Medical Judgment

by Richard L. Mabry M. D.

  Andrews crossed his right leg over his left. He straightened the cuff of his trouser leg, but not before the detective saw the small revolver in an ankle holster. Might as well get that out of the way. “I presume you have a carry permit for that revolver,” Larson said.

  “I do,” Andrews said. “I can show it to you if you’d like. As a practicing attorney, I’ve made a few people angry, and some of them are the kind who like to put actions to their feelings.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Larson said. “Anyway, that’s not the reason I’m here. I’m working to find out who’s behind the harassment of Sarah Gordon. Right now I’m looking into the past history of her husband, Harry, and I find that he was foreman of a jury that convicted a man who’s now—”

  “Let me interrupt you, because I see where you’re going,” the lawyer said. “You discovered that when Darrell Kline was released from prison I recommended that Tom Oliver hire him. Right?”

  “Right. Now I haven’t connected the dots completely, but would you care to explain how it was on your recommendation that a convicted felon with every reason to hold a grudge against her husband is now working in Dr. Gordon’s home?”

  “Sure. I don’t know if you noticed the name of the lawyer who represented Darrell during his trial.”

  “Not really. I was looking for a connection to Harry Gordon.”

  “Well, the attorney originally representing Darrell Kline had a massive coronary on the first day of the trial. It was my turn to do some pro bono representation, so the judge named me to step in. I asked for some time to prepare, but Darrell wouldn’t let me ask for a continuance. He said he’d made the decision to pay for his crime and get on with his life. I talked to him about changing his plea to guilty, but for some reason, he wanted the whole thing to play out. He had some idea of getting it all out in the open, I guess. The trial went quickly, the verdict was a foregone conclusion, but what I managed to get for Darrell was a lighter than usual sentence.”

  “So . . . ”

  “When he was released from prison, Darrell came back to Jameson and contacted me. I warned him he’d be better off starting over in a new location, but he said he’d grown up here and wanted to show the people who knew him that he’d changed. So I called Tom Oliver. If you’ve talked with Tom, you know he doesn’t mind hiring people like Darrell if they’ve really turned their lives around.”

  “Didn’t Dr. Gordon tell me that you were the one who recommended Tom Oliver’s crew to repair the fire damage?”

  “Yes, but I had no idea Darrell would be one of the workers on that job. Once I found out about it, I started to tell Sarah, but decided she had enough to worry about. After all, Darrell had convinced me he was a changed man. However, I did ask Tom to keep an eye on the workmen, especially Darrell, while they were at Sarah’s. So far, he hasn’t reported anything unusual going on.”

  Larson stared at the attorney for a long moment. Then he looked at his watch. “I’ve taken enough of your time. I think I’ll drop by Darrell Kline’s apartment on my way home for a little chat.”

  As he walked toward his car, Bill Larson ran through what he’d learned in the last half hour. Could it be that he was finally zeroing in on the person responsible for the harassment of Dr. Sarah Gordon? Part of him hoped that was the case, but another part—one he’d tried to suppress just as he suppressed his desire every day for a drink—wanted things to continue for a bit longer, because he liked being around this attractive woman.

  Maybe it was because her dark good looks reminded him of his ex-wife. Perhaps his near-fascination with her was part of his subconscious desire to start over with someone else, to prove he could do it right this time, and she epitomized the type of woman he sought. But for whatever reason, since the beginning of this case a new temptation had been added to his life.

  19

  When Sarah arrived home around midnight on Sunday, she went through her usual routine with the alarm system and garage door, a routine that still required conscious thought. On the other hand, although Prince had only lived at her house for a day, she half-expected to see him waiting for her return when she entered the kitchen from the garage.

  She wanted to find time tomorrow to go by and visit him in what she now thought of as the “doggy hospital.” When he was well enough to leave, Sarah would need to take him to Hunter. She had severely mixed feelings about Prince going back to his original home, but she knew that Hunter would take better care of a convalescing dog than she could. When Prince had fully healed. . . . Well, she’d see.

