Alexis spread her hands palms up and…

"Is there any proof whatsoever Tony Fasano was behind today's criminal acts?" Randolph asked. "If there is, I'm certain I could get a mistrial."

"No proof," Craig said. "My daughters said they might be able to recognize a voice, but they are not at all certain."

"Perhaps the police will have more luck?" Randolph said. "What about the autopsy? Is that going to be done or not?"

"We're trying to decide," Alexis said.

"Obviously it is the girls' safety that is the issue," Craig said.

"If it were to be done, when would it be?"

"The body is scheduled to be exhumed in the morning," Jack said. "I'll do the autopsy immediately, but the initial results will only involve gross pathology."

"That's very late in the course of events," Randolph said. "Perhaps it's not worth the effort or the risk. Tomorrow, after Dr. Bowman testifies, I'm certain the judge will rule that the plaintiff has met his burden. I will then present the defense, which will be the testimony of our experts. That means Friday morning will be closing arguments."

Jack's phone rang. He still had it in his hand, and it startled him. He quickly left the room before answering. It was Lou.

"I got ahold of Liam, and I told him the story and gave him the address.

He's going to be right over with some of the Newton police. He's a good guy."

"Did you ask about the gun?"

"I did. He was not excited about the idea, but I gave him glowing reports about your integrity and all that bullshit."

"Well, what's the bottom line? Is he going to come through or what? If all goes well, they'll be digging up the body in the morning, and thanks to all these threats, I'll feel like a sitting duck."

"He said he'd fix you up, but he's going to hold me responsible."

"What does that mean?"

"I assume he's going to give you a gun, so be careful with the damn thing!"

"Thanks for the advice, Dad," Jack said. "I'll try my damnedest to shoot as few people as possible."

Jack returned to the family room. Craig, Alexis, and Randolph were still discussing the autopsy issues. The consensus had tripped in favor of still doing it despite the time constraint. The main argument from Randolph was the possibility of using any potentially significant findings to help with the appeal process, if an appeal became necessary, either to vacate the verdict, to obtain a new trial, or to allocate the award according to contributory negligence. Randolph called to everyone's attention that the records clearly documented that Patience Stanhope refused on several occasions against medical advice to have any more cardiac evaluation after her questionable ECG stress test.

When a break came in the conversation, Jack informed the group that Detective Lieutenant Liam Flanagan was on his way.

"We want you to do the autopsy if you are still willing," Alexis said to Jack, seemingly ignoring his statement.

"I gathered as much," he said. "I'm happy to do it if that's what you people want." He looked at Craig. Craig shrugged.

"I'm not going to go against the grain," Craig said. "With all the stress I'm under, I don't trust my judgment."

"Fair enough," Jack said. Once again, Jack felt Craig was demonstrating unexpected insight.

The doorbell rang again, and again Alexis ran to get it, saying it must be the grandparents. But for the second time she was wrong. Standing at the door were five policemen, two of which were in Newton Police Department uniforms. Alexis invited them into the house and led them to the great room.

"I am Detective Lieutenant Liam Flanagan," the big, red-faced Irishman said in a booming voice. He had bright, baby-blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his flat, prizefighter's nose. He proceeded to introduce the others, who included Detective Greg Skolar, officers Sean O'Rourke and David Shapiro, and crime-scene investigator Derek Williams.

As Liam made the introductions, Jack studied him. There was something familiar, as if Jack had met the man sometime in the past, yet he thought that unlikely. Suddenly, it came to him. When he had a chance to introduce himself to Liam, he asked, "Did I see you at the medical examiner's office this morning?"

"Yes, you did," Liam said effusively. He laughed. "Now I remember you.

You went into the autopsy room."

After getting a brief overview of the incident at the Bowman residence, the crime-scene investigator and the two uniformed officers went off to check out the yard while there was still a little daylight. The sun had set, but it was not yet completely dark. The two detectives were mostly interested in the children, and the children responded to being the center of attention.

While that was going on, Randolph asked Craig if he was up to the rehearsal they'd planned for the following day's testimony.

"How necessary do you think it is?" Craig protested. He was understandably preoccupied.

"I'd say exceedingly crucial," Randolph commented. "Perhaps you should recall your performance during your deposition. It would be calamitous to repeat it in front of the jurors. It has become apparent that the opposing side's stratagem is to present you as an arrogant, uncaring M.D. who was more interested in getting to Symphony Hall on time with your trophy girlfriend than your seriously ill patient's welfare. We must prevent you from presenting yourself in any way that substantiates such allegations. The only way is to rehearse. You are a good doctor, but you are a poor witness."

Chastened by Randolph's less-than-flattering assessment, Craig docilely agreed to a practice session. He interrupted the detectives long enough to tell the children he'd just be in the library.

Suddenly, Jack and Alexis found themselves regarding each other. At first they had been listening intently to the children's description of their ordeal, but when it became repetitious as the detectives diligently searched for any possible missed but significant information, their interest waned. In order to talk, they stepped back into the kitchen area.

