“She asked me to release her,” Dr. Sewell told the jail psychiatrist.
The psychiatrist, Nancy Stoudemire, was a humorless little woman all of five feet tall with gray hair she kept pulled dramatically away from her face and gathered in a ball on the back of her head. She gave away no reaction to the neurosurgeon’s words. She was cool and she demanded of herself that she be that way.
“She was hooked up to life support, Dr. Sewell. So how did she speak to you?”
Dr. Sewell touched the side of his head. “Here.”
“Here? What does ‘here’ mean?”
“It means she spoke directly into my mind. No, wait, don’t write that down! Let me finish before you characterize my response as cuckoo. Her consciousness was waiting inside her broken body for the opportunity to return to the universal consciousness. Her consciousness was frustrated and knew there would be no recovery of the physical body. There had been no brain activity for ten days; her consciousness was aware of this, of course. So, let’s just say I was recognized as a kindred spirit when I cleared my mind and invited her to speak to my mind. She accepted.”
“And that’s when she asked you to set her free?”
“Yes. Exactly that.”
“What words did she use?”
“‘Set me free,’ something to that effect. It was very moving, very impassioned. She also asked me to be her doctor. She said the other doctors hadn’t listened to her desire to be set free.”
“So, based on that, you unhooked her from life support?”
“Yes. There was nothing else to be said after that.”
“Dr. Sewell, please don’t take this the wrong way. But I have to ask. Have you been in communication with other voices in your head in the past?”
Dr. Sewell leaned away from the steel table. He shook his head, obviously put off by the intention of the question, the suggestion that he was hearing things like a schizoid personality would perhaps hear things. The old voices coming through the fillings in the teeth, kind of thing. The CIA is talking to me through my radio, kind of thing. But Dr. Sewell wasn’t going to allow the staff shrinks to treat him that way.
“Please,” said the neurosurgeon. “Please don’t try to reduce my awareness to a lowest common denominator such as cuckoo. The words of Nadia Turkenov were real and they were precise. ‘Set me free,’ she said. Plain as the lines in your palm.”
“All right. Well.”
The psychiatrist busied herself with note-writing. Her lips moved as she wrote, pausing occasionally to smile across the table at Dr. Sewell.
Then she added, “So, we can say, as a baseline, that you ended the life of the victim because voices told you to?”
“Not voices. Voice. And it’s not a voice you hear with your ears. It comes directly into your brain.”
“So you don’t actually hear the voice. You just receive it. Like a radio.”
“But without hearing. These are not aural hallucinations, Doctor.”
“No, no, no, I hear exactly what you’re saying. Now, have you spoken with a lawyer since this incident?”
Dr. Sewell shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to anyone but you and my agent. I called my agent and told him I was in trouble.”
“When you withdrew the victim’s life support, would you say you knew what you were doing?”
“Of course, I knew. I’m a physician just like you. I knew I was doing what someone should have done before. I was doing what the patient asked me to do as her doctor.”
“You knew you were ending her life?”
“Of course. But just the physical body. The consciousness would continue to exist.”
“Well, that’s probably enough for now. I’m going to recommend that they keep you single-celled at this time. We’ll need to follow you for a few days.”
“Afraid I’m a threat to others?”
The psychiatrist grimaced. “There’s no denying you’ve already taken one life. Caution is indicated.”
Dr. Sewell got up from the table. He went to the wall, placed his forearm at eye height and leaned his forehead into his arm. “Damn, damn, damn. This is going to be hard.”
“Going to be hard? What, your case?”
“Yes. I’m in trouble because nobody understands.”
“No, nobody will understand.”
“It’s time for the truth to come out. That’s what my trial is going to be about. The entire truth about human consciousness. What happens to us when we die.”
“All right. Well, good luck with that, Doctor.”
“Please. Don’t condescend. There’s no need. What I’m talking about is good science.”
“No, I sincerely wish you good luck. At this point in time we all need some good news. Maybe you’re the one who has the inside track.”
Dr. Sewell kept his head planted against his arm.
“Goodbye,” said the prisoner. “Thank you.”
“We’ll meet again in a day or two. One last question. Are you on any medications?”
“Nothing.”
“All right. We’ll talk later, then.”
“Goodbye.”
30
Thaddeus was asleep in the chair beside Katy’s bed when the call came. He looked at his cell and saw the number calling: COCONINO COUNTY JAIL. He stepped out into the hallway, leaving Katy asleep. Before answering, he stretched and yawned mightily. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been with her, but he was sure he wasn’t leaving her side. Not like she was.
“This is Thaddeus Murfee.”
“Thad. Emerick Sewell.”
“Why are you calling me from the jail?”
“You didn’t see me being dragged out of the hospital while you were with Katy?”
“They were bathing her after you left. The door was closed. What happened?”
“I went down to Nadia Turkenov’s room.”
“The woman who’s suing you? What the hell did you go there for?”
“I’ve been going there off and on, praying for her.”
“Okay. So what happened?”
