Sasha McCandless 02 - Inadvertent Disclosure

by Melissa F. Miller

  “How did you do that?” Sasha interrupted. “I thought he was afraid of Dr. Spangler.”

  “He was, or is, I suppose. But, he’s also not planning to spend the rest of his career in Clear Brook County. I suggested that I knew many chiefs of staff and hospital administrators throughout the Northeast and that, perhaps, it would behoove him to have me make some inquiries on his behalf after he’d served out his commitment at County General.”

  His tone was equal parts ashamed and proud of himself.

  “I see,” said Sasha.

  It struck her as a fairly shady thing to do, and she was thankful he hadn’t told her of his plan in advance. She was, however, thankful he’d done it.

  “Dr. Brown called this morning with the results. Jed Craybill has extremely high levels of an over-the-counter antihistamine decongestant combination allergy medication in his bloodstream. A known side effect of these drugs in the elderly population is an anticholinergic effect that can result in dementia-like symptoms, including dehydration, confusion, inability to concentrate, and memory loss.”

  “Jed’s condition is being caused by his allergy medication?”

  “Quite possibly. The drugs block acetylcholine, a neurotransmitter that helps with memory and concentration. The effect is more pronounced in older adults because the natural levels of acetylcholine decrease as we age. Thus, a higher percentage of the neurotransmitter will be blocked in an older person. And, Mr. Craybill seemed to be taking a rather high dose of his medication.”

  “Once the drugs are out of his system, will the effect go away?”

  Sasha could feel the excitement rising in her chest.

  “It should. However, Dr. Spangler ordered another dose, which was administered late last night, so it could be another twenty-four hours before we know if that’s the cause of his symptoms. It was a curious decision on her part to order another dose, because he’s not exhibiting any seasonal allergy symptoms currently. Which is to be expected, given that he’s in a HEPA-filtered, closed air environment at the hospital.”

  Connelly spoke up. “Are you suggesting Dr. Spangler is deliberately medicating him to cause him to be incapacitated?”

  Dr. Kayser answered carefully. “I can’t say that. I can say I see no reason for him to be taking an antihistamine at the moment, and I would never, under any circumstances, prescribe an anticholinergic drug to an elderly patient. It’s simply not justifiable, given the ready availability of effective, allergy medications that do not have such side effects.”

  If he had tried to keep the judgment out of his voice, he’d failed.

  “So, what do we do? Medically, I mean.”

  “Dr. Brown, in his capacity as Mr. Craybill’s temporary guardian, has agreed to inform Dr. Spangler she is not to order any additional medications. He’s also going to instruct the nurses not to administer any, even if Dr. Spangler does order them. The poor young man is quite nervous, though. It would be a help if Agent Connelly could go to the hospital to provide support when Dr. Brown talks to her. And perhaps he could stay in or at least near Mr. Craybill’s room to ensure the instructions are followed?”

  “Sure thing,” Connelly said.

  “Why Leo?” Sasha asked.

  “It was Dr. Brown’s suggestion. Apparently, Dr. Spangler became agitated to learn that a federal agent was present last night. She asked Dr. Brown several pointed and, as he described it, panicky questions about who Agent Connelly was, which government agency employed him, and how he was connected to the incapacitation matter. Dr. Brown may be afraid of Dr. Spangler, but he seems to think she’s afraid of Agent Connelly.”

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Sasha was drying her hair when she heard the apartment door creak open and then shut. She watched through the bathroom window as Connelly climbed into his car on the street below and sped away from the curb without having said goodbye.

  Fine, let him pout. She still couldn’t believe it.

  In the middle of everything—a murdered judge, an undercover EPA agent, an incapacitated client, a new friend in the cardiac care unit—Connelly had decided it was the appropriate time to start a conversation about where their relationship was headed.

  She’d hung up with Dr. Kayser ready to take action. She would shower and head to the courthouse while Connelly babysat Jed.

