"Screw you. I'm a happy slob." He finished his sandwich with no further comment, making a show of cleaning his face with water dabbed from his water glass. "Satisfied?"
"Yes."
"Snob."
"Yes." Howard laughed. The exchange was familiar territory. "Tony's feelings aside, Thorne needs to be put on our short list of likely suspects."
"The problem is, again, he's a physician who could have a cleaner, safer means to do in his enemies."
"Maybe Throne thought it would be ruled a heart attack. Hell, it was ruled a heart attack until the body was exhumed. And Thorne has motive. Not only was he angry about the first lawsuit, he's being sued again by the same law firm. The plaintiff's name is Carlson."
"Did Thorne know that when Valentine died?" Alfonzo asked.
"Apparently, he didn't. Tony said he's involved in the Carlson suit too. Tony's adamant there was no malpractice committed in the case. The wife of the patient is an employee of the firm, and Tony thinks they went through the chart intent on finding something wrong, or something they could construe as being wrong."
"Whatever. There could be something wrong, and the docs would never admit it anyway."
Howard slid out of the booth. "Let's see the State Attorney."
Once outside, Howard opened his umbrella to shield himself from the cold rain. Alfonzo stayed close, crowding under the umbrella.
The State Attorney's branch office was on the first floor of the courthouse. The detectives hoped to find the information they needed without traveling to downtown Ft. Lauderdale. Both Valentine and Kelsey had worked in the Sawgrass branch, and many of the same Assistant State Attorneys were still working there.
The men were ushered into a small, familiar waiting area. They frequented the office to discuss cases with the prosecutors. "Good afternoon, Sally," Howard said, approaching the secretary's desk. "Is Polter available?"
"He's expecting you. Go on in."
It took several minutes to bring Polter up to date on the investigation. Their captain kept him informed of their progress, but Polter still had an intense interest in what they had to say.
"And you also want to look at anyone they prosecuted as possible suspects?" Polter raised an eyebrow.
"Both Kelsey and Valentine may have been targets for the cyanide poisoning, though the working list of suspects points at Valentine as the target and Kelsey as an accidental victim. Kelsey claims he wasn't aware the 7 UP was spiked with booze, but I think otherwise." Howard retrieved his notebook and flipped it open.
"Kelsey knew. Those two were tight when they worked here, major social life connection. I remember seeing them at one of the local restaurants two, perhaps three weeks ago."
"Oh, really?" Alfonzo raised an eyebrow. "Kelsey described the relationship in more casual terms."
"I'm not surprised. Kelsey had a drinking problem when he was here. He kept it under control and was careful during the election that it didn't get out," Polter said.
"Did he drink in his courtroom?" Alfonzo asked.
"I don't know, but I did hear him joke once about the special soda Valentine celebrated with."
"Do you think Kelsey tried to sway cases in his friend's favor?" Howard said.
"He's a bastard, but he's honest. He would never be involved in anything unethical. I saw him share some of Valentine's drinks a couple of times myself. He might have been signaling Valentine that it was time to celebrate." Polter picked up a pen and played with it.
"Is there anyone who had a motive for murdering both of them and would also have knowledge of their habit?" Howard asked.
"There could be any number of people. Valentine started with his little victory celebrations right out of law school. It a lucky charm from exam days, I think. When they worked together on a big case in this office, Kelsey would share the celebration after the verdict was read. It wasn't a secret then."
"Anybody special come to mind?" Alfonzo asked.
"Judge Kelsey called me about it this morning. He had a couple of ideas, and I've been giving it some thought myself. The clerks pulled the old files, the ones they worked on together. Two of the defendants were released from prison in the last couple of years and reside locally." Polter handed Howard a typed document. "The felons who meet those criteria are listed along with their specifics. Kelsey confirmed they are the most likely suspects."