“I went into my superconscious state and she came to me and asked me to set her free.”
Long silence.
“You just told me you went into superconsciousness. That gives me pause.”
“What, you don’t believe me?”
“Doc, I don’t know what to make of you at all. All this stuff about consciousness and going to heaven and now you’re into heavy meditation and you were meditating—in her room? Was that it?”
“Sort of. My consciousness was heightened. She came and asked me to free her. She told me I was her doctor now and I was to respect her wishes.”
“Ms. Turkenov asked you?”
“Yes.”
“To set her free? So what the hell did that mean?”
“I withdrew her life support.”
“Hold on. You’re not at the jail as a doctor?” He said it as a statement, not really a question. “You’re telling me you’ve been arrested?”
“Exactly. They tell me the District Attorney will be charging me with murder.”
“What? You withdrew—never mind. Emerick, I’m here with Katy. You know her situation. I can’t leave her to come help you.”
“That’s why I’m calling. I don’t know any other lawyers here in Flagstaff.”
“Just sit tight. I’m calling my friend Shep Aberdeen. He’s Flagstaff’s finest criminal lawyer.”
“You’re Flagstaff’s finest criminal lawyer. That’s what my agent told me.”
“Yeah, whatever. Look, I’m calling Shep. But remember this one thing: do not talk to anyone there. Not the jailers, not the DA, not the sheriff or detectives, not even your cellmate. Especially not your cellmate. You reading me?”
“I am, Thad. Loud and clear.”
Thaddeus hung up and called Shep. Shep showed little interest in visiting with Dr. Sewell, but finally agreed when Thaddeus suggested they might work the case together.
“How would that work?” a
sked Shep.
“You do the procedural; I do the substantive.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You do court and motion practice, I’ll handle the trial witnesses and arguments.”
“Can this guy afford to hire us both?”
Thaddeus chuckled. “He’s been a neurosurgeon ten years longer than I’ve been a lawyer. My guess is, things are looking up at Bank of America.”
“All right. I’m still at the office so I’ll hoof it down to the jail and put him to bed. Any chance we could both talk to him sometime tomorrow?”
Thaddeus was hesitant. “You know, I just can’t leave Katy right now. It’s really touch and go.”
“What’s going on? I hadn’t heard.”
They discussed the horse ride and Katy’s injury. Shep said he would send flowers to the hospital and Thaddeus didn’t argue, even knowing that Katy didn’t care for flowers all that much and had already made him promise there would be no sprays at her funeral.
He hung up and walked back inside her room.
“Who’s that, Thad?” she murmured.
“You’re awake. How we doing?”
“Same old same old. Pain, then drugs, then groggy, then sleep, then pain wakes me up. You don’t have to ask anymore, Honey. I’m always at one of those five steps.”
“All right.”
“Was that Turquoise calling?”
“No, just a client.”
“They have your cell number?”
“This one does. Emerick Sewell.”
“He was checking up on me?”
“Yes. He wanted to know how you’re doing. What should I tell him next time?”
“Tell him about the five steps.”
“And have you decided on the back procedure?”
“Yes, I want the glue but nothing else. I figure the back glue will take away some of the pain, which will let me take fewer meds, which will let me be more alert around you guys when I get home.”
Thaddeus sat in the chair beside her bed. He rubbed his face with both hands, thinking.
“Yes, I talked to Dr. Torres about going home,” he finally said.
“When do I get out?”
“He doesn’t think it’s such a good idea for you to leave.”
Silence. More silence.
Then, “Well, that’s not gonna happen. I am going home and you’re going to take me!”
“I knew you’d understand. That’s what I told him.”
“Tell me you’ll take me home.”
“I will take you. Let’s get the glue injections in the broken vertebrae first. Then we can go.”
“I want the glue tomorrow.”
“Actually, they came in while you were asleep. They’re doing the glue early tomorrow morning.”
“Dr. Tomasik?”
“Yep. He came in too. They’re doing four regions in your back. It should only take two hours, he said.”
“And then what?”
“Then you have to stay still for twenty-four hours. Then I’ll bust you out.”
“You damn well better, Thaddeus Murfee. I’ll never forgive you if you leave me in here.”
He reached over and rubbed his hand against her cheek.
“I’d never leave you here. You want to go home, you’re going home.”
“I knew you would take me.”
“But no more horses. And you have to do what the nurses tell you. I’m serious, Biscuit. No more screwing around.”
“I promise. Just get me the hell out of here. I hate hospitals.”
“Me too. So. Let’s see what’s on HBO tonight.”
“I’d rather just lie here. Why don’t you go home and sleep? Tomorrow morning will be here way soon now.”
“No. I’ll be staying right here. I don’t mind just sitting here in the dark, being near you.”
“I’d like that. But there is something I want to talk to you about.”
“Oh, God. What now?”
“Don’t say it like that. I’m serious, Thaddeus. I need to tell you this.”
He sighed. “All right. Out with it.”
“After I’m gone, I want you to be with Christine.”
“Christine? Our Christine?”
