"I'm almost finished," Latasha said behind her plastic face mask. "I thought you might like to take a look."
"What do you have?" Jack asked. He was always interested.
"It's a fifty-nine-year-old female found dead in her bedroom after having been visited by a man she met on the Internet. The bedroom was in disarray suggesting a struggle, with the bedside table upended and the bedside lamp broken. The two detectives waiting out in the dressing area are thinking homicide. The woman had a gash on her forehead at her hairline."
Latasha pulled the woman's scalp down from where it had been reflected over the face to gain access to the brain.
Jack bent down to look at the laceration. It was round and punched in, as if delivered by a hammer.
Latasha went on to describe how she had been able to reconstruct what turned out to be an accident and not a homicide. The woman had slipped on a small throw rug on the polished wood flooring and had collided with the bedside table, hitting her forehead on the lamp's finial with the full force of her body weight. The case turned out to be an example of how important knowledge of the scene was. It seemed that the lamp's finial was a rather tall spire ending in a flat disc that resembled a hammerhead.
Jack was impressed and told Latasha so.
"All in a day's work," she said. "What can I do for you?"
"I want to take you up on your offer of autopsy supplies. It appears that it is a go, provided they can be expeditious getting the body out of the ground. I'm going to do it at the Langley-Peerson Funeral Home."
"If you end up doing it after hours, I'd be willing to help, and I could bring a bone saw."
"Really?" Jack questioned. He'd not expected such generosity. "I'd be happy to have your help."
"Sounds like a challenging case. Let me introduce you to our chief, Dr. Kevin Carson."
The chief, who was doing a case on table number one, turned out to be a tall, lanky, pleasant individual with a southern accent who mentioned he was on a first-name basis with Jack's chief, Dr. Harold Bingham. He said Latasha had told him about what Jack was trying to do, and he supported her offer to process specimens and help with toxicology if needed. He said they did not yet do their own toxicology but had access to a superb twenty-four-seven facility at the university.
"You tell Harold hello from Boston," Kevin said before going back to his case.
"I certainly will," Jack responded, although the man was already bent over the body in front of him. "And thanks for your assistance."
"He seems like a pleasant chief," Jack said as he and Latasha went out into the anteroom.
"He's very personable," Latasha agreed.
Fifteen minutes later, Jack stashed a box of autopsy supplies in the trunk of his Accent, moving his basketball gear out of the way in the process. He also slipped Latasha's card with cell phone number into his wallet before climbing in behind the steering wheel.
Although Alexis had suggested another parking facility near Faneuil Hall, Jack was content to return to the one beneath the Boston Common, since it was easier for him to find. He also enjoyed the walk skirting the Massachusetts State House.
Pushing into the courtroom, Jack tried to let the door close as silently as possible behind him. At that moment, the court clerk was swearing in a witness. Jack had heard the name; it was Dr. Herman Brown.
As he stood by the door, Jack's eyes scanned the room. He saw the backs of Craig's and Jordan's heads along with those of their attorneys and the attorneys' associates. The jury seemed as bored as they had the day before, while the judge appeared preoccupied.
He was shuffling papers, glancing at them, and reorganizing them as if he were alone in the room.
Jack's eyes scanned the spectators and immediately locked onto Franco's. From the distance, Franco's eye sockets appeared like featureless black holes beneath his Neanderthal-like brow.
Against his better judgment, Jack smiled and waved. He knew it was foolish, since he was taunting the man, but Jack was unable to stop himself. It was a re-emergence of the risk-taking mentality that he had glommed on to for a number of years as a juvenile coping mechanism for his guilt about surviving his family. Jack thought he saw the man tense, but he could not be certain. Franco continued to scowl at him for several beats longer but then shifted his gaze when his boss scraped his chair back from the plaintiff's table and headed toward the podium.
Berating himself for deliberately provoking the man, Jack thought about finding a hardware store and buying some pepper spray. If there was to be a second confrontation, Jack had no intention of trading blows again. Their difference in size made that an unfair exchange.
Jack returned to scanning the spectators. Once again, he was taken by the number. He wondered how many were the proverbial courtroom junkies, vicariously thrilled by people receiving their comeuppance, particularly the wealthy and powerful. As a successful doctor, Craig was fair game.
Finally, Jack found Alexis. She was sitting in the first row over against the wall, close to the jury box. Next to her seemed to be one of the few empty seats. Jack walked down to the bar, and then by excusing himself, he stepped into the aisle. Alexis saw him coming and moved her belongings to make room. Jack gave her shoulder a squeeze before sitting down.
"Any luck?" Alexis whispered.
"Progress, I hope, but it's now out of my hands. What's been happening here?"
"More of the same, I'm afraid. It was a slow start, since the judge had to deal with some arcane legal stuff. The first witness was Dr. Noelle Everette."
"That couldn't have been good."
"It wasn't. She came across as a superbly trained, thoughtful, and sensitive professional with the added benefit that she's from the community and was involved in the resuscitation attempt. Tony handled it well, I'm sorry to say. The way he questioned her and the way she answered kept the jurors' attention. I even saw the three homemakers nodding at one point – not a good sign. Her testimony was essentially the same as Dr. William Tardoff's, but to me more effective. She comes off like the doctor everyone wishes they had."
"How was Randolph on cross?"
"Not as effective as he was with Dr. Tardoff but, personally, I couldn't see how he could be, considering how well Dr. Everette came across. I had the feeling he just wanted to get her off the stand."
"That might have been the best stratagem," Jack said. "Did the issue of concierge medicine come up?"
"Oh, yeah. Randolph tried to object, but Judge Davidson is letting it all in."
"Did the issue of cyanosis come up?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
"It continues to be a nettle in my brain. It will be one of the prime things on my mind when and if I do the autopsy."
A sixth sense made Jack turn around and look across the room at Franco. The man was again glaring at Jack with an expression that hovered between a grimace and a cruel smile. On a positive note, from the angle in which Jack was looking, he could see that the left hand side of Franco's face was as red as Jack's. So far, things were apparently equal.
Settling back on the rock-hard oak pew, Jack directed his attention to the proceedings. Tony was at the podium, while Dr. Herman Brown was in the witness box. In front of the bench, the court reporter's fingers were playing incessantly on her small machine to create a verbatim record. Tony was having the witness testify to his impressive academic and clinical credentials, and it had been going on for a quarter of an hour. As chief of cardiology at the Boston Memorial Hospital, he also occupied the chair of the Department of Cardiology at Harvard Medical School.
Randolph had stood on several occasions and offered to stipulate as to the witness's qualifications as an expert to save the court's time, but Tony had persisted. He was trying to impress the jury, and it was working. It became increasingly apparent to everyone that it would be hard to find a witness more qualified in cardiology, or even equivalently qualified. The man's appearance and bearing added to his image. There was a Boston Brahmin aura that was similar to Randolph 's but without the hint of disdain and condescension. Instead of cold and distant, he appeared kind and gentle: the sort of person who would go out of his way to put a baby bird back into its nest. His hair was grandfatherly white and well groomed, his posture straight. His clothes were neat but not overly elegant, and they had a comfortable, lived-in look. He wore a paisley bow tie. There was even a hint of self-deprecation, as Tony had to work to get the man to admit reluctantly to his awards and accomplishments.