Megan rose and walked over to stand behind Mark. “Let’s see.”
When Mark turned to look back at Megan, her face was pale. “What’s the matter?”
Megan shook her head. She braced herself with both hands on the back of the sofa. “I recognize this man.”
“Who . . . What . . . ,” Shannon stuttered.
“I only saw him once, but that’s a face you don’t forget. It was visiting day at First Step. He was there to see Barry Radick.”
SHANNON TURNED TO LOOK AT HER SISTER, WHO CONTINUED TO lean heavily against the back of the sofa. “Are you certain?”
Megan swallowed twice before she could speak. “No doubt in my mind. That’s him.” She moved slowly back to her chair, keeping one hand on the sofa as though to maintain her balance. Once she was seated, Megan said, “So do I share this information with the police?”
“My first reaction would be ‘of course,’ ” Shannon said. “But . . .”
She could tell from the progression of emotions across his face that Mark was struggling with the same thoughts that ran through her mind. He took a deep breath, blew it out through nearly closed lips, and said, “Megan, I’m sure you realize this may focus the attention of the detectives on you more than ever. Are you ready for that?”
Megan’s face contorted, and Shannon thought her sister might be ready to cry. Instead, her voice was firm and her tone defiant as she said, “Do you mean, are you innocent? For what seems like the hundredth time, yes.” Her voice rose steadily in volume. “I had nothing to do with the shooting of Radick. I don’t know this guy, Crosley. I didn’t shoot Tony Lester. What else do you want to know?”
Shannon opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when the phone rang. Was this Crosley calling again? Should she answer it? Did she need to record it? The police had installed the equipment earlier that day, but she hadn’t asked Megan how to operate it.
Never mind. She’d find out later. If this was Crosley, she wanted to tell him he could have the string of numbers that constituted Radick’s dying words—anything to get him out of her life. Megan reached for the phone, but Shannon beat her to it. “Dr. Frasier.”
“Shannon, this is Elena Waites. How did things go today at the police station? I expected to hear from you when you were finished, but since you didn’t call, I supposed there were no problems.”
“Actually, we found out a couple of pretty important things since you and I talked.” Shannon looked back at Megan, who sat with her head down. “Can we meet at noon tomorrow? I think we need your advice about where to go from here.”
MEGAN TURNED TO HER SISTER AS THE ELEVATOR CARRIED THEM up to the office of Elena Waites. “I don’t know why I have to be here. Couldn’t you do this for me?”
Shannon struggled to keep her temper under control. The events of the past week had played havoc, not only with her personal life, but with her professional schedule, too. If Megan hadn’t been a part of the equation . . . Never mind. That was water under the bridge. “It’s necessary for both of us. Let’s leave it at that.”
Elena came out of her office to escort them, and soon the two women were seated across the desk from her, having declined coffee, tea, or water. The attorney leaned forward and addressed Shannon. “So tell me what happened at the police station after I left.”
Shannon related her story of identifying Walt Crosley through a computer-generated sketch and his unique voice, conscious as she spoke of Megan fidgeting beside her.
“And in their database, he’s shown as presumed dead?”
Shannon nodded. “But I think I’ve convinced them he’s very much alive.”
Elena tapped the legal pad on her desk with her pen. “This gives the police some other avenues of investigation to pursue. I should think this would be good news for you,” Elena said.
“Yes and no,” Shannon said. She nodded toward Megan, who had the grace to look up, if only briefly. “When she was in rehab, Megan saw Crosley visiting Radick. We realize she needs to pass this information to the police, but she’s afraid it will only make them redouble their efforts to connect her with Radick’s murder as well as Tony Lester’s.”
Elena shook her head. “This could be awkward for me. As your attorney, whatever you tell me comes under the heading of client privilege unless it involves intent to commit a crime. But technically, I represent you, not your sister.” She flashed an apologetic look at Megan. “Fortunately, I think I can make sure the police don’t do anything more than thank you for bringing this new information to them. But we need to do it now, so there’s no question of our trying to keep this under wraps.” She reached for the phone but paused with it halfway to her face. “Do I have your permission? Both of you?”
“Yes,” Shannon said. She looked at Megan, who seemed to consider the question far longer than was necessary. Finally, she dropped her chin a fraction of an inch in what was apparently a nod of assent.
A couple of minutes later, Elena said to Shannon and Megan, “I have Detective Callaway on the phone. He understands that you’re providing this information of your own free will, that you attest to its accuracy, and that it in no way indicates knowledge or participation by either of you in the two murders you’ve been unfortunate enough to be associated with recently.” She punched a button and laid the receiver on the desk. “Is that correct, Detective?”
Callaway’s voice rumbled through the speakerphone. “Yeah. And I presume you’re recording this.”
“Of course,” Elena said, unruffled. “Aren’t you?”
The detective chose to ignore that remark. “Ladies, what’s your information?”
At first Megan failed to respond, but eventually she spoke. “Shannon showed me the sketch of Walt Crosley. I recognized him as a man who came to First Step to visit Barry Radick when I was a resident there.”
“When was this?”
“I don’t remember. One day’s pretty much like another there.”
“Are you sure it was Crosley? Did you hear his name?”
