Jack leaned over toward Alexis and whispered, "This is a public-relations nightmare. What was Craig thinking?"
"I haven't the slightest idea. But something like this is not helping. In fact, things are looking even bleaker."
Jack nodded but didn't say anything more. He couldn't believe Craig could be so foolish. Every doctor had patients he or she labeled "problem patients," but it was never indicated in the record. Every practice had patients that were hated or despised, and that the doctors would try to get rid of as patients but often couldn't. Jack could remember in his own ophthalmology practice he'd had two or three who were so unpleasant that when he saw their names on the schedule, it would influence his mood for the whole day. He knew such a response was human nature, and being a doctor does not absolve the physician from such feelings. It was an issue that was swept under the rug during training, except in psychiatry.
Randolph smoothly tried on cross-examination to repair the damage as best he could, although it was clear the issue had blindsided him. With the ritualized process of discovery, such surprises were rare. Tony sported a smug smile.
"Labeling a patient as a 'problem patient' is not necessarily disparaging, is it, Mrs. Richardt?"
"I guess not."
"In fact, the reason to flag such a patient is to plan on giving them more attention rather than less."
"We did schedule them more time."
"That's exactly my point. Is it correct to say that as soon as you spotted PP, you scheduled the doctor to be with the patient longer?"
"Yes."
"So it was for the patient's benefit to have the PP designation."
"Yes."
"No more questions."
Jack leaned over to Alexis again. "I'm going to head over to the medical examiner's office. This has given me a bit more motivation."
"Thank you," Alexis whispered back.
Jack felt definite relief as he emerged from the courthouse. Being ensnared in the legal system had always been one of his phobias, and having it happen to his brother-in-law hit too close to home. The notion that justice would miraculously prevail was unreasonably idealistic, as Craig's case was threatening to show. Jack didn't trust the system, although he couldn't think of a better one.
He retrieved his rented Hyundai from beneath the Boston Common. He'd parked it there that morning, having stumbled on the public garage after vainly looking for street parking in Boston 's Government Center district. He had no idea where Craig and Alexis had parked. The original idea had been for him to follow them into the city, but whenever he let so much as a car length develop between himself and the Bowmans' Lexus, another car always immediately slid in. It was especially true once they got on the turnpike, and, not willing to be as aggressive at highway speeds as would have been necessary to stay directly behind Craig and Alexis, he lost them in the sea of commuters. From his perspective, the Boston driving, which had been difficult the night before, was a hundred times more challenging in true rush-hour traffic.
Using the Hertz map, he'd been able to get into Boston proper easily enough. From the garage, it had been a relatively short and quite pleasant walk to the courthouse.
Once he was out of the dimly lit garage, Jack pulled to the side of the road and consulted the Hertz map. It took him a while to find Albany Street, but once he had, he was able to orient himself with the help of the Boston Common, which was to his right, and the Boston Public Garden, which was to his left. The garden was ablaze with late-spring flowers. Jack had forgotten what a charming, attractive city Boston was once you got into it.
While he drove, which took most of his concentration, he tried to think of any other way to help Craig's cause. It seemed an ironic absurdity that Craig was going to be found liable for malpractice because he'd been gracious enough to make a house call.
Albany Street was relatively easy to find, as was the medical examiner's office. Making it even easier was a multi-story public parking facility immediately adjacent. Fifteen minutes later, Jack was talking through a protective glass screen to an attractive young female receptionist. In contrast to the outdated medical examiner's facility in New York, the Boston headquarters was spanking new. Jack couldn't help being both envious and impressed.
"Can I help you?" the woman asked cheerfully.
"I imagine you can," Jack said. He went on to explain who he was and that he wanted to talk to one of the medical examiners. He said he wasn't choosy, just whoever was available.
"I think they are all in the autopsy room, doctor," the woman said. "But let me check."
While the woman made several calls, Jack glanced around. It was a utilitarian decor with the characteristic odor of fresh paint. There was an office for the liaison with the police department, and through the open door Jack saw a uniformed officer. There were several other rooms, but Jack could only guess at their function.
"Dr. Latasha Wylie is available after all, and she'll be right down," the receptionist said. She had to practically yell for Jack to hear through the glass partition.
Jack thanked her and began to wonder exactly where the Park Meadow Cemetery was. If Craig and Alexis wanted him to do the autopsy he was going to have to move very quickly since they were already at day two of a predicted five-day trial. Actually doing the autopsy wouldn't be the challenge. The challenge would be the bureaucratic red tape, and in a city as old as Boston, Massachusetts, Jack feared the red tape might be formidable. "Dr. Stapleton?" a voice questioned.
Jack started. He'd been nosily and surreptitiously glancing into one of the other rooms off the lobby, trying to figure out its role. Guiltily, Jack turned to face a surprisingly youthful African-American woman with flowing, coal-black tresses and beauty-pageant good looks. Jack went from feeling guilty to being momentarily nonplussed. There had been too many times lately when he'd faced professional female medical colleagues who looked to him like college coeds. It made him feel ancient.
After introductions, which included Jack's showing his ME badge just to emphasize that he wasn't some deranged creep off the street, he gave a thumbnail sketch of what he wanted – namely, information about the exhumation procedure in Massachusetts. Latasha immediately invited Jack upstairs to her office, which made Jack even more envious when he compared it to his own. The room wasn't huge or sumptuous, but it had both a desk and work area, so the inevitable paperwork and microscopic work could be kept separated such that one didn't have to be put away to switch to the other. It also had windows. It was only a view of the nearby parking garage, but it let in a significant amount of daylight, something he didn't see in his office.
Once in the office, Jack gave a detailed account of Craig's malpractice case. He stretched reality by saying Craig was one of the city's premier internists even though he practiced in the suburbs, and by suggesting he was going to be found liable for the deceased's death unless the deceased was exhumed and autopsied.
His rationale for this embellishment was that he thought that if the Boston ME 's office was motivated enough, they could slice through any bureaucratic problems. In New York, that would have been the case. Unfortunately, Latasha disabused him of this idea immediately.