  Sarah was ready to make her final trip around the house for the day, checking that the doors and windows were secure. She started to pick up her pistol and carry it with her, then put it down, but after a dozen steps she turned back and retrieved it.

  When that chore was done, she was about ready to shower and don her pajamas. Then she decided there was one more thing she should do. She sat on the side of the bed—Sarah wasn’t comfortable with kneeling, but figured that God didn’t care what her posture was when she talked with Him—and began to pray.

  “God, thank You for Your protection today. Please give me the strength I’ll need tomorrow and the days after that. Keep me safe. Lead me and help me follow. In Your name, Amen.”

  She put her pistol on the nightstand. That night, despite the absence of her new companion, she slept well.

  * * *

  On Monday morning, Bill Larson watched while Cal Johnson added cream and two spoonsful of sugar to his second cup of coffee. The waitress dropped the check between the two men and walked away.

  Larson carefully scanned the tables around them at the cafe. When he was satisfied that the conversation was secure, he said, “I may have made some progress in finding the person responsible for the attacks on Dr. Gordon.”

  “Good. Tell me about it.”

  Larson moved aside the plate holding crumbs from his order of wheat toast. He sipped from his mug of coffee, set it down, then said, “I was suspicious of a couple of guys, part of Tom Oliver’s crew working in the doctor’s house.”

  “Did you recognize them or something?”

  “No, I guess you could call it cop’s intuition,” Larson said. He went on to explain what he’d found out about Kline. “I was going to go by his apartment yesterday evening, but I was worn out. So I checked on him this morning, and it looks as though Darrell’s skipped out.”

  “Why do you say that?” Cal asked.

  “The furnished apartment he rented was empty. Most of his clothes were gone, and there were no toiletries in the bathroom. Apparently, he left in the middle of the night.”

  “Did his boss know anything about this?”

  “I hadn’t gone by Kline’s apartment when I talked with Tom Oliver the first time. I’m going to call him again later this morning. It’s interesting that Kline disappeared after I’d talked with both Oliver and Kyle Andrews about him.”

  “You think one of them tipped him off and he ran?” Cal said.

  “I don’t know. I’m just making an observation right now.”

  “Do you think Kline’s responsible for the attacks on the doctor?”

  “He’s the best suspect I have so far. What are you working right now?” Larson asked.

  “I’m pretty clear. The defendant in the case in which I was going to testify took a plea deal over the weekend. I have a couple of cold cases I’m working, but I’d be happy to help out on yours. What do you need?”

  Larson finished his coffee and wiped a few drops off his upper lip. “I have Harry Gordon’s laptop. I wanted to see if there was anything on it that would point us to anyone else besides Darrell Kline as the culprit.”

  “I’ll go through it,” Cal said. “And I presume you’re going to try to find this Kline guy.”

  “Yeah. The fact that he ran off doesn’t necessarily mean he’s guilty.”

  “But it doesn’t do a lot to show his innocence,” Cal said. He drained his coffee cup, and pushed the chec
k toward Larson. “I think it’s your turn to buy breakfast.”

  * * *

  “Prince is—excuse the expression—a lucky dog.” Dr. Brad Selleck, the man who operated on Prince, sat with Sarah in his office at the veterinary hospital. She figured Selleck was about her age. He wore a white coat over jeans and a Jimmy Buffett tee shirt. He smiled, displaying previously hidden dimples. “Sorry, but I’ve been waiting for months to use that.”

  Sarah noticed that Selleck wore no rings. Then again, lots of professional people, like a veterinary surgeon, didn’t wear theirs, especially at work. There was no doubt that, despite herself, she felt an attraction for this tall, dark, articulate man. Of course, maybe it was just gratitude for what he’d done for Prince. “You can make all the jokes you want. I’ll never complain. After all, you saved my dog’s life,” Sarah said.