"I want to say again how sorry I am about everything that has happened,"

Jack offered. "My intentions were good, but I've been more of a hindrance than a help."

"None of this could have been anticipated," Alexis said. "You needn't apologize. You have been an enormous help to me morale-wise, and also to Craig. He's been a different man since you've been here. In fact, I'm still shocked at the insight he expressed at lunch."

"I hope it's lasting insight. What about the girls? How do you see them reacting to this experience?"

"I'm not sure," Alexis admitted. "They're pretty together kids, despite their father generally not having been available as they've been growing up. On the other hand, I've been very close to each one. There's good communication. We'll just have to take it day by day and let them voice their feelings and concerns."

"Do you have any specific plans for them?"

"Mainly to get them to their grandparents. They adore their grandmother.

They all have to sleep in the same room, which they usually complain about, but under the circumstances, I think it will be good for them."

"Are you going?"

"That had been what we were discussing when you came in. My inclination is to go. It's a way of acknowledging that their fears are legitimate, which is important. The last thing that should be done is to offer them platitudes that they'll be fine and they shouldn't have to be afraid. They should be afraid. It was obviously a very traumatizing ordeal. I thank God they weren't physically injured more than they were."

"How are you going to make your decision whether to go or not?"

"I'm probably going. The reason there was a question was because Craig voiced some interest in my staying and because Tracy said she didn't want me to go. You heard her. But I think it's teenage bluster. And as much as I'm concerned about Craig and his needs, if it comes down to an either-or decision, the kids win hands down."

"Do you think they'll need professional help, like some sort of therapy?"

"I don't think so. Only if their fearfulness is prolonged or blows out of proportion. I suppose ultimately it will be a judgment call. Luckily, I have some colleagues at work who I can exploit for an opinion if need be."

"I've been thinking," Jack said. "Since my presence has caused so much trouble, maybe it would be best for everyone if I move into a hotel in town."

"Absolutely not," Alexis said. "I won't hear of it. You're here, and you are saying here."

"Are you sure? I won't take it personally."

"I'm positively sure. Let's not even discuss it."

The front doorbell chimed yet again. "This has to be the grandparents,"

Alexis said categorically, pushing off from the kitchen counter where she'd been leaning.

Jack glanced back toward the sitting area where the detectives and children were. It appeared that their interview was coming to an end. The two uniformed policemen and the crime-scene technician had returned to the great room and were dealing with the duct-tape strips that had bound the children.

A few minutes later, Alexis brought in the elder Bowmans. Leonard was a thick, pasty man with a two-day growth of beard, an old-fashioned crew cut, and an expansive gut suggesting he spent far too much time drinking beer in his favorite recliner in front of the TV. When Jack was introduced to him, Jack learned something even more idiosyncratically distinctive; Leonard was a man of few words who would have put the laconic Spartans to shame. When Jack shook hands with the man, he merely grunted.

Rose Bowman was the antipode. When she appeared and the children rushed her, she bubbled with delight and concern. She was a short, stocky woman with frizzed white hair, bright eyes, and yellow teeth.

As the children dragged their grandmother to the couch, Jack found himself momentarily isolated with Leonard. In an effort to make conversation, Jack commented on how much the kids liked their grandmother. All Jack got in return was another muffled grunt.

With the police doing their thing, the kids involved with the grandmother, Alexis busy packing for the kids and herself, and Craig sequestered with Randolph in the library, Jack was stuck with Leonard. After a few more vain attempts to wring words out of the retiree's mouth, Jack gave up. He checked with Liam Flanagan to be sure he would be there for at least another thirty minutes; picked up his pile of clothes and shoes from where he'd stacked them on the hearth; found Alexis, who was up in one of the

kids' rooms, and told her he was going to shower; and went downstairs to his room.

As he was showering, he guiltily remembered he'd not yet called Laurie. As he got out of the shower, he glanced at himself in the mirror and winced.

He'd completely forgotten about the ice, and his lip was still swollen and blue. Combining that with the left side of his face, which was still red, he looked as if he'd been in a barroom brawl. He considered getting some ice from the refrigerator he'd seen in the basement proper but decided it would have minimal effect since too much time had elapsed, so he passed on the idea. Instead, he dressed and got out his cell phone.

With the signal strength almost nonexistent, Jack gave up on the phone idea as well. He climbed the stairs and met Alexis, the girls, and the grandparents in the main hall. Alexis had finished packing and had already put the luggage in the station wagon. The girls were pleading with Rose to ride with them, but Rose said she had to go with Gramps. It was then that Jack heard Leonard's only words: "Come on, Rose," he said, grimly drawing the words out. It was an order, not a request. Dutifully, Rose detached herself from the children and hurried after her husband, who'd stepped out the front door.

"Will I see you in court tomorrow?" Alexis asked Jack as she herded the children toward the door to the garage. The girls had already said their good-byes to Craig, who was still working in the library with Randolph. "At some point," Jack said. "I honestly don't know what to expect the schedule to be. It's out of my hands."

