Connelly and Kayser had just entered the stairway, headed down a flight of stairs, when her cell phone rang.
She backed out of the doorway and leaned against the wall to check her display. Justice Bermann was calling. Sasha never thought she’d see the day she received a call from the Chief Justice of the Pennsylvania Supreme Court, let alone the day she contemplated letting that call roll in to voice-mail.
She thought about it for three rings before deciding she didn’t have the nerve.
“Your honor.”
“Counselor.”
She waited and listened to his even intake and exhale as he thought something over.
Finally, he said, “I realize this call is highly unusual. It has nothing to do with your incapacitation matter. I—I need to know if you’re truly satisfied with the investigation into Harry’s . . . Judge Paulson’s death. Please.”
His slip of the tongue—using Judge Paulson’s nickname so familiarly—and the break in his voice forced her to tell him the truth.
“No, your honor, I’m not. I have good reason to believe the suspect the sheriff identified publicly is a dead end. Something else is going on. It’s like a web up here, sir. Everyone and everything seems to be entangled and interconnected. I haven’t yet gotten my arms around the hows or whys.”
“A web.”
There was a long pause, then he said, “The last time I spoke to Judge Paulson, on Sunday, he told me he felt like a fly being eyed by a fat spider. Two days later he was dead.”
He spoke softly, talking more to himself than to her.
Then, his voice regained its timbre. “I’m authorizing you to unofficially reopen your investigation into Judge Paulson’s death.”
“Unofficially?”
“Yes. If you believe there’s a cover up or conspiracy or what have you going on, then look into it. But, do it quietly. And carefully. Don’t involve the sheriff’s office. You’ll report to me, privately, and not to the attorney general. Do you understand?”
Oh, she understood. She understood this was a spectacularly bad idea.
He was asking her to poke around with no true authority, no support from the attorney general’s office, and no backup from local law enforcement if anything went wrong.
She also understood that she lacked the ability to look at a bad—potentially dangerous—situation that involved her only tangentially, if at all, and decide it wasn’t her place to get involved. She hadn’t been able to walk away from the plane crash the previous year, and here she was again, about to walk headlong into some mess.
What she should do, she thought, was just swear the man to secrecy, tell him about Agent Stock, and make the whole thing his problem.
Instead, she said, “I do.”
“I thank you. Harrison Paulson was a good jurist and a good man.” He hung up without waiting for a response.
She slipped the phone back into her pocket and took the stairs down one flight and emerged into a hallway identical to the one she’d just left. She wandered around until she found an orderly who pointed her to the coronary care unit and Gloria’s room.
Gloria lay in a bed, its head elevated so that she appeared to be sitting. A breathing tube was taped to her nose and a monitor beeped out her heart rate. With her glasses off and her eyes closed, she looked younger and vulnerable.
Jonas sat at her side, straddling a metal chair backward, both of his hands wrapped around those of his wife. His eyes were distant and disbelieving. Behind him, Deputy Russell rocked on his heels, looking everywhere in the room except at his coworker. Connelly and Dr. Kayser stood a respectful distance away, leaning against the room’s one long window.
Sasha walked straight to Jonas and crouched beside his chair. “What happened?” she asked, resting a hand on his knee.
She surprised herself with the gesture but he seemed to welcome it.
He shook his head slowly. “She was getting the kids’ rooms ready for them. You know, they were coming in for the memorial service. I walked by and she was leaning against the door frame. Clutching her chest. Said she couldn’t catch her breath. I called Dr. Spangler and she told us to come straight to the hospital. I can’t believe it. A heart attack.”
He stroked Gloria’s hand absently while he spoke.
Sasha squeezed his knee, then turned her head to give him some privacy. She stood and gestured for the others to follow her into the hallway. They huddled against the wall and talked in low hushed tones.
“How bad is it?” Sasha asked, directing the question to Dr. Kayser.
“You just missed Dr. Spangler,” he answered. “She seems to think it was a minor myocardial infarction. Probably stress induced. Prognosis for a full recovery is good.”
