"What do you consider your biggest sacrifice?…

"Did he say what kinds of things he's ruled out?"

"Most of the more common cardiotoxic agents that were not on the screen.

He also explained to me some of the tricks he's using. The embalming chemicals are making it much harder with the tissue samples, like from the heart and liver, so he's concentrating on the fluids, where there's been less contamination."

"So what's with all these textbooks?"

"I started by reviewing cardiotoxic agents, a lot of which, I learned, could cause heart attacks or at least enough damage to the cardiac muscle so that clinically it would present as one even though there was no occlusion of cardiac vessels. I mean, that's what we've found from the autopsy. It's also what I found on the frozen sections we stained. I took a peek at a couple of the slides while you were gone. The capillaries look normal. I left the slide in the microscope in my office, if you'd like to take a peek."

"I'll take your word for it," Jack said. "I didn't expect we'd see anything as clear as the gross was."

"Now I've expanded from purely cardiotoxic agents to neurotoxic agents, since a lot of them do both. I tell you, it's fascinating stuff, especially how it dovetails with bioterrorism."

"Did you read the depositions?" Jack asked. He wanted to keep the conversation on track.

"Hey, you weren't gone that long. I think I've gotten a lot done. Give me a break!"

"We are running out of time. We have to stay focused."

"I'm focused, man," Latasha scoffed. "I'm not out driving around, learning something I essentially already knew, and getting beat on in the process."

Jack rubbed his face briskly with both hands in an attempt to dispel the cobwebs of fatigue that were interfering with his cognition and emotion.

Being at all critical of Latasha was surely not his intent. "Where are those Diet Cokes? I could use a blast of caffeine."

Latasha pointed toward the door to the hall. "There's a vending machine in the lunchroom down on the left."

When the can of soda thudded down into the vending machine's opening, it was loud enough in the building's silence to make Jack jump. He was tired, but he was also tense, and he wasn't entirely sure why. It could have been because time was running out as far as the case was concerned, but it also could have been anxiety about returning to New York and all that it entailed. After flipping open the can of soda, Jack hesitated. Was caffeine advisable if he was already mildly uptight? Throwing caution to the wind, he downed the can, then burped. He rationalized that he needed his wits to be sharp, and for that, caffeine was what the doctor ordered.

Feeling a slight buzz since caffeine was not one of his vices, Jack reclaimed the seat across from Latasha and cherry-picked Craig's and Jordan's deposition transcripts from the debris around Latasha.

"I didn't read those depositions cover to cover," Latasha said. "But I did kinda breeze through them to make a list of Patience's symptoms."

"Really?" Jack questioned with interest. "That's what I was just about to do."

"I guessed as much, since that's what you suggested before your ill-fated drive out to the suburbs."

"Where is it?" Jack asked.

Latasha scrunched up her features in concentration while she riffled through some of the material in front of her. Eventually, she came up with a yellow legal pad. She handed it across to Jack.

Jack settled back in his chair. There was no order to the symptoms other than their being divided into two major groups: the morning of September eighth, and the late afternoon and early evening. The morning group included abdominal pain, increased productive cough, hot flashes, nasal congestion, insomnia, headache, flatulence, and general anxiety. The late afternoon/early evening group comprised chest pain, cyanosis, inability to talk, headache, difficulty walking, difficulty sitting up, numbness, a

sensation of floating, nausea with a little vomiting, and generalized weakness.

"Is this all?" Jack asked, waving the pad in the air.

"You don't think that's enough? She sounds like most of my patients in third-year medical school."

"I just wanted to make sure it's all the symptoms mentioned in the depositions."

"It's all the ones I could find."

"Did you find any mention of diaphoresis?"

"No, I didn't, and I looked for it specifically."

"I did, too," Jack said. "Sweating is so typical of a heart attack, I couldn't believe it when I didn't see it on my first reading. I'm glad you didn't see it, either, because I thought maybe I'd just missed it."

Jack glanced back at the list. The trouble was that most of the entries had no modifiers, and the ones that did had modifiers that were too general and not descriptive enough. It was as if all the symptoms were equally important, which made it difficult to weigh each symptom's contribution to Patience's clinical state. Numbness, for instance, had little meaning without a description of location, extent, and duration, and whether it meant no feeling whatsoever or paresthesia, more commonly known as pins and needles. In such a circumstance, it was impossible for Jack to decide if the numbness was of neural or cardiovascular origin.

"You know what I find most interesting about this toxicology stuff?"

Latasha said, looking up from a large textbook.