All at once Alexis spun around, her expression reflecting a sudden realization. "Oh, my gosh," she exclaimed. "I just remembered you are getting married on Friday. Tomorrow is already Thursday.

I've been so preoccupied, I've completely forgotten. I'm sorry. Your wife-to-be must hate me for dragging you up here and keeping you hostage."

"She knows me well enough to know where to assign blame if she's inclined."

"So you'll do the autopsy and then head back to New York?"

"That's the plan."

At the door to the garage, Alexis told the girls to say good-bye to their uncle. Each gave Jack an obedient hug. Only Christina spoke. She whispered in Jack's ear that she was sorry his daughters had burnt up in the plane. The totally unexpected comment took Jack by such surprise that it undermined his emotional equilibrium, and he had to choke back a tear.

When Alexis gave him a hug, she sensed his new emotion and pulled back to look him in the eyes, mistaking its origin. "Hey," she said. "We're fine.

The kids are going to be fine. Trust me!"

Jack nodded and found his voice. "I'll see you sometime tomorrow, and I hope to hell to have something to offer that will make this all worthwhile."

"Me, too," Alexis said. She climbed into the station wagon and activated the garage door, which rolled up with a fearful clanking.

It was at that point that Jack realized he had to move his car. It was parked next to Craig's Lexus and blocking the driveway. Jack sprinted past Alexis, motioning her to wait. He backed his Hyundai into the street and waited while Alexis did the same. With a beep and a wave, she drove off into the night.

As Jack pulled back into the driveway, he glanced at the two Newton police patrol cars and the two other nondescript, dark sedans belonging to the two detectives parked along the street. He wondered how close to finishing they were, since he was eager to talk to them in private, particularly Liam Flanagan. In answer to his question, all five police officers emerged from the Bowmans' front door as Jack climbed from his car.

"Excuse me!" Jack called. He jogged in their direction, catching up to them midway on the Bowmans' serpentine front walk.

"Dr. Stapleton," Liam said. "We were looking for you."

"Have you finished checking out the scene?" Jack asked.

"For the moment."

"Any luck?"

"The duct tape will be analyzed at the crime lab, as will some fibers from the kid's bathroom. There wasn't a lot. We did find something on the grounds that I'm not at liberty to divulge, which could be promising, but all in all, it was obviously a professional job."

"What about the autopsy that's at the center of this extortion attempt?"

Detective Greg Skolar asked. "Is it going to happen or what?"

"If the exhumation happens, then the autopsy will happen," Jack said. "I'll be doing it as soon as the body is available."

"Strange to have such an incident over an autopsy," Detective Skolar said.

"Are you expecting some shocking revelations?"

"We don't know what to expect. All we know for certain is the patient had a heart attack. Obviously, this has heightened our curiosity."

"Weird!" Detective Skolar said. "For your peace of mind, as well as the Bowmans', we'll have the house under twenty-four-hour surveillance for a few days."

"I'm sure the Bowmans will be appreciative. I know it will make me sleep better."

"Keep us informed of any new developments," Detective Skolar said. He handed Jack a business card before shaking his hand. The other three uniformed officers shook his hand as well.

"Can I speak to you for a few minutes?" Jack asked Liam.

"By all means," Liam replied. "I was about to ask you the same question."

Jack and Liam said good-bye to the Newton police, and the police drove off in their respective vehicles, which were rapidly swallowed by the inky darkness. Night had fallen reluctantly, but now the transition was complete.

The only light in the neighborhood was from the Bowmans' front windows and from a lonely streetlamp in the opposite direction the police had gone.

Above in the dark sky a narrow scimitar-shaped sliver of a moon peeked through the leafy canopy of the trees lining the street.

"Want to sit in my limo?" Liam asked as they reached his bottom-of-the-line Ford.

"Actually, it's beautiful outside," Jack said. It had cooled from the day, and the temperature was invigorating.

With both men leaning against the vehicle, Jack told the story of his confrontation with Tony Fasano, the threat he'd received, and his two fisticuffs with his crony, Franco. Liam listened intently.

"I'm acquainted with Tony Fasano," Liam responded. "He's an individual who's going in a lot of different directions, including personal injury litigation and now medical malpractice. He's even done some criminal work defending a handful of low-level nasties, which is how I am aware of him. I have to say he's more clever than you might initially give him credit for."

"I've had the same impression."

"Do you think he's behind this professional but crude extortion attempt?

With the people he's in bed with, he's got the contacts."

"It stands to reason, considering the way he threatened me, but then again, it seems almost too simple and too stupid, considering how clever he apparently is."

"Do you have anyone else you suspect?"

"Not really," Jack said. He briefly considered bringing up the conspiracy idea, but he thought the chances the notion had any validity were so infinitesimally small he was embarrassed to mention it.