  She’d downed what remained of her lukewarm coffee in a single large gulp and grabbed her toiletries from her overnight bag. As she’d hurried past Connelly with her hands full of shampoo, shower gel, and lotion, he’d reached out and put a hand around her waist.

  “Mac, slow down a second,” he’d said.

  “Is something wrong?” she’d asked, her leg jittering and her voice impatient.

  “We need to talk.”

  The serious way he’d said it had worried her. So, she’d allowed the bottles to tumble from her arms onto the table and had taken his hands in hers.

  “What is it?” She’d searched his face for a clue but found none.

  “I know this probably isn’t the best time,” he’d begun, not meeting her eyes, “but I need to know.”

  “Need to know what?”

  “Sasha, what are we doing here?”

  She’d wrinkled her brow at the question, and, unbidden, her mother’s voice had filled her head, sounding a warning about frown lines.

  “What are we doing here?” she’d repeated, baffled. “I’m going to go to the courthouse and pull some documents I think might shed some light on the case before the judge. I thought you were going to go give Dr. Brown moral support and then make sure Spangler stays away from Jed. What am I missing?”

  “No. What are we doing here? I’ve told you, more than once, I love you. I’m in love with you, Sasha. But, your response to that is . . .nothing. A smile or a kiss. I feel like my life, my career, everything is in suspended animation waiting for you to tell me how you feel.”

  Was he serious? He wanted to do this now?

  She’d waited until the blood pounding in her ears like a wave had subsided, then had said, “Connelly, I care about you. We have a good thing, a really good thing, I think. But, now is not the time. I’m sorry, it’s just not.”

  To his credit, he’d nodded.

  “You’re right, I know. But when is the time, Sasha? When are you going to answer me? You owe me at least that.”

  She’d nodded right back and said, “That’s true, I do. But, I can’t even think about us right now with everything going on. You don’t want to back me into a corner. Trust me.”

  “It’s not an ultimatum; it’s a question.”

  She’d stretched up onto the tips of her toes and kissed him. “And I’ll answer it. I promise.”

  Then she’d gathered her bathroom supplies from the table and had gone into the bathroom and closed the door before she could say something she’d regret.

  Now, as she brushed her unruly curls into obedience, she shook her head at herself in the mirror. She didn’t have time for this nonsense.

  Someone had murdered a judge, and Chief Justice Bermann was counting on Sasha to find out who and why. Jed Craybill may have been poisoned by his doctor and was counting on Sasha to get him out of her hands. Drew Showalter was desperately waving a flyer about Heather Price in her face.

  She’d be damned if she’d let her very real responsibilities disappear into a cloud of hearts and flowers.

  CHAPTER 36

  Sasha covered the short distance from the Burkes’ home to the courthouse at a good clip. Her heels tattooed a staccato rhythm against the pavement that almost kept pace with her racing thoughts.

  She’d put the scene with Connelly out of her mind entirely. If there was one trait she considered a strength, it was her ability to compartmentalize. When she was focused, it was impossible to distract her. Growing up, her brothers had viewed it as a challenge to try to get her attention when she was engrossed in a task. It had never worked. It had occasionally backfired, like that time Patrick had accidentally set the shed on f
ire. She allowed herself a small smile at the memory.

  She’d keep her promise to Connelly and give him an answer when she could, but right now she had other questions that needed answers.

  She checked the time. It was just almost eight o’clock. Naya would be in the office by now. She hit Naya’s number, programmed into her phone, and the legal assistant answered on the second ring.

  “Mac, how’s it hanging?”

  Sasha could hear the printer in Naya’s office churning out paper.

  “Are you busy?”

  “A little bit. Saving yet another junior associate’s ass. Someone didn’t realize his complaint needed to be verified. Just got a pdf of in-house counsel’s signature and I’m working some last-minute arts and crafts magic before I walk this puppy over to the courthouse.”

  “Okay, I’ll keep it short. Is anyone at P&T pulling mineral leases up in Cold Brook County?”

