Crisis

by Robin Cook

  Jack climbed out of the car clutching the umbrella he had the presence of mind to rescue from the backseat. He was parked next to Craig’s Lexus. Walking back to the street, he looked up and down for the police cruiser that had been there that morning. It was nowhere to be seen. So much for the surveillance. Turning back to the house, Jack trudged up the front walk. His fatigue was catching up to him.

  The house was dark, save for a little light filtering through the sidelights bordering the front door. Tilting his head back as he approached the front stoop, Jack checked the second-floor dormer windows. They were as black as onyx, reflecting back the light from a distant streetlamp.

  Being relatively quiet, Jack slipped the key into the lock. He wasn’t trying to be secretive, but at the same time, he preferred not to wake Craig if at all possible. It was at that point Jack remembered the alarm system. With the key in the lock, he tried to remember the code. As tired as his mind was, it took him a minute to recall it. Then he wondered if he was supposed to hit another button after the code. He didn’t know. When he was as prepared as possible, he turned the key. The mechanism seemed loud in the nighttime stillness.

  Quickly stepping inside in a minor panic, Jack gazed at the alarm keypad. Luckily, the warning buzz he’d been expecting didn’t sound, but he waited to be certain. The alarm was disarmed. A bright green dot of light suggested all was well. Jack closed the front door quietly. It was then that he became aware of the muted sound of the television coming from the direction of the great room. From the same direction came a small amount of light, spilling down the otherwise dark, main hallway.

  Imagining that Craig might still be up or possibly asleep in front of the TV, Jack descended the corridor and walked into the great room. There was no Craig. The TV over the fireplace was turned to a cable news network, and the lights were on in that section, whereas the kitchen and the dining area were both dark.

  On the coffee table in front of the couch stood Craig’s nearly empty scotch bottle, an old-fashioned glass, and the TV remote. By force of habit, Jack walked over, picked up the remote, and turned the TV off. He then went back out into the hall. He looked up the stairs into the darkness and then down the length of the corridor to the study. A tiny bit of light was coming through the study’s bow window from the streetlights, so it wasn’t completely dark.

  Jack debated what to do first: check Craig or check the biomarker assay kit. It wasn’t a hard decision. When faced with a choice, Jack generally did the less desirable chore or errand first, and in this instance that was certainly the one involving Craig. It wasn’t that he thought it would be difficult, but he knew by going to his room he risked waking the man, which he did not want to do for a variety of reasons. The most important one was that he was convinced Craig would not consider Jack’s presence a favor. In fact, the implication of neediness would most likely offend and irritate him.

  Jack looked back up into the darkness. He had no idea where Craig’s bedroom would be. Not willing to turn on any lights, Jack retreated to the kitchen. It was his experience that most families had a gadget drawer, and most gadget drawers had flashlights.

  As it turned out, he was half-right. There was a flashlight in the gadget drawer, but the Bowmans’ gadget drawer was in the laundry, not the kitchen. In keeping with the rest of the house and its contents, the flashlight was an impressive foot-long Maglite, which cast a serious and concentrated beam when Jack turned it on. Believing he could put his hand over the lens and vary the amount of light, Jack returned with it to the stairs and started up.

  Reaching the top, Jack let enough light escape through his fingers to see down the upstairs hallway, first in one direction and then the other. Multiple doors led off the hall on both sides and, as luck would have it, most of them were closed. Trying to decide where to start, Jack checked both directions again and determined the right hallway was half the length of the left. Unsure of why, Jack started to his right. Picking a door at random, he silently opened it and pushed it ajar enough to step across the threshold. Slowly, he let light spread around the room. It certainly wasn’t the master. It was one of the girls’ bedrooms, and from the posters, photos, knickknacks, and clothes strewn about, Jack could tell it was Tracy’s. Back in the hall, Jack proceeded to the next door. He was about to open it when he noticed the doors at the very end of the hall facing him were double. Since all the other doors were single, it seemed a good bet that he’d found the master.