"I'll check into the Fasano angle," Liam said. "His office is in the North End, so he falls under our jurisdiction, but with no evidence, at least so far, there is little we can do, especially in the short run."

"I know," Jack said. "Listen, I appreciate your taking the time to come out here tonight and get involved. I was afraid the Bowmans might not have reported the episode."

"I'm always willing to do a favor for my old buddy Lou Soldano. I got the impression you guys are really tight."

Jack nodded and smiled inwardly. He'd originally met Lou when both of them were pursuing Laurie. He felt it was a tribute to Lou's personality that when Lou's chances with Laurie dimmed by his own doing, he was gracious enough to become Jack's advocate, which turned out to be key. Jack's pursuit of Laurie had not been without its bumps, thanks to Jack's psychological baggage.

"Which brings me to the final issue," Liam said. He unlocked his car and rummaged in a duffel bag on the front seat. He turned to Jack and handed him a snub-nose .38 Smith and Wessen. "You'd better be tight with him, because this is something I don't usually do."

Jack turned over the revolver in his hand. It glistened in the darkness, reflecting the light coming from the Bowmans' windows.

"You'd better have one hundred ten percent good reason to use this thing,"

Liam said. "And I hope to hell you don't."

"Rest assured it would have to be life or death," Jack said. "But with the girls not here, maybe I don't need it." He extended the revolver back toward Liam.

Liam held up his hand, palm out. "Keep it. You've been smacked a couple of times. This Franco sounds like he's got a couple of screws loose. Just be sure I get it back. When are you leaving?"

"Sometime tomorrow, which is all the more reason I shouldn't take it."

"Take it!" Liam insisted. He handed Jack his business card before walking around the car and opening the driver's-side door. "We can hook up when you leave or you can drop it by head-quarters in a bag with my name on it.

Don't go advertising what it is!"

"I'll be sure to be subtle," Jack said. Then he added humorously, "It's my middle name."

"Not according to Lou," Liam laughed. "But he said you were an enormously responsible guy and that's what I am counting on."

With a final good-bye, Liam climbed into his car and quickly disappeared in the same direction as the Newton police.

Jack handled the gun in the darkness. It felt deceptively innocent, like the toy guns he had as a child, yet as a medical examiner, he knew its destructive potential. He'd traced more bullet tracks in cadavers than he'd care to admit, always marveling at the degree of trauma. Putting the gun in one pocket, Jack took out his cell from another. He had understandable ambivalence about calling Laurie because he knew she would be justly upset and angry over his remaining in Boston. From her perspective, his returning home Thursday, maybe even Thursday might, with the wedding at 1:30 p.m. on Friday was ludicrous, unreasonable, and even hurtful, yet he felt powerless. He'd become ensnared in a quicksand of circumstance. After all that had happened, some of it his doing, there was no way he could just abandon Alexis and Craig. Moreover, he was genuinely intrigued because someone for some reason seriously did not want an autopsy. And as this reality tumbled around inside his brain, something new occurred to him: What about the hospital? Could something have happened at the hospital the night Patience Stanhope had been brought in that needed to be covered

up? He hadn't thought about that angle, and even though it was unlikely, it seemed a hell of a lot more likely than the outlandish concierge-medicine conspiracy idea.

With trepidation and just about every neuron in his brain associated with feeling guilty firing, Jack speed-dialed Laurie's cell phone.

16

NEWTON, MASSACHUSETTS

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7, 2006

9:55 P.M.

Contents - Prev | Next

"It's about time!" Laurie said curtly.

Jack winced. Her greeting was 180 degrees from the night before, heralding the kind of conversation he feared.

"It's almost ten o'clock!" Laurie complained. "Why haven't you called? It's been eight hours since your cowardly message on my voicemail."

"I'm sorry," Jack said as contritely as he could. "It's been a rather strange evening."

Although such a comment was a deliberate understatement, it was hardly the kind of sarcastic humor that Jack was capable of. He was making a conscious effort to resist the tendency that had become reflex with his devil-may-care approach to life after his family tragedy. Being careful with his vocabulary and as succinctly as possible, Jack told Laurie about the breakin, the terrorizing of the children, and the visit by the police made possible by Lou's timely intercession. Jack then told her about Tony Fasano and his

threat, as well as about Franco, including the previous day's episode, which he had not mentioned to her the evening before.

"This is incredible!" Laurie said after a pause. Most of the anger had gone out of her voice. "Are you all right?"

"I've got a swollen lip and a few busted capillaries over a cheekbone, but I've had worse from basketball. I'm okay."

"I'm nervous about this Franco. He sounds like a lunatic."

"He's been on my mind as well," Jack said. He thought about mentioning the gun but decided it might make her more nervous.

"I'm gathering you believe Tony Fasano is behind the episode with the children."

Jack repeated some of the conversation he'd had with Liam Flanagan.

"How are the children?"

"They seem remarkably poised, considering what they've been through.

Maybe it has something to do with their mother being a psychologist.

