It's Nothing Personal (15 page)

Jenna was standing in the kitchen as Tom led
Mia past her, on their way to the bedroom.
 
Mia walked by and Jenna reached out and
rubbed her arm.

Turning her attention back to Rob, Jenna
said, “I don’t understand.
 
What do
you mean, a subpoena?”

“That’s all I know.
 
I already forwarded it to Jim Taylor and
Nancy Guilding.
 
You need to call
them as soon as possible.”

Jenna broke into a cold sweat.
 
Was
she on trial already?
 
What was
going on?
 
She ended the phone
call with Rob and immediately dialed Jim Taylor’s direct number.
 
With her adrenaline surging, it was a
challenge to press the right numbers on the receiver.
 
From down the hall, Jenna heard vomit
splash into the toilet as Mia retched again.
 

It was not yet 6:30.
 
Jenna fully expected to get voicemail,
but Jim answered on the third ring.
 
“Hi Jenna.
 
Nancy’s here with
me.
 
We have you on speaker phone.”

“Rob Wilson told me I got served a
subpoena.
 
Am I in trouble?”

As far as Jenna knew, only criminals got
served with subpoenas.
 
She felt
weak and leaned against the granite countertop for support.

Nancy spoke in a motherly tone.
 
“No, you are not in trouble.
 
A handful of summons were served to
doctors yesterday.
 
Hillary Martin
is scheduled to go on trial next Monday.
 
You are ordered to testify.”

Jenna’s heart was beating so rapidly, she
felt certain it might burst.
 
Her
next question slipped out of her mouth, “Why me?”

Jim piped in, “We’re not entirely sure.
 
What we do know is that the federal
prosecutor has served twelve doctors, ten of whom are anesthesiologists from
your group, and the other two are surgeons.
 
We are placing calls to the prosecutor
right now to try to gain more information.
 
Hopefully we’ll know more by the end of the day.”

Jenna’s mind was in overdrive.
 
“What are they going to ask me?
 
What if I say something wrong?
 
Can they use that against me in my
malpractice case?”

Nancy tried to reassure her, “We assume they
are going to ask you what you remember about Hillary Martin.
 
We will be there in court, but since you
aren’t the one on trial, we won’t be able to object to any of the questions they
ask you.”

“In other words, I’m on my own to hang
myself.”

“Not entirely,” said Nancy.
 
“Once we get more information, we’ll
meet with you and help you prepare.”

“Who else got a subpoena?” Jenna
demanded.
 

Jim read off a list of her colleagues.

“Do all of us have hepatitis-positive
patients?
 
Is that the common
denominator?”

Jim said gravely, “At this point, it would
be pure speculation, but I think that’s probably the case.
 
We’re at a disadvantage.
 
We don’t yet know the identity of every
anesthesia doctor who has an infected patient.
 
We won’t know, in fact, until the very
last lawsuit rolls in.
 
However, the
State Health Department and the administrators at St. Augustine do possess that
information.
 
It’s highly likely
they shared those names with the federal prosecutor.”

Nancy chimed in, “Jenna, you’re going to be
fine.
 
Try not to worry.
 
You’re stronger than you think.”

Jenna did not respond.
 

She hung up and walked into her
bedroom.
 
Mia was curled up in a
ball on the bed with her eyes closed.
 
Jenna lay down, facing her.
 
The stench of vomit lingered on Mia’s breath, and the sheets were damp
from her wet body.
 
Jenna carefully
pulled the blankets over herself and her daughter and fell into a fitful nap.

CHAPTER 21

October
22, 2010

On an overcast Friday morning, Jack Lewis
drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for Hillary to be ushered into
the dank, depressing meeting room at the jail.
 
Jack was functioning on a week’s worth
of very little sleep, no exercise, vending-machine meals, and a heavy
conscience.
 
He was sure that the
revelations of the past week would disturb him for many years to come.
 
At long last, Hillary had divulged the
true details of her crimes.
 

Hillary silently entered the chamber.
 
Impatient for her handcuffs to be removed,
she thrust her arms forward toward the guard.
 
Once the guard shut the door and locked
them in, Hillary rubbed her wrists, attempting to erase the sensation of the
frigid steel pinching her skin.
 
Jack found it hard to believe, but Hillary actually looked worse than
she had on Monday.
 
She was jittery,
agitated, and unfocused.
 
Hillary
did not seem to realize he was in the room.
 
Bewildered, Jack watched her, feeling
like a voyeur.
 
She squeezed a
pimple on her chin until it burst and started to bleed.
 
After wiping away the blood with the palm
of her hand, she remained mesmerized by the red streak left behind.

Jack was becoming uncomfortable.
 
He grunted in an attempt to gain
Hillary’s attention.
 
The gesture
worked.
 
Hillary was startled back
into her bleak reality and took a seat.
 
Her right leg jerked restlessly under the table.
 
Jack tried to overlook it, but the
shuffling grated on his nerves.

Tersely, Jack said, “We only have three hours
before we are scheduled to be in court.
 
I need to present the details of the plea agreement to you, and you need
to stay focused.”
 

Hillary stopped twitching her leg.
 
The blood on her face had coagulated
into a dark, red ball.

“Okay, shoot.”

Retrieving two stacks of legal documents
from his worn, leather briefcase, Jack handed one copy to Hillary and kept the
other for himself.
 

He told her, “I’ve fought hard for you all
week.
 
However, the federal
prosecuting attorney is unwilling to make any major concessions in the plea
agreement.
 
Do you understand what I
am telling you so far?”