  Keeping the flashlight mostly covered, Jack walked down to the double doors. He pressed the flashlight lens against his abdomen to block the light as he opened the right-hand door. It swung inward. As he slipped into the room, he could tell he was in the master suite for certain. He had stepped into deep-pile wall-to-wall carpet. For a moment, he didn’t move. He strained to hear Craig’s breathing, but the room was silent.

  Slowly angling the flashlight, progressively more light extended deeper into the room. Out of the gloom emerged a king-size bed. Craig was lying on the side of the bed farthest from Jack.

  For a moment Jack stood still, debating what he was going to do to make sure Craig was not comatose. Up until that moment, he hadn’t given it much thought, but now that he was in the room, he had to. Although waking Craig would be definitive, it was not an option. Ultimately, Jack thought he’d just walk over and listen to Craig’s breathing. If that sounded normal, Jack was willing to accept it as positive proof the man was okay, despite it being far from scientific.

  Reducing the light again, Jack started across the room, moving more from memory than visually. A meager amount of ambient light was managing to finger its way through the dormer window from the street. It was enough to give Jack a vague outline of the larger pieces of furniture. Reaching the foot of the bed, Jack stopped and strained to hear the intermittent sibilant sounds of sleep. The room was deathly quiet. Jack felt a rush of adrenaline. To his horror, there was no sound of respiration. Craig was not breathing!

  22

  NEWTON, MASSACHUSETTS

  Friday, June 9, 2006

  3:25 a.m.

  The next few seconds were a blur for Jack. The instant he realized his brother-in-law was not breathing, he lunged forward with the intention of rounding the corner of the bed to get to Craig’s side in the shortest possible time. There he would whip back the covers, rapidly evaluate the man’s status, and begin CPR if it was appropriate.

  The sudden sideward movement possibly saved Jack’s life. In the next instant Jack realized that he was not alone in the room. There was another figure, clad in black, making him all but invisible, who streaked out of the open bathroom doorway. The individual was brandishing a large club that he swung in a wide arc at the spot where Jack’s head had been.

  Although the blow missed Jack’s head, it did hit his left shoulder. Luckily, it was a glancing blow that did not impact with its full force. Still, it sent a shooting, searing pain into the core of Jack’s body, weakening his knees in the process.

  Jack was still clutching the flashlight, the beam of which raced haphazardly around the room as he scrambled past the end of the bed, avoiding going alongside it. He did not want to be trapped by the intruder. More by instinct than vision, he knew that another blow with the club was coming as the figure leapt at him in pursuit. Jack ducked down low to the floor and, believing offense to be the best defense, threw himself forward, meeting his attacker with the point of his right shoulder, as if he intended to tackle him. Jack had the man around the upper thighs and, with continued pumping of his legs, strengthened by all his bicycle riding, he was able to drive the man backward before both fell to the floor.

  In close proximity, Jack felt he had the advantage by using the foot-long, heavy Maglite as a weapon. The longer club, wielded by the attacker, was at a distinct disadvantage. Letting go of the man’s thighs, Jack grabbed a handful of shirt and rapidly lifted the flashlight alongside his head with the full intention of striking the man’s forehead. But as he raised the flashlight, its beam had illum
inated the man’s face. Luckily, before Jack struck, his mind quickly fired the right neurons and recognized the man. It was Craig.

  “Craig?” Jack shouted in disbelief. He swiftly brought the light down from its threatening position and shined it on Craig’s face just to be certain.

  “Jack?” Craig sputtered in return. He raised his free hand to shield his eyes from the blinding light.

  “Good God!” Jack voiced. He let go of Craig’s shirt, directed the flashlight away from Craig’s face, and got to his feet.

  Craig got to his feet as well. He went to a wall switch and turned on the light. “What the hell are you doing here, sneaking around in my house at whatever the hell time it is?” He looked over at the bedside clock. “Three thirty in the goddamn morning!”