Howard studied the list, then folded the paper and slipped it into his notebook. The short list of suspects now contained six names, one of which was Jimmy Joe Backus, a good old boy convicted of vehicular homicide in a well-publicized trial. The second addition, a small time gangster named Rocko DiGiovanni, was led from the courtroom swearing revenge on the two prosecutors. Both men lived in Ft. Lauderdale, a forty-five minute drive from the Sawgrass Courthouse. Though their trials occurred five years apart, they became cellmates and earned parole within weeks of one another.
Eleven
"Tony, how is Jennifer?" Abigail stood in the doorway of his small office. She looked professional in her apricot-colored scrubs and crisp white coat. Short blond wisps framed her face. The scent of a light perfume Tony couldn't recognize hung in the air. Today, the glasses were missing.
Tony pushed the hair off his forehead. "She said she felt better and went to work. I wanted her to stay home, but Tuesday is the busiest day in that OR and after yesterday's holiday, it'll be even worse. She didn't want to cause them grief. They've been good to her over the years." He motioned Abigail to sit.
Tony's office was large enough for a small desk and two side chairs. He'd stuck an old bookcase and a dented file cabinet behind the door. The murmuring voices, squeaking stretcher wheels, and beeping monitors drifted in from the hall.
"She can always go home if she gets tired." Abigail backed out of the office, glanced down the hall, then stepped back inside.
"Jen won't," Tony said. "She'll stick it out and fall into the house later, dead tired. To make matters worse, she's scheduled for a twelve-hour shift."
"Ugly, very ugly." She sat on the arm of one of the chairs.
"I couldn't agree more. But we had a good weekend. We took Bella to the obedience competition at the park on Sunday. The kids had a good time, and Bella won a ribbon. Monica spent the rest of Sunday and all yesterday with it pinned on her shirt."
"Cute. What are you up to today?"
"I'm going to the cafeteria first, then to the nursing office. There are some files and old schedules I need to look at, and I want to see who on Six West might be giving information to the lawyers. There has to be a mole in this place. There are too many lawsuits originating from the same nursing unit."
"Chamberlain's included?"
"Both of Chamberlain's patients were on Six West."
"I'll be glad to run the show while you're gone."
"I thought you would be." Tony left Abigail sitting in his office. His first stop was the cafeteria, where most of the nursing managers ate breakfast together a few days a week. Most mornings he was too busy to join them. Today, he made it a point.
Located in the rear of the first floor, the cafeteria opened into a domed-glass sunroom filled with flowering plants and leafy palms where uniformed workers and hospital visitors ate in air-conditioned comfort. The grassy expanse of the Everglades was visible beyond the outside smokers' patio and the Sawgrass Expressway.
Tony drew a cup of coffee, then found the group sitting by the patio windows. He took a chair next to Magdalena Etiene, the nursing manager for Six West. Several of the women ate as they chatted. Some sipped from Styrofoam cups. "Hi, ladies."
"Hi, Tony. How's Jen?" one of the managers asked. "I checked on her before she left Friday. She seemed to be in good spirits."
"I think her positive attitude is an act, but she went to work just the same." He brushed the hair out of his eyes and pulled his chair closer to the table.
"It's better than sitting at home and worrying."
He nodded. "I think that's why she went, but she didn't admi
t it."
The conversation drifted to current issues around the hospital, then the managers left one and two at a time.
As Magdalena rose to leave, he said, "Can you stay a minute? There is something I need to discuss with you."
She sat. "What is it, Tony?" She was a young manager who had attended the local community college after emigrating from Haiti. She wore a traditional white dress uniform and tied the hundred tiny braids in her hair into a high ponytail.
Tony swirled the coffee in his cup and took another sip. "We've had several patients bring malpractice suits lately."
"What does that have to do with me or my unit?" Her dark eyes narrowed.
"I'm not sure. Several of the patients, the plaintiffs, were on your unit before they went home or before they died. The idea occurred to me that perhaps someone provided a little extra help to the lawyers by furnishing them with information or client referrals."
"I wouldn't believe that." Again, she narrowed her dark eyes, looking offended.