The door opened, and Jonas peered out at them.
“She’s awake,” he said. “She’d like to speak to Sasha.”
He slid through the opening and held the door for her. “The kids are on their way. Linnea went to pick up Luke at the airport. Try not to wear her out, okay?”
“Of course,” Sasha said, ducking under his arm to enter the room.
Gloria had managed to prop herself up with the flat hospital-issue pillows and was patting her hair down when Sasha walked in.
“I must look a sight,” she said. “Can you hand me my glasses?”
Sasha took the glasses from the bedside table and unfolded the arms. She placed them on Gloria’s nose and adjusted the earpieces behind her ears.
“Ah, that’s better. Thanks.” Gloria blinked a few times behind the lenses.
“How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know. Scared.”
“You gave everyone a scare.”
Gloria nodded. “Listen, the kids will be here soon. Did you have a chance to try out my recipes?”
She peered at Sasha over the glasses, searching for a reaction.
“Not yet. We were about to, when I got the call about Jed.”
Gloria wrinkled her brow. “What about Jed?”
“He’s here, too. One floor up. Gavin Russell stopped by his house and found him in bad shape. Confused, dehydrated—they don’t know exactly what’s wrong yet.”
The older woman nodded. “Goodness. It’s a lucky thing Gavin happened by.”
“It is,” Sasha agreed. “I wonder what he was doing out that way?”
“Probably he went out to see his folks,” Gloria said, half to herself.
“His folks?”
“Oh yes, the Russells are Jed’s closest neighbors.”
“Oh?”
“Yep. Now, Jed doesn’t have much use for Mikey and Rita Russell, what with all the disagreements they’ve had about them leasing their land to the frackers, but Gavin will usually check on Jed when he’s out that way. Good people, the Russells.”
Sasha filed the nugget of information away for later. She needed to get the story behind the tape before Luke and Linnea arrived to see their mother.
“About your recipe. Did you . . . try it?”
Gloria picked at the sheet tucked over her chest with a nervous bird-like motion. “No. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I thought you should have it, though.”
Sasha dropped the coded speech. “It’s crime scene evidence. How’d you get it?”
Gloria closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillows.
She was so still Sasha thought she had drifted off to sleep, but after a minute she opened her eyes and said, “It’s like I told you. When I knocked on the door and the judge didn’t answer, I went in. At first, I didn’t realize what happened. I saw the papers fluttering on his desk and realized the window was broken. Then I saw . . . him. On the floor. His face was, well, part of it was missing and there was so much blood. I knelt beside him. To see if he was alive.”
Her chest heaved and the monitor beside her began to bleat with increased urgency.
Sasha took her hand. “Gloria, please, stay calm. Breathe. Please.”
She worked to keep the urgency out of her voice, bu
t her own chest tightened.
Gloria swallowed and nodded. “I’m okay,” she said, although the monitor continued to beep louder and faster.
“The tape recorder was still in his hand, like I said. But, I lied about not touching it. I can’t explain what made me do it—I honestly can’t—but I just reached in and popped out the cassette and put it in my pocket. Then, I called Sheriff Stickley.” She widened her eyes. “Am I in trouble?”
Probably, Sasha thought.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay? I’ll listen to the tape and we’ll take it from there.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
Gloria relaxed into the pillows. Her face was gray and drawn, but the monitor had returned to a steady, reassuring pace.
CHAPTER 35
Friday morning
Sasha woke up after only three hours of sleep because someone was tickling her nose. She opened one eye. Sir Thomas More was perched on her upper chest, almost on her neck, his long fur fanned out over her face. He was staring at her. She stretched, raising her arms above her head and pointing her toes. In response, Atticus Finch pounced on her moving feet and swatted at them through the covers. She pulled back her feet and clambered out of bed.
“Guess you guys are looking for some breakfast,” she said to the cats as she followed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee out into Judge Paulson’s kitchen.
