“Excuse you?! Who do you think you are?”
Sasha exhaled. “Attorney Sasha McCandless, ma’am.” She gestured over her shoulder. “This is Special Agent Leo Connelly with the Department of Homeland Security and Dr. Alvin Kayser, our forensic medical expert. As you may imagine, we’re not here about the special on shrimp down at the grocery store.”
The woman blushed, red blotches blooming on her neck first, then spreading to her cheeks. Despite her apparent embarrassment, she just continued to glare at Sasha, arms folded across her chest.
Sasha plowed forward. “We need to speak to the physician treating Jed Craybill immediately. If he or she isn’t out here in three minutes or fewer, I’ll be speaking to your supervisor.” She squinted at the woman’s name tag. “Are we clear, Doris?”
“Yes,” Doris answered in a sour voice before hustling through a door marked “Staff Only.”
She disappeared down a narrow hallway.
As soon as the door swung completely shut behind her, Connelly burst out laughing.
“Way to trip your bitch switch right out of the gate, Sasha.”
She swung around and gave him a warning look. He swallowed the rest of his laughter.
“You’re really worried about your client,” he said, reading the concern behind her anger.
She didn’t trust herself to answer, so she just nodded.
The doctor looked away, giving them some minimal amount of privacy, and Connelly pulled her close for a brief hug.
He released her as Doris came bustling back through the door with more than a minute to spare. A harassed-looking young doctor was on her heels. His brown eyes were tired and his hair mussed, as though she’d roused him from a nap, but his demeanor was crisp and all business.
“This is Dr. Brown,” Doris said, waving her hand toward him, before retreating to the relative safety of her desk. Out of the direct line of Sasha’s ire, she immediately returned to her grocery circular.
He stepped forward and scanned the group, trying to decide which of them to address, even though Doris had almost certainly told him the little crazy woman seemed to be in charge.
Sasha made it easy for him. “I’m Sasha McCandless, Mr. Craybill’s attorney. This is Dr. Alvin Kayser; he’s a geriatric specialist who recently examined Mr. Craybill.”
Sasha looked back at Dr. Kayser and motioned for him to come take over the discussion.
Dr. Kayser blinked rapidly behind his glasses but stepped forward with his hand extended.
“Sam Brown, sir,” the younger man said, visibly relieved to be talking to a fellow doctor instead of the lawyer or the unnamed federal agent looming behind her.
“Please, Dr. Brown, call me Al.” Kayser smiled encouragement at him. “Can you give me a quick run down on our patient’s condition?”
Brown cleared his throat and gathered his thoughts. Then he slipped in the long-abandoned role of resident on rounds and launched into a clinical recitation, falling back into the pattern of precise, quick speech that marked an eager-to-impress medical student.
“The patient was admitted at 20:30 hours, dehydrated, delirious, and febrile.”
Sasha jumped in. “Who brought him in?”
He frowned at the interruption but answered the question. “Deputy Gavin Russell.”
A look passed between Sasha and Connelly.
“What was your diagnosis at intake, doctor?” Dr. Kayser asked.
“With the caveat that I’m not board-certified in geriatrics, I think this situation arose out of a simple case of inadequate self-care, likely as a result of age-related dementia. Mr. Craybill was severely dehydrated. He clearly had not been consuming sufficient fluids, and his primary—uh, former primary—physician, Dr. Spangler, suspects he also hadn’t been taking his medication as directed.”
Dr. Kayser put up a hand like a crossing guard. “What medication would that be?”
Sasha called up Kayser’s expert report in her memory. He hadn’t referenced any meds.
Brown scrunched up his forehead and tried to remember, “Uh, I’d have to check the chart. It was one of the OTC antihistamines. Can’t recall which one offhand.”
“Moving on,” Dr. Kayser said in a tone that betrayed nothing. “What were your initial orders?”
Brown glanced over at Sasha and Connelly before deciding to sell out Doris. He cleared his throat and then said, “There was. . .an error. Someone at intake believed, or assumed, Dr. Spangler was the patient’s treating physician. After all, she is the doctor of record for most of our patients. So, she was called in to participate in the treatment plan.”