  “I can explain,” Jack said. He winced at a stab of shoulder pain. Tentatively, he touched the area, finding a point of tenderness at the juncture of his collarbone and shoulder.

  “Good grief,” Craig complained. He tossed what turned out to be a baseball bat onto the bed. He came over to Jack. “God, I’m sorry I freakin’ hit you. I could have killed you. Are you all right?”

  “I’ve had worse,” Jack said. He glanced over at the bed. What he’d thought had been Craig was merely pillows and bedcovers. “Can I check it?” Craig asked solicitously.

  “Sure, I guess.”

  Craig took hold of Jack’s arm and gently put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. He rotated Jack’s arm in its shoulder socket, then raised it slowly. “Any pain?”

  “A little, but the movement doesn’t make it worse.”

  “I don’t think anything is broken, but an X-ray wouldn’t hurt. I could drive you over to the Newton Memorial if you’d like.”

  “I think I’ll put some ice on it for now,” Jack said.

  “Good idea! Come on down to the kitchen. I’ll put some ice in a Ziploc bag.”

  As they walked along the upper hallway, Craig said: “My heart is going a mile a minute. I thought you were one of these guys who’d broken in and manhandled my daughters, who was back to carry out his threat. I was ready to knock you into the next county.”

  “I suppose I thought you were one of those guys as well,” Jack said. He noticed that Craig was wearing a dark-colored bathrobe and not the black ninja outfit Jack had creatively imagined. He also felt the gun in his jacket pocket knocking against him. He’d not thought of it in the fury of the moment, and it was a good thing.

  Craig got Jack set up with an ice bag. Jack was sitting at one end of the couch, holding the cold pack against the point of his shoulder. Craig collapsed at the other end, holding a hand against his forehead.

  “I’ll get out of here so you can get back to sleep,” Jack said. “But I owe you an explanation.”

  “I’m listening,” Craig said. “Before I went to bed, I went downstairs to check the apartment. You’d pulled the linens off the bed. I certainly didn’t expect you, and especially at this hour, and especially not sneaking around upstairs.”

  “I promised Alexis I’d check on you.”

  “Did you talk with her tonight?”

  “I did, but not until quite late. Frankly, she’s worried about your mixing alcohol and sleeping pills, and she should be worried. I’ve autopsied a few people, thanks to that combination.”

  “I don’t need your advice.”

  “Fair enough,” Jack said. “Nonetheless, she asked me to check on you. To be honest, I didn’t think it was necessary. The reason I was seemingly sneaking was because I was afraid to wake you for fear you’d be angry I was there.”

  Craig took his hand away from his face and gazed at Jack. “You’re right about that.”

  “I’m sorry if I offended you. I did it for Alexis. She was afraid you might be more upset than usual after what happened at the trial.”

  “At least you’re honest,” Craig said. “I suppose I should see it as a favor. It’s just hard with what’s going on. I’m being forced to see myself in an unflatteringly different light. I was a miserable, ridiculous, self-defeating witness today. When I think about it in retrospect, I’m embarrassed.”

  “How do you think the afternoon went with the defense experts?”

  “It was reasonable. It was nice to hear some positive words for a change, but I don’t think it was enough. Unless Randolph pulls off an Oscar-winning performance with his summation tomorrow, which I personally believe he’s incapable of, I think the jury is going to find for that bastard, Jordan.” Craig sighed despondently. He was staring at the blank TV screen.

  “I had another reason for coming out here at this late hour,” Jack said.

  “Oh! And what was that?” Craig asked. He turned to look at Jack. His eyes were glazed, as if he was ready to cry but too embarrassed to do so. “You haven’t told me about the autopsy. Did you do it?”

  “I did,” Jack said. He went on to tell Craig a truncated version of the day’s events, starting with the exhumation and ending with the meeting with the toxicologist. He didn’t tell Craig as much as he’d told Alexis, but the gist was the same.

