Verne Chapski got to his feet. “You expect this jury to believe, after you killed another human being, that your allegations about Dr. Handler paying you blackmail are true.”
“Have you heard of the twelve-step program?” Marilyn asked.
Verne Chapski nodded.
“I’m addicted to diet pills. Diet-pill addicts are insane. Their only friends are pills. I had friends, real ones like everyone else, before the deaths at St. Anthony’s. Sharon Daley is here. She’ll tell you. I was a good nurse. Actually I think I would have remained sane if only Charley Klondike and Jean Bacon died that weekend, but the poor kid …” Marilyn motioned in the direction of the Schneiders. “Handler could have helped, should have known earlier what was wrong. I killed him you know. I gave the boy his last dose of morphine. We chouldn’t let the parents see his horrible condition.” Tears streamed down her face. Judge Wilcox handed her a box of tissues. Marilyn coughed. “I lost my job at the hospital. No one would hire me. Then one morning I was reading the Bible.” Marilyn looked up at the judge. “I recited the passage to Sally Bianco. Do you want to hear it?” Judge Wilcox’s sympathy was showing for the dishonored nurse. He nodded.
So Marilyn delivered her biblical motivation. “I memorized two verses in Ezekiel, Chapter 38, ‘Thus saith the Lord God; It shall come to pass that at the same time shall things come into thy mind, and thou shalt think an evil thought: And thou shall say, I will go up to them that are at rest, that dwell safely, to take a spoil, and to take a prey; to turn thine hand upon the desolate places and upon the people.’”
Marilyn hung her head. “I did blackmail Dr. Handler, for pills. But I’m gay. I’ve never been interested in men. I’m sorry Sally Bianco got involved. She seemed to want to help, but I couldn’t let her.” Marilyn didn’t look up. “My life was unmanageable as an addict. Look where I am. I hope a Higher Power can restore me to sanity, someday. But you can believe me about him.” Marilyn pointed to Dr. Handler. “Dr. Handler paid me blackmail to keep quiet about the Schneider’s son. They should have taken his license and sent him to jail!”
Marilyn was excused from the witness box.
The Schneiders, Larry’s parents, were the next to testify about the details of their son’s death. They wrapped their arms together when they returned to their seats. Helen thanked God she had prompted Amy Schneider to ask her husband over to her new home so Tom Schneider would know he was forgiven for leaving her. Helen was pleased they were no longer living alone, not like she would be shortly.
Helen asked God to forgive her anger towards Marilyn. Sally Bianco had taught her the daily tenth step prayer ‘to stay free of self-pity, anger, resentment and fear.’ Fear was evil. It crept up on her like a hungry cat. If she trusted God, how could she insult Him by living in fear?
Larry Schneider’s Little League coach and Larry’s teacher, a Mrs. Dobson, also gave evidence about Larry’s symptoms.
Sharon Daley testified about her memories of Larry Schneider’s death. When she mentioned her lesbian relationship with Marilyn, she battled tears of frustration over Marilyn’s increasing reliance on prescription drugs. “Those doctors did her no favors.”
Mr. Chapski sought to change the jury’s view of her statements. “Aren’t many overweight people helped with diet pills?”
“Don’t you understand?” Sharon turned to the judge to make her point. “Marilyn was addicted to them.”
“But the doctors were only trying to help,” Mr. Chapski insisted.
“All three of those doctors were paying Marilyn to keep her mouth shut about their dead patients!”
Mr. Chapski rubbed his nude chin. “Why didn’t you bring charges against the doctors if you thought they were in error?”
Sharon laughed. “I’d worked too long in the profession to try anything stupid. Look how long it took to even bring one of them to trial. I was lucky enough to find a job filing in the hospital. No one would hire Marilyn because the medical community knew she injected the boy with enough morphine to put him out of his misery. If the detective, Sally Bianco, hadn’t lost her life, the police would never have taken the murder case this far.”
“Neglect allegations have been made.” Mr. Chapski addressed the jury. “This is not a murder trial.
“Larry’s just as dead,” Sharon said, before she was excused.