Alexis is terrific with them. She took them to their grandparents', Craig's parents', for a few days. To give you an idea, the littlest one was together enough to empathize with me about my kids when they were saying good-bye. It took me completely by surprise."

"She sounds precociously self-possessed," Laurie said. "That's a blessing for the Bowmans. Now, let's talk about us. What's the bottom line about you coming back here?"

"Worst case is tomorrow evening," Jack said. "I'll do the autopsy write up the results, whatever they turn out to be, and give them to Craig's lawyer.

Even if I wanted to, he doesn't think he could get me on the stand as a witness, so that's not an issue."

"You are cutting this mighty close," Laurie said. "If I end up being the bride left at the altar, I'll never forgive you. I just want you to know that."

"I said worst case. Maybe I'll be there in the middle of the afternoon."

"Promise me you're not going to do anything foolish."

Jack could think of a lot of great retorts for that setup, but he resisted.

Instead, he said, "I'll be careful." Then he added, to make her even more comfortable, "The Newton police have promised extra surveillance."

Confident Laurie was reasonably assuaged, Jack extended some appropriate endearments and then said good-bye. He then made two other quick calls.

He spoke briefly to Lou to explain what had happened with Liam Flanagan and to thank him for his help. He told him he'd see him at the church on Friday. Next, he called Warren and told him that not only was David a good b-ball player, but he'd also saved Jack's ass. Jack had to hold the phone away from his ear when Warren responded. Jack told him he'd see him at the church also.

With all his calls out of the way, Jack once again took in the peaceful scene.

The concave snippet of moon had moved a little higher in the sky and had cleared the black silhouettes of the trees. A few stars even twinkled in the sky despite the general nighttime glow sent heavenward from the entire Boston metropolitan area. Jack took in a big lungful of the cool, fresh air. It was bracing. In the distance, a dog barked. The serenity made him wonder what the morrow would bring. Would there be violence at the exhumation?

He didn't know, but the thought made him glad Liam had insisted he keep the gun. He patted it in his pocket. Its weighty solidness made him feel more secure, even though he knew statistics suggested the opposite. With a sense of fatalism that whatever was going to happen would happen no matter what he did, Jack shrugged, turned, and headed into the house.

Without Alexis and the children at home, Jack felt somewhat like an intruder. After he closed the front door, the silence of the house was almost palpable, even though he could hear Craig's and Randolph's muffled voices

from the library. He walked into the great room and went to the refrigerator.

There were plenty of fixings, and he quickly made a sandwich. He popped open a beer and took both over to the couch. Careful to keep the sound low, he turned on the TV, and after rapidly scanning the channels, he found a news broadcast. Still feeling like a stranger in a strange land, he sat back and ate.

By the time he had finished the food and most of the beer, he heard raised voices coming from the library. It was obviously a disagreement. Jack quickly turned up the TV to keep from hearing. It made him feel similar to when he'd almost been caught snooping into Craig's doctor's bag. A few minutes later, the front door to the house slammed hard enough for Jack to feel the vibration. A few minutes after that, Craig came into the great room.

It was apparent he was fuming from the way he acted, particularly the way he threw ice cubes into an old-fashioned glass and slammed shut the glass-front cabinet door. He helped himself to a healthy dollop of scotch, then brought the drink and bottle over to the couch.

"Do you mind?" Craig asked, motioning to the couch where Jack was sitting.

"Not at all," Jack said, wondering why he bothered to ask. Jack moved closer to the opposite end. He turned off the TV and twisted around to face his host, who'd plopped down, still holding both bottle and glass.

Craig took a large slug of his scotch and swished it around in his mouth before swallowing. He was staring into the empty fireplace.

"How did the rehearsal go?" Jack asked. He felt obligated to try to have a conversation.

Craig merely laughed scornfully.

"Do you feel prepared?" Jack persisted.

"I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be. But that's not saying a whole bunch."

"What was Randolph's advice?"

Craig forced another laugh. "You know, the usual. I'm not supposed to pick my nose, fart too loudly, or laugh at the judge."

"I'm serious," Jack said. "I'd like to know."

Craig regarded Jack. A bit of the tenseness that had been so apparent drained from his face. "The usual admonitions like I mentioned at lunch and maybe a few more. I'm supposed to avoid stuttering and inappropriate laughter. Can you believe that? Tony Fasano is going to verbally attack me, and I'm supposed to calmly let it happen. If anything, I'm supposed to look hurt and not angry so the jury will sympathize with me. Can you imagine?"

"I think it sounds reasonable."

Craig's eyes narrowed as he looked at Jack. "Maybe to you, but not to me."

"I couldn't help but hear raised voices. I mean, I couldn't hear what it was about. Did you and Randolph disagree on something?"

"Not really," Craig said. "He just pissed me off. Of course, that was what he was trying to do. He was play-acting as if he were Fasano. You see the problem is that when I'm on the stand, I'm sworn, whereas Tony Fasano won't be. That means he can make up and say whatever allegation he wants, and I'm supposed to have thick skin, but I don't. I even got mad at Randolph. I'm hopeless."