"No! What?" Jack said vaguely. He was preoccupied in deciding he would need to go back through the depositions himself and see what qualifiers existed for the symptoms mentioned.

"Reptiles," Latasha said. "It's a wonder how all their venoms evolved, and why there is such a difference in potency."

"It is curious," Jack said as he opened Jordan's deposition and began rapidly flipping through the pages to get to the section involving the events of September eighth.

"There are a couple of snakes whose venom contains a powerful specific cardiotoxin capable of causing direct myocardial necrosis. Can you imagine what that would do to the level of cardiac biomarkers?"

"Really?" Jack questioned with sudden interest. "What kind of snakes?"

Latasha cleared a trench through the material on the desk, and, after turning the textbook around, she pushed it over in front of Jack. She used her index finger to point to the names of two types of snakes on a table comparing snake venom virulence. "The Mojave rattlesnake and the Southern Pacific rattlesnake."

Jack glanced at the table. The two snakes she pointed out were among the most poisonous of those listed. "Very interesting," Jack said. His interest faded as quickly as it had arisen. He pushed the book back. "However, we are not dealing with an envenomation. Patience wasn't bitten by a rattlesnake."

"I know," Latasha said, taking the book back. "I'm only reading about venom to get ideas for various classes of compounds to consider. I mean, we are looking for a cardiotoxin."

"Uh-huh," Jack said. He had already gone back to the deposition and found the part he was looking for. He began to read more closely.

"Actually, the most interesting venomous animals are a group of amphibians, of all things," Latasha said.

"Really," Jack said without actually hearing. He'd come across the mention of abdominal pain in the deposition. Jordan testified it was "lower"

abdominal pain, more on the left than the right. Jack amended Latasha's entry on the yellow legal pad.

"It's the Colombian poison dart frogs that take the cake," Latasha said, flipping the pages in the textbook until she came to the right section.

"Really," Jack repeated. He skipped ahead in Jordan's deposition until he got to where Jordan was talking about the evening symptoms. Jack was particularly looking for the section where Jordan talked about the numbness Patience had experienced.

"Their skin secretions contain some of the most toxic substances known to man," Latasha said. "And they have an immediate toxic affect on heart muscle. Are you familiar with batrachotoxin?"

"Vaguely," Jack said. He found the reference to numbness, and it was apparent from Jordan's description that it was paresthesia, not the absence of feeling, and it involved her arms and legs. Jack wrote the information on the yellow pad.

"It is the worst toxin of all. When batrachotoxin comes in contact with heart muscle, it stops all activity immediately." Latasha snapped her fingers. "In vitro, one minute cardiac myocytes are pumping away, and the next instant, after exposure to a few molecules of batrachotoxin, they are completely stopped. Can you believe that?"

"It's hard to believe," Jack agreed. He found Jordan's reference to floating and, interestingly, it was associated with the paresthesia and had nothing to do with being in liquid. It was a sensation of not being grounded and floating in air. Jack wrote the information on the yellow pad.

"The poison is a steroidal alkaloid rather than a polypeptide, for whatever that's worth. It's found in several frog species, but the one that has the highest concentration is called Phyllobates terribilis. It's aptly named, since one tiny frog has enough batrachotoxin to kill a hundred people. It's mind-boggling."

Jack found the section where Jordan discussed Patience's weakness, which, it turns out, didn't refer to a diminution of any particular muscle group.

Rather, the weakness was a more global problem. It started with difficulty walking and progressed to difficulty sitting up in short order. Jack added the information to the yellow pad.

"There's something else you should know about batrachotoxin if you don't already. Its molecular mode of action is to depolarize electrical membranes like heart muscle and nerves. And do you know how it does it? It does it by affecting sodium transport, something you thought was esoterica.

Remember?"

"What was that about sodium?" Jack asked as Latasha's comments penetrated his concentration. When Jack was thinking hard about something, he often could be oblivious to his surroundings, as Latasha had experienced.

"Batrachotoxin latches onto nerve and muscle cells and causes the sodium ion channels to lock in the open position, meaning the involved nerves and muscles stop functioning."

"Sodium," Jack repeated, as if in a daze.

"Yes," Latasha said. "Remember we were speaking …"

All of a sudden, Jack leaped to his feet and scrabbled madly through the litter spread around the table. "Where are those papers?" he demanded in a minor frenzy.

"What papers?" Latasha questioned. She had stopped speaking in mid-sentence and had leaned back in her chair, surprised by Jack's abrupt impetuosity. In his haste, he was knocking deposition transcripts off the table.

"You know!" he blurted, struggling to come up with the right word. "Those

… those papers!"