  “Not sure I saved his life, but I think we repaired the damage pretty well,” Selleck said. “The shot came from above Prince, but either it came while he was moving or the shooter wasn’t very accurate. The soft tissue injury was in the area where a human’s left shoulder would be. There was bleeding, which I managed to control. A bit of clean muscle injury, but the bones and joint weren’t injured. A little more toward the center, though . . . ”

  “I know. I’m a physician,” Sarah said. “Sometimes a few centimeters with a gunshot can make a critical difference.”

  “We’d like to keep Prince another day or two. I gave him one transfusion to replace his acute blood loss. He should build up his blood count on his own now, but we need to change the dressing and watch for infection. Can you leave him here a bit longer?” He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m used to talking to average pet owners. I mean, as a doctor you could watch for infections and all that. You may want to take him home earlier.”

  Sarah looked down at her feet. “No, I’d rather leave him here. I live alone, and I hate to think of leaving him while I’m at work.” Besides, when he leaves here, I’m going to take him to someone who can give him the care he needs.

  Selleck nodded his approval. “He’ll be fine with us. But you can come by any time to visit him . . . or me, for that matter.”

  She looked up into his caring eyes. Was he reading her mind? “That’s very kind of you. And, just so there’s no misunderstanding, I’ve only recently become a widow. My husband died almost nine months ago. So I’m not—”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to put my foot into it,” Selleck said. “I guess it takes some people a long time to get over a loss such as yours.” The expression on his handsome face remained neutral, but his eyes smiled at her. “I realize you’re not ready to date again, and that’s not what I’m suggesting. But if you’d like someone to talk with . . . I know a bit about loss.”

  “Oh, did your wife die?”

  “There’s no wife, and my former fiancée is alive and happily married . . . to another guy. So, yes, I know about loss . . . just not what you’ve suffered.” Selleck pointed to a door. “If you want to see Prince, I’ll take you back. And the offer to come back to visit still holds—him or me or both of us.”

  * * *

  Kyle Andrews left the courthouse Monday mid-morning, wondering why he didn’t feel happier. He’d done his best for his client, a man who was obviously guilty. Upon repeated questioning by the police, the man finally admitted embezzling five thousand dollars from the auto dealership where he worked. Kyle had managed to cut a deal so his client would get a year’s probation, plus repaying the money with interest. All things considered, it could have been a lot worse.

  As he began walking toward his office, Kyle wondered if his being down might be because he was tired of defending people who were lawbreakers. He had known, even before he started law school, that our Constitution guarantees everyone, whether guilty or innocent, legal representation in their defense. And he and his partners had built quite a nice practice providing that. But it was beginning to wear thin.

  Then again, maybe he felt guilty because of Larson’s visit yesterday. But how could Kyle have behaved differently? Darrell Kline appeared to have undergone a change for the better during his trial and subsequent incarceration. It was evident when the man, fresh out of prison, contacted the attorney and asked for his help in finding a job. Before his arrest, Kline had done construction of various types, moving from job to job, never putting down roots. He was ready to settle down. But a job for a convicted felon was tough to come by.

  “In prison, I was lucky,” Kline had said. “The skinheads wanted me, but I managed to avoid them. Instead, I sort of fell in with a group of new Christians. It wasn’t long before I found the Lord. I’ve changed. Can you help me find a job here?”

  Until Larson’s visit yesterday, Kyle figured Darrell Kline was backing up his words with actions. Once or twice, right after the ex-convict began work, Kyle had checked with Tom Oliver, who reported that the man was a dependable, hard-working member of his crew. But it had been a while since Kyle inquired about his former client.

  His mind still miles away, Kyle entered his office, picked up his message slips from his secretary, and slipped out of his coat. When he was seated behind his desk, he decided to call the detective and see if there was any further word about Kline. After all, he felt sort of responsible for putting the ex-con in a position where he could get that close to Sarah. Maybe he could help.

