Crisis (58 page)
Judge Davidson scanned the document, then extended it to Randolph.
"You might ask: How reliable are the tests for tetrodotoxin?"
Jack continued. "The answer is extremely reliable. The chance of a false positive is close to zero, especially since Dr. Smitham used two entirely separate methods. One was high-pressure liquid chromatography followed by mass spectrometry. The other was radioimmunoassay using a specific antibody to the tetrodotoxin molecule. The results are conclusive and reproducible."
Randolph offered the affidavit to Tony, who snatched it away irritably. He was well aware of its implication.
"So are you saying the deceased did not die of a heart attack?" Judge Davidson said.
"She did not die of a heart attack. She died of overwhelming tetrodotoxin poisoning. Since there is no treatment available, the time of her arrival at the hospital was entirely immaterial. Essentially, from the moment she swallowed the poison she was doomed."
A loud knock on the judge's door reverberated around the room. The judge bellowed for whoever it was to enter. The court officer poked his head in and said, "The jury is requesting a coffee break. What should I tell them?"
"Let them have their coffee break," the judge said with a wave of dismissal. He drilled Jack with his dark, gun-barrel eyes. "So that's the exculpatory part. What's the incriminating part?"
Jack sat back in his chair. This was the part he found the most troubling. "Because of its striking toxicity, tetrodotoxin is a highly controlled substance, especially in this day and age. But the compound has a curious redeeming quality. The same molecular mechanism responsible for its toxicity makes it an outstanding tool to study sodium channels in nerve and muscle."
"How does that impact the case at hand?"
"Dr. Craig Bowman's published and ongoing research concerns the study of sodium channels. He uses tetrodotoxin extensively."
A heavy silence hung over the room as Jack and Judge Davidson stared at one another across the judge's desk. The other two men looked on. For a full minute no one spoke. Finally, the judge cleared his throat and said, "Other than this circumstantial evidence of access to the toxin, is there anything else that associates Dr. Bowman with the actual act?"
"There is," Jack said reluctantly. "The moment tetrodotoxin was determined to be present, I returned to the Bowman residence, where I had been a houseguest. I had known there was a small vial of pills Dr. Bowman had given to the deceased the day she died. I took the vial back to the toxicology lab. Dr. Smitham did a rapid check, and the interior of the vial was positive for tetrodotoxin. He is doing the full, definitive test as we speak."
"Okay!" Judge Davidson said. He rubbed his hands together briskly and looked over at the court reporter. "Hold up on the record until we get back into the courtroom." He then sat back, causing his aged chair to squeak. He'd assumed a grim but thoughtful expression. "I could order a continuance of this trial so all this new information could go through the discovery process, but there is not much point. This is not civil negligence, it is murder. I'll tell you what I'm going to do, gentlemen. I'm going to declare a mistrial. This case needs to be turned over to the district attorney. Any questions?" He looked over his audience, stopping at Tony. "Don't look so glum, counselor. You can bask in the realization that justice prevails and your client can still sue for wrongful death."
"The trouble is the insurance company will be off the hook." Tony snorted.
The judge looked at Jack. "That was an admirable investigation, doctor."
Jack merely nodded to acknowledge the compliment. But he didn't feel deserving. Having to report the shocking findings caused him anguish for what it was going to do to Alexis and her girls. They would now have to suffer through a protracted investigation and a new trial with horrific consequences. It was a tragedy for everyone concerned, especially Craig. Jack was shocked at the depth of the man's narcissism and apparent lack of conscience. Yet at the same time he sensed that Craig had been victimized by the highly competitive academic medical system that touted altruism and compassion yet rewarded the opposite; one never became chief resident by being kind and sympathetic to patients. With Craig's perennial necessity of gainful employment during the early portion of his medical training, he had been denied the normal social interaction that would have blunted such a contradictory message.
"All right, gentlemen," Judge Davidson said. "Let's wrap up this fiasco." He stood, and the others did as well. He then skirted around his desk and headed for the door. Jack followed behind the two lawyers, and the court reporter came behind Jack. Ahead, within the courtroom, Jack heard the court officer yell for everyone to rise.
When Jack emerged from the judge's chambers, the judge was taking his seat on the bench while Randolph and Tony were approaching their respective tables. Jack noticed that Craig was momentarily not present, and Jack shuddered to think what the man's reaction was going to be when he learned that his secret had been unraveled.