"We've got a lot of papers here, big guy. God! How many Diet Cokes did you drink anyway?"

"Screw it!" Jack sputtered. He gave up on his search. Instead, he reached out toward Latasha. "Let me see that toxicology text!" He demanded rashly.

"Sure," Latasha said, mystified at his transformation. She watched as he riffled through the pages of the massive tome to get to the index. Once there, he hastily ran his fingers down the columns until he found what he was looking for. Then he went back to rapidly leafing through the book so fast that Latasha had a fear for its integrity. He found the correct page and was silent.

"Would it be asking too much for you to tell me what you are doing?"

Latasha scoffed.

"I think I've had what you would call a eureka moment and I would call an epiphany," Jack muttered while continuing to read. "Yes!" he cried after a few moments, raising a triumphant fist in the air. He slammed the book closed and looked across the table at Latasha. "I have an idea of what to ask Allan to look for! It's weird, and if it is present, it might not fit all the facts as we know them, but it fits some of the most important ones, and it would prove Craig Bowman did not commit medical negligence."

"Like what?" Latasha demanded. She couldn't help but feel some irritation that Jack was being so coy. She was in no mood for games at almost five o'clock in the morning.

"Check out this strange symptom you wrote," Jack said. He reached over with the yellow pad and pointed to the notation "sensation of floating."

"Now, that's not your run-of-the-mill complaint of even the most dedicated hypochondriac. That suggests something truly weird was going on, and if Allan is able to find what I'm thinking, there would be the suggestion that Patience Stanhope was either a die-hard sushi fan or a crazed devotee of Haitian voodoo, but we're going to know differently."

"Jack!" Latasha said irritably. "I'm too tired for this kind of joking."

"I'm sorry" Jack said. "This apparent teasing is because I'm afraid I might be right. This is one of those situations, despite the effort involved, where I'd rather be wrong." He reached out for her. "Come on! I'll tell it to you straight while we hurry over to Allan's lab. This is going to go right down to the wire."

23

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

FRIDAY, JUNE 9, 2006

9:23 A.M.

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Jack nosed his worse-for-wear Hyundai to the curb behind a brown UPS

truck. It was a loading area on busy Cambridge Street in front of a long, arcaded, curved building facing Boston City Hall. Jack thought the chances of getting a parking ticket, even though he was planning on being as fast as he could, were close to one hundred percent. He was hoping the car wouldn't be towed, but in case it was, he took his carry-on bag with him along with a large envelope with the return address of the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner printed in the upper-left-hand corner.

He charged up a flight of stairs that penetrated the building and emerged into the courtyard fronting the Suffolk County Superior Court. Wasting no time, Jack sprinted over to the entrance. He was slowed down by security and the need for his carry-on, envelope, and cell phone to go through the X-ray machine. At the elevators, he made sure he pushed into the very next car.

As the elevator rose, Jack managed to glance at his watch. The fact that he was to be married in four hours wasn't lost on him, and the fact that he was

in the wrong city gave him considerable anxiety. When the elevator arrived on the third floor, Jack tried to be as polite as he could as he struggled to get off. If he didn't know better, he would have thought the other passengers were deliberately impeding him.

Although on previous occasions, Jack had tried to be as quiet as possible while entering the courtroom, on this day he just burst in. His feeling was the more of a scene he created, the better. As he walked deliberately down the aisle toward the gate separating the bar area from the spectator area, most of the spectators turned to look at him, including Alexis in the first row. Jack nodded to her. The court officer was in his box, reading something out of sight on his desktop, and did not look up. The jury was in the jury box, as impassive as ever, and was focusing on Randolph, who was at the podium, apparently just beginning his closing statement. The judge was at his bench, looking at papers on his desktop. Both the court reporter and the clerk were busy at their stations. At the defense table, Jack saw the back of Craig's head and that of Randolph's assistant. At the plaintiff's table, Jack could see the backs of the heads of Tony, Jordan, and Tony's assistant.

All was in order; like an old-fashioned steam locomotive, the wheels of justice were slowly, implacably picking up speed and rolling to a conclusion.

It was Jack's intention to hijack the train. He didn't want to derail it, but wanted to stop it and let it take a different track. He reached the bar and stopped. He could see the jurors' eyes swing toward him without so much as a dent in their acquired impassivity. Randolph was continuing to speak in his cultured, mellifluous voice. His words were golden like the shafts of late-spring sunlight that skirted the blinds on the high windows and knifed down through the mote-filled air.