He shot an apologetic look at Kayser. “She neglected to mention that you had taken over Mr. Craybill’s care.”
Technically, Dr. Kayser had examined Jed for the sole purpose of writing his expert report. But Jed had been livid at the thought that Dr. Spangler had gotten the ball rolling on the incapacitation petition and, according to Kayser, had said he would never seek treatment from her again, under any circumstances. Jed had asked Dr. Kayser to take him on as a patient, and the two had been trying to work out the logistics.
Jed may not have communicated his new plans to Dr. Spangler, but Sasha was confident he would rather be treated by Dr. Kayser. She was less confident that wish would stand up under the law. No need to share that tidbit with Dr. Brown.
Brown continued, “When she arrived, Dr. Spangler ordered intravenous fluids and canceled orders for tests I had already written. She said we were to take comfort measures only until she sorted out the ‘mess’ with the patient’s attorney.”
Kayser’s woolly white eyebrows crawled up his forehead but he let the younger man continue.
“She said there was some sort of active court case as to the patient’s capacity to make his own decisions. Until she got the go-ahead from the judge, we were to keep him stable, but beyond that, it was hands off.”
“In your opinion, did that seem like a prudent course of action?” Sasha asked.
The doctor took his time formulating an answer.
Finally, he said, “Look, I took this position because this is an underserved rural community. Three years here, and the government forgives my student loans. I don’t know all the nuances of the local scene. Me, personally, I would have run the battery of diagnostic tests. The patient presented in a pretty severe state, but the underlying cause could be something serious or it could be something exceedingly simple and easy to reverse. The only way to know is to run the tests. But, it wasn’t my call. Dr. Spangler said he was her patient. And I heard her attorney tell her not to do anything because he’d spoken to you.”
“Her attorney? Marty Braeburn?”
“Yes. He came flying into the exam room and pulled her aside. He told her you had refused to consent to the county acting on Mr. Craybill’s behalf and that you were on your way here with some hotshot geriatrics specialist. She lit into him about it, and they argued. I went out to find a nurse to start a line so we could get fluids into him. When I came back, the lawyer was gone, and Dr. Spangler was all smiles. Like nothing had happened.” He ended with a little shrug.
“Can we see Jed now?”
“Sure. I have to tell you, he’s floating in and out of consciousness, and when he has been conscious, he hasn’t been lucid. Don’t expect much in the way of conversation, and don’t stay too long. If nothing else, he needs to rest.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Jed looked bad. Worse than bad, if Sasha was being honest. His skin was gray and papery. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling with clouded, dull eyes. He was a shadow of the ranting man she’d sat across from on Tuesday afternoon.
“Jed,” she said and heard the break in her own voice.
He turned toward her voice and struggled to lift his head from the pillow.
“Yes, honey?” He smiled at her, kind and vague.
He didn’t recognize her. Her stomach lurched.
“Excuse us for a minute.” She forced the words out
around a lump that had taken up residence in her throat and motioned for Kayser and Connelly to follow her.
They huddled in the corner furthest from his bed. Jed folded his hands over his stomach like he was praying and waited—a picture of patience and understanding,
Sasha kept her voice low. “What’s going on with him? He’s being so docile. He clearly doesn’t know who we are. Did he strike you as a man who would just smile and nod at a bunch of strangers in his hospital room?”
Doctor Kayser placed a gentle hand on her arm. “No, I can’t say that he did. Sometimes dementia causes people to act out of character. Usually, we see some kindly little old lady who never curses fly into a sudden rage. When such an outburst occurs, we chalk it up to a misfire in the brain. Here, in Mr. Craybill’s case, this more pleasant demeanor is equally unusual and likely the result of disease.”
“Could dementia really set in so fast? It’s only been a day and a half since I saw him. He was eating pie. He was fine!”
Kayser made a motion with his hands, palms skyward. “Who can say? Dr. Brown is right. We need to run those tests to rule out the simple stuff.”
“So, do it.” Connelly said. “You’re his doctor.”