Jack watched as Craig drained his glass and then poured another drink. He knew that often the personality traits of really good clinicians like Craig made them susceptible to malpractice suits, and the same traits made them poor witnesses in their own defense. He also knew that the opposite was true: Really bad doctors made an effort at bedside manner to make up for their professional deficiencies and avoid suits, and the same doctors, if they were sued, could often offer Oscar-worthy performances on their behalf.

"It's just not looking good," Craig continued, more sullen than angry. "And I'm still worried Randolph is not the right guy despite his experience. He's so damn pretentious. As slimy as Tony Fasano is, he has the jurors eating out of his hands."

"Juries have a surprising way of eventually seeing through the fog," Jack said.

"The other thing that really pisses me off about Randolph is he keeps talking about the appeal," Craig said as if he'd not heard Jack. "That was what put me over the top right at the end of our session. I couldn't believe he'd bring it up at that point. Of course, I know I have to think about it. Just like I have to think about what I'll be doing with the rest of my life. If I lose, I'm sure as hell not going to stay in practice."

"That's a double tragedy," Jack said. "The profession cannot afford to lose its best clinicians, nor can your patients."

"If I lose this case, I'm never going to be able to look at a patient without worrying about being sued and having to go through this kind of experience again. This has been the worst eight months of my life."

"But what would you do if you don't practice? You've got a young family."

Craig shrugged. "Probably work for big pharma in some capacity. There are lots of opportunities. I know several people who have gone that route. The other possibility is managing somehow to do my research full-time."

"Could you really do that sodium-channel work full-time and be content?"

Jack questioned.

"Absolutely. It's exciting stuff. It's basic science yet has immediate clinical application."

"I suppose big pharma is interested in that arena."

"Without doubt."

"Switching subjects," Jack said. "While I was outside saying good-bye to everyone, I had a thought that I wanted to run by you."

"About what?"

"About Patience Stanhope. I've got the whole case file, which I've read over several times. It includes all your records, but the only thing from the hospital is the emergency-room sheet."

"That's all there was. She was never admitted."

"I know that, but there's no labwork other than what is mentioned in the notes, and no order sheet. What I'm wondering is whether a major mistake could have occurred at the hospital, like the wrong drug given or a large overdose. If so, whoever was responsible could be desperate about covering up their tracks and be more than happy you are set up to take the fall. I know it's a theory somewhere out there in left field, but it's not as far out as the conspiracy idea. What's your take? I mean, it's clear from what happened here this afternoon to your children that someone is very, very against my doing an autopsy, and if Fasano is not to blame, the reason has to involve something other than money."

Craig stared off for a minute, mulling over the idea. "It's another wild but interesting thought."

"I assume that during discovery all the pertinent records from the hospital were obtained."

"I believe so," Craig said. "And an argument against such a theory is that I was there with the patient the whole time. I would have sensed something like that. If there's a major overdose or the wrong drug, there's usually a marked change in the patient's status. There wasn't. From the time I first saw her at the Stanhope residence until she was pronounced, she just faded away, unresponsive to anything we did."

"Right," Jack said. "But maybe the idea is something to be kept in mind when I get to do the autopsy. I was planning on a toxicology screen

regardless, but if there's a chance of an overdose or the wrong drug, it's more critical."

"What does a toxicology screen pick up?"

"The usual drugs, and even some unusual ones if they have high enough concentrations."

Craig polished off his second drink, eyed the scotch bottle, and thought better of pouring a third. He stood up. "Sorry not to be a better host, but I have a date with my favorite hypnotic agent."

"It's bad news mixing alcohol with sleeping pills."

"Really?" Craig questioned superciliously. "I never knew that!"

"See you in the morning," Jack said. He felt Craig's provocative comment did not deserve a response.

"Are you worried about the bad guys coming back?" Craig asked in a taunting tone.

"I'm not," Jack said.

"Me neither. At least not until after the autopsy is done."

"Are you having second thoughts?" Jack asked.

"Of course I'm having second thoughts, especially with you telling me the chances of finding something relevant are small and Randolph saying it's not going to influence the trial irrespective of what's found, because it won't be admissible."

"I said the chances of finding something were small before someone broke into your house warning you not to allow me to do it. But this isn't an argument. It's up to you and Alexis."

"She's set on it."

"Well, it's up to you guys. You have to tell me, Craig. Do you want me to do it?"

"I don't know what to think, especially after two double scotches."

"Why don't you just give me your final word in the morning," Jack said. He was losing patience. Craig was not the easiest guy to like, even without two double scotches.

"What kind of person would be willing to terrorize three young girls to make a point?" Craig asked.

Jack shrugged. It was the kind of question that didn't need an answer. He said good night, and Craig did the same before walking unsteadily out of the room.

