Before Dr. Prince could answer, the door to Tom’s hospital room flew open and Marvin Pressman came storming in. He clutched a piece of paper in his left hand.
“Get the police in here right now, and get this man unlocked,” Marvin barked at the doctor. Prince didn’t budge or respond. Marvin didn’t back down. “Do it now, or I swear I’ll have the Joint Commission here tomorrow for a surprise hospital inspection, and trust me when I say you won’t like what they’ll find.”
Dr. Prince gave Marvin an angry look. “It’s my understanding that this man is in violation of his bail and that he poses a flight risk. That’s what the police told us.”
“And exactly what violation are you referring to, Doctor?” Marvin growled back.
“Driving under the influence.”
Marvin fluttered the piece of paper in front of Prince’s face in a taunting way. “Well, I have a medical power of attorney for Mr. Hawkins. His toxicology report from your lab just came in. Guess what it showed?”
“I haven’t a clue,” Dr. Prince replied in a calm, low voice.
“Marvin, where’s Jill? Is she here?” Tom asked.
Marvin placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder. He looked down at his client and said, “Yes, but hang on a second, Tom. Let me get this straightened out first. The toxicology report shows enough scopolamine in his system to knock out an elephant, that’s what.”
Tom shook his head, because he’d never heard of the drug before. “What the hell is scopol—whatever you said?”
“It’s a colorless, odorless, tasteless drug used to treat motion sickness and Parkinson’s disease.”
“Why would I be given that?” asked Tom.
“It’s also used by criminals to commit robbery and date rape, not to mention prisoner interrogations. It zaps your memory, along with a lot of other functions,” Marvin explained. “If you think my client intentionally ingested this narcotic, get ready for that inspection I promised you.”
Prince was visibly flustered. Red splotches on his face showed his anger. “The officer in charge of Mr. Hawkins’s case told me to call him the moment he awoke. I’ll do so right now. Though we do have a key, in case of a medical emergency.”
“Then I suggest that you go and get it. Now, Doctor.” Marvin’s smile to Prince was really just a reminder of his threat.
Prince, in turn, called for a nurse to come check Tom’s vitals. He left the room with a snort of disgust.
“I’m guessing the last name of that officer in charge is Murphy,” Tom said.
“And you’d be right,” Marvin said. He added, “I can get Murphy’s badge for what he did to you here. But it’s not worth the fight right now. We need to keep our focus on your trial.”
“What the hell happened to me?”
“Well, I’m not a doctor,” Marvin said as he flipped through a series of charts and reports attached to a clipboard at the foot of Tom’s bed. “From what I’m reading here, I’d say you’ve suffered a grade-three concussion and apparently came within inches of never walking again. Just a little something.”
Marvin grabbed a chair and came around to the side of the bed. He sat down and got himself eye level with Tom. The concern shown on Marvin’s face told Tom that his lawyer considered him a friend, too.
“You think I was drugged?”
“I think that somebody couldn’t wait for your trial to punish you,” Marvin said matter-of-factly. Marvin glanced at the toxicology report in his hand. He turned on a floor lamp to help him read the file. Tom winced in pain and groaned as soon as the light came on.
“Sorry, buddy,” Marvin said. He switched off the lamp. “I’m not up on all the concussion symptoms. I guess that sensitivity to light is one of them.” Marvin pushed himself up and out of his chair with a grunt. He crossed the room and stepped over to a window that was letting in a good deal of sunlight.
Tom followed Marvin with his eyes. He noticed a cup with a straw on a nearby tray. He leaned over, desperate to quench a desertlike thirst, but his handcuffs kept the drink just out of reach. Marvin lowered the window shade and handed Tom the cup.
“Thanks for the drink,” Tom said after a long sip. “How long have I been in the hospital?” he asked.
Marvin glanced at his watch. “The accident happened last night. It’s noon now. A bit shy of twelve hours, I’d say.”
“Look, Marvin… I don’t remember anything,” Tom said, as if it were a secret.
Marvin returned a telling look. “Two cars were involved in the accident. Witnesses are saying it was road rage on the part of the other driver. That driver died of his injuries. Tom, it was Kip Lange.”
Chapter 51
Tom let out a long, deep breath. “Lange’s dead,” he said in a voice that didn’t disguise his relief.
“What happened to you out there, Tom?”
Tom told Marvin all he could remember—about the phone call from Lange, about scouting Johnny Rockets for a possible ambush, about meeting Lange—but after that, his memories vanished.
“How do you think you got drugged?” asked Marvin.
“I don’t know,” Tom said. “The coffee, maybe. That’s all I drank.”
“But you didn’t see Lange slip anything into your drink.”
“No,” Tom said. “I doubt it was any of the waitstaff. But I can’t be sure. Maybe there was a manager on duty, someone I didn’t see.”
Marvin leaned in close and seemed to study Tom’s face. “That’s a nasty injury you’ve got there,” he said. “Have you seen it?”
“What? No beauty pageants in my future?”
Marvin scrutinized the injury even more intently. “Doesn’t look like it could have come from a car accident,” he said, with his eye inches from Tom’s face. “There’s a pattern to it, too. It looks like… like a star. Do you remember being hit in the face? Punched?”
Tom couldn’t easily shake his head to tell Marvin no.
“Something about it… Do you mind if I snap a picture?”
Tom forced a weak smile. “Don’t post it to Facebook,” he said.
Marvin chuckled and snapped a few pictures with his cell phone. He put his phone away, then picked up Tom’s, which had been resting atop the dresser by the hospital bed.
“I’ve got most of the stuff police recovered from your car in a cardboard box at my office. But I figured you’d want to have your phone by the bed.”
“Yeah, Lange might be calling to cut a deal,” said Tom.
“Not unless you believe in ghosts. They found more of Lange on the light post than they did inside his car.”
“Is it going to be harder to prove Lange was the one framing me now that he’s dead?” asked Tom.
“We don’t know for sure that it even was Lange,” Marvin said. “For all we know, it could have been Murphy working outside the law to make his case against you, or a disgruntled player, a parent even.”
“You don’t really believe that. Do you?” Tom said. “The motive just isn’t there. Lange’s the only one with a real reason to frame me. He wanted what he thought I had. It’s obvious.”
“We’re going to go after any and all witnesses connected to Lange,” Marvin said, trying to sound reassuring. “I’m turning my investigators loose as we speak. Rest assured, I won’t leave a single stone unturned.”
“That’s the way we’re going to beat this rap,” Tom said. “I’m sure of it.”
“Hope you’re right, buddy,” Marvin said. “But something isn’t adding up for me.”
“What isn’t?”
“Lange never made one real extortion attempt. And whoever did this frame job knows his computer chops. I mean, really knows what he’s doing. Computer skills classes in prison are good, but they’re not that good.”