Medical Judgment

by Richard L. Mabry M. D.

  “Detective Larson felt I should have reported them, but I think he understood I had too much on my mind at the time.”

  “But did he think the person who set the fire was the same one who made the phone calls and was prowling around your house?”

  “He didn’t use those exact words, but I’m pretty sure he feels they were all part of the same thing,” Sarah said.

  “Have you been thinking about people who could be behind this?”

  “I’ve tried, but I keep coming up with a blank. Harry and I didn’t have any enemies.”

  The conversation went on for another fifteen minutes, and when it was over Sarah felt an overwhelming sense of fatigue. She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. She wanted to do what she’d done as a child, huddling under her covers hoping that whatever monster she feared at the moment would disappear. If only she could go to sleep and awaken with this all behind her.

  Apparently she did go to sleep, because when she awakened she looked outside her bedroom windows and saw it was now full night. Sarah swung her feet off the bed and padded over to close the blinds, but she stopped when she looked through them. There was a dark sedan parked at the curb across the street from her house.

  She could just barely discern the shape of a man behind the wheel. When the headlights of a passing car illuminated the interior of the vehicle for a moment, she saw him turn and look in her direction. She couldn’t discern his features at this distance. Nevertheless, Sarah wondered if she was finally seeing the person responsible for the trials she’d been experiencing. More than that, she wondered what would be next.

  4

  Bill Larson slouched in his easy chair, the TV tuned to a show where the police were able to solve whatever crime they were given this week in an hour, minus sixteen minutes for commercial breaks. He wasn’t watching, having long ago discovered that there was very little relationship between television and real life when it came to police dramas. But he had also learned in the past few months that without the background noise and constantly changing images emanating from the set, his apartment was so cold and depressing it made the urge to drink almost too strong to resist.

  He was in that special world halfway between dozing and wakefulness when the ring of his cell phone startled him into full consciousness. At first, he wasn’t sure if the sound came from the television, but another ring followed the first, even after he’d muted the program. He was glad for the interruption, and even more when he saw who was calling.

  “Larson.”

  “This is Sarah Gordon. I’m sorry to bother you this late, but . . . ”

  “No bother. Is something wrong?”

  “The car . . . the man . . . someone outside my house.” She paused. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bother you with this. I guess this could have waited until morning.”

  The detective turned off the TV set. “If your original impulse was to call, it’s probably something I should know. You said something about a car outside your house.”

  “I looked out the window a moment ago and saw this car. It’s not unusual for a car to be parked at the curb there, but when the headlights of an approaching vehicle illuminated the interior I saw the man behind the wheel was looking toward me.” She took a deep breath, and the sound in the phone receiver was like a sigh. “And I wondered if it was the same man I told you about earlier today—the man I thought was outside my bedroom window . . . watching me.”

  Larson scanned the area around his chair, wondering where he’d put his shoes. “Is he still there?”

  “No, right after the headlights lit up the inside of his car, he drove away.”

  “Could you identify him if you saw him again?” Larson asked.

  “No, I didn’t really see his face that well. And before you ask, I didn’t get his license plate number. All I know is the car was a dark sedan.”

  “Have you seen the police patrol cars I asked to drive by your house?”

  “I haven’t watched for them,” she said. “Come to think of it, I wonder if it was the police car going by that lit up his vehicle. Do you think that’s why he left?”

  “Most likely,” Larson said. He abandoned his search for shoes and leaned back in his chair. “He probably won’t come back tonight, but if he does, call the number I’m about to give you. I’ll alert whoever’s on duty. Just tell the dispatcher the man’s in front of your house. We can have a car with a couple of officers there inside of five minutes.”

  He read off the phone number, and Sarah dutifully repeated it back as she wrote it down. “Was it okay that I called you?” she asked.

  “You did exactly the right thing,” Larson said. “This could be a coincidence, but I’m willing to bet that man’s the one who’s behind these efforts at harassment. What we have to do now is find out his identity.”

  “Do you want me to do anything more tonight?”

  “Just get some rest. And call if there’s anything I can do.” After the call was ended, he murmured once more, “Anything.”

  * * *

  While she was talking with Detective Larson, Sarah heard the beep that told her another call was coming through on her cell phone. She glanced at the screen and saw it was Kyle on the line. What was he calling about this time? She ignored it, but when her conversation was over, she returned his call.

  “Kyle,” she said, making an effort to keep her tone civil. “Sorry I couldn’t answer right then. I was on the phone with the police.”

  “Did something else happen?” he asked. “Do I need to come over? I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Kyle, give it a rest. You’re pushing. “It’s nothing that requires your coming over,” she said. Sarah went on to explain about the car parked outside her house and her fear the driver was the same man who’d been harassing her.

  “And you’re sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Now, why did you call? Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “I’m still worried about your security while the police sort this out,” Kyle said. “I can arrange for you to stay at a hotel for a bit.”

  “No, Kyle. I’m not going to leave this house. And that’s final.”

  “What about defending yourself, then?” Kyle said. “I can bring you a pistol. I’ll bring it right now if you like.”

