“Come on. Give a girl a break, will you? At least tell me whether you’re investigating the murders. That’s not a state secret, is it?”
“No comment. Yes. No.”
“Hey, I’m just trying to make a living, for Christ’s sake. The police are completely constipated on the whole thing. I’m only trying to assure my audience that someone is making some progress. Can’t you just tell me, off the record, who it was that got the jump on a tough guy like you?”
“I like that. Take a compliment and split it in two. I told you, I honestly don’t know the man’s name. All I know is that it appears he’s been stalking a friend of Robin Burrell’s. I wanted to talk to him about Robin, but he got all shy on me.”
“What’s this I’m hearing about another phone threat? Do you know anything about that?”
I looked past Kelly and spotted Megan Lamb crossing at the corner. “There’s your chief investigator. Why don’t you go collect some no-comments from her?”
Kelly followed my gaze. “The Lambinator. I can’t figure that one out. She’s gay, you know.”
“Well, hey, you figured that part out.” As Megan angled in our direction, I whispered, “Say something nice about her hair.”
“As if.”
Megan came over to us. “Any word?”
“Something about the jury foreperson in a coma,” I said. “Apparent suicide attempt. I just got here.”
“I got the call as I was leaving my apartment. I live just over on Hudson.” She acknowledged the reporter. “Morning, Ms. Cole. Any scoops you’d like to share with us?”
“You took the question right out of my mouth.”
“Has the juror’s name leaked yet?”
Kelly shook her head. “No. Would you care to leak it for me, Detective?”
“Don’t worry. Hospitals are sieves. It’ll come out. When it does, I suppose you’re ready to contribute to the shutting down of this trial.”
“I do my job, Detective. You do your job. Mine is reporting the facts.”
“Sometimes your job makes my job ten times harder.”
“I pass information on to the citizens. That’s how a free society works.”
Megan turned to me. “Little early for a civics lesson, don’t you think? Come on.” She started for the emergency room doors.
“Uck foo you too, sister,” Kelly murmured as I turned and followed.
“You all right?” I asked Megan as we entered the hospital.
“Not relevant,” she snapped.
Bruce Spicer was a man surrounded. Seated against the far wall in a visiting area down the hall from the ICU, he was nearly drowning in members of Marshall Fox’s defense team. Peter Elliott and Lewis Gottlieb stood nearby. A dozen cops, a doctor and several other people I couldn’t identify were part of the cluster. Spicer was talking as Megan and I added to the crowd. Actually, he wasn’t talking. He was railing.
“Why in the world should I not speak my mind? My wife has been kept in virtual incarceration for nearly three months, forced to undergo torture and abuse at the hands of state-appointed imbeciles who don’t seem to know which hole their heads are supposed to pop out of. Let me tell you something right now, I am tired. I am sick and tired and disgusted at the bend-over-backward efforts to so-called protect the so-called rights of a rapist and fornicator and murderer! Who’s nuts here? Is it me? Have I landed on a backward planet? The man is a despicable sinner. He is guilty of all the charges. Not to mention a whole lot more that the state has been too lily-livered to even bother to bring. I’m sick of it. I’m disgusted. I’m fed up. My wife is on death’s doorstep, thanks to you people!”
He sent an accusing finger around the room, punctuating the air as he aimed it at every single person present. Even Megan and I got stabbed.
“You are all guilty of sending my wife to the grave, if that’s where this ends up. So are those eleven ninnies you saw fit to put into the jury box with her. I’m telling you this: you lawyers-you want some work? It’s coming. I’m coming. Are you ready? I’m coming strong. I’ll get you a whole big pile of work to do.” He counted off on his fingers. “I am suing the city. I am suing the state. I am suing the ninnies. And you can damn well be certain I am suing KBS Television and the company that owns it and Mr. Marshall Fox and that prostitute wife of his!”
I looked over at Megan and mouthed, “Prostitute?”
Megan answered in a low voice, “You might want to tell that reporter friend of yours. I think that’s a scoop.”
Spicer looked out over his small crowd. “Where are the reporters? I’m sick of talking to you people. I need to speak to the God-fearing Christians out there. Some people with common sense. They need to hear what I’m saying. Those women who were killed last year were whores! Marshall Fox is an indiscriminate fornicator. Let the swine go down with the swine. Why should taxpayer dollars be spent on any of this? Why should my wife be sent to her death on account of a pack of godless sinners? Where’s the press? We need to get the word out. Have you got them locked out? I guess they’re in on the conspiracy with the rest of you heathens. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of it all. Ye shall know my strength and ye shall fear my wrath, you sniveling pack of whores!”
Lewis Gottlieb stepped forward. His demeanor was impeccably calm and civil. “Mr. Spicer, I hear all that you’re saying. I honestly do. This is a terribly delicate situation. I feel horrible about what has happened to your wife. Matters should not have been allowed to reach such a point, and on behalf of the court and the state of New York, I want to apologize personally to you and your family. But please, we need to contain the damage here, we don’t-”
Spicer interrupted. “Gottlieb, is that right?”
The attorney inclined his head. “That’s correct.”
“I’ll be suing you, too! Personally!”
The attorney demurred. “What you need right now is to be alone with your wife. This is not the time to be raising a holy fuss. Your wife’s health should be your only concern right now. If there is-”
“My wife’s health had better be your concern. All of yours. Is anybody listening to me? I want to talk to the press, and I want to do it right now! What’s going on here? Am I under some sort of house arrest?”
Peter spoke up. “Mr. Spicer, we really do not want this trial to fall apart. The wise thing is to wait until we’ve heard from Judge Deveraux-”
“Him?” You’d have thought Spicer had just stepped on a land mine. “Sweet Jesus and Mary, the man in the black robes. I wouldn’t cross the street to spit on him.”
Lewis Gottlieb had had enough. “You are a contentious low-life little shit is what you are.”
As the attorney started forward, Spicer leaped to his feet. “I don’t think any killer of the Lord Our Christ is going to judge me one iota.” He grabbed the chair he’d just been sitting in. Before he could lift it, Peter Elliott lunged forward and grabbed hold of it. Spicer tried to yank it free, but Peter had a good grip. With his free hand, he tried to move Gottlieb back, but the elderly gentleman tripped on his own feet and went tumbling to the floor. Spicer cried out.
“Baby killer! Heathen pig!”
Peter sunk his fist hard into Spicer’s stomach. The man doubled over and the police leaped into action, two of them taking hold of Spicer while another one pulled Peter away from him. Spicer continued bellowing, “Heathens! Blasphemers!”
Peter snarled at him, “Just shut the hell up, would you?” as the policeman guided him over to the far wall. Lewis Gottlieb was helped to his feet. He slid into a chair. Spicer was still thrashing to free himself of the police grip, and he attempted to kick the elder attorney, but the police jerked him out of range. Gottlieb waved a freckled hand in the air, like a wizard concluding a spell.