Jack quietly crossed the well. Behind him he heard the judge ask the court officer to bring back the jury. Jack opened the gate. He caught Alexis's eye. She was looking at him with an understandably questioning, confused yet hopeful expression. Jack politely worked his way toward her and took the neighboring seat. He squeezed her hand. He noticed she had rescued his carry-on bag that he'd left at the gate before going into the judge's chambers.
"Mr. Bingham," Judge Davidson called out. "I notice the defendant is not presently at the defendant's table."
"My assistant, Mr. Cavendish, tells me he requested to use the men's room," Randolph said, partially rising out of his chair.
"I see," Judge Davidson responded.
The jury was then led into the courtroom, and they filed into the jury box.
"What's going on?" Alexis questioned. "Did you find something criminal?"
"I found more than I bargained for," Jack confessed.
"Perhaps someone should let Dr. Bowman know we are back in session," Judge Davidson said. "It is important for him to witness these proceedings."
Jack gave Alexis's hand another squeeze before getting to his feet. "I'll get Dr. Bowman," he said. As he moved back down the aisle, he motioned to Randolph's assistant, who'd gotten up, presumably to get Craig, that he would fetch the defendant.
Jack pushed out through the door to the hall. There were the usual clumps of people engaging in hushed conversations sprinkled around the hallway and the elevator lobby. Jack made a beeline for the men's room. He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter past ten. He yanked open the door and entered. A man of Asian ancestry was washing his hands at the sink. The area around the urinals was empty. Jack continued to the stalls and bent down at the waist to look under the walls. Only the last stall was occupied. Jack walked down to the door and debated whether to wait or call out. As late as it was, he decided to call out.
"Craig?" Jack questioned.
The toilet flushed, and a moment later the locking mechanism of the door clicked. The door opened inwardly, and a young Hispanic man emerged. He gave Jack a quizzical look before brushing past on his way to the sink. Surprised at not having had to face Craig after building up his courage to do so, Jack bent over again to make sure all the stalls were empty, and they were. Except for the two men at the sink, there was no one else in the bathroom. Craig was nowhere to be seen. Intuitively, Jack knew he was gone.
24
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS FRIDAY, JUNE 9, 2006 10:25 A.M.
After returning to the courtroom, where Craig had failed to reappear, Jack had taken Alexis aside. As quickly and humanely as possible, he had related everything that had happened since he'd spoken with her the night before. She had listened with initial disbelief and consternation until she learned the extent of the proof of Craig's apparent guilt. At that point, she'd allowed her professional persona take over, enabling her to analyze the situation clinically. In that frame of mind, she, not Jack, had been the one to bring up the time issue and that Jack had to make tracks if he hoped to get to the church on time. With a promise to call that afternoon, Jack had grabbed his carry-on and dashed for the elevators.
Running headlong, Jack traversed the courtyard in front of the courthouse and descended the two short flights of steps to the street. To his relief, the battered Accent was where he'd left it, although a parking ticket was stuck beneath the windshield wiper. The first order of business was to get the paper bag containing the gun from the trunk. Anticipating needing to return the firearm on his way to the airport, Jack had gotten the directions to police headquarters that morning from Latasha.
The police station was right around the corner from where Jack was parked, although it required him to do a U-turn over a median. Jack looked in his rearview mirror for pursuing squad cars after pulling off the stunt. Jack had learned from sore experience that when you missed your turn while driving in Boston, it was frequently impossible to loop back.
The stop at the police station was accomplished expeditiously. The bag had Liam Flanagan's name on it, and the duty officer was willing to accept it with no comment whatsoever. Glad that chore was out of the way, Jack ran out to the car, which was double-parked with the engine running.
The signage to the airport was superior to the signage in the rest of the city, and Jack soon found himself in a tunnel. Thankfully, the distance from downtown Boston to the airport was short, and Jack got there surprisingly quickly. Following the signs for the rent-a-car company, he drove onto the Hertz lot a few minutes later.
Jack pulled into one of the car-return lanes. There were some instructions of what to do when dropping off a vehicle, but Jack just ignored them as he ignored the agents who were roaming around assisting customers. The last thing Jack wanted to do was get into an extended discussion about the damaged vehicle. He was confident he'd hear from Hertz. He grabbed his carry-on and ran for the bus to the terminal.
When he boarded the bus, he thought it was about to leave, but instead it sat there with its motor idling and no driver. Jack nervously eyed the time. It was a little after eleven. He knew he had to catch the eleven thirty Delta shuttle or all was lost.
Finally, the driver appeared. He cracked a few