The Near Death Experience (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 10)

by John Ellsworth

  “You’ll be taking your afternoon nap?”

  “Of course. Thaddeus, I’m honestly okay. The pain meds give me a good bit of freedom from the pain. They make me groggy, yes, but other than that I’m basically still the same old girl.”

  Sure you are, he thought. Sure you are.

  “So give me a slice of what’s to come.”

  “Well, Dr. Emerick Sewell was forty-four when all this happened. He woke up in his house one morning in San Diego with a terrible headache. And his back hurt as well. He got up, went into the bathroom, and fell off the toilet onto the Spanish tile floor, face-down, passed out. He finally came around and crawled back to his bed. His wife heard none of this. He pulled himself up and sat on the edge of his bed, trying to stop the room from spinning. When it wouldn’t stop, he stretched out on the bed and immediately fell back asleep. That’s where I am so far.”

  “Amazing. Any idea what was wrong?”

  “Just guessing, there was something systemic. Some kind of infection, maybe.”

  “Well, keep reading.”

  “And I’ll do that if you’ll let me off the frigging phone.”

  “Goodbye,” he said and clicked off. He slammed his first against the steering wheel and yelled, “God damn it! Doesn’t she ever stop to think how I feel too?”

  He roared into town and took San Francisco south three blocks, then east toward Agassiz and his law office.

  He parked and sat in his truck and counted to one hundred before he went inside.

  Katrina was busy at the front desk, wearing her headset and listening to dictation. She doubled as receptionist/word-processor, plus writing her master’s thesis in criminology. She was tall, red hair and very pale face which caused her red lip gloss and dark blue eyes to pop, as he’d heard her telling a paralegal one day. “My skin is so pale, any color just pops,” she had said. It had stuck with Thaddeus, for whenever he looked at her, he checked to see if her lips and eyes popped. Most often, they did. She was beautiful and smart and married to Ronnie Van Walten, a lineman for Arizona Public Service.

  “Morning, Kat,” Thaddeus said. He paused to pick through the unsorted mail on her desk. She immediately reached out and covered the mail with her hand. “Me first,” she said. “Office protocol in case there’s ever a question about what came when and who opened it. Let me date stamp it and then you can have it.”

  He shook his head. “Actually, I don’t even want it.”

  She frowned. “I didn’t think so. Why don’t you go on in your office and sue someone? I’ll do the mail.”

  “Give it to BAT. I don’t want it.”

  BAT—Billy A. Tattinger—was Thaddeus’ key paralegal, the man who made Thaddeus’ legal world keep spinning on its axis. He was a black man whom Thaddeus had salvaged from jail and a rough life on the streets. Helping him get cleaned up from drugs and alcohol, he’d then hired the guy to work a restaurant in the casino Thaddeus once owned. The man had performed so well that Thaddeus had moved him into his law practice and sent him for paralegal training. BAT was heavyset, bearded with clear frame eyeglasses, happily married, now with two children, and loyal as the sunrise. He never failed Thaddeus and was low maintenance, which Thaddeus greatly appreciated and always required, busy as he was with clients and cases. And now, Katy.

  Passing by BAT’s work carrel just outside his own office, Thaddeus asked him to join him in the office in five minutes. Without looking up from his keyboard, BAT nodded.

  Thaddeus entered his office, sat at his large, marble top desk, and reviewed his calendar for the day—a useless act, as his staff had cleared just about all appearances except the most necessary, given that Thaddeus was spending his days with Katy.

  Nothing on the calendar and that was just fine.

  He crossed to the wet sink and placed a K-Cup in the Keurig. The machine hissed and dribbled coffee into Thaddeus’ favorite mug before ending its run with a loud scraping sound, presumably as the water reservoir emptied itself out. Even the most minor things about his environment were noticed anymore, he thought; a dying wife will do that to a man.

  He returned to his desk and BAT came in and sat across from him. Football and weather were discussed. Then Thaddeus got down to it.

  “We’ve got a doctor who wrote a book. And a comatose woman who read that book. What have you found out about medical malpractice where the injured person isn’t a patient?”

