanhope residence, did Dr. Bowman say anything to you about his sense of Patience Stanhope's condition? Did he feel the house call he was about to make would be a false alarm?"

"Objection," Randolph said. "Hearsay."

"Sustained," Judge Davidson said with a sigh. "The witness will confine herself to Dr. Bowman's actual comments and not offer an opinion as to his mind-set."

"I repeat," Tony said, "did Dr. Bowman say anything to you about what he thought Patience Stanhope's condition was?"

Leona looked up at the judge. "I'm confused. He's asking, and you're telling me not to answer."

"I'm not telling you not to answer, dear," Judge Davidson said. "I'm telling you not to try to imagine what Dr. Bowman was thinking. He will be able to tell us that himself. Mr. Fasano is asking you what Dr. Bowman specifically said about Patience's condition."

"Okay," Leona said, finally understanding. "He said he was scared that the visit was legit."

"Meaning that Patience Stanhope was legitimately sick."

"Yes."

"Did he say anything about how he felt about patients like Patience Stanhope, the PPs, or problem patients?"

"That night while we were in the car?"

"Yes, that night."

"He said she was a hypochondriac, which he could not stand. He said hypochondriacs were the same to him as malingerers. I remember because I had to look the word up later. It means someone who fakes illness to get something they want. It's pretty bad."

"Looking up malingerer is very commendable. What motivated you?"

"I'm studying to be a medical lab technician or nursing assistant. I've got to know the lingo."

"Did Dr. Bowman ever say anything else to you about his feelings toward Patience Stanhope?"

"Oh, yeah!" Leona said with a fake laugh for emphasis.

"Could you explain to the jury when this occurred?"

"It was on the evening he was served with the lawsuit. We were at Sports Club/LA."

"And what exactly did he say?"

"It's what he didn't say. I mean, he ran off at the mouth like you wouldn't believe."

"Give the jury some sense of what you are talking about."

"Well, it's hard to remember the whole tirade. He said he hated her because she drove everybody crazy, including herself. He said she drove him crazy because all she ever talked about was her BMs and that sometimes she'd save it to show it to him. He also said she drove him crazy because she never did anything he said. He called her a hypochrondriacal, clinging excuse for a wife, and an entitled bitch that demanded he hold her hand and listen to her complaints. He said her passing was a blessing to everybody, including herself."

"Wow!" Tony said, pretending he'd heard the testimony for the first time and was shocked. "So I guess it was your impression that from what Dr.

Bowman had said, he was glad Patience Stanhope had died."

"Objection," Randolph said. "Leading."

"Sustained," Judge Davidson said. "Jurors will disregard."

"Tell us what you thought after Dr. Bowman's tirade."

"I thought he was glad she died."

"Hearing such a tirade, as you put it, you must have thought Dr. Bowman was really upset. Did he say anything specific about his being sued, meaning that his performance and decision-making would be reasonably questioned in a court of law?"

"Yes. He said it was an outrage that the oddball bastard Jordan Stanhope was suing him for loss of consortium when he couldn't imagine Mr.

Stanhope having sex or wanting to have sex with such a miserable hag."

"Thank you, Miss Rattner," Tony said, collecting his widely spread papers from the lectern's surface. "No more questions."

Once again, Jack glanced over at Alexis. This time, she met his eyes.

"Well," she whispered philosophically, "what can Craig expect? He certainly dug his own hole. Leona's testimony was about as bad as I imagined it would be. Let's hope you can come up with something on the autopsy."

"Maybe Randolph can do something on cross. And don't forget Randolph has yet to start the case for the defense."

"I'm not forgetting. I'm just being realistic and putting myself in the place of one of the jurors. It doesn't look good. The testimony is convincingly making Craig sound like a completely different person than he is. He has his faults, but the way he cares about his patients is not one of them."

"I'm afraid you're right," Jack said.

13

NEWTON, MASSACHUSETTS

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7, 2006

3:30 P.M.