Sasha and Kayser shared a look.
“What?” Connelly demanded. “Isn’t that what the guy said he wanted?”
“Yes. Absolutely . . .” Dr. Kayser trailed off.
“But?”
“But,” Sasha said. “Dr. Kayser has never taken him on as a patient. He evaluated him for my case, that’s all. Officially, Jed hadn’t transferred his records or taken any other action that manifested his intentions to fire Dr. Spangler. Under ordinary circumstances, that wouldn’t matter so much. But, here, it gives Braeburn an opening to claim Jed wasn’t competent to hire a new doctor, or he made the decision under duress, or—who knows what he’ll say, but it’s not so cut and dried.”
“And,” Dr. Kayser added, “because he doesn’t seem to know who we are, if he is asked to reaffirm that decision now, who knows what Mr. Craybill will say.”
The three stood silent for a minute and waited for a brilliant idea to strike one of them. Nothing.
Kayser reared his head back and sneezed, a violent burst. Another. One more. Then he reached into one of the pockets of his trousers and pulled out a package of travel-sized tissues.
“Gesundheit,” Connelly said.
The doctor wiped his nose, found the pedal-operated trash can near the foot of Jed’s bed, and disposed of his tissue before responding.
“Thanks. Allergy season. The trees in Pittsburgh don’t bother me, but if I go any further north than Tarentum this time of year, look out.”
“That’s miserable,” Jed piped up from the hospital bed. “You should see a doctor. Pretty gal I go to told me what to take. Dried everything right up.”
Kayser turned toward Jed. “Your doctor? Is that Dr. Spangler?
“Yep.”
“Do you know the name of the medication?”
“Afraid not.”
“How long have you been taking something for your allergies? I mean, this year?”
“Welp, the pollen and ragweed just started getting bad up this way. So, just a day or two.”
“Did you have a recent appointment with Dr. Spangler?” Sasha asked. If he had, he hadn’t mentioned it to her, but she found his sudden lucidity encouraging.
“Who?”
“Dr. Spangler.”
“Spangler? Who’s he?” Jed looked at her blankly, then turned to Connelly. “Aren’t you my doctor?”
Without waiting for an answer, he returned his head to his pillow and his eyelids fluttered twice, then shut.
* * * * * * * * * *
Sasha escaped to the hallway. She ducked into a little alcove next to the stairs, pressed her back against the cool tile wall, closed her eyes, and tried to erase the image of Jed, pale and quiet, his blue veins stark against his rice paper skin, looking up at her with a face full of confusion and hope then drifting to sleep without warning.
Her vibrating cell phone buzzed against her thigh. She removed it from her pocket and checked the display. 717 area code. Harrisburg. She didn’t recognize the number but answered the call anyway.
“Sasha McCandless.”
“This is Justice Bermann.” Despite the late hour, the chief justice sounded fully awake. And not particularly happy.
“Hello, your honor.”
He ignored the greeting and got to the point. “Ms. McCandless, I just received a phone call from the court administrator from the Supreme Court, who was interrupted by her babysitter while out for an anniversary dinner. It seems she had received a panicked call at home from Judge Canaby, whom I just this afternoon appointed to hear Judge Paulson’s docket. Judge Canaby, I am told, received an urgent call from a Martin Braeburn earlier this evening, asking the judge to preside over a telephonic emergency hearing because you’re trying to prevent Mr. Craybill’s physician from treating him.”
His tone—sharp to begin with—grew increasingly irritated until, by the end of the summation, he was unmistakably scolding her.
She fought her urge to apologize and waited. If he wanted her to say something, he’d ask her a question. If he just wanted to rant, then so be it.
“Well, what do you have to say to all that?” he snapped.
“I’m Mr. Craybill’s court-appointed attorney. I can’t really discuss my representation of him with you, your honor.”
“Don’t be cute. What are you even doing up there? You should be in Pittsburgh. The attorney general informed my clerk this afternoon that your investigation had been closed because you and Sheriff Stickley had almost immediately determined no members of the local bar were involved in Judge Paulson’s murder. Go home, Ms. McCandless.”