"Excuse me!" Jack said. "Excuse me!" he said louder when Randolph had continued to speak. Jack was not in his line of sight, but Randolph turned in Jack's direction when Jack called out the second time. His arctic-blue eyes reflected a mixture of confusion and vexation. The court officer, who had also missed Jack's first utterance, definitely heard the second. He got to his feet. Security in the courtroom was his bailiwick.

"I need to talk with you this very instant," Jack said, loud enough for everyone in the otherwise-silent courtroom to hear. "I know it's rather inconvenient, but it is of vital importance if you are interested in avoiding a miscarriage of justice."

"Counselor, what the devil is going on?" Judge Davidson demanded. He was tipping his head down to see over the top of his half-glasses. He motioned for the court officer to stay in his box.

Still bewildered but calling on years of litigation experience, Randolph quickly reverted to his signature refined neutrality. He cast a glance in the judge's direction before redirecting his attention to Jack.

"I wouldn't be doing this if it weren't crucial," Jack added, lowering his voice. He could see that the occupants of both the defense and plaintiff's tables had swung around in Jack's direction. Jack was interested in only two: Craig and Jordan. Of the two, Jordan was the more surprised and seemingly disturbed at Jack's disruptive arrival.

Randolph turned to the judge. "Your Honor, may I indulge the court's patience for just a moment?"

"Two minutes!" Judge Davidson said petulantly. He would allow Randolph to speak with Jack but only to get rid of him. It was painfully clear that the judge was unhappy with an interruption in his courtroom.

Randolph moved over to the bar and gave Jack an imperious glance. He spoke sotto voce: "This is highly irregular."

"I do this all the time," Jack whispered, reverting to his old sarcastic style.

"You have to put me on the stand!"

"I cannot put you on the stand. I've already explained why, and I'm giving my closing statement, for heaven's sake."

"I did the autopsy, and I can provide evidence corroborated by affidavits from a Massachusetts medical examiner and a Massachusetts toxicologist

that Dr. Bowman did not commit medical negligence."

For the first time, Jack detected a tiny crack in the shell of equanimity within which Randolph operated. It was his eyes that betrayed him as they rapidly and nervously flicked back and forth between the judge and Jack.

There was little time for reflection, much less debate.

"Mr. Bingham!" Judge Davidson called out impatiently. "Your two minutes are up."

"I'll see what I can do," Randolph whispered to Jack before returning to the podium. "Your Honor, may I approach the bench?"

"If you must," Judge Davidson said, none too pleased.

Tony leaped his feet and joined Randolph at the sidebar.

"What in tarnation is going on?" Judge Davidson whispered forcibly. "Who is this man?" His eyes briefly whipped over to Jack, standing at the gate like a supplicant. Although Jack had put down his carry-on, he was still holding the envelope.

"His name is Dr. Jack Stapleton," Randolph said. "He is a board-certified medical examiner from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in New York. I've been informed he is very well regarded professionally."

Judge Davidson looked at Tony. "Do you know him?"

"I've met him," Tony admitted without elaboration.

"What the hell does he want, barging in here like this? This is highly irregular, to say the least."

"I expressed the same sentiments," Randolph reported. "He wants to be put on the stand."

"He can't be put on the stand!" Tony snapped. "He's not been on a witness list, and he's not been deposed. This is an outrageous suggestion."

"Tame your indignation!" Judge Davidson said to Tony, as if he were speaking to an unruly child. "And why is he asking to be put on the stand?"

"He claims he can offer exculpatory testimony that proves Dr. Bowman did not commit medical malpractice. He further claims he has corroboration in the form of affidavits by a Massachusetts medical examiner and a Massachusetts toxicologist."

"This is insane!" Tony sputtered. "The defense cannot bring in a last-minute surprise witness. It violates every rule in the book since the signing of the Magna Carta."

"Stop your moaning and groaning, counselor!" Judge Davidson barked.

Tony controlled himself with effort, but his suppressed ire and frustration were clearly evident when his heavy-lipped mouth formed an inverted U.

"Do you have any idea of how he has come across the information he's willing to testify to?"

"He mentioned that he autopsied Patience Stanhope."

"If this autopsy is potentially exculpatory, why wasn't it done sooner so that it could have been a subject of proper discovery?"

"There was no reason to suspect that an autopsy would have any probative value. I'm certain Mr. Fasano would agree. The clinical facts in this case have never been in dispute."

"Mr. Fasano, did you know about this autopsy?"

"Only to the extent it was being considered."

"Damn!" Judge Davidson intoned. "This puts me between a rock and a hard place."

