If only…
The afternoon service ended after five and Julie made the drive to Dorchester in the dark. Even if Jordan owned a car, Julie would still have offered to drive him to the service. They were both connected to Sherri Platt through Brandon Stahl and it felt fitting to be together on this solemn day. The world outside her car windows seemed to have slowed. Thanksgiving was on Thursday, and the coming holiday might have tamed the city’s typical kinetic energy. Paul would be joining Julie, Trevor, Julie’s mom, and a few other friends and relatives for a Thanksgiving meal at her Cambridge home. Julie was grateful her divorce was amicable so she and Paul could share holidays together, but it was still a solo effort and there was much to prepare. Julie was way behind schedule.
Julie and Jordan’s talk of the funeral turned to talk of their fledgling investigation.
Jordan said, “You still think Colchester had Sherri killed to keep her quiet about lying on the witness stand?”
“That’s my best guess,” Julie said. “I think he made it look like it was one of Brandon’s supporters to cover his tracks.”
“What’s the motive?”
“Bribery is not good for a political career, and I’m sure he wanted to keep Brandon in jail, as well. It’s why he planted the morphine. He believes for certain Brandon killed his son and had to make the case airtight. Couldn’t happen without the drugs and Sherri’s testimony.”
“Makes sense,” Jordan said. “But you told me Colchester played the grieving dad only to the media.”
“He did. And you make a good point. I think his wife had something to do with it. Colchester said something about her being emotionally fragile. What if she was so convinced Brandon killed her son that William Colchester made it a reality for her well-being?”
“I’d say that’s a pretty twisted marriage.”
Julie said, “Though, I wonder why Colchester didn’t initially fight the request to exhume the body? That came after. Strange.”
Jordan gave it some thought.
“Maybe a doctor he consulted with told him exhuming the body could cast doubt in the mind of the jury.” Jordan tossed out the idea with a shrug. “Like it would muddy up the waters,” he continued, “make it harder to prove morphine did him in. I’d say that’s enough of a motive for Colchester to grease the judge’s palm.”
“Maybe the doctor he consulted was named Coffey.”
Jordan exhaled loudly. “Coffey? Why him?”
“Heart attacks in healthy hearts at White? It’s the equivalent of a politician caught making a bribe. Not a good advertisement for the hospital, and it’s a fast track to professional ruin. Coffey’s protecting his ego and reputation while jeopardizing patients’ lives, that’s what I think. Suppose he was following Brandon Stahl’s case closely because he knew it was really Kounis syndrome that killed him. If that were true, I’d say he knew about the motion to exhume the body, and then approached Colchester with some free advice about it, if you know what I mean.”
Jordan mulled it over. “Makes sense,” he said. “But if it’s Kounis syndrome killing the patients, how do you explain Sam’s slides? There was no indication of allergy there.”
A car that had been tailgating Julie gave an angry honk, changed lanes without signaling, and passed quickly on her left. Ah, the joys of driving in the city never ceased.
“It’s simple,” Julie said. “Dr. Coffey knew Sam would be autopsied, so he somehow switched the slides. With know-how and access, it’s easily done.”
“So let me get this straight,” Jordan said. “After the wiretap evidence gets tossed, Colchester bribes Sherri and plants evidence to get Brandon convicted.”
“Yes.”
“And we think he did this to help his emotionally unstable wife move on.”
“Theory, yes, but I like it.”
“Meanwhile, something is causing allergic reactions in healthy hearts at White. Coffey knows about it; he’s afraid of it for some reason. He plays to Colchester’s fears about Brandon going free. It’s fear enough for Colchester to bribe the judge into denying the request to exhume his son’s body, and Coffey’s dirty secret about Kounis syndrome stays buried in the ground. That about sum it up?”
“That’s my take.”
Jordan shook his head in disbelief. “Dr. Abruzzo has a saying anytime she comes up with an unusual cause of death,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be probable, it just has to be possible.”
Julie made a slight chuckle. “We’ll have to keep searching those medical records for cases of undiagnosed Kounis syndrome.”
“No more takotsubo, right?”
“No, this is allergic, not stress related.”
“Maybe interview staff to see if they remember patients breaking out in hives,” Jordan suggested, “and then see if there are matching records in the system.”
“I like that plan.”
Something still tugged at Jordan.
“How did Colchester know Sherri was going to come clean to you?” he asked.
Julie thought this over, but could not come up with an answer.
AS THEY drove into Dorchester, Julie stifled a yawn. She was bone tired, and the thought of getting the Thanksgiving preparations under way, under-caffeinated, was less appealing than driving through these confusing Dorchester streets.
“Do you know anyplace I could grab a good cup of coffee for the ride home?”
Jordan made a “pfft” sound, as if to say, but of course.
“Rico’s is one of the best coffee shops around and it’s right down the street from my apartment. The owner is a Puerto Rican guy named Juan, and if you think Colombian coffee is good, wait until you try his brew.”
Lucky for Julie, she found parking close to the quaint coffee shop. It was a nippy November evening and the streets were relatively quiet. The less walking she had to do in this unfamiliar neighborhood, the better.
Jordan escorted Julie into Rico’s. She had volunteered to drop him at home first, but he refused her offer.
“Better if I hang out with you while you’re in my hood,” he said.
Julie did not disagree.
The aromatic coffee shop had plenty of character but not a lot of space, and the few tables for seating were all occupied. One good whiff and Julie understood why. She went right to the counter, and was ordering her coffee, when a deep baritone voice spoke to her from behind.
“Dr. Devereux?”
Julie whirled and broke into a bright smile. The tall man with broad shoulders standing behind Julie was the quarterback for the Boston College Eagles whose life she’d once saved.
“Max Hartsock!” Julie exclaimed.
Max opened his arms and gave Julie a warm embrace.
“What are you doing here?” Max said with an accompanying head scratch. “Rico’s might be the last place I thought I’d run into you.”
Julie gave a little laugh.
“You’re not the first person I’ve surprised like that lately,” she said. “I’m bringing Jordan Cobb home. Do you two know each other?”
“Know him? Jordan’s my homey,” Max said, as he and Jordan went through a mesmerizing series of choreographed handshakes and slaps. “Wouldn’t have made it through algebra without him.”
“We were just at a funeral for a colleague of ours, Sherri Platt,” Julie said. “You may have read about her in the papers or seen her on the local news.”
“Local and CNN,” Max said. “Heard all about her and you. That’s a horrible discovery to make. I hope you’re doing all right.”
“I’m hanging in there. Thank you.”
Max invited Julie and Jordan to join them at his table. Once seated, Max again offered his condolences about Sam. Julie thanked him for his thoughtful note and for the football tickets.
“Paul took Trevor to the game. Speaking of which, what are you doing here? I would have thought Thanksgiving was all football all the time.”