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"Let me see the floor plan again," Renaldo said to Manuel. They were sitting in a black Chevrolet Camaro parked on a treelined side street around the corner from the Bowmans's residence. They were dressed in nondescript brown work clothes. On the backseat was a canvas carpetbag similar to those carried by plumbers for tools.

Manuel handed Renaldo the plans. They crinkled as Renaldo unrolled them.

Renaldo was sitting behind the steering wheel. He had to fight to get the paper to flatten out enough to look at it.

"Here's the door we're going in," Renaldo said, pointing. "You oriented?"

Manuel leaned over, almost touching Renaldo's shoulder so the top of the page was pointing away from him. He was sitting in the front passenger seat.

"For shit sake," Renaldo complained. "It's not that complicated."

"I'm oriented!" Manuel said.

"What we have to do is locate all three of the girls fast so none of them has a chance to alert the others. You know what I'm saying?"

"Sure."

"So they'll either be here in the family room/kitchen, probably watching TV," Renaldo said, pointing to the area on the plans, "or they will be in their separate bedrooms." He struggled to get to the second page. The plans wanted to roll back up into their original tight cylinder. He ended up tossing the first page into the backseat. "Here are the bedrooms along the back of the house," he said when he got the second page flattened. "And here are the stairs. You got it? We don't want to be searching, and it has to happen fast."

"I understand. But there's three of them and only two of us."

"It's not going to be hard to scare the shit out of them. The only one that might be trouble is the oldest, but if we can't handle this, we're in the wrong business. The plan is to tape them up fast. I mean, really fast. I don't want any screaming. Once we get them taped up with gags, then the fun begins.

Okay?"

"Okay," Manuel said. He straightened.

"You have your gun?"

"Of course I have my gun." He pulled a snub-nosed thirty-eight out of his pocket.

"Put it away, for Christ's sake," Renaldo snapped. His eyes darted around to make sure there were no strollers. The area was quiet. Everyone was at work. The widely spaced houses seemed deserted.

"What about your mask and gloves?"

Manuel pulled those out of his other pocket.

"Good," Renaldo said. He checked his watch. "Okay, this is it. Let's move it!"

While Manuel got out of the car, Renaldo reached into the backseat and got the canvas bag. He joined Manuel, and they walked back to the intersection, turning right. They didn't hurry, nor did they talk. Due to the canopy of leaves, the street was shaded yet each house blazed in bright sunlight. An elderly woman was walking a dog in the distance, but she was heading away from them. A car approached and passed by without stopping. The driver ignored them.

Coming abreast of the Bowman property, they briefly stopped, looking up and down the street.

"Looks good," Renaldo said. "It's a go!"

Maintaining a normal gait, they crossed the edge of the Bowmans's front lawn. They appeared like two workmen on a legitimate errand. They entered the treeline separating the two neighboring homes and were soon even with the backs of the houses. Eyeing the back of the Bowman house, they could see the door they intended to enter. It was about forty feet away, across a patch of sun-drenched lawn.

"Okay," Renaldo said. "Time for the masks and gloves."

Each quickly donned the items: masks first, gloves second. They eyed each other and nodded.

Renaldo snapped open the canvas bag. He wanted to be certain he had everything. He handed Manuel a roll of duct tape, which Manuel pocketed.

"Let's do it!"

Reflecting their professionalism, they were across the lawn and through the door in a blink of the eye and with almost no sound. Once inside, they hesitated and listened. They could hear a TV with canned laughter from the family room. Renaldo flipped a thumbs-up and motioned for Manuel to move forward. Treading lightly and moving quietly, they passed through the

study and down the central corridor. Renaldo was in the lead. He stopped just shy of the arched entrance to the family room. Slowly, he looked around the edge of the arch, seeing an ever-expanding view first of the kitchen and then of progressively more of the family room.

When he saw the girls, he pulled himself back. He raised two fingers, indicating two girls. Manuel nodded.

Renaldo then used his hand to indicate a wide, counterclockwise circle in the air to suggest they move through the kitchen, then approach the couch in front of the TV from the rear. Manuel nodded. Renaldo brandished his roll of duct tape. Manuel pulled out his.