"Your Honor," Tony said, unable to keep still. "If he's allowed to testify, I will —"

"I don't want to hear your threats, counselor. I'm perfectly aware Dr.

Stapleton cannot waltz in here and take the stand. That's not on the table. I suppose I could order a continuance, and Dr. Stapleton and his findings could be subjected to normal discovery, but the trouble with that is that it shoots my calendar to hell. I hate to do that, but I also hate to have my cases reversed on appeal, and if this testimony is as dramatic as Dr. Stapleton seems to feel, it makes such a reversal a real possibility."

"What about you hearing the evidence Dr. Stapleton has?" Randolph suggested. "That would make your decision-making considerably easier."

Judge Davidson nodded as he contemplated the idea.

"To save time, you could do it in your chambers," Randolph said.

"Taking a witness into my chambers is in itself irregular."

"But not unheard of," Randolph offered.

"But the witness could go to the papers and claim whatever. I don't like that idea."

"Take in the court reporter," Randolph said. "Let it be part of the record.

The point is that the jury will not hear it. If you decide it's not relevant and material, I can just restart my summation. If you decide it is relevant and material, you'll have more information to help you make a decision about how to proceed."

Judge Davidson mulled over the idea. He nodded his head. I like it. I'll call a short recess, but I'll keep the jury where they are. We'll make this fast. Are you all right with this plan, Mr. Fasano?"

"I think it sucks," Tony growled.

"Do you have an alternative suggestion?" Judge Davidson asked.

Tony shook his head. He was furious. He was counting on winning his first malpractice case, and now, within hours of the goal, a major screwup was brewing, despite everything he'd done. He walked back to the plaintiffs table and poured himself a glass of water. His mouth was dry and his throat was parched.

Randolph went back to Jack and opened the gate for him to step into the bar area. "You can't take the stand," Randolph whispered. "But it is arranged for you essentially to testify for the judge, which will determine if you get to testify in front of the jury at a later date. It will take place in the judge's chambers. He's willing to give you only a few minutes, so you'd best be concise and to the point. Understood?"

Jack nodded. He was tempted to tell Randolph he had only a few minutes to offer, but he refrained. He looked at Jordan, who was nervously trying to get Tony to explain what was happening, since the judge had announced there was to be a short recess although he wanted the jury to stay put.

Among the spectators, there was a general buzz as people tried to figure out what was happening and who Jack was. Jack looked over at Craig, and Craig smiled. Jack nodded in return.

"All rise!" the court officer called out as the judge got to his feet and swiftly descended from the bench. In a blink of the eye, he was through the paneled door and out of sight, although he left the door invitingly ajar behind him.

The court reporter followed a few steps behind.

"Are you ready?" Randolph asked Jack.

Jack nodded again, and as he did so, he happened to lock eyes with Tony. If looks could kill, I'd be dead, Jack thought. The man was plainly incensed.

Jack followed Randolph, and Tony joined them as they walked past the empty witness stand and the clerk's desk. Jack inwardly smiled as he

wondered what Tony's reaction would be if Jack inquired about Franco's well-being, since Franco was nowhere to be seen.

Jack was disappointed in the judge's chambers. He'd conjured up an image of highly polished dark wood, leather furniture, and the aroma of expensive cigars, like an exclusive men's club. Instead, it was decidedly seedy, with walls in need of paint and government-issue furniture. Over all hung a miasma of cigarette smoke. The only high point was a massive Victorian-style desk, behind which Judge Davidson sat in a high-backed chair. He was leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head in relative repose.

Jack, Randolph, and Tony sat in low-slung vinyl-covered chairs such that their line of sight was well below that of Judge Davidson. Jack assumed it was a deliberate ploy on the part of the judge, who liked to keep himself on a higher plane. The court reporter sat at a small table off to the side.

"Dr. Stapleton," Judge Davidson began after a brief introduction. "Mr.

Bingham tells me you have in this eleventh hour exculpatory evidence in the defendant's favor."

"That is not entirely true," Jack said. "My words were that I can provide corroborated evidence that proves Dr. Bowman did not commit medical malpractice as defined by statute. There was no negligence."

"Is that not exculpatory? Are we playing some sort of word game here?"

"Hardly a game," Jack said. "In this circumstance, it is exculpatory on one hand and incriminating on the other."

"I think you'd better explain," Judge Davidson said. He brought his hands down onto his desktop and leaned forward. Jack had captured his full attention.