  “That’s not necessary, but thank you.” Sarah understood Kyle’s anxiety over her—sort of. He’d been a friend of Harry’s, perhaps his best friend, and she could imagine that he felt he should look out for Harry’s widow. But, friend or no friend, she’d had enough. “Look, can you stop worrying about me? My doors and windows are locked,” she said. “Bill Larson has asked the dispatcher to send a patrol car by at intervals tonight. I’m fine.”

  “But what about tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that?”

  Sarah didn’t want to tell Kyle that this was exactly the question that had crossed her mind earlier in the evening. She tried to sound confident when she replied. “I’m hoping the police will have the person behind all this in custody soon.”

  There was a moment of silence, and Sarah thought Kyle was about to hang up. Instead, his change of the conversational subject was so drastic it put her off-balance. “How long since you’ve been to church?” he asked.

  “You mean sitting through a whole service without leaving because I couldn’t stand it? I know the exact date.” The last full church service she’d attended was the day she’d sat in the front row and stared at two coffins—one small, one larger. She couldn’t recall any of the words said from the pulpit that day, although she was sure they were meant to bring comfort to her and those who joined her in mourning the loss of her husband and child. But throughout the service her thoughts were elsewhere, and they were not thoughts that brought her comfort. Instead, one question ran through her mind again and again: God, why did You let this happen?

  Kyle’s voice brought Sarah back to the present. “You mean you haven’t been back to church since the day
of the funeral,” he said.

  “I’ve tried to attend a couple of times since then, but my emotions got the best of me and I had to leave early. I kept flashing back to the service for Harry and Jenny. And probably my anger with God didn’t help.”

  “I wonder if you’d like to go to church with me tomorrow,” Kyle said. “I’ll come by for you. I’ll make sure you’re safe, and I think it would be good for you.”

  Sarah declined at first, but Kyle somehow managed to be persistent without being pushy, and eventually she said, “Okay. You can pick me up about a quarter to nine. We’ll need to come straight back here after the service ends, though. Tom Oliver said his crew was going to start back to work right after noon.”

  “Why don’t I call Tom and ask him to hold off until about one thirty tomorrow? That way, I can take you to lunch.”

  Sarah was tired of resisting. “Whatever you say.”

  “Great,” Kyle said. “In the meantime, call me if you think you’re in danger.”

  “Right after I call the police,” Sarah said. “But I’ll be fine. Every door is locked.”

  “And you thought your garage door was locked,” Kyle said. “If this guy, whoever he is, wants to get in, he will.”

  Sarah finally convinced Kyle that she’d be okay, but the uncertainty he’d planted wouldn’t go away. As soon as she hung up, she went straight for the garage. Until this episode, she’d depended on engaging the “lock” button on her electric garage opener each evening. Now that she’d learned that the emergency lever could be tripped with nothing more technically advanced than a coat hanger, she wouldn’t feel safe until she dealt with that.

  She’d done an Internet search about ways to lock a garage door. Sarah wasn’t certain her roll-up garage door even had a manual locking handle—she’d never looked for it before but seemed to recall Harry having pointed it out once, saying newer doors often didn’t have these. Sure enough, in the spare keys hung on hooks in the washroom, she found a small key labeled “garage door.” Now if she could just make it work.

  She didn’t want to go outside in the dark, but she also didn’t want to rouse at every noise through the night, knowing there was a way for her stalker to get into her house. You have to do this, Sarah. She grabbed a hammer from the tools in the pegboard at the back of the garage, as much for protection as for use as a tool. She turned on the outside light that illuminated her driveway. She guessed the garage door should roll up and back smoothly enough for her to do it without the help of the opener motor. If the stalker did it, she figured she could as well. She pulled the emergency release, manually raised the garage door with no real problem, and stepped outside.

  Her first priority was to see if what she wanted to do was feasible. Sarah pulled the door down and looked in the middle, about a third of the way from the bottom, where she found a T-handle with a key slot in it. She took a deep breath. So far, so good. She tried to turn the handle, but it seemed to be frozen solid. After a liberal dose of lubricant on the mechanism, followed by a few gentle taps with the hammer, the handle moved. As it did, she could hear the rods it controlled sliding into slots in the metal tracks on either side, locking the door. She unlocked the door, raised it, went inside, added more lubricant, and tried the handle from inside to make sure it worked freely. It did. Finally, she stepped out one more time and checked to make sure the key would lock and unlock the door. It would be awkward to use this, but it was better than worrying about someone entering through her garage.

  With the garage closed and locked this way, no matter if someone had a remote to control the motor on the opener, the door would remain firmly in place. Even if the emergency lever were tripped, the door wouldn’t move. True, it would be a pain to enter and exit the garage this way, but the peace of mind she gained was worth it. Let’s see you get past this, whoever you are.

  Nevertheless, that night she slept with most of the lights on in her house.

  * * *

  When Kyle pulled up to her house the next morning, he was surprised to see Sarah coming out the front door and hurrying to his car as he brought his car to a stop. Normally, he opened a car door for a lady, but she was inside and fastening her seat belt before he could get his own unfastened.