  BAT shook his head. “Everything is telling me there needs to be a duty owed by the doctor to the claimant. A legal duty, such as one created by the doctor-patient relationship. I haven’t found anything that says there’s a duty when the doctor writes a book, someone reads it and gets hurt somehow. Where’s the nexus?”

  Thaddeus nodded. “Agree. Where’s the nexus? On the other hand, are we about to get our ass handed to us and make some new law we don’t want to make?”

  “That’s the other side of the coin. There’s always that possibility.”

  “But it would seem to me the doctor would have to expect that the book would be followed by people in the course of treating some ailment or other. Isn’t the issue whether or not the use to which the book was put by the reader was reasonably foreseeable?”

  BAT nodded. “Now you’re using the common law language of negligence. I like that and I think it’s a good way to analyze our facts. By the way, what are our facts?”

  “Dunno. We just got the records and Katy insisted on going through them before us.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s dying, BAT. That’s how she’s doing.

  BAT was suddenly crestfallen. He looked like a little boy who had been chided by a parent for doing something evil.

  “I’m sorry,” Thaddeus immediately said. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

  “Naw, that’s all right, Thad. I’ve got broad shoulders and you need to vent.”

  “I need to go out back of my house and shoot my pistol at Coke bottles.”

  “That works. Better some target than me.”

  “I know. Again, I’m really sorry for being such an asshole lately.”

  “You’re not an asshole, Boss. A little sphincter, maybe, but not a full-blown asshole.”

  “Thanks, BAT.”

  “By the way, have we heard anything about the woman who OD’d? Is she still alive? Comatose?”

  “I believe comatose, but I haven’t heard. I need to call up Mils Wang and see what I can find out.”

  “Do that,” said Thaddeus.

  “By the way, a court order came in last evening on the heavenly doctor’s case. I picked it up from our box at the courthouse.”

  “What is it?” Thaddeus took a long drink of the coffee, steeling himself for official news from the court down the street that actually controlled his life no matter how well he surrounded himself with staff.

  “Judge wants to see all counsel in her office this Friday. Status conference.”

  “I might send Jonas.”

  “No, she specifically says in the order that Thaddeus Murfee shall appear—not may appear—in person. Jonas ain’t gonna get it done.”

  Jonas was actually Jonas P. Hawk; a third-year trial lawyer Thaddeus had hired straight out of UCLA Law School. Jonas was aggressive—maybe overly—but he was currently responsible for covering all of Thaddeus’ court times. Except this time the judge wanted Thaddeus personally. He sighed; it couldn’t be good.

  “All right. I’ll be there. But diary Jonas for the hearing too. Judge needs to get accustomed to seeing him on the case. We’ll finesse my way out.”

  “Since he’ll be the one trying it?”

  “No, when it goes to trial that will be me.”

  “What about meeting the client? Date been set?”

  “Yes, I think sometime later this week. I’m waiting for his agent to call.”

  “His agent. Good grief. A celeb.”

  “Yes, a celeb.”

  “Well, here’s hoping he’s not so Hollywood that h
e turns off our little jury over here in northern Arizona.”

  “It is so hoped, BAT.”

  “Amen. Hey, can I ask you something personal?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you ever get your money back from the guy who set up Sarai’s kidnapping?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you ever going to?”

  Thaddeus drew a deep breath and contemplated. His youngest daughter, Sarai, had been kidnaped during her infancy. Thaddeus had eventually hunted down the man who took her and he had taken the guy out. However, the real force behind the kidnapping was still at large. Every day he felt the urge to hunt down that guy too, but so far had not done it. Finally, he said, “Hadn’t thought much about it lately. Why you asking, BAT?”

  “It just rankles me. That cost you three hundred million. You can’t just let it go, I hope.”

  “Now’s just not the time. I’ve got too much going on out there,” he made a motion with his hand indicating he was speaking about his home life. BAT understood.

  “Would you consent to me doing some background on the guy? Start looking around for him?”

  “Consider my consent given.”

  “What’s the guy’s name again?”

  “Lincoln Mascari. Last known whereabouts Skokie, Illinois.”