Getting his finger under the flap of his envelope, Jack opened it and extracted three documents. He leaned forward and slid the top one across the desk to the judge. "This first affidavit is signed by a licensed Massachusetts undertaker, and it affirms that the body autopsied was indeed

the late Patience Stanhope." Jack slid the second paper across. "This affidavit confirms that Dr. Latasha Wylie, a licensed Massachusetts medical examiner, participated in the autopsy, aided in obtaining all specimens, and transported the specimens to the University toxicology laboratory, where she duly transferred them to Dr. Allan Smitham."

Judge Davidson had picked up each affidavit and scanned it. "I'd say this is a commendable chain of custody," he said. He looked up. "And what's the final affidavit?"

"This is what Dr. Smitham found," Jack said. "Are you familiar with fugu poisoning?"

Judge Davidson treated his guests to a brief, wry smile. "I think you better get to the point, son," he said patronizingly. "I've got a jury out there twiddling their thumbs and eager to haul ass."

"It's a kind of often-lethal poisoning people get from eating sushi made from puffer fish. Understandably, it is seen almost exclusively in Japan."

"Don't tell me you are suggesting Patience Stanhope died from eating sushi," Judge Davidson said.

"I wish that were the case," Jack responded. "The poison involved is called tetrodotoxin, and it is an extremely interesting compound. It is extraordinarily toxic. To give you an idea, it is up to one hundred times more lethal than black widow spider venom and ten times more deadly than the venom of the many-banded krait, one of the most venomous snakes of Southeast Asia. A microscopic amount taken by mouth will cause rapid death." Jack leaned forward and slid the final paper toward the judge. "This last affidavit, signed by Dr. Allan Smitham, explains that tetrodotoxin was found in all of the specimens obtained from Patience Stanhope that he tested, at levels suggesting her initial dose was a hundred times greater than what would have been adequate to kill her."

Judge Davidson scanned the document, then extended it to Randolph.

"You might ask: How reliable are the tests for tetrodotoxin?"

Jack continued. "The answer is extremely reliable. The chance of a false positive is close to zero, especially since Dr. Smitham used two entirely separate methods. One was high-pressure liquid chromatography followed by mass spectrometry. The other was radioimmunoassay using a specific antibody to the tetrodotoxin molecule. The results are conclusive and reproducible."

Randolph offered the affidavit to Tony, who snatched it away irritably. He was well aware of its implication.

"So are you saying the deceased did not die of a heart attack?" Judge Davidson said.

"She did not die of a heart attack. She died of overwhelming tetrodotoxin poisoning. Since there is no treatment available, the time of her arrival at the hospital was entirely immaterial. Essentially, from the moment she swallowed the poison she was doomed."

A loud knock on the judge's door reverberated around the room. The judge bellowed for whoever it was to enter. The court officer poked his head in and said, "The jury is requesting a coffee break. What should I tell them?"

"Let them have their coffee break," the judge said with a wave of dismissal.

He drilled Jack with his dark, gun-barrel eyes. "So that's the exculpatory part. What's the incriminating part?"

Jack sat back in his chair. This was the part he found the most troubling.

"Because of its striking toxicity, tetrodotoxin is a highly controlled substance, especially in this day and age. But the compound has a curious redeeming quality. The same molecular mechanism responsible for its toxicity makes it an outstanding tool to study sodium channels in nerve and muscle."

"How does that impact the case at hand?"

"Dr. Craig Bowman's published and ongoing research concerns the study of sodium channels. He uses tetrodotoxin extensively."

A heavy silence hung over the room as Jack and Judge Davidson stared at one another across the judge's desk. The other two men looked on. For a full minute no one spoke. Finally, the judge cleared his throat and said,

"Other than this circumstantial evidence of access to the toxin, is there anything else that associates Dr. Bowman with the actual act?"

"There is," Jack said reluctantly. "The moment tetrodotoxin was determined to be present, I returned to the Bowman residence, where I had been a houseguest. I had known there was a small vial of pills Dr. Bowman had given to the deceased the day she died. I took the vial back to the toxicology lab. Dr. Smitham did a rapid check, and the interior of the vial was positive for tetrodotoxin. He is doing the full, definitive test as we speak."

"Okay!" Judge Davidson said. He rubbed his hands together briskly and looked over at the court reporter. "Hold up on the record until we get back into the courtroom." He then sat back, causing his aged chair to squeak.

He'd assumed a grim but thoughtful expression. "I could order a continuance of this trial so all this new information could go through the discovery process, but there is not much point. This is not civil negligence, it is murder. I'll tell you what I'm going to do, gentlemen. I'm going to declare a mistrial. This case needs to be turned over to the district attorney.

Any questions?" He looked over his audience, stopping at Tony. "Don't look so glum, counselor. You can bask in the realization that justice prevails and your client can still sue for wrongful death."