“She loves you. I can tell by the way she looks at you.”
“Don’t even say that! There will be no else for me.”
“Thad, get real. We’ve got four kids. They need a mother.”
“Christine is a lawyer.”
“Oh, yeah? Ask her what she’d like. You might be very surprised.”
“As in?”
“She just might want to make a home with you. She might be ready. It’s been two years since Sonny died and I know she’s lonely. I can tell. Promise me you’ll talk to her after I’m gone.”
“I don’t know.”
“Thad—promise me. I need to know you’ll do it.”
Another sigh. This one deep and long.
“All right. I’ll talk to her. But how about my feelings, don’t they count too? I’m not sure I ever want to get this close to anyone again. This is incredibly painful, losing you, Katy!”
“Your feelings count. But they’re not all of it. I’m thinking about what’s best for you and our kids. Not what’s best for your feelings.”
“Well that’s a helluva note.”
She laughed. “Your avoidance days are over, Murfee. You’ve got four kids who are soon gonna need a mother. It’s up to you to make that happen.”
“Let me think about it.”
“All right. You do that. You think.”
“All right.”
31
The District Attorney was a bull of a man named Gary Sanders. Gary was a retired rodeo cowboy who had splintered his pelvis and shattered his knee in a fall from a bucking horse in Wyoming during the summer rodeo circuit. The hip had been replaced along with the knee, and Gary now walked with the gait of someone forever tentative about his balance on the earth’s surface. “Every step I take without falling over is a milestone,” Gary laughed. Mid-afternoons he could most often be located in his second office, the unofficial one where he ran the DA’s office by cell phone out of Kientzel’s Grille, a Navajo cowboy hangout on the south end of San Francisco Street. Staff and police alike were turned off by his drinking and carousing, but Gary was loved by the common man and was easily reelected to the office of District Attorney every four years.
The story of the doctor who had removed Nadia Turkenov’s life support drifted into Gary’s office ahead of the official police report from the Dick Eight squad at the Flagstaff Police Department. Drifted in because Gary’s wife worked ICU weekend shifts at FMC as a charge nurse. Sunday night she had told him about the incident and the arrest of the doctor from L.A. By Monday morning, news of the incident was making its way through the coffee shops downtown when the Dick Eight squad finalized its report and dropped it on Gary’s desk. Dick Eight consisted of the eight homicide detectives who rotated in shifts on the homicide detectives squad. Herbert Constance was the senior detective on duty Monday morning; it was Constance who hand-carried the report to Gary Sanders and waited patiently in the DA’s outer office while the prosecutor read it through.
Then Sanders leaned outside his door. “Connie, come on in.”
Constance, tall and lean with a hawkish face ravaged by teenage acne and still bearing the evidence of that derma-turmoil, hurried into the office and took the client chair the cops always took.
“You believe this shit?” said the cop.
Sanders plopped into his high-backed leather chair.
“No. I heard about it last night from Andrea. What the fuck, Connie?”
“I know.”
“Who is this guy?”
“He’s a doctor who has a book out and he’s been all over the TV channels trying to peddle it.”
“What’s the book about?”
Constance shrugged. “Haven’t read it. One of the guys says his wife saw him on Good Morning, Arizona. Evi
dently the guy believes he died and went to heaven. So he’s got an inside track on that.”
“Sure he does. And this has something to do with cutting off the lady’s life support?”
“Yes. He told Dr. Stoudemire over at the jail.”
“Great. A visionary.”
“A lunatic.”
“So he removes her from life support. She was in bad shape to begin with, I take it?”
Constance grimaced. “That’s where it gets really flaky. This Turkenov woman was in the hospital because she read the doctor’s book and decided to give heaven a try herself.”
“Come again?”
Constance spread his hands. “Swear to God. She sees this guy on TV and decides to visit her dead husband in heaven. So she swallows down a half-pound of painkillers and bam! Overdose. That’s why she was in the hospital in the first place. Then, to top it off, her kids are suing this Dr. Sewell for medical malpractice for encouraging people to ride the freeway to heaven.”
“Whoa, whoa. The dead woman’s kids are suing the defendant?”
“Exactly. They set up a conservatorship and filed suit against the doc. They’re after him for ten million bucks for putting their mother in the hospital.”
“Okay, then he goes to the hospital and unhooks her. Wow.”
“Not exactly. He’s up at the hospital visiting Katy Murfee. She’s dying, you know.”
“I heard. Sad. Poor Thaddeus.”
“Yes. Anyway, it turns out Thaddeus had been hired to defend the doc on his malpractice case. The doc finds out about Katy and goes up to the hospital to see her. While he’s there, he detours down to the Turkenov woman’s room and unplugs her from life support. Ten minutes later she’s dead. End of malpractice case.”
“Not exactly. Now it’s a wrongful death case. A better case.”
Detective Constance smiled. “That’s what we were thinking too. Then one of our city attorneys who’s overhearing all this says it ain’t so.”
The Near Death Experience (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 10) Page 14