"Maybe not, but a couple of long-term employees have been on Six West during the hospitalizations of all the most recent plaintiffs. I wanted you to know I intend to check their files. I didn't want to go poking around without you knowing it."
"Who do you have in mind, may I ask?" Magdalena sat in her chair with her back rigid, but her face relaxed some. Tony thought she would help him.
"Magdalena, I'm not implying you're responsible. It's been known to happen that hospital employees work for lawyers and refer malpractice cases. You wouldn't have any control over that. The sneaks don't do it out in the open."
"What's your interest?"
"I'm involved because I'm included in one of the suits. I admitted Milton Carlson to the ED. They claim I should have called the physician myself and advised him about the man's medical history."
"That's ridiculous. They can read. Besides, I remember Carlson. The docs treated him aggressively. They all knew his history."
"I agree, but a lot of people are being sued, including me. Carlson's wife works for the law firm handling the cases. That, no doubt, explains her lawsuit."
"What does it have to do with my unit?"
"The connection isn't as clear with the other cases. Why would patients on your unit generate so many lawsuits? That's what I need to find out."
"Who do you have in mind?" she asked again. "Since we're a step-down unit, most of our nurses don't stay with us long. After they get their skills, they move to critical care or to the Emergency Department."
"There are a couple of long-term night nurses, there's a nursing assistant on evenings who started in 1994, and there's your unit secretary, Dori Grilley, on the day shift. Frankly, Dori's the one raising the most concern for me. She started on the sixth floor the same year the suits started. Prior to that, the plaintiffs were spread throughout the hospital with no apparent pattern." Tony looked at Magdalena and smiled his most respectful smile.
Magdalena paused. "Dori is an interesting person. The good thing about her is she's always willing to help. She'll go to any unit without a fuss. On the other hand, some of the managers have complained about how she looks. I insisted she wear uniforms that don't look like she's cheap, but she stretches the dress code to the limit. Some of her clothes are so tight I can't figure out how she gets them on."
"I know what you mean." Tony remembered several times Dori approached him in the hospital. She had a way of getting close and touching him, rubbing his arm or shoulders, commenting on his physique. "Do you know anything about her?"
"Not much. She talks about her boyfriend—Paul I think his name is—as if he's a god. A time or two she has left the building to go to lunch with him and has come back to work looking disheveled and flushed. I spoke to her once about it, and she told me it was none of my business. She said if I were less of a prude, I'd have interesting lunch breaks, too. Can you imagine?"
"Magdalena, I'll start by checking out Dori."
"Let me know if I can help."
"Thanks for the offer." Tony left Magdalena looking lost in thought.
Minutes later, Tony had Dori Grilley's personnel file in hand. He noted, among other things, her address and home telephone number. She indicated Paul Gross was to be notified in event of an emergency. She was born and raised in Dow City, Iowa. She started work on Six West six year earlier. Her employment before that had been at the county hospital as a float secretary, meaning she moved from unit to unit as needed.
***
Two miles south, in Judge Kelsey's mahogany-paneled courtroom, Dr. Mark Olson's civil trial was in full swing. Henninger and another lawyer leaned close to the bench engaging in conversation with the judge.
"But, Your Honor, unless the video relates to Mr. Cray's hospitalization, I don't see how it can be shown," Olson's lawyer said. "I've seen the video. It's an obvious attempt to create sympathy for the plaintiff."
"I've also seen the video," Judge Kelsey said, "and it is relevant in my opinion. Objection overruled."
The defense attorney returned to his chair. He leaned close to his client and whispered in his ear. Olson scowled and whispered back to the lawyer.
The lights in the courtroom dimmed, and the video of Cray with his model boats began. The double doors in the back of the courtroom opened and a distinguished-looking man in an expensive suit slipped into the last row. He placed his eelskin briefcase next to his feet.
On the video, Cray fumbled with a piece of wood and a craft knife. The scene closed in on the sad expression of Cray's four-year-old son, who watched his daddy struggling with his boat. As the clip concluded, the man in the back slipped out the door, cell phone in hand.