Judge Wilcox closed the hearing for the day, cautioning the jury not to read papers, speak to each other, or to anyone outside the courtroom about the case, which would resume on Monday.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The district attorney invited Max and Helen to join him at the Earle restaurant for dinner. Captain Tedler and Max seemed particularly optimistic about the outcome. Helen didn’t feel confident about the jury’s persuasions.
“You did a good job.” Roger Warner cuffed Max’s back. “You found Marilyn’s diary.”
“But Chapski used the dates against her.” Helen had watched the jurors closely. “The women weren’t happy Marilyn met the doctor in a motel.”
“Sally’s murder could be a reason for the jurors not to believe Marilyn blackmailed Dr. Handler.” Captain Tedler ordered a Manhattan. “A double.”
Roger Warner waved the drink waitress away. “I’ve had my share.”
“When did you quit?” Captain Tedler asked, as if interested in the process.
“Last summer. I visited my four brothers in Missouri. We’re a hotheaded lot, tease each other mercilessly. I’m the tallest. We were out in my dad’s barn, drinking, scuffling around. My brother…he’s three inches shorter than me. But he’s built like a Mac truck. Anyway, he started kidding me about my poetry. Called me a wimp!” Roger glared at them as if they would comment. “I grabbed the first thing I could and threw it at him.” They waited for the end of the story, as the district attorney drained his water glass. “The pitchfork went right through my brother’s shoe, missing his toes.” Roger wiped his brow with his napkin. “That was enough liquor-inspired craziness for me.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Second Saturday in June
Helen’s New Condo
Helen opened the kitchen cupboard next to the back window. It was filled with glassware.
Her mother stood behind her. “I sent for the ones you picked out. Do you like them?”
“I do. Mother, you didn’t need to do that.” Julia started opening the other cabinet doors. Dad came in and exposed the contents of the refrigerator, which was fully stocked with Helen’s favorite foods. All the house ware items she chose previously from her mother’s catalogues were in place.
“Your dining room table and chairs will arrive tomorrow.” Dad included Max, George and Mitzi in his invitation. “We’re having pizza delivered at our house tonight.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” Helen said. What she didn’t say was how shocked she felt at their speedy dismissal of her living arrangements with them. Max might misunderstand if she mentioned any hint of complaint against their generosity. She did want to live alone. Was it really necessary to throw her out entirely in one fell swoop?
Max put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. He handed her a fairly large package wrapped in blue with a gigantic white bow. She smiled at him before opening it, trying not to cry. He guided her into the front room.
“I’ll just make a pot of coffee.” Mother called from the kitchen. “Is that all right, dear?”
“Fine,” Helen called. “Everything’s fine.”
Max handed her his handkerchief. “I know what you’re going through.”
“Do you?” He couldn’t know what she was feeling. But tears tumbled down her face. Helen didn’t know herself. Was she crying because she was angry, would she miss her parents? What?
“It’s the letting go,” Max said.
George had introduced them to Mitzi. She was an African-American of significant beauty and enough spunk for four people. Helen adored her immediately. Mitzi said she was living with George to see if she ought to marry him.
George and Mitzi were sitting on the floor, cross-legged, knee-to-knee. They both nodded at Max’s sage judgment call about letting go of her parents.
Max pulled Helen down on the loveseat next to him.
“Open it,” Mitzi demanded.
Inside the box was a blue and white china coffee pot with creamer and sugar bowl. “I asked your mother what pattern to chose,” Max said.
“They’re beautiful!” She kissed his cheek.
“Oh, George. You left ours in the car!” Mitzi kicked him.
“Be right back,” George promised. When he returned, Max held the door open for him. George balanced five heavy-appearing cardboard boxes in his arms. He set them on the floor, and they all proceeded to rip them open. Five Tiffany lamp reproductions were quickly assembled.
Helen clapped her hands. “Perfect. They’re perfect. Thank you.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Over pizza back at her mother’s, Helen felt like a stranger in her parents’ home. Though all of her personal possessions had been moved out, nothing had changed except herself.
Max seemed a little nervous; as if he knew she was planning to trap him. All he could talk about was how Dr. Handler was not going to pay for his lapse in care for Larry Schneider, corrupting Marilyn, colluding with Dr. Whidbey to involve Dr. Cornell in the financing scheme, and how terrible and devious the world was becoming.