  “Larson.”

  “Detective, this is Kyle Andrews. I wanted to call and see if I could help you further with Darrell Kline. You know, maybe set it up for you to talk with him so he doesn’t get skittish and disappear.”

  The silence went on so long that Kyle pulled his cell phone from his ear and looked to see if he’d lost the connection. Finally, Larson said, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I know you policemen don’t much like attorneys, but I thought—”

  “Kline is in the wind.”

  “He’s what? What do you mean?”

  “I went by Kline’s apartment early this morning, and he was gone,” Larson said. “His toiletries and most of his clothes were missing. The landlord didn’t know anything about it. The rent was paid for the rest of the month, and Kline gave no indication he was leaving.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” Kyle said.

  “Do you know where he might go?”

  “No, but I can check my records and see if there’s anything there that might help you.”

  “You do that,” Larson said.

  Kyle started speaking again, but stopped when he heard the beep signaling Larson had ended the call. He pushed the intercom button on his phone console. “Tandra, would you get me the file on Darrell Kline? It will be in the inactives.”

  * * *

  The desk where Cal Johnson was working was close enough to Bill Larson’s in the detectives’ office that it wasn’t necessary to raise his voice. Cal looked up from the laptop that sat on his desk and said, “If they ever award a prize for a computer with the least interesting material on it, this one would take it hands down.”

  “Nothing to suggest who might want to take revenge on Harry’s wife?”

  “Nothing to suggest the man was anything but a complete straight arrow. His browsing history is mainly for medical sites. His personal correspondence was primarily about church. And the Quicken folder shows that he lived within his means, both before and after his marriage.”

  “Well,” Larson said. “We had to look.”

  “Remind me again why no one had a look at his computer after he was killed?”

  “Because there was no question about why or how he died,” Larson replied. “He and his two-year-old daughter were killed when another driver ran into them head-on.”

  “Yeah, I guess there was no reason to investigate that,” Johnson said. “How about the other driver. Did he survive?”

  “It was a woman, and no, she was dead at the scene as well.”

  Johnson closed Harry’s laptop and unplugged his power source f
rom it. Then he rose and took the computer to Larson’s desk, where he deposited it. “I’ll let you take this back to Dr. Gordon. Sorry it didn’t help.”

  Larson sat for a moment, something the other detective had said still tickling at the back of his mind. He ran through their conversation again, then snapped his fingers. “I’m an idiot.”

  “Not necessarily, although you’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “Is it possible that the family of the woman killed in the crash that took the life of Harry and Jennifer Gordon somehow blamed the doctor for her death? We haven’t even considered that. What if the husband is still alive? What if he’s been seeking some sort of revenge?”

  “Do you want to look into it?”

  Larson picked up a pen, pulled a pad toward him, and scratched a note. “We need to follow up on that, but I don’t want to let go of this end of the string yet. Let’s see if we can track down Darrell Kline. I still think he’s our best suspect. Harry Gordon was the foreman of the jury that found him guilty. He got out of prison about the time the phone calls to Sarah Gordon started. He’s been in her house, and there’s no telling what that might have done to stir up feelings in him. And, of course, while he was there he could have made a duplicate key to her door, figured out how to bypass the alarm system . . . whatever was needed.”

  “But didn’t you tell me he convinced Kyle Andrews that he changed while he was in prison?” Cal said. “And he gave the appearance of having turned his life around.”

  Larson shook his head. “Maybe it’s just the cynicism I’ve developed after years of police work, but I keep thinking about my own experience. I’ve seen a number of people convicted of terrible crimes, while their neighbors said things like, ‘He seemed like such a nice person,’ and ‘I never suspected anything.’ ”

  “Okay,” Cal said. “Why don’t you check with Kline’s parole officer while I run down some of his known associates. Let’s see if we can’t locate this guy.”