While staying on the sofa but leaning his head way back and hyperextending himself, Jack could just catch a glimpse of Craig slowly mounting the stairs. It seemed to him Craig was already evidencing a touch of alcohol-induced dyskinesia, as though he didn't quite know where his feet were. Always the doctor, Jack wondered if he should check on Craig in the middle of the night. It was a question with no easy answer, since Craig would not take kindly to such solicitousness, with its implication of neediness, an anathema to him.

Jack got himself up and stretched. He could feel the weight of the revolver, and it was comforting even though he was not concerned about any intruders. He looked at his watch. It was too early to try to fall asleep. He looked at the blank TV: no interest there. For lack of a better plan, he went to get Craig's case file and carried it to the study. As a man of habit, he sat in the same chair he'd occupied on previous occasions. After turning on the floor lamp, he searched through the file for the hospital ER record.

Pulling out the sheet, Jack settled back. He'd skimmed through it before, particularly the part about the cyanosis. Now he wanted to read every word.

But as he was doing so, he became distracted. His eyes had drifted to Craig's old-fashioned doctor's bag. All of a sudden a new thought occurred to him. He wondered what the incidence of false positives was with the bedside biomarker kit.

First Jack went to the door to determine whether if he could hear Craig moving about upstairs. Even though Craig had implied he didn't care if Jack looked in his bag, Jack still felt uncomfortable. But when he was convinced all was quiet, he pulled the leather doctor's bag from its shelf, opened it, and got out the biomarker kit. Opening up the product insert, he read that the technology was based on monoclonal antibodies, which are highly specific, meaning the chance of a false positive was probably close to zero.

"Oh, well," Jack said out loud. The insert went back in the box and the box went back to its location in the very bottom of the bag among the three discarded vials, and the bag went back on the shelf. So much for another clever idea, he thought.

Jack returned to the reading chair and to the ER sheet. Unfortunately, there was nothing even remotely suspicious, and as he'd noticed on the first reading, the cyanosis notation was the most interesting part.

All of a sudden the two phones on the two desks sprang to life simultaneously. The raucous ring shocked Jack in the otherwise silent house. The insistent ring continued, and Jack counted them. After the fifth ring, he began to believe Craig might not be hearing it, and Jack heaved himself out of the reading chair. Turning on the lamp on Alexis's desk, he looked at the caller I.D. The name was Leonard Bowman.

After the seventh ring, Jack was certain it was not going to be answered, so he lifted the handset. As he suspected, it was Alexis.

"Thanks for picking up," she said after Jack's hello.

"I was waiting on Craig, but I guess his combination nightcap has him in dreamland.

"Is everything okay there?" Alexis asked.

"Peaches and cream," Jack said. "How are things there?"

"Quite well. All things considered, the girls are doing terrific. Christina and Meghan are already asleep. Tracy is watching an old movie on TV. We all have to sleep in the same room, but I think that's a good idea."

"Craig is having second thoughts about my doing the autopsy."

"Why? I thought that was all decided."

"He's having the jitters for the girls' sake, but it was after he'd had two double scotches. He's going to let me know tomorrow."

"I'll call him in the morning. I think it should be done, all the more so because of today's threat. I mean, that's one of the reasons the girls and I came out here. Plan on doing it! I'll bring him around."

After some final small talk, including that they would see each other in the courtroom, they both hung up.

Back in the reading chair, Jack tried to concentrate on the case file, but he couldn't. He kept marveling about how much was going to happen in the next few days and wondering whether there would be any surprises. Little did he know.

17

NEWTON, MASSACHUSETTS

THURSDAY, JUNE 8, 2006

7:40 A.M.

Contents - Prev | Next

The unease that Jack had experienced after Alexis and the kids left the evening before was magnified in the morning. Jack didn't know if Craig's mind-set was from the stress of his upcoming testimony or a hangover from his alcohol and sleeping pills, but he had reverted to his silent, brooding sullenness, similar to how he'd been on Jack's first morning at the Bowman residence. Back then Alexis and the children had made the situation sufferable, but without them it was decidedly unpleasant.

Jack had tried to be upbeat when he'd first emerged from his basement lair but had received a cold stare for his efforts. It was only after Jack had gotten himself some cereal and milk that Craig had said anything.

"I got a call from Alexis," Craig said in a husky, forlorn voice.

"She said you two had spoken last night. Anyway the message is: The autopsy is on."

"Fine," Jack responded simply. As bad a mood as Craig seemed to be in, Jack couldn't help but wonder what he would say if Jack owned up to having gone upstairs in the middle of the night to take a look at him and listen to his breathing. Everything had seemed normal enough, so Jack had not tried to wake him, which had been his original plan. It was a good thing he hadn't, considering Craig's current disposition without the intrusion and reminder of his neediness.

After Craig was ready to leave, he partially compensated for his behavior by coming over to Jack, who was at the dining table drinking coffee and glancing at the newspaper.

"I'm sorry for being a lousy host," Craig said in a more normal voice, devoid of either superciliousness or sarcasm. "This isn't my shining moment."