"The trouble is the insurance company will be off the hook." Tony snorted.

The judge looked at Jack. "That was an admirable investigation, doctor."

Jack merely nodded to acknowledge the compliment. But he didn't feel deserving. Having to report the shocking findings caused him anguish for what it was going to do to Alexis and her girls. They would now have to

suffer through a protracted investigation and a new trial with horrific consequences. It was a tragedy for everyone concerned, especially Craig.

Jack was shocked at the depth of the man's narcissism and apparent lack of conscience. Yet at the same time he sensed that Craig had been victimized by the highly competitive academic medical system that touted altruism and compassion yet rewarded the opposite; one never became chief resident by being kind and sympathetic to patients. With Craig's perennial necessity of gainful employment during the early portion of his medical training, he had been denied the normal social interaction that would have blunted such a contradictory message.

"All right, gentlemen," Judge Davidson said. "Let's wrap up this fiasco." He stood, and the others did as well. He then skirted around his desk and headed for the door. Jack followed behind the two lawyers, and the court reporter came behind Jack. Ahead, within the courtroom, Jack heard the court officer yell for everyone to rise.

When Jack emerged from the judge's chambers, the judge was taking his seat on the bench while Randolph and Tony were approaching their respective tables. Jack noticed that Craig was momentarily not present, and Jack shuddered to think what the man's reaction was going to be when he learned that his secret had been unraveled.

Jack quietly crossed the well. Behind him he heard the judge ask the court officer to bring back the jury. Jack opened the gate. He caught Alexis's eye.

She was looking at him with an understandably questioning, confused yet hopeful expression. Jack politely worked his way toward her and took the neighboring seat. He squeezed her hand. He noticed she had rescued his carry-on bag that he'd left at the gate before going into the judge's chambers.

"Mr. Bingham," Judge Davidson called out. "I notice the defendant is not presently at the defendant's table."

"My assistant, Mr. Cavendish, tells me he requested to use the men's room,"

Randolph said, partially rising out of his chair.

"I see," Judge Davidson responded.

The jury was then led into the courtroom, and they filed into the jury box.

"What's going on?" Alexis questioned. "Did you find something criminal?"

"I found more than I bargained for," Jack confessed.

"Perhaps someone should let Dr. Bowman know we are back in session,"

Judge Davidson said. "It is important for him to witness these proceedings."

Jack gave Alexis's hand another squeeze before getting to his feet. "I'll get Dr. Bowman," he said. As he moved back down the aisle, he motioned to Randolph's assistant, who'd gotten up, presumably to get Craig, that he would fetch the defendant.

Jack pushed out through the door to the hall. There were the usual clumps of people engaging in hushed conversations sprinkled around the hallway and the elevator lobby. Jack made a beeline for the men's room. He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter past ten. He yanked open the door and entered.

A man of Asian ancestry was washing his hands at the sink. The area around the urinals was empty. Jack continued to the stalls and bent down at the waist to look under the walls. Only the last stall was occupied. Jack walked down to the door and debated whether to wait or call out. As late as it was, he decided to call out.

"Craig?" Jack questioned.

The toilet flushed, and a moment later the locking mechanism of the door clicked. The door opened inwardly, and a young Hispanic man emerged. He gave Jack a quizzical look before brushing past on his way to the sink.

Surprised at not having had to face Craig after building up his courage to do so, Jack bent over again to make sure all the stalls were empty, and they were. Except for the two men at the sink, there was no one else in the bathroom. Craig was nowhere to be seen. Intuitively, Jack knew he was gone.

24

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

FRIDAY, JUNE 9, 2006

10:25 A.M.

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After returning to the courtroom, where Craig had failed to reappear, Jack had taken Alexis aside. As quickly and humanely as possible, he had related everything that had happened since he'd spoken with her the night before.

She had listened with initial disbelief and consternation until she learned the extent of the proof of Craig's apparent guilt. At that point, she'd allowed her professional persona take over, enabling her to analyze the situation clinically. In that frame of mind, she, not Jack, had been the one to bring up the time issue and that Jack had to make tracks if he hoped to get to the church on time. With a promise to call that afternoon, Jack had grabbed his carry-on and dashed for the elevators.

Running headlong, Jack traversed the courtyard in front of the courthouse and descended the two short flights of steps to the street. To his relief, the battered Accent was where he'd left it, although a parking ticket was stuck beneath the windshield wiper. The first order of business was to get the paper bag containing the gun from the trunk. Anticipating needing to return the firearm on his way to the airport, Jack had gotten the directions to police headquarters that morning from Latasha.