  As Jack spoke, Craig became progressively riveted, especially about the toxicologist and the possibility of the involvement of criminality. “If the toxicologist could find some drug or poison, it would be the end of this malpractice nonsense,” Craig said. He sat up straighter.

  “No doubt,” Jack said. “But it is a very, very long shot, as I explained. Yet if Patience did not have a heart attack, it opens up the possibility of many more potential agents. The other reason I came out here tonight was to look at the box of bedside biomarker assay devices in your doctor’s bag. Is there any reason you can think of that your result could have been a false positive?”

  Craig raised his eyebrows for a moment while he mulled the question. “I can’t think of any,” he said at length. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

  “The lab supervisor at the hospital asked me if the one you used tested for both troponin I and myoglobin or just troponin I.”

  “It’s the one with the myoglobin. I chose to stock that one for the reason the lab supervisor mentioned—namely, it gives a result in as little as two hours.”

  “Is there a shelf life for those devices?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Then I guess we’ll just have to limit the possible agents to those capable of causing a heart attack.”

  “What about digitalis?” Craig suggested.

  “I thought of digitalis, for sure, and it was part of the screen. So digitalis was not involved.”

  “I wish I could help more,” Craig said. “One of the worst parts of being sued is you feel so helpless.”

  “You could help if you could think of any cardiotoxic drugs Patience or Jordan might have had access to.”

  “She had quite a pharmacopoeia in her medicine cabinet, thanks to my absent partner, Ethan Cohen. But all those records were turned over in discovery.”

  “I’ve been through those,” Jack said. He got to his feet. Relaxing for a few minutes seemed to make his legs feel heavy and sluggish. It was obvious he was going to need some coffee before the night was over. “I better get back and see if the toxicologist has had any luck, and you better get back to bed.” He started for the door.

  “Are you going to work all night?” Craig asked, accompanying Jack.

  “It looks like that,” Jack said. “After everything that’s happened, I wish I could be certain of some positive result, but it’s not looking likely.”

  “I don’t know what to say other than thanks for all your effort.”

  “You’re welcome,” Jack said. “And it’s been positive despite the problems I’ve caused and the whacks I’ve taken. It has been nice to hook back up with Alexis.”

  They reached the front door. Craig pointed down toward the study. “Should I run and grab my doctor’s bag so you can look at the biomarker assay box? I’m sure it’s the same box. After this fiasco, I’m not making many house calls.”

  Jack s
hook his head. “I’m good. You told me what I needed to know.”

  “Will we see you in court tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve got some pressing personal plans that are dictating I take the first shuttle back to the Big Apple. So let me say, good luck!”

  Jack and Craig shook hands, having become, if not friends, a bit more knowledgeable and appreciative of each other.

  The ride back into the city a little after four a.m. was a mirror of the ride out. There was traffic on the Mass Pike but very little once in the city along Mass Ave. It took Jack less than twenty minutes to get all the way to the medical examiner’s office. He parked right on the side of the building in a reserved space, but since he would be leaving at such an early hour, he didn’t think it would matter.

  Security recognized him and let him in. As he climbed the stairs, he looked at his watch. It was coming down to the wire. In less than two hours he’d be on the plane, taxiing away from the terminal.

  Walking into the library, Jack did a double take. The place was in considerably greater disarray than when he had left. Latasha looked as if she were cramming to take her medical specialty boards. There were numerous large books that she’d gathered from around the office lying open on the tabletop. Jack recognized most. They included standard internal-medicine textbooks, physiology books, toxicology books, and pharmacology books. The case-file material that Jack had organized was now randomly spread out, at least according to his eye.

  “What the hell?” Jack questioned with a laugh.

  Latasha’s head popped up from an open textbook. “Welcome back, stranger!”

  Jack flipped the covers back on a couple of the books he didn’t recognize. After he saw the titles, he reopened the books to where Latasha had them. He took a seat opposite her.