When she’d emerged from Gloria’s hospital room, it had been two thirty in the morning. Dr. Kayser had vanished. Dr. Brown had assigned a medical student to chauffeur the gerontologist back to Pittsburgh. Apparently, being a medical student was not much different from being a junior associate at a law firm. Aside from the occasional saving of a life, it seemed to be an existence devoted to low-level scut work and the performance of demeaning errands for one’s superiors.
In the days before e-mailed PDFs were the preferred method of exchanging counter-signed legal documents, she had once been tasked with babysitting a fax machine in her old firm’s office for an entire weekend, with instructions to hand deliver a settlement agreement to the partner’s home the minute the papers stopped curling off the fax. At least this hapless medical student/chauffeur had good company for half the trip: Dr. Kayser had probably asked a dozen questions to make the kid feel involved and important.
In any case, Dr. Kayser had left and Jonas had insisted that she and Connelly stay the night in the judge’s apartment. They’d been too tired to do anything but gratefully accept the offer. Sasha had tried to talk Connelly into finding an all-night market where they could get batteries for her tape recorder, but he’d promised to run out first thing in the morning.
Given that she was alone in the apartment, save for two hungry felines, it looked like he’d kept his promise. He’d even had the foresight to beg some coffee off Jonas before he’d gone, judging by the large work thermos sitting on the counter.
She was working on her second cup of coffee, while the cats licked the vile-smelling fishy juice leftover from breakfast off their dishes, when Connelly returned. He held a plastic convenience store bag aloft, like a trophy.
“Morning,” he said. He leaned in for a kiss. “Do you know I had to drive all the way to Copper Bend to find a store that (a) was open and (b) sold batteries?”
“Where the hell is Copper Bend?”
“My point exactly.” He poured himself a mug of coffee from the thermos and tore at the hard plastic packaging around the batteries.
“Oh,” he added, looking up, “I forgot to tell you this—last night, Dr. Kayser said he needed to talk to you and would give you a call this morning.”
“He tried twice to tell me something last night but there was so much chaos, he never got to say what was on his mind.”
“I like him,” Connelly said.
Sasha nodded, glad his impression of the doctor lined up with hers.
“You met Dr. Spangler in Gloria’s room last night?”
“Mmm-hmm,” he said from behind his coffee mug, his tone careful.
“What did you think of her?”
Connelly looked stricken.
“Relax, Connelly, I’m not going to ask who you think is prettier. Did she seem, I don’t know, kind of off to you?”
His relief at not being put on the boyfriend hot seat palpable, Connelly considered the question. “Off how?”
“Inappropriately sexual? Or, I don’t know, just not the way you’d expect a doctor to behave.”
“I guess she was sort of flirtatious—with everyone, I mean, Russell, Jonas, and Dr. Kayser, too—but she seemed genuinely concerned about Gloria. I need scissors or a knife.”
He tossed the batteries on the counter in frustration. His struggle to free them from their plastic prison had yielded nothing but a bashed-in package.
“Here.”
Sasha took the kitchen shears from the judge’s knife block and snipped off a corner.
She found the tape recorder and popped the cover off the battery compartment. Before she figured out which direction the batteries went, her cell phone rang.
She thought it might be Dr. Kayser, so she abandoned the batteries and answered the call.
It wasn’t the good doctor. It was the annoying opposing counsel.
“Sasha, good morning. It’s Drew Showalter. With my apologies for calling so early, have you made a decision about returning our inadvertently produced document?”
Seriously? It wasn’t even seven o’clock. This guy was too much.
“I have. I looked at the document. It’s a flyer about a pizza luncheon. There’s no way a court would rule in your favor on this. There’s no privilege, nothing confidential—there’s no basis for you to claw it back. To be honest, Drew, I don’t know why you called attention to it. All you’ve done is highlight it.”
She expected him to bluster and pound the table, but instead he conceded defeat immediately and almost happily.
“I understand. My client asked me to try, so I tried.”