Out of respect, Jack pushed back his chair and stood up. "I understand what you are going through. I've never experienced a malpractice suit, but several of my friends did back in my ophthalmology days. I know it's awful and as bad as divorce."

"It sucks," Craig said.

Then Craig did something totally unexpected. He gave Jack an awkward hug, then immediately let go before Jack had had a chance to react. He avoided looking Jack in the eyes while he adjusted his suit jacket. "For what it's worth, I appreciate you coming up here. Thanks for your efforts, and I'm sorry you had to take a couple of whacks for me."

"I'm glad to have done it," Jack said, struggling to avoid sarcastically saying, "My pleasure." He hated being less than truthful, but he'd been caught off guard by the switch in Craig's behavior.

"Will I see you in the courtroom?"

"At some point."

"All right. See you then."

Jack watched Craig leave. Once again, he'd underestimated the man.

Jack went down to his basement guest room and put his belongings in his carry-on bag. He didn't know what to do about the bed linens. He ended up stripping them off the bed and leaving them and the towels in a heap. He folded the blankets. There was a notepad by the phone. He wrote a short thank-you note and put it on the blankets. He debated about the front door key but decided to keep it and give it back in person when he returned the case file to Alexis. He wanted to keep the case file until after the autopsy, in case the autopsy raised questions that the case file could shed light on or answer. He pulled on his jacket. He could feel the gun in one side and his cell phone on the other.

With the bulging manila envelope under one arm and his carry-on in the other hand, Jack climbed the stairs and opened the front door. Although the weather had been terrific since he'd been in Boston, it had taken a decided turn for the worse. It was darkly overcast and raining. Jack eyed his Hyundai. It was about fifty soggy feet away. Just to the side of the door was an umbrella stand. Jack pulled one out that said Ritz-Carlton. There was no reason he couldn't give it to Alexis when he returned the other things.

With the umbrella, it took several trips leaping over puddles to get his things in the car. When all was ready, he started the engine, turned on the wipers, and cleared away the windshield's mist with the side of his hand. He then backed out of the driveway, waved to the policeman sitting in his cruiser, apparently watching the house, and accelerated down the street.

He had to use his hand to clear the windshield mist again after only a short distance. With one eye on the road, he used the other to locate the defrost button. Once the defrost got up to speed, the mist problem abated. To help, Jack cracked the driver's-side window.

As Jack wound his way through the suburban streets, traffic gradually increased. Due to the dark, low cloud cover, many cars had their lights on.

When he got to the entrance to the Massachusetts Turnpike, where he had to wait for a traffic light, he was reminded it was rush hour. Ahead, the toll road was swarming with racing autos, buses, and trucks creating a swirling, vaporous mist. Jack girded himself to enter the fray as he waited for the light to turn green. He was aware he was not a particularly good driver, especially since he rarely drove after moving to New York City a decade ago. Jack much preferred his beloved mountain bike, even though most people thought it dangerous to bike in city traffic.

The next thing Jack knew, something crashed into his car's rear, causing his head to bounce off his headrest. The moment he had recovered enough, he twisted in his seat to look out the water-streaked back window. He couldn't see much other than a large black vehicle pressed up against the rear of his.

It was at this point that Jack realized his car was moving forward despite his foot continuing to compress the brake pedal.

Twisting back around to face forward, Jack's heart skipped a beat. He was being pushed through the red light! Outside, he could hear the horrid grating noise of his locked wheels against the pebble-strewn macadam as well as the growl of the powerful engine propelling him. The next thing Jack was aware of was a headlight bearing down on him from his left and a car horn blaring a dire warning. Then came a harrowing, screeching sound of rubber against pavement, followed by the glaring headlights being diverted ahead.

Reflexively Jack's eyes closed, expecting an impact into his car's left side.

When it came, it was more of a brush than a crash, and Jack became aware of the water-blurred image of a car pressed sideways against his Hyundai alongside his driver's-side door. There was a scraping of metal against metal.

Jack lifted his foot from the brake, thinking the brake was not working and needed to be pumped. The second he did so, his car shot forward toward the press of racing cars on the turnpike. Jack jammed his foot back down on the brake pedal. He could feel his wheels lock and the grating sound of his tires against the road's surface reoccurred, but his forward speed did not lessen.

Jack glanced behind him again. The large black car was ineluctably pushing him toward the dangerous toll road that was less than fifty feet away. Just before spinning his head around to face forward yet again, he caught sight of the pushing car's hood ornament. Although the fleeting image was indistinct in the fog and drizzle, Jack saw that it consisted of two crescent-shaped sprigs bordering a coat of arms. He instantly made the association. It was the hood ornament of a Cadillac, and in Jack's mind, a black Cadillac meant Franco until proven otherwise.

Since the brake was useless against the Cadillac's excessive horsepower, Jack released it and stomped on the accelerator instead. The Accent responded nimbly. There was another agonizing sound of metal against metal, and with a perceptible pop, the Hyundai managed to detach itself from its bullying fellow automobile.