“I’m sure he’s the man in the picture Shannon showed me. I don’t think I ever heard his name.”
“Did you hear what was said?”
“No. I just saw them together that one time.”
The questions went on like that for another five minutes before Elena said, “Detective, I believe my client has given you all the information she has. If you have any other questions for her, feel free to pass them on to me. If she has answers, I’ll be certain you get them. Now, I’m sure you need to get on with your work, and so do I.” She returned the receiver to the phone base and opened her hands wide. “That’s it. You’ve done your duty. If the detectives give you any grief, let me know.”
In the elevator headed back to the parking garage, Shannon looked at Megan. “Glad that’s over?”
Megan shook her head. “I’m glad this part is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not all over. Not yet.”
SHANNON LOOKED THE MAN IN THE EYE AND SAID, “TOM, I’M really sorry.”
The conversation was taking place in the hall outside the vice chairman’s office at Southwestern Medical Center, and the man Shannon was addressing was the spouse of the attorney she’d left less than an hour ago. Dr. Tom Waites shrugged. “I understand, Shannon, but I hope you’re about finished with these last-minute ‘emergencies’ that require you to be off campus.”
“I hope so, too.” If she told Tom what was going on, even simply asked him to get the details from his wife, she knew he’d be more understanding. But Shannon was determined not to play the sympathy card. “I wish I could promise this was the last, but things keep coming up.”
Tom ran his hand through his crew-cut blond hair. In his scrubs and white coat, he could have passed for a senior resident, not the department vice chairman. “Well, I hope you have this straightened out by the time Bill gets back.”
Shannon didn’t need a detailed explanation. Dr. Bill Meyer, chair of the Department of Surgery, might not be as sympathetic and understa
nding as Tom. “I’ll do my best. And thanks.”
Shannon had thought she’d have no trouble getting away in time to meet with Elena at noon, but the surgical case she was staffing ran long. She had to ask one of the other faculty surgeons to step in for her, and Tom Waites was the only one available. Tom had been gracious enough to help, but Shannon knew she couldn’t neglect her job much more without jeopardizing her position. She hoped the situation might improve, but, like Megan, she had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case.
Shannon glanced at her watch and decided she had time to swing by her office and check messages before she was due in the clinic to see her first patient. She came through the door to find her secretary, Janice, with the phone to her ear.
“She just came in.” Janice moved the phone away from her mouth and covered the end with her hand. “This is Dr. Kim. She needs to speak with you.”
Shannon searched her memory for a Dr. Kim but came up empty. “What’s it about?”
“She said it was about a patient, and that she was sure you’d want to talk with her. Shall I ask for more details?”
“No. I’ll take it in here.” Shannon moved into her office, dropped into her desk chair, picked up the receiver, and punched the blinking button. “Dr. Frasier.”
The voice on the other end was slightly accented, belonged to a female, and was totally unfamiliar to Shannon. “Dr. Frasier, this is Dr. Liu Kim in hematology-oncology.”
“Yes? How can I help you?”
“I’ve just seen your father. He asked me to call you and discuss my findings with you.” There was a hint of laughter behind the next sentence. “His exact words, I believe, were, ‘I won’t be able to remember those fancy terms, and I know I’ll have no rest until my daughter finds out all the details.’ ”
But this was Friday. Her dad’s appointment was next week. She’d made a note on her calendar so she wouldn’t forget. “I . . . I don’t—”
As though reading Shannon’s mind, Dr. Kim said, “We had a cancellation first thing this morning. Since the doctor who referred him indicated that Reverend Frasier would probably appreciate being seen earlier, we called him. Fortunately, he was able to come right over.”
Shannon tried to swallow, but there was only dust in her throat. “What did you find?” she finally managed to choke out.
“I’m afraid I have good news and bad news.”
Shannon’s heart fell.
FOURTEEN
SHANNON FOUGHT TO STAY CALM. SHE WANTED TO PACE. SHE wanted to close the door of her office. She wanted to throw something against the wall. Instead, she forced herself to sit quietly and listen to the specialist. “Please tell me about it.” Shannon pulled a blank three-by-five card from the breast pocket of her white coat and took the pen from her desk set.
“First, the bad news,” Dr. Kim said. “As you may surmise, not every patient referred to us actually has a hematologic malignancy. Some have an overwhelming infection that is responsible for their abnormally high white blood cell count. Some are discovered to have enlargement of the spleen or liver from relatively innocuous causes such as infectious mononucleosis.” She sighed, and Shannon knew what was coming next. “Unfortunately, in this case we confirmed the diagnosis made by the family physician. Your father has chronic lymphocytic leukemia.”
Although she’d been anticipating this, Shannon still felt disappointment wash over her. She scribbled CLL on the card. “I can’t say this is unexpected. And you’re right. It is bad news.”
“Yes. As you may know, the prognosis for CLL is highly variable. Patients may succumb to complications such as hemorrhage or overwhelming infection. Of course, they are at risk of developing other malignancies. It is not a benign disease.”
Shannon nodded to herself. What’s the good news?