The police station was right around the corner from where Jack was parked, although it required him to do a U-turn over a median. Jack looked in his rearview mirror for pursuing squad cars after pulling off the stunt. Jack had learned from sore experience that when you missed your turn while driving in Boston, it was frequently impossible to loop back.

The stop at the police station was accomplished expeditiously. The bag had Liam Flanagan's name on it, and the duty officer was willing to accept it with no comment whatsoever. Glad that chore was out of the way, Jack ran out to the car, which was double-parked with the engine running.

The signage to the airport was superior to the signage in the rest of the city, and Jack soon found himself in a tunnel. Thankfully, the distance from downtown Boston to the airport was short, and Jack got there surprisingly quickly. Following the signs for the rent-a-car company, he drove onto the Hertz lot a few minutes later.

Jack pulled into one of the car-return lanes. There were some instructions of what to do when dropping off a vehicle, but Jack just ignored them as he ignored the agents who were roaming around assisting customers. The last thing Jack wanted to do was get into an extended discussion about the damaged vehicle. He was confident he'd hear from Hertz. He grabbed his carry-on and ran for the bus to the terminal.

When he boarded the bus, he thought it was about to leave, but instead it sat there with its motor idling and no driver. Jack nervously eyed the time. It was a little after eleven. He knew he had to catch the eleven thirty Delta shuttle or all was lost.

Finally, the driver appeared. He cracked a few jokes as he asked which terminals people wanted. Jack was happy to learn that Delta was the first stop.

The next aggravation was getting a ticket. Luckily, the shuttle had its own section. After that came the security line, but even that was not too

problematic. It was eleven twenty when Jack shoved his feet back into his shoes and sprinted down the concourse toward the shuttle gate.

Jack was not the last person on board, but it was close. The plane's door was closed behind the individual who'd boarded right after him. Jack took the first seat available to facilitate deplaning in New York. Unfortunately, it was a middle seat between a scruffy student with an iPod so loud Jack could hear every note and a pinstriped businessman with a laptop and a Blackberry. The businessman treated Jack to a disapproving glare when Jack indicated he wanted to occupy the middle seat. It required the businessman to move his carry-on from where he'd stowed it and to pick up his jacket and briefcase, which he'd placed on the seat.

Once seated with his carry-on at his feet, Jack put his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. Despite his bone-weary exhaustion, there was no chance he could fall asleep, and not just because of his neighbor's iPod.

He kept replaying the too short and unsatisfactory conversation he'd had with Alexis, and the belated realization that he'd not apologized for being the one who had uncovered Craig's perfidy, not only to the profession but also to his family. Even the rationalization that Alexis and the children might be better off knowing the truth did not make Jack feel any better. The chances of the family hanging together in the face of what was coming were unfortunately slim, and that thought underlined for Jack how deceptive appearances could be. From the outside, the Bowmans seemingly had it all: professional parents, beautiful children, and a storybook house. Yet on the inside there was a kind of cancer undermining it all.

"May I have your attention please," a voice cracked over the plane's intercom. "This is the captain speaking. We've just been informed from ground control that we have a gate hold situation. There's a thunderstorm passing through the New York area. We are hoping this will not be long, and we will keep you informed."

"Shit!" Jack exclaimed to himself. He gripped his forehead with his right hand, using the balls of his fingers to massage his temples. The anxiety and lack of sleep were conspiring to give him a headache. As a realist, he began

to contemplate what would happen if he did not make the wedding. Laurie had given him more than a hint. She'd said she'd never forgive him, and he believed her. Laurie was frugal with promises, and when she made one, she kept it. Knowing that, again begged the question in Jack's mind whether he'd stayed in Boston as long as he had more from an unconscious wish to avoid getting married than to solve the Patience Stanhope mystery. Jack took a deep breath. He didn't believe that was true, nor did he want it to be true, but he didn't know for sure. What he did know was that he wanted to get to the church on time.

Then, as if in response to his thoughts, the intercom came back to life. "This is the captain again. Ground control has reversed themselves. We are ready to push back. We should have you at the gate in New York on schedule."

The next thing Jack knew was that he was jarred awake by the plane's wheels touching down at LaGuardia Airport. To his utter surprise, he had fallen asleep despite his anxiety, and to his embarrassment, he had drooled a little. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, scraping against the stubble on his chin in the process. With the same hand, he felt the rest of his face. He was in need of a shave and even worse for a shower, but a glance at his watch suggested that neither was possible. It was twenty-five after twelve.