  She was obviously nervous, and Kyle figured there was no need to ask her how she’d slept. If her current nervous state was any indication, sleep at Sarah Gordon’s house had been somewhere between fitful and nonexistent last night. He decided on what he hoped was a neutral opening. “The weather isn’t as hot as the first of June usually is here in Texas.”

  Sarah kept her eyes turned toward the side window. “I guess.”

  After that, Sarah continued her silence until the car pulled into the church parking lot. Kyle honored her obvious desire to avoid conversation, but after turning off the car’s ignition, he turned to her and said, “Sarah, if you’re uncomfortable being at church today, just say so, and I’ll take you right back home.”

  Sarah didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she seemed to concentrate her attention on people getting out of their cars and heading toward the church building. Finally, she turned back toward Kyle and forced a smile. “No, I guess I need to try it. And I don’t think whoever’s out to get me will do anything in the middle of a church service. After all, there are quite a few pairs of eyes watching.”

  Kyle decided not to say what he was thinking—that the most important eyes were those of God, who was watching over her as He had always been. Sarah probably didn’t need to hear that right now, even from him. She’d made no secret of her anger at God because He didn’t intervene when another driver robbed her of both her husband and daughter. Kyle tried to ignore his frustration at Sarah’s failure to put her loss behind her. After all, that was what he’d forced himself to do following the death of his fiancée. Why couldn’t she do the same? But maybe this wasn’t the time to have that conversation. Maybe today he’d just let the service—the music, the prayers, the sermon—speak to Sarah. He’d bide his time.

  * * *

  “Thanks for taking me to church,” Sarah said. “And for lunch.”

  “Glad church was good. As for lunch, you didn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive,” Kyle said.

  “No, but it was good to talk with you. I guess I do need someone to listen to me ventilate.” She opened the car door and turned in her seat to face Kyle, “Don’t get out. I’ll be safe now that I’m home.” Sarah pointed to two vehicles, a red pickup and a white van, that were pulling in behind Kyle’s Audi. “Besides, Tom’s here.”

  “If you’re sure you’ll be okay,” Kyle said.

  “I’ll be fine.” Sarah paused with the car door open. “You’ve never told me how you know Tom Oliver,” she said.

  Kyle shrugged. “I did some legal work for him a couple of years back. I hope he’s doing a good job for you.”

  “I think so,” Sarah said. “What kind of work did you do? I mean, mostly you do criminal law. Has Tom been in trouble with the law? Should I be worried about letting him into my home?”

  “The work I did for him didn’t involve Tom, so I think you’re fine,” Kyle said. “Look, this involves client privilege. Why don’t you ask him? If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you.”

  “Well, thank you again for taking me to church and for lunch,” Sarah said.

  “Happy to do it.” He paused, apparently trying to find the right words. “Look, I know a little of what you’re going through. Remember, I’ve lost a loved one, too. Don’t hesitate to call on me for help.”

  As Kyle pulled away, Sarah thought about the loss he’d suffered. She recalled the terrible incident when Kyle’s fiancée, Nicole, went with a small group of church volunteers on a mission trip to Guatemala. They were constructing a church building when one of the heavy wooden crossbeams they were installing broke loose and fell, snapping her neck. She’d died instantly.

  There was a time after the accident when Kyle’s faith seemed to waver, but apparently he never lost it—at
least, not that Sarah and Harry could tell. He mourned Nicole, but he didn’t seem to blame God for the mishap. She guessed it said something about the strength of Kyle’s faith, but it wasn’t what happened with her. She couldn’t bring herself to forgive God for the tragic accident that drastically changed her life. Maybe she should talk with Kyle about that sometime.

  Tom Oliver climbed out of his pickup truck. “How you doing, doctor?”

  “Doing okay, I guess,” she said. “Tom, feel free to tell me if it’s none of my business. Kyle mentioned in passing that he had done some legal work for you, but he wouldn’t give me the specifics. He said those would have to come from you. Would you mind telling me what that’s about?”

  Oliver looked at his work boots, and for a minute Sarah thought he wasn’t going to respond. Still looking down, he said, “It’s sort of personal, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this in confidence.”

  “Of course.”

  “I have one son, Tommy. A couple of years ago he and another teenage friend were celebrating having just turned eighteen. They were in a car with Tommy’s friend driving when it crashed into a vehicle driven by an elderly man. That man died. The boy driving the car Tommy was in had a blood alcohol over the legal limit. My son’s BAC showed he’d had only one drink. Kyle defended my son and managed to get him off. The other boy went to jail for intoxication manslaughter.”

  “Oh,” Sarah said. “That must have been a tough time for you.”

  “That’s when I first met you,” Oliver said. “You probably don’t remember, but all three victims were brought to the emergency room where you’re on staff. One of your colleagues worked on the old man but couldn’t save him. You treated Tommy and the driver of his car. I think you were the one who drew blood alcohol tests on both boys.”

  “I see so many patients in the ER—”

  “I’m sure you don’t remember. That’s okay.”

  After Sarah unlocked the front door, Oliver led his crew into the house, while she stood on the front porch trying to recall the incident. She had a vague recollection of examining the two teenagers. There had been some kind of argument at the trial that the blood samples had been switched. But, as she’d told Oliver, she saw so many patients . . .