  Sasha assumed her former employer would be up to its elbows in hydrofracking work, but she hadn’t recognized any of the oil and gas suits warming the hall benches as Prescott attorneys. In itself, that didn’t mean anything, though, because she hadn’t really dealt with too many transactional attorneys while at the firm, and the ones she did know were mid-level associates or higher. If Prescott & Talbott was sending bodies to Springport, they’d be newly minted lawyers, paying their dues.

  Naya laughed. “Hell, yeah. It’s a rotating assignment. And this month, the lucky winner is Jessie Stewart.”

  The name didn’t ring a bell.

  “Do you know anything about her? Or him?”

  “It’s a her. Jessica Stewart graduated in the top five percent of her class at Pitt. Daddy was fraternity brothers with Cinco himself. She’s got short blond hair and a developing nicotine addiction. Usually see her at my nine-fifteen smoke break. She’s already down there, almost done with her morning cig.”

  “Naya, you need to quit.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyway, that’s the book on Jessie.”

  “Is she, uh, a stickler for the rules?”

  “Doesn’t seem to be. I don’t know her well. Why?”

  “Oh, I need somebody to pull a lease for me.”

  “You doing mineral rights work now?”

  “No, don’t you read the paper, Naya? You’re talking to the Special Prosecutor assigned to investigate Judge Paulson’s murder.”

  “Yeah? I’ve been under the gun for about a week. Marcus is going to trial, the pro bono guys are filing a petition with the U.S. Supreme Court, and dumbshit junior associates have been forgetting to get their complaints verified. I did hear your name being tossed around, come to think of it, but I just assumed it was your usual notoriety, not any new celebrity. Well, rock on, sister.”

  Sasha laughed. She had left Prescott & Talbott under unusual conditions, to say the least. According to Naya, it had made her a bit of a legend.

  “So, when are you going to take me up on my offer, Naya?”

  Naya had an open invitation to join Sasha as her legal assistant.

  Naya said, as she always did, “Mac, you know you can’t afford me.”

  She was right. It wasn’t the salary that was the problem, but there was no way she could match Naya’s benefits, bonus, and the promise of paid overtime. Not yet, at least.

  “Yeah, but I’m more fun.”

  “Yes, you are. That’s why I’ll meet you for happy hour tomorrow. You free?”

  “I hope so.”

  Sasha had no idea at this point when she’d be back to Pittsburgh.

  “Good. You can bring fly boy.”

  * * * * * * * * * *

  “Morning,” Sasha greeted the deputy at the entrance.

  It wasn’t Russell, but a younger guy, whose hair curled down almost to his shirt collar. She’d never seen him before.

  “Ma’am,” he said, touching the brim of his hat with two fingers.

  She hoped Russell was at the hospital, checking on Gloria. She didn’t care if she ran into Stickley, because he struck her as lazy enough that he wouldn’t bother to inquire into what she was doing, but Russell would ask questions. Questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.

  She paused to look at the framed photograph of the open-eyed Lady Justice that hung near the directory and then pushed through the door leading to the stairs. She took them two at a time, running her hand along the smooth polished banister and planning her next move.

  She loitered in the hallway until the Prothonotary’s Office opened its doors to the public at eight-thirty. While she waited, she couldn’t help think of Naya and her introduction to the Prothonotary’s Office.

  It might have been Sasha’s third day of work when Naya had hauled her over to the Allegheny County Prothonotary’s Office.

  “Listen,” Naya had explained, after she’d introduced Sasha to the clerks and walked her through how to use the office’s on-line document retrieval system at the computer terminal near the door, “it’s my job to traipse over here and pull whatever stuff you need to have pulled or to file whatever stuff you need to have filed. It’s your job to understand how the office works, so you don’t send me over here looking for stuff that doesn’t exist. Got it?”

  Sasha had nodded.