“Yep.”
 
Hillary slumped in her chair.
 
Her callousness tested Jack’s patience.

“Okay, so you plead guilty to five counts of
tampering with a consumer product and five counts of obtaining a controlled
substance by deceit.
 
If you do
that, the remaining thirty-two charges will be dismissed, and no further
charges will be filed.”

Hillary turned her head toward the
window.
 
Iron bars partially
obscured her view of the gray sky.
 
The distant thunder of a plane roared overhead.
 
Hillary was about to look away when she
caught sight of a pretty, little sparrow on the window’s ledge.
 
She briefly glanced down at the smeared
blood on her hand.
 
By the time
Hillary looked back at the window, the bird had flown away.

She turned her attention back toward
Jack.
 
“How long?”

Jack found it excruciatingly painful to play
the role of the messenger.
 
He
resisted the urge to look away from Hillary as he gave her the news.

“Twenty years, without the possibility of
parole.”

The room fell nearly silent.
 
The only sounds were the “clunk, clunk,
clunk” of an officer’s footsteps outside the door.
 

Hillary was hoarse, her throat dry.
 
“What should I do?”

Jack found Hillary offensive.
 
He fought to remind himself that she was
a young woman in her mid-twenties, with many years ahead of her.
 
She was a mother who loved her child,
and she had parents who loved her.
 
A collection of contradictions, Hillary caused Jack to vacillate between
repulsion and pity.
 

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Jack said
coolly.
 
“This is a decision you
have to make for yourself.
 
You will
live with the consequences for the rest of your life.
 
All I can do is make sure you understand
the implications of your choices.
 
In my legal opinion, it would be highly unlikely that you would receive
a lighter sentence from a jury.”

“How long until I have to decide?”
 

“I will meet you at the courthouse in two
hours, and I will need your decision then.
 
That gives us just under one hour to prepare.”

Hillary stood and walked to the door.
 
She rudely whistled at the guard
outside, like an owner summoning her dog.
 

The guard approached the door and Hillary
ordered, “Take me back to my cell.”

Jack watched the back of Hillary’s head of
tangled, unruly hair as she shuffled away from him, returning to her cell.
 
Once she disappeared behind the clank of
a solid metal door, Jack gathered up his documents and strode out of the
jailhouse into the frosty fall air.
 
Walking to his car, Jack felt certain about only one thing – he
had no idea which direction Hillary would choose.
 
Knowing that she would leave him hanging
until the last minute, Jack was fully prepared to defend her, regardless of her
choice.

**********

Two hours later, Jack Lewis sat at the
courthouse in a windowless meeting room.
 
He sipped bitter, lukewarm coffee while he waited for Hillary to
arrive.
 
Within minutes, he heard
the rattling of chains and footsteps approaching the door.
 
Hillary arrived with her wrists handcuffed
and bound to a belt around her waist.
 
Her feet were shackled together.
 
Each step was an awkward shuffle forward.
 
For her part, Hillary seemed unfazed at
the indignity of being tied up like an animal.
 
The officer unlocked the restraints and
left the room.
 

Jack knew they had very little time to
finalize things before facing Judge Redmond.
 
“Have you made a decision?”

“I have,” she said stoically.
 
“I want to take the plea.”

Jack did not show any emotion.
 
He pulled out the plea agreement from
his briefcase and handed it to Hillary.
 
She thumbed through the document page-by-page, tormenting Jack by
wasting precious moments.

He had his fill of Hillary’s antics.
 
Whether he had her attention or not, he
started at the beginning and explained the terms.
 
“The agreement states that in exchange
for a sentence of twenty years in federal prison, you agree to provide certain
things.”

“Like what?” asked Hillary, irritated.
 
She slid down in her chair, her legs extended
and crossed at the ankles, impinging into Jack’s space.

“First, you need to release any and all
medical and employment records to the federal government.”

“No biggie.”

“Secondly, you need to supply blood and any
other tissue samples, as reasonably required by the federal government to aid
in their investigation.”

“Fine, so I piss in a cup.
 
Is that it?”

“Not entirely.
 
You will be required to give a
deposition to the federal prosecutor that honestly and accurately details your
diversion activities.
 
They expect
you to submit to a polygraph test following the deposition.
 
You will have to tell them everything
you have told me over this past week.
 
No bullshit.
 
If there is
even the slightest hint that you are being deceitful, the plea deal will be
revoked, and no further plea deals will be considered.”

Jack asked firmly, “I need to know, is this
still what you want?”

“It’s pretty much all I’ve got at this
point.”

Jack handed her his pen.
 
Hillary twirled it around in her hand,
like a tiny baton.
 
Before signing,
she placed the tip in her mouth and rolled her tongue over the silver
button.
 
Finally, she flipped to the
flagged pages, signed the agreement, and passed the document to Jack with his
pen on top of the stack.

Their time was over.
 
The guard came to the door and replaced
Hillary’s wrist and ankle restraints.
 
The three of them walked out of the meeting room.
 
Jack purposefully left his defiled pen
behind.

CHAPTER 22

The guard led Jack and Hillary into the
courtroom through a side door.
 
Every seat in the gallery was occupied.
 
Hillary followed Jack to the defendant’s
table.
 
She could feel hundreds of
eyes upon her.
 
The air was heavy as
Hillary surveyed the crowd.
 
Most of
the faces were unfamiliar, but they all wore the unmistakable look of shock,
revulsion, and sadness.
 
Unable to
face their scowls, Hillary focused on the wooden floor ahead of her.