“Your honor, I did go home, but my client needs his attorney, so I’m back. I have a duty.”
His voice got crisp and official. “Okay, Ms. McCandless. I’ll give you some rope. Try not to hang yourself. But, I’ve no intention of saddling Judge Canaby with this morass. Tell Mr. Braeburn I’ll hear his emergency motion. Have him call this number in ten minutes and we’ll get this done.”
“You? Respectfully, can you do that, your honor?”
Justice Bermann laughed. “I’m the chief justice of the commonwealth’s supreme court, Ms. McCandless. I most assuredly can.”
He was still laughing when he ended the call.
She slipped the phone back into her pocket and went in search of Braeburn.
She found him in the twenty-four-hour coffee shop, hunched over a sudoku puzzle. He looked up as her shadow fell across his number grid.
“Ms. McCandless.” He half-rose and gestured to the empty seat across from him.
“No, thanks. I just got off the phone with Chief Justice Bermann,” she said.
Braeburn’s sleepy eyes were instantly alert.
“Is that a fact?” he said.
“Yes. And it looks like you’re getting your emergency hearing. Right now.”
Braeburn folded his paper and slid it into his briefcase in one smooth motion, all business.
He stood quickly and said, “Before whom? Judge Canaby?”
Sasha shook her head. “Nope. The chief justice himself is going to hear it.”
Braeburn’s head snapped back. “Can he do that?”
“Apparently.”
CHAPTER 33
Braeburn scurried off in search of Dr. Spangler, and Sasha raced back to Jed’s hospital room to try to prepare both him and Dr. Kayser for what was about to happen. Connelly, lost in the flurry of hurried pre-hearing preparations, wandered away.
As Sasha explained the purpose and procedure of the emergency hearing, Jed’s eyes fluttered open and closed. He asked no questions, but he smiled weakly and said he understood. Dr. Kayser stood at the head of his bed and shook his head at Sasha.
“You know you can’t let him testify,” the doctor said in as low voice.
She knew.
<
br /> “It’s all going to rest on you, Dr. Kayser,” she told him.
She was overwhelmed with gratitude that he’d agreed to come. She took a quick minute to appreciate the charm her Nana Alexandrov had exuded until her dying day. But for Nana, Jed wouldn’t even have a fighting chance.
He blinked behind his glasses. He cleared his throat with two short coughs and began, “There’s something you need to know before the . . .”
He stopped abruptly when the door swung open and Braeburn rushed in, followed by a stunning redhead. She wore a tight-fitting lab coat over a silk blouse and an equally snug black skirt. Sasha was suddenly and acutely aware that she was wearing running clothes and had her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
The woman sashayed—there was no other word for it—across the room, her hand extended. “Shelly Spangler,” she said to Dr. Kayser, her eyes never leaving his face.
He nodded and took her hand. “Nice to see you again, Dr. Spangler. I’m Alvin Kayser. We met at the Pennsylvania Medical Society’s retreat a few years back.”
Her lips turned down into a small pout, “Oh, I feel so foolish. Of course, Dr. Kayser, how could I forget?”
Sasha thought it incredibly likely that Dr. Spangler had forgotten meeting the kindly older man almost instantaneously.
With a toss of her hair, the taller woman pivoted to greet Sasha. “And you must be Jed’s attorney,” she said with a wide smile.
Sasha shook her hand.
“Sasha McCandless,” she said, trying to get a bead on Dr. Spangler. Was the sex kitten persona some kind of act?
Dr. Spangler dropped Sasha’s hand without ceremony and walked over to Jed’s bedside. She pursed the pouty lips and placed two fingers on the underside of his wrist, as if she were checking his pulse. The touch stirred him and he opened his eyes.
“Dr. Spangler,” he said in a dry, creaky voice. He smiled at her.
She shed the vixen act and smiled back at him, her eyes warm and shining. “How are you feeling, Mr. Craybill?”
“Tired,” he croaked.
She patted his hand. “Let me get you some nice cold water.”
She held the large plastic pitcher with one hand and guided the flexible straw into his mouth with the other.
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