Henninger stood to face the judge. "Your Honor, we have no further witnesses. The plaintiff rests."
The presentation of the defense's case was quick. Several witnesses testified that Cray's circumstance in life was largely unchanged. Cray continued to enjoy an extraordinary income and lifestyle. Two experts spoke in favor of the Dr. Olson's treatment of the fracture. In both their opinions, the slight deficit Cray experienced resulted from the severe traumatic injury rather than the swelling in the cast.
The jury retired to deliberate and returned with the verdict two hours later.
***
The award, a mere two-hundred grand, though modest by most standards, represented a victory for Henninger in memory of his dear departed partner, Warren Valentine. He smiled as he walked from the courtroom, said goodnight to his associates, and made his way to the parking lot, chatting with acquaintances as he encountered them. His spirits were high.
Alone for the first time all day, he pulled his Lincoln to a stop in front of his favorite restaurant, Sprouts. A vegetarian, he enjoyed their fresh salads and was pleased with the variety of greens, sprouts, roots, legumes, and fruits they put together to make exotic creations. The house dressing reminded him of chutney, smooth and spicy with more than a hint of mango.
The owner met him at the door. "Mr. Henninger, a table for one this evening?"
"Yes, Courtney, I'm afraid so. Can I have my usual booth in the back, please?" He pointed in the direction of the corner near the kitchen. Freestanding bamboo panels, hanging vines, and lush potted plants in huge pots provided privacy for diners.
"Of course." Courtney, a slightly built West Indian of mixed descent, escorted him to the rear of the restaurant.
Henninger slid into the booth and faced the window. He'd planned to work during dinner, which was his habit, but instead stared out the window. Cars stopped as they waited for the traffic light at the corner or for pedestrians hurrying to get to their cars and home from work.
Courtney set minted tea in front of him. "You look like you could use a lift."
"Thanks." He took a sip of the tea. "Good." His earlier buoyant mood had vanished, leaving him feeling at odds with himself. The strong aroma of the tea offered a return to his earlier jovial humor.
"What would you like tonight?"
"Anything special?" Hen
ninger never looked at the menu.
"As a matter of fact, yes. We have a new salad boy, and he's made a special salad. It's red oak and frisée lettuce, radicchio, Belgian endive, chives, Enoki mushrooms, and imported goat and feta cheeses. The dressing is made with truffle oil and herbs."
"Sounds fine. Bring the dressing on the side. Can I have some house dressing also? I've been craving it ever since I left court."
"Bad day, huh?" Courtney asked. "Tough case?"
"The case is finished. We won."
"You should be celebrating then. I'll bring you a glass of our mango, pineapple, and banana juice blend."
"No, no. To be honest . . . winning doesn't feel quite right today. I'll pass on the celebration."
Courtney returned a few minutes later with the salad. An airy bouquet of fine sprouts and threads of deep fried parsnips topped off the promised array of cheese and vegetables. Dark red and brown ground spices clung to the garni. Suddenly famished, Henninger dove in and finished his meal without delay.
"Courtney, I'll have some of that juice when you get a chance. I'm feeling better."
"Certainly, sir. I'll get it as soon as I can." When Courtney returned, the pressing needs of several other customers delaying him. Henninger's table was vacant. A twenty-dollar bill lay to the side of the plate.
***
Henninger lay in vomit on the floor in his bathroom. He wrapped his long arms around his stomach as severe abdominal pain raked his body. A pounding headache threatened to split his head. At least his throat felt better. The burning and rawness that started during dinner had lessened.
As another spasm racked his innards, he tried to raise to his hands and knees. Remembering his cell phone, he rummaged around in his clothing, locating it after several moments of frantic fumbling.
"Nine, one, one," he breathed, forcing his fingers to push the small buttons. "Help me. I'm dying." He knew his front door stood open. He hadn't bothered to close it when he hurried in the direction of the bathroom. He mumbled his address before the first convulsion jerked through his thin body.
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