  “Mob guy.”

  “Sure. Local boss. He headed up one of the four Chicago families.”

  “Heavy in the drug trade.”

  “That he was. Probably still is.”

  BAT stopped making notes. “Do you want to hazard a guess where he is now?”

  “I’m thinking Sicily.”

  “Jesus.”

  “That would be my best guess. Why?”

  “That’s sort of what I was thinking. Do you mind if I spend a little money on some skip tracing help? Maybe buy some information out of Interpol?”

  “Be my guest. Let’s cap it at five grand to begin. That do it?”

  BAT whistled affirmatively. “Indeed, it will, good sir.”

  “Then go for it.” Thaddeus’ face broke into a broad smile. “Now that you brought it up, I do want my money back.”

  “Is that all?”

  Thaddeus flushed. “BAT, you’re an astute observer of things Thaddeus. That isn’t all, you’re right. I would also like to see the guy fermenting in the ground. Or at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.”

  “Maybe the two of us could make that happen.”

  Thaddeus’ eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

  “How about cutting me in if I help run this guy to the ground?”

  “How much we talking?”

  “I don’t know. Twenty percent of the recovery?”

  “If you can live with ten percent, you’ve got a deal. But this means you do the workup on your own time.”

  “Not a problem. I’ve got Internet at home. High speed.”

  “Then get it done.”

  “What’s our play?”

  “I’m not above flat-out stealing my money back out of his bank. Something high-tech.”

  “But you want up-close to take him out as well?”

  “Let’s pretend you never said that,” Thaddeus said, his voice low. “But you get me up close and then turn your back. I do have a score to settle with the guy who kidnapped my baby and left her alone in the desert to die. I suppose we haven’t finished up yet.”

  “So get back to your gun range, Boss.”

  “I’m on it, BAT. Already there.”

  13

  Thaddeus drove to the Flagstaff Airport to gather up Dr. Emerick Sewell, who was flying in that noon from San Diego. Southwestern flight, running on time, swooping low over the pine trees just off the end of the runway, and flaring and rolling along the asphalt. Thaddeus watched all this from the side of the airport where he kept his own aircraft. Then he went inside the terminal to meet and greet his client.

  He was last off, a middle-aged man wearing khaki trousers, white shirt, blue blazer, and green and white striped tie. On his feet were tasseled loafers; Thaddeus would have expected no less from the Ivy Leaguer: the look was perfect and was exactly what Thaddeus had predicted to Katy.

  They exchanged names and shook hands.

  Thaddeus watched his new client as he waited at the luggage carousel for a large, black bag. One of about fifty exactly like it. The man was tall, maybe six-one, and weighed in at about one-eighty. He wore long tousled brown hair with blond sun streaks (time at Pacific Beach?), no hint of beard stubble, a gold wedding band and a black onyx class ring with the crimson Harvard “H” engraved on the stone, and a smile that was disarming and charming. He knew you were going to like him; there was that assumption in his manner, and Thaddeus found that he did, in fact, immediately like the guy. He appeared harmless, and as they talked on the drive through town and headed north toward the mountains, Thaddeus learned the guy really had no ax to grind and was welcome as a stream of water burbling through a mountain meadow and equally innocent. He sincerely did not understand why someone like Nadia would file a lawsuit against him when in truth all he had done was come back from the other side bearing good news. The best news. “News that would change the course of human destiny,” he said, replaying for Thaddeus the feelings he had known upon awakening from his long coma. “I was certain I had been returned not as a prophecy but as an affirmation. The deal was struck: God loves us and has sent me back to share the news.”

  “I can see why you might believe that,” Thaddeus said. He had read the book and found the doctor’s enthusiasm engaging. However, he found he still had his guard up and was taking everything the doctor said about his supernatural experience with a huge grain of salt. In fact, he believed none of the supernatural aspects but was fairly confident the medical reportage of the doctor’s illness and unconsciousness was accurate enough. He had no doubt about that part of the story. The problem was, Thaddeus observed to Katy that night, was how the medical part of the story so nicely dovetailed into the supernatural part of the story. “Confidence in the medical encourages confidence in the supernatural,” said Thaddeus.