She ended the call with the distinct feeling that he had just wanted to make sure she’d looked at the document. She shrugged off Showalter’s increasingly bizarre behavior and inserted the batteries into the back of the tape recorder.
She hit play and sat the recorder on the breakfast bar. Connelly came over to hear better and they leaned over the bar together, listening.
Judge Paulson’s baritone voice rumbled out of the tiny speaker. “This is the Court’s order and opinion in Big Sky Energy Solutions Incorporated versus the Cold Brook County Commissioners. Counsel for the plaintiff is Martin K. Braeburn, Esquire, of the Law Offices of Martin Braeburn. Counsel for the defendant is Drew J. Showalter, Esquire, of the Law Offices of Drew J. Showalter.”
Sasha was moderately surprised that the two attorneys she knew in Springport were both involved in the case, but then she figured they probably both had a hand in almost every case in town.
She reached across the counter and pulled a pen and notepad from her bag. She scribbled a quick note. Drilling ban? Had the judge’s last act been to rule on Big Sky’s motion that it was unconstitutional for the county council to consider a moratorium on drilling?”
The judge went on, his voice rhythmic and slow. “This matter is before the Court on Plaintiff Big Sky Energy Solutions Incorporated’s motion for a declaratory judgment. Plaintiff seeks a declaration that Defendant’s approval of Springport Hospitality Partners LLP’s plans to build a ninety-eight room hotel on a parcel of land located at Lot 14, Block 60 in Firetown was improper and failed to consider a memorandum of understanding entered into between Keystone Properties and Plaintiff regarding the mineral rights located on the property.”
Judge Paulson paused on the tape, maybe to gather his thoughts, and Sasha hit the pause button on the recorder to gather hers.
She rubbed her temples.
“What?” Connelly asked.
“My case for VitaMight is against Keystone Properties. And the distribution center is located at Lot 14, Block 60 in Firetow
n.”
“Are you sure? The same address?.”
“I’m sure.”
She’d read the lot and block number on the lease. She wouldn’t forget.
“I’m just not sure what it means.”
“Coincidence?” Connelly suggested.
She raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? No way.”
When Keystone Properties had booted VitaMight from the site, they’d refused to give a reason for the eviction. That decision had puzzled Sasha from the beginning of the case. It almost guaranteed a victory for Sasha in the breach of contract case; the only real question was the amount of damages, provided she could skirt the liquidated damages clause in the lease. It looked like the judge’s opinion might provide the reason.
“I’m going to jump in the shower,” Connelly said.
“Okay,” she replied, ignoring the hint of invitation she thought she heard in his voice. Not that she wasn’t interested, but she had work to do.
By the time Connelly emerged from the bedroom, dressed in khakis and a sweater, she’d listened to the entire opinion and had written four pages of shorthand notes.
“So,” Connelly said, “did you hear anything worth killing the judge over on that tape?”
“Maybe. Listen to this—” Before Sasha could launch into her theory, her phone rang.
This time it was Dr. Kayser. “Shoot, it’s the doc. Let me see what he wants.”
Connelly nodded and pulled out his own phone. Probably to check his e-mails while he waited.
“Good morning, Dr. Kayser,” Sasha said.
“Yes, it certainly is. I have something you’re going to be very interested to hear.” Excitement buzzed in his voice.
“In that case, do you mind if I put you on speaker? Agent Connelly’s here with me.”
“By all means,” he replied.
Sasha hit the speakerphone button and Connelly returned his phone back to his pocket.
“Can you both hear me?” the doctor asked.
“Clear as day,” Connelly assured him.
“Very good. Well then, this is a bit awkward, but I did try to tell you last night, Sasha. After you left Jed’s room the first time—before the telephone hearing—I considered Agent Connelly’s suggestion that we just do the blood tests notwithstanding the uncertainty about whether Jed had left Dr. Spangler’s practice. I felt I really didn’t have the right to do that, but I did track down Dr. Brown. And, I convinced him to run the tests.”
Sasha McCandless 02 - Inadvertent Disclosure Page 21