The doctor seemed to anticipate Shannon’s unspoken question—or perhaps it was because she’d had this conversation hundreds of times before with anxious patients and families. “But as I said, there’s good news,” Dr. Kim said. “We have several treatment regimens that can provide prolonged periods of remission—some even long enough that a layperson might call the situation a cure.”
“What about a bone marrow transplant?” Shannon knew of the procedure, although her knowledge of it was limited. If she wasn’t mistaken, such a procedure might effect a true cure of CLL. “Would he be a candidate?”
“Of course we’ll consider him for one, but that process may take several weeks. We want to assess his general health, the state of his disease, and so forth. Then we need to find a donor. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“So what’s next?”
“I plan to put your father on what we call the FCR regimen: fludarabine, cyclophosphamide, and rituximab.”
Shannon jotted down notes about how often each drug would be given, determined that before the sun set she’d be well versed on the regimen. She was still writing when Dr. Kim asked if she had additional questions. I have a dozen, but I don’t know enough to ask them right now. “Not at this time. Maybe later.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you for seeing Dad, and thanks for calling me.”
“Not at all,” Dr. Kim said. “Let me give you my number.” She reeled off the phone numbers for her office, her pager, and her cell phone. “Don’t hesitate to call.”
Shannon hung up, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Her head—her doctor brain—realized all along that her dad probably had a potentially fatal disease. But now it was sinking into her heart as well. What would her mom do if the leukemia took the life of her husband? What about Megan? For that matter, what about herself? Shannon couldn’t imagine a world without her dad in it. Please, God . . .
She felt tears trying to force their way out. She brushed moisture from the corners of her eyes and tried to summon the strength to move on and finish the clinic for which she was already late.
When she was younger, bad news always sent Shannon running to her dad. He’d hold her, reassure her, pray with her. Now it was her turn to do the same thing for other members of her family. She’d start with a call to Mark, though. That would help.
She recalled a sermon her dad had preached once about a situation such as this. The message she took away was that it wasn’t a matter of God removing the burdens so much as giving the strength to bear them. If that was the case, she could look forward to receiving a lot more strength as the future unrolled, because her burdens right now were almost unbearable.
Lord, how much more can I take?
MARK’S EVENING ROUTINE WAS TO WATCH THE NEWS, THEN TAKE a shower. Tonight he had just turned off the water when his phone rang. He wrapped himself in a towel and hurried to answer the call. The display showed it was from Shannon.
“How did it go?”
“About like I expected.” Shannon’s words were flat, her voice soft, as though the very act of speaking required more energy than she possessed. “Megan was upset, of course. I finally managed to convince her that leukemia isn’t a death sentence anymore. I told her Dad would go on chemo, and the hematology-oncology team would investigate to see if he’s a candidate for a bone marrow transplant.”
“From what I’ve heard, I think Dr. Kim is pretty much the person I would pick if I were the patient,” Mark said. He pulled a robe from the closet and managed to slip into it without missing any of the conversation.
“So Dad seems to be okay with Dr. Kim and the treatment program,” Shannon said.
“Will he tell the congregation about his diagnosis?”
“I didn’t ask, but knowing Dad, I suspect he’ll announce it from the pulpit on Sunday, then put it in the church newsletter next week.”
Mark dropped onto the bed. “And how are you holding up?”
Shannon’s sigh said it all. “I’ve had better days . . . better weeks. Let’s see. Two murders, threatened by a known killer via phone and in person, found out my dad has leukemia, exposed to HIV-positive blood, and put on notice by one of my bosses that I can’t let all this
interfere with my work. Yes, definitely not one of my best weeks.”
At first Mark wondered if he should encourage Shannon to ask God for strength and direction. If he caught her just right, it could be a great opportunity. Then again, if his suggestion hit her wrong, it might undo any progress she’d made in that area. He settled for “What can I do?”
Apparently where Mark had been afraid to speak, God had stepped in. Shannon’s voice was a bit stronger. “Mark, if all this has done one good thing, it’s made me realize that I can’t get through it by myself. After you prayed with me today, I actually felt more at peace.”
“You know, you don’t need to wait for me—”
“I know,” Shannon said. “I’ve tried to pray on my own—probably not enough, and maybe not even the right way, but I’m trying.”
“That’s a great start,” Mark said.
Before Mark could say more, Shannon changed the subject. “Tonight I got Megan to show me how to operate the recorder on my home phone, so I’m set if Crosley calls again. And if he does, I’m going to give him those numbers. Maybe if I do, he’ll leave me alone. The police already have them, so it can be a race to see who can figure them out first.” Shannon’s words almost faded away. “Either way, I want out.”
“Are you sure you want to give Crosley what he wants? Have you discussed this with the detectives?”
“No! I’m tired of asking everyone what I can and can’t do—my lawyer, the detectives, my sister, you.” There was a brief silence. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out at you like that. You’ve been nothing but supportive, even when I’ve acted like a child . . . like now.”
“That’s okay. But I’d think it over before giving in to Crosley. I was wondering . . .”
“What? Go ahead.”
Mark ran through the idea once more in his head. “Do you have that card handy? The one with the numbers on it?” It made a slight degree of sense, and might accomplish what Shannon wanted without actually betraying critical information.
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