"Thanks for coming out, George," Robert called to the lawyer.
"Yes, thanks," Gustave called.
"See you all Monday morning," George called back. He waved as he climbed into his sleek black Mercedes.
Robert and Gustave exchanged glances. They shook their heads in mutual sympathy.
Robert got into his car and slammed the door. He glanced at Marissa, but she was staring straight ahead, her jaw set. Robert started the car and pulled out into the street.
"I'm not going to say I told you so," he said finally as they crossed over the old Charles River Dam.
"Good. Don't say anything." After her ordeal, Marissa felt she needed comforting, not a lecture.
"I think you owe me an explanation," Robert said.
"And I don't think I owe you anything," Marissa said, glaring at Robert.
"And let me tell you something: those guards were crazy back in the clinic. I was almost shot in the face at pointblank range. The man you hired told you so. They even beat us!"
"It all sounds a little hard to believe," Robert said.
"Are you suggesting we're lying to you?" Marissa asked, incredulous.
"I believe that's what you believe happened," Robert said evasively.
Marissa faced forward. Once again her emotions were caroming around like a squash ball. She didn't know whether to cry more or pound the dashboard. Undecided, she just clenched her fists and gritted her teeth.
They drove in hostile silence along Storrow Drive. After they got on the Mass Pike, Marissa turned to him.
"Why did you have me followed?" she demanded.
"Apparently it was a damn good thing I did."
"That's not the point," Marissa said.
"Why did you have me followed?" she repeated.
"I don't like it."
"I had you followed to try to keep you out of trouble," Robert said.
"Obviously it didn't work."
"Someone has to try to follow up on these TB cases," Marissa said.
"Occasionally risks have to be taken."
"Not to the point of doing something plainly illegal," Robert said.
"You are obsessed with this thing, and irrational. It's become a crusade, and it's driving me crazy. I can't believe you.
You're still trying to justify unjustifiable behavior."
"What if I told you we discovered eighteen cases of TB salpingitis in the Women's Clinic alone?" Marissa asked.
"Do you think that might bear out my suspicions? And that eighteen probably isn't even counting Rebecca Ziegler. Her record was already erased from the computer. What do you think about that?"
Robert shrugged irritably.
"I'll tell you what I think. I think they have something to hide," Marissa said.
"I think there was something in Rebecca's record that they didn't want anyone to see."
"Come on, Marissa!" Robert snapped.
"Now you're getting melodramatic and paranoid. This is all conjecture. In the meantime, we'll he footing some all-too palpable legal fees to try to keep you out of jail."
"So it all comes down to money," Marissa shot back.
"That's your biggest concern, isn't it?"
Marissa closed her eyes. Sometimes she wondered what had ever possessed her to marry this man. And now she had the threat of a jail sentence looming in her immediate future. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse to worse still, like the unraveling of a Greek tragedy.
Marissa opened her eyes and stared at the onrushing road. Her mind jumped from one anxiety to another. She wondered what effect the guard's blows might have had on her embryo transfer.
Monday was to be her day of reckoning in more ways than one.
Not only was she to be arraigned on an array of criminal charges, she was scheduled for her pregnancy blood test.
Fresh tears welled in her eyes. The way things were going, it wasn't hard to predict how that blood test would turn out. All of a sudden it wasn't so surprising that Rebecca Ziegler had jumped to her death. Maybe she'd been under similar stress.
But, then again, maybe she hadn't jumped. Maybe she'd been pushed.... 20April 2, 1990
9:35 A.M.
Although Marissa and Wendy had spoken on the phone early Saturday morning, Marissa did not see her friend until Monday morning at the courthouse. As she and Robert entered the courtroom, they saw Wendy, Gustave, and their lawyer sitng in the pew like benches on the left. Robert tried to steer Marissa to an empty row on the right, but she resisted and went over to her friend.
Wendy looked awful. She stared ahead as if in a trance. Her eyes were red, rimmed, and sunken. It was obvious she'd been crying, probably a lot. Marissa touched her on the shoulder and whispered her name. Seeing Marissa, fresh tears began to streak down her cheeks.
"What's the matter?" Marissa asked. Wendy seemed more distraught than expected.
Wendy tried to speak but couldn't. All she could do was shake her head. Marissa grabbed her arm and pulled her out of her seat.
Together they walked back through the milling crowd and out of the courtroom.
Spotting a ladies' room, Marissa steered her friend into the lavatory.
"What is it?" Marissa asked.
"Is it something between you and Gustave?"
Wendy shook her head again and sobbed. Marissa hugged her tight.