  Katy nodded, as she had now studied all the records and had spoken with the doctor when he arrived around two o’clock that afternoon.

  “I’m Katy,” she had said with her hand extended. “Stanford and Chicago.”

  “Emerick,” said the doctor with a charming smile, “Harvard eighty-eight. So happy to meet you.”

  “Come in. Thaddeus will get us some refreshments while we talk. Do you mind, Thad?”

  “Of course not. What’s everyone want?”

  After Thaddeus had departed for the kitchen, Katy and Sewell talked families for five minutes. They were treading water until Thaddeus returned, knowing he would demand to hear it all from the top.

  At last he returned with two Diet Cokes and one black coffee.

  “All right,” said Thaddeus, sitting next to Katy on the sofa in the family room, “let’s cut right to the chase, if you don’t mind, Dr. Sewell.”

  “Please call me Emerick and I’ll call you Thaddeus.”

  “Thad is fine.”

  “Well, I’ve been sued by a woman who claims she read my book, as I understand it.”

  “Right, the family has taken the position in the complaint that your story was prescriptive—meaning you were holding out to her and others a form of medical procedure in your story.”

  Sewell shook his head and crunched ice from his Coke. “Preposterous, eh?”

  “Definitely,” said Katy.”

  Thaddeus studied his new client closely and said, “Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves. It would be good to discuss how the law views books written by physicians. There’s quite an interesting slant on it.”

  “Which is?” said the friendly, Ivy doctor.

  “The law looks at medical writings in at least two ways. On the one hand, there is the historical view, in which the law says that anyone can write and tell a story and ask people to believe it. But on the other hand is the prescr
iptive. This view says doctors can also write books that offer medical solutions to medical conditions. These writings are loosely termed, ‘prescriptive,’ in that they offer prescriptions for sick people. Not prescriptions in the form of medication, either, in that narrow sense. It also includes prescriptions in the form of lifestyle change, changes in thinking, attitudinal, and all of the stuff you’ll see in the medical aisle at your typical Barnes and Noble. There are hundreds of such books published every week, all of them offering a cure for some sort of a condition of some sort. That’s your prescriptive writing and, yes, such books can create a legal relationship between author and reader.”

  “You’re serious?” said the doctor, pausing in mid-chew on a melting shard of ice. “That’s amazing!”

  “And you’ve maybe never heard it before?”

  “Not at all.”

  “This is becoming known as negligent publishing. Negligent publishing refers to published material that ends in a reader’s harm or injury. This type of claim should be of particular concern to physicians,” Thaddeus said. “For example, if a doctor writes a book on dietary advice that leads to a reader becoming ill, a negligent publishing claim could arise. Even though you have no patient-doctor connection with readers, you certainly have a duty not to be negligent in what you’re writing about.”

  “Why didn’t I see this coming?”

  “Because we’re doctors, not lawyers,” Katy said. She meant to placate the doctor and he nodded his agreement at her.

  Thaddeus, watching their tacit agreement, was unsurprised. In his experience, most physicians usually were amazed upon learning they might have done something in the practice of medicine or public speaking or writing that could result in legal consequences. Thaddeus knew that doctors just often didn’t think in those terms, which was maybe a good thing, as you didn’t want these most important members of society to be hamstrung when discussing your health and possible treatment modalities or medication regimens. Sadly, the other side of the coin was that because of the choices available to physicians in the practice of medicine, which was still more art than science, legal implications lurked behind every bush. That seemed to be the legal posture in which Thaddeus found his new client. He felt sorry for the guy, too, because he knew that claims like this didn’t just up and walk away. They required tenacious in-fighting and stressful months and even years of pushback. The man’s life had dramatically changed and he realized very little about that fact. It would be up to Thaddeus to help bring him up to speed on these things, which would also, much to Thaddeus’ dismay, begin to dissuade the doctor from his very Pollyanna view of the world. He was about to learn what a really nasty place it can sometimes be . Say sayonara to innocence, Thaddeus thought.