  “And don’t you ever send me over here with pleadings that don’t conform to the rules. No excuses. Your crappy papers get kicked and these clerks will bust a gut laughing because a lawyer from the high-and-mighty Prescott & Talbott screwed up.”

  Sasha had nodded again.

  Then, Naya had said, “Any questions?”

  “Just one. What the hell’s a prothonotary?”

  And with Harry S. Truman’s famous question, posed to the Allegheny County Prothonotary during a 1948 campaign stop, Sasha had won some small measure of Naya’s respect. She might have been a wet-behind-the-ears attorney, but at least she had some understanding of history and a passable sense of humor.

  Sasha smiled at the memory. Prothonotary was a pretty impressive-sounding title for a clerk of court, but that’s how the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania rolled.

  The doors opened, and she hurried inside. The public terminal was just inside the door, and one of the clerks had already started it up. The cursor blinked, waiting for her to start her search.

  Sasha searched the Orphan’s Court records and found all the cases in the past three years in which Dr. Spangler had been appointed guardian of an incapacitated person. It wasn’t the ninety that she’d testified to, but it was a good number of them. Picking thirty at random, Sasha pulled up the docket sheets and printed off the defendants’ addresses.

  She walked through the quiet office to the counter to pay her bill and collect her printouts.

  The clerk looked at her over her half-glasses. “You 104765?” she asked, reading Sasha’s Pennsylvania bar number off the summary sheet.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sasha was more than willing to be nothing but a number to this woman, what with the unofficial nature of her investigation.

  “Let’s see. That’ll be twenty-two dollars even. Is there a firm account you’d like to charge it to?”

  Tempted though she was to charge it to Braeburn’s firm, she shook her head. “Cash okay?”

  “Always.”

  Sasha handed over a twenty and two ones, and the woman gave her the pile of printouts and a receipt.

  “Thanks,” Sasha said.

  “You bet.”

  From the Prothonotary’s Office, she headed straight for the makeshift waiting area, or holding pen, for the oil and gas suits outside the Recorder of Deeds’ Office. It wasn’t yet nine a.m., but the hallway was already standing room only.

  She edged her way onto the fringe of the group but took care not to make eye contact with anyone. She summoned her shallow reserve of patience and let the snippets of conversation wash over her, not really listening, while she waited. She passed the time skimming the printouts. She’d give them a closer read through later.

  At nine o’clock, she put the stack of pape
rs away and started watching the suits.

  At four minute past the hour, a serious-looking younger woman with short blonde hair leaning against the wall across from Sasha and down a bit began to fidget. She tapped her long, unpolished nails against the wall and stared at the deli counter display as if she were willing the numbers to change.

  At seven minutes, she started to jiggle her leg.

  Ninety seconds later, she grabbed her purse from the floor beside her and took off toward the ladies’ room.

  Sasha waited until she was almost to the restroom door then followed after her. By the time she pushed through the door, the young woman had already pushed open the screenless window and was perched on its wide sill, blowing her cigarette smoke out into the alley.

  The girl’s head spun toward the door, guilt splashed across her face.

  Perfect.

  “Don’t mind me,” Sasha said. “I won’t rat you out.”

  The girl sighed. “Oh, thanks. I just need a quick drag.”

  She returned her attention to her cigarette, careful to keep the ash outside the window.

  Sasha moved to the sink and took a lipstick from her purse.

  “Who wouldn’t? I mean what an assignment, cooling your heels outside the Recorder of Deeds Office.”

  After a deep drag, she answered. “Tell me about it. I thought I’d be negotiating deals and this is what I’m doing. Don’t get me wrong, the pay’s good, but the work’s soul-crushing, you know?”

  Sasha made a sympathetic clicking noise with her tongue. “Oh, I know, all right. I used to work at a big firm in Pittsburgh.”

  “Hey, I’m from Pittsburgh,” the girl said.

  Sasha opened the lipstick and considered her reflection. She waited until she caught the girl’s eye in the mirror.