"Is it this legal stuff?" she asked.
Wendy shook her head.
"It's my blood test," she said at last.
"I had it drawn on Saturday. I'm not pregnant."
"But that was only the first test," Marissa said.
"They'll have to do another to see how much the hormone goes up." She was trying to be optimistic, but she knew that if Wendy thought she wasn't pregnant, then she probably wasn't. The news sent an icicle through Marissa's heart. Just that morning before coming to the courthouse, Marissa had stopped at the Memorial for her blood to be drawn for the same test.
"The hormone level was so low," Wendy sobbed, "I can't be pregnant. I just know it."
"I'm so sorry," Marissa said.
"Do you think what happened at the clinic Friday night could have had an effect on the transfer?" Wendy asked.
"Oh, no!" Marissa said, even though the same awful thought was in her mind.
"Excuse me," said a gum-chewing woman in a tight miniskirt.
"Either of you Dr. Blumenthal?"
"I am," Marissa said with surprise.
The woman hooked a thumb over her shoulder.
"Your husband is waiting. Says he wants you out there immediately."
"They must be starting the arraignments," Marissa said to Wendy.
"We have to be there."
"I know," Wendy said, still crying. She took tissue from Marissa and wiped her eyes.
"I look terrible," she said.
"I'm afraid to look in the mirror."
"You look fine," Marissa lied.
The two women left the ladies' room together. Robert was standing right outside the door with his hands on his hips.
"What's the matter now?" he asked with exasperation after taking one look at Wendy.
"You do understand that you have to be in the courtroom when your cases are called, don't you?"
Marissa addressed him in a low, barely civil tone.
"Look, I know it's hard for you to appreciate, but Wendy is grief-stricken because her latest embryo transfer didn't take. To us, it's as bad and as real as a miscarriage."
Robert rolled his eyes.
"Come on," he said.
"She can save it for her therapist. I'm not about to let you jeopardize yourselves by missing your arraignment."
Despite Robert's concern, Marissa and Wendy weren't called for another thirty minutes. As they nervously waited, Mr. Freeborn explained that the cases were taken in the order that the involved arresting authority completed the appropriate paperwork.
So they had to wait while a parade of characters were arraigned on a variety of charges such as manslaug
hter, robbery, attempted rape, drug trafficking, driving under the influence, receiving stolen goods, and assault and battery. Finally, at ten-twenty, the clerk of the court called out: "Cases
9045CR-987 and 988, the Commonwealth versus BlumenthalBuchanan and Wilson-Anderson."
"Okay, that's us," Mr. Freeborn said, standing and motioning for Marissa to do the same.
Across the aisle, Marissa could see Wendy stand With her lawyer. He was a tall, thin man whose jacket sleeves were too short, making his arms and bony hands seem unnaturally long.
Together the foursome moved from the gallery section to a spot before the bench.
Judge Burano appeared disinterested. He continued to peruse the array of papers laid out in front of him. He was a heavyset man in his sixties, with wrinkled features that gave him an uncanny resemblance to a bulldog. Reading glasses pinched the end of his broad nose.
The clerk cleared his throat, then read in a loud voice for all to hear.
"Marissa Blumenthal-Buchanan, you are hereby charged by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts with breaking and entering. How do you so plead?"
"Mrs. Marissa Blumenthal-Buchanan pleads not guilty," Mr.
Freeborn said with his commanding voice.
"Marissa Blumenthal-Buchanan, you are hereby charged by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts with trespass," the clerk of the court droned on. He went through the entire list of charges, and each time Mr. Freeborn entered the same not-guilty plea.
When Marissa's charges had been read and recorded and her pleas entered, the clerk of the court repeated the same process with Wendy.
At that point a woman Marissa guessed to be an assistant district attorney stood up. With several sheets in her hand for reference, she addressed the court: "Your honor, the Commonwealth requests the re imposition of the bail previously set by the magistrate in these two cases. These are serious charges, and it is our understanding that there was significant property damage at the involved clinic."
"Your Honor, if I may," Mr. Freeborn said.
"My client, Dr.
Blumenthal-Buchanan, is an esteemed physician in our state who has received national recognition for her work. I believe strongly that she should be released on her own recognizance. I would like to make a motion that the bail set by the magistrate be dropped."
"Your Honor," Wendy's lawyer said, "I would like to echo MY esteemed colleague's motion. My client, Dr. Wendy Wilson Anderson is on the staff at the renowned Massachusetts Eye and
Ear Infirmary as an ophthafinologist. She is also a property owner in the Commonwealth."