George, on the other hand, was quite cheerful about Dr. Handler’s chances of becoming a jailbird. “Mitzi,” George put his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder. “says doctors need to pay for their mistakes by going to jail instead of paying civil suit penalties.”
“That’s what the D.A. is hoping for.” Dad sliced the third pizza for the big eaters at the party.
“Helen,” Mitzi said. “George says you’re trying to sell your father’s Oldsmobile. I know a collector of antique cars.”
“See how old we are, Julia.” Helen’s father embraced his wife. “It’s too late for us to begin romping around the world like we owned it.”
“After I’m buried,” Mother laughed. “You can give my suitcases to Purple Heart. But for now we’re going to see the world.”
“You are?” Helen asked.
“Count on it,” Dad said. “By the way you kids need to check the message machine at the office. Some woman claims she’s a friend of the wife of an FBI agent. Delores Gant is her name. Knows a secret that will ruin the agency’s reputation and save the lives of twelve innocent children.”
“A nut case?” Max asked.
“Let’s check her out anyway, Max.” Helen wanted something to work on with Max at her side, even if it was only to get a crazy person off the streets of Ann Arbor.
“That will keep you busy until we get back.” Dad touched the back of Mother’s neck. “When is that, Julia?”
“August first,” Julia said.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
On Sunday afternoon, Mitzi drove Helen out to the animal shelter in Dixboro to choose two Siamese kittens. Mitzi explained to the staff Helen didn’t want the cats to be lonely when she wasn’t home.
Mitzi was also kind enough to accompany Helen to a car dealership. Helen bought a Honda from Mr. Brent, who gave her a good deal on a used hybrid. Anita’s husband didn’t recognize her from The Firm or the courthouse. Helen couldn’t help feeling nervous, because she knew Max and she would be seeing more of Mr. Brent and his wife after Max’s child was born, something she couldn’t yet share with her new friend, Mitzi.
Living alone was not as traumatic as Helen thought it might be. Rather, she felt she was playing house in her own life-size dollhouse. On Monday, she made breakfast for herself and the cats, chose her own clothes, and popped the few dishes in the dishwasher. She left the television on the Turner channel in case the cats got lonesome for a human voice.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Third Monday in June, 2008
Washtenaw County Courthouse
The district attorney, Roger Warner, began the second day of Dr. Handler’s trial by calling Dr. Dorothy Whidbey to the stand. The eighty-year-old woman limped to the stand and raised a bruised arm to take the oath. Helen’s parents had begged off coming to court. “Dr. Whidbey, you plead guilty to a misdemeanor charge concerning your late brother?” Roger Warner consulted his notes. “Charles Klondike. Could you explain your relationship with Marilyn Helms, the head nurse on duty the night Mr. Klondike died?”
Dr. Whidbey wrinkled her nose and tipped her chin even higher. “When I could pour Charley out of his shoes long enough, he praised Marilyn’s care.”
The D.A. moved closer to Dr. Whidbey. “Did you pay Marilyn to keep quiet about the details of your brother’s death?”
Dr. Whidbey moved her body to the side of the chair so she could see around huge Roger Warner. “My husband thought it was a good idea.” Mr. Whidbey, Dorothy’s husband, stood and left the courtroom.
Verne Chapski, Dr. Handler’s attorney asked for permission to question the witness. “Your husband has left the room, do you want to change your testimony?”
“I paid her.” Dr. Whidbey black eyes snapped. “Don’t you dare say a word against my husband.”
Roger Warner pointed to John Willets and Mary Livingston, who were seated where Dr. Handler’s wives previously sat the first day of the trial. “Would you like to make formal charges against your husband for wife-abuse?”
“No,” Dr. Whidbey began to shake. “I would not.”
Judge Wilcox said, “The witness is excused. Bailiff, help Dr. Whidbey out of the courtroom.”
The D.A. called Sister James Marine to the stand to explain how Marilyn was accepted at the convent to serve out her community service sentence. “She was deeply upset about the recent death of a doctor, whose name we’re not mentioning. Marilyn literally stuffs her emotions down by overeating. I want to believe Sally Bianco’s death was a horrible accident.”
Marilyn Helms interrupted the proceedings by weeping, loudly and hysterically. Judge Wilcox banged his gavel and then motioned for the police accompany Marilyn out of the courtroom and back to her holding cell. Sharon Daley followed but was stopped at the exit and returned to her seat.
Helen Costello was called to the stand. She let go of Max’s hand and walked the long distance under the jury’s surveillance to the witness box. Roger Warner smiled before asking her to replay the investigation of Sally Bianco’s lead into the suspicious St. Anthony Hospital deaths. Helen used her notes to summarize the case. When Mr. Chapski questioned her, Helen flipped the pages of her account, sometimes to stall for time to reach for the appropriate word.
“Even after Marilyn Helms beat you,” Mr. Chapski asked. “You believe she is telling the truth about her relationship with Dr. Handler?”
Helen cocked her head and then responded facing the jury. “No one has given any evidence of any sexual relationship with Dr. Handler, not even his seven distinguished wives.”
“Your honor!” Mr. Chapski waved in the Judge’s direction, but Judge Joe Wilcox was smiling.
Roger Warner chose to call Max Hunt to the stand to verify Helen’s testimony about the investigation of Mrs. Bianco’s death and the motivation behind it.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Max was not happy with Verne Chapski. After reading from his notes, Max could feel a wall of anger rising toward the defense attorney. “Dr. Handler has failed to produce any incriminating tapes he claimed to have in his possession. Clearly Marilyn Helms met him to pick up prescriptions for her drug habit or money to buy the drugs as blackmail payments to keep silent about Dr. Handler’s mismanagement of Larry Schneider’s case.”
“You were never present when Dr. Handler ‘paid’ Marilyn, were you?” Verne Chapski let his tone imply the worst possible meaning.
“Of course not.”
Mr. Chapski took refuge behind the defense table. He motioned in the direction of Mr. and Mrs. Brent. “The Brents were clients of yours, too?”
“F
or a short time.” Max could feel a rolling cloud of terror building on the deserts of Iraq. He shifted in his chair so he could hold onto his belt buckle under his suit jacket.
“The Brents are expecting their first child, aren’t they?”
“How is this relevant?” The D.A. objected.
“I’m showing the jury the kind of people The Firm hires to investigate decent citizens of Ann Arbor.” Mr. Chapski’s words seemed to give him more courage. He moved closer to Max.
“You visited Mrs. Handler?”
“I did.” Max answered. He could feel the sand pulling at his boots, knew he was in trouble, wouldn’t escape.
“Dr. Handler arrived unexpectedly and claims you were drunk.”
“I was not drunk.” Max found his throat already felt like dust.
‘You were weaving around,” Mr. Chapski insisted. “You bloodied your nose when you fell on your face leaving the house.”
“I did.” Max said.
“If you weren’t drunk, explain yourself.”
“PTSD”
“Really? And how do you explain a request for a blood sample of Mrs. Brent’s child?”
Max stood. Rather he held onto both sides of the witness box and let his rubbery legs fall down the step. He followed a back-peddling Chapski out through the squeaking gate into the aisle between the audiences’ pews, past the row the Brents were sitting in. Max was on his knees eye to eye with the short, flame-haired leprechaun when he heard his own whisper. “She tricked me.” Max couldn’t believe his own words, but he believed the wave of unconsciousness greeting his declaration.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Helen knelt next to Max. She waved off the Bailiff. “He’ll be all right.”
Captain Tedler helped Max out of the courtroom. Pushed him to a seated position on the bench outside. “Should I call Andrew?”
“No.” Max wiped his wet brow with his handkerchief. “It’s passing. I’m glad your parents didn’t hear about the Brents – in public.”
“No one is going to throw stones at you, Max.” She shook Captain Tedler’s hand. “Go back inside. Let us know what happens.” Max tried to stand. Helen placed her hand on his shoulder. “Wait a minute or two, then we’ll leave.”
Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 03 - The Recorder's Way Page 15
