Replacing the ophthalmoscope, Jack looked through the plethora of other material, including IV fluid, IV lines, thermometer, emergency medication, hemostats, culture media, and bandages. In the bottom, far corner of the bag he found the biomarker kit. He pulled it out and read the exterior. Hoping for an insert that might be more informative, he opened the box. The insert was directly on top.
After reading the insert, Jack realized he'd have to reassess his evaluation of house calls. With such products, including new and accurate ways of determining diabetic status, a physician could be quite effective in a home environment, especially with the portable ECG machine Jack had seen next to the doctor's bag.
Jack replaced the insert and then the biomarker assay kit. When he did so, he noticed some debris, including an empty atropine vial and an empty epinephrine vial. He wondered if they could have been from the time Craig had been treating Patience Stanhope. From the record, both medications had been used. Then Jack found something that made him sure they were. He found a small sample bottle of the antidepressant Zoloft with Patience Stanhope's name and the notation #6: one pill at hour of sleep. Jack opened the bottle and glanced in at the five pale blue tablets. Replacing the lid, Jack put the bottle back. Next, he lifted out the atropine and epinephrine vials. Both were empty.
Hearing what he thought were footsteps coming down the front steps caused Jack a pang of guilt about snooping into private property, even if just in a doctor's bag. It was a clear violation of the trust extended to him as a guest. With a bit of panic, he quickly replaced the vials, closed the bag, and jammed it back onto the shelf. He dashed across the room, leaped back into the club chair, and pulled the case-file material onto his lap.
It was none too soon. Craig shuffled into the study a few moments later. He was dressed in a bathrobe with open-backed slippers on his feet. He went over and sat in the other reading chair.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said.
"Don't be silly," Jack answered. He couldn't help notice that Craig's voice had a monotone that hadn't been there when he'd gone upstairs and that when he'd walked in, his arms had hung limply at his sides as though they were paralyzed. It was abundantly clear the man had already taken his sleep medication and hadn't skimped on the dose.
"I just wanted to say thank you for coming up here to Boston. I know I wasn't much of a host last night and this morning."
"No problem. I have a good sense of what you're going through."
"I also wanted to say that I'm behind the autopsy idea after giving it additional thought."
"That makes it unanimous. Now, after convincing everybody, I can only hope I can pull it off."
"Well, I appreciate your efforts." He struggled back to a standing position and wobbled before gaining his balance.
"I glanced in your doctor's bag," Jack said to clear his conscience. "I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not. Do you need something? Back when I was making a lot of house calls, I amassed a small pharmacy."
"No! I was curious about the biomarker kit for heart attacks. I never knew they existed."
"It's hard to keep up with technology. Good night."
"Good night," Jack said. From where he was sitting, he could see down the lengthy hall as Craig plodded toward the stairs. He was moving like a zombie. For the first time, Jack started to feel sorry for the man.
10
The morning routine was as chaotic as it had been the previous morning, including another disagreement between Meghan and Christina over an article of apparel. Jack never knew what it was, but the tables had been turned. Now it was Meghan denying Christina, resulting in Christina rushing back upstairs in tears.
Alexis was the only one acting normally. It was as if she were the glue holding the family together. Craig was somnolent and spoke little, apparently still feeling the effects of his sleeping medication on top of his scotch.
After the kids had left for school, Alexis turned to Jack. "What do you want to do about transportation? Do you want to come with us or drive yourself?"
"I've got to drive myself. My first stop is the Langley-Peerson Funeral Home. I've got to get the signed papers over there to start the exhumation process." What he didn't say was that he hoped to get in a little basketball in the late afternoon.
"Then we'll see you in the courtroom?"
"That's my intention," Jack said, although he harbored a hope that Harold Langley could work miracles and get Patience Stanhope out of her eternal resting place that very morning. If that could happen, then Jack could do the autopsy, have the gross results by that afternoon, present them to Craig and Alexis, and be on the shuttle back to New York. That would give him Thursday to wrap things up in his office prior to the honeymoon that was to begin on Saturday morning. It would also give him the opportunity to pick up the tickets and hotel vouchers.
Jack left before Alexis and Craig. He got into his rent-a-car and headed for the Massachusetts Turnpike. He had assumed that having already visited the Langley-Peerson Funeral Home, it would be easy to find it again. Unfortunately, he was wrong. It took him almost forty minutes of highly aggravating driving to cover approximately five miles as the crow flew.
Muttering obscenities to himself over the stressful experience, Jack finally pulled into the funeral home's parking lot. It was more crowded that the previous day, forcing Jack to park at the very back. When he got around to the front of the building, there were people milling about on the porch. It was at that point that he guessed a service was about to get under way. His suspicions were confirmed when he entered the foyer. In the viewing room to the right, people were scurrying about, arranging flowers and unfolding additional chairs. On the catafalque was an open coffin with its occupant comfortably resting. The same pious soundtrack as the day before inundated the scene.
"Would you care to sign the book?" a man asked in a quiet, sympathetic voice. In many respects, he was a significantly heavier version of Harold Langley.
"I'm looking for the funeral director."