For the first time since Marissa and Wendy had come forth, the judge glanced up from his paperwork. He regarded the group before him with a cold eye.
"I will reduce bail to five thousand for each defendant," he said.
Just then, a well-dressed man in a handsome business suit approached the prosecution's table. He tapped the woman ADA on the shoulder and spoke to her at length. Once he had finished, the woman began conferring with her two colleagues.
"We will set a pre-trial conference date for May 8, 1990," the clerk of the court said.
"If it please the court, Your Honor," the assistant district attorney said, once again approaching the bench, "there has been a development in this case. Mr. Brian Pearson would like to address the court."
"And who is Mr. Brian Pearson?" Judge Burano demanded.
"I am counsel for the Women's Clinic, Your Honor," Mr.
Pearson said.
"It was within the premises of the Women's Clinic that the alleged crimes were committed by the defendants. Dr.
Wingate, the director of the clinic, has instructed me to petition the court with respect to this matter. Although the defendants' behavior is not condoned in any way, the clinic does not wish to press charges, provided the women acknowledge their liability and give their word that they will respect the property of the clinic in future and pay reasonable compensation for the repair of damages their acts caused."
"This is unusual, to say the least," Judge Burano said. He cleared his throat. Turning to the assistant district attorney, he asked: "What is the Commonwealth's opinion of this development?"
"We do not object, Your Honor," the assistant district attorney said.
"If the clinic doesn't want to press charges, then the Commonwealth won't insist."
"Well, isn't this curious," the judge said, turning his attention back to Maxissa and Wendy.
"Nolle prosequi! This certainly is a first in my court. But if no one wants to prosecute, then it behooves me to lessen the judicial burden of the Commonwealth by dropping the case. But before doing so, I intend to voice an opinion."
Judge Burano leaned forward, studying the women.
"From the material I've gone over, it suggests to me that you two adults have been acting mighty irresponsibly, especially in your capacity as physicians. I don't countenance such obvious disrespect for the law and for private property. The case is dismissed, but you two women should feel indebted to the Women's Clinic for its generosity."
Marissa felt a tug on her arm. She looked at Mr. Freeborn, who motioned for her to go. The clerk of the court was already calling out the case number for the next arraignment.
Confused but happy to be escorted out of the courtroom, Marissa waited until they'd reached the cigarette-smoke-filled hallway before speaking. Robert was directly behind her with Wendy and Gustave in tow.
"What happened?" Marissa demanded.
"Simple," Mr. Freeborn said.
"Like the judge said, the clinic decided to be magnanimous and not press charges. The ADA went along with it. Of course we'll have to negotiate the 'reasonable' compensation."
"But other than that, it's over?" Marissa asked. It seemed like the first good news she'd gotten in months.
"That's right," Mr. Freeborn said.
"What kind of compensation do you think it might involve?"
Robert asked.
"Not a clue," Mr. Freeborn said.
Wendy put her arms around Marissa and gave her a big hug.
Marissa patted her back.
"I'll call you," Marissa whispered in her ear. Even with the charges dropped, Marissa knew Wendy would still be depressed.
Wendy nodded, then left with Gustave and their lawyer.
Robert conferred with Mr. Freeborn for a few more minutes.
Then the two shook hands and Robert escorted Marissa to their car.
"You girls were mighty lucky," Robert told Marissa. as they pulled into traffic on the Monsignor O'Brien Highway.
"George had never heard of such a thing. I have to hand it to the clinic, that was pretty big of them, asking for the charges to be dropped."
"It's all a clever cover-up," Marissa said.
Robert looked at her as if he'd not heard.
"What?"
"You heard me," Marissa said.
"It was a clever trick to keep the public from finding out what kinds of beasts they employ for guards. It was also a good way to get us to drop our inquiries into this TB issue and maybe Rebecca Ziegler's death."
"Oh, Marissa!" Robert moaned.
"The judge doesn't know any of the other details," Marissa said.
"He doesn't have any idea of the dimensions of this case."
Robert beat the steering wheel with his fist.
"I don't know if I can take this anymore."
"Stop the car!" Marissa said.
"What?"
"I want you to pull over."
"Are you getting sick?" Robert asked.
"Just do it."
Robert glanced over his shoulder and pulled into the roundabout in front of the Science Museum.
Marissa opened her door, got out, and slammed the door behind her. She started walking. Confused, Robert lowered his window and called after her.
"What the hell is going on?" he demanded.
"I'm walking," Marissa said.
"I need to be by myself. You're driving me crazy."
&n
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Robin Cook 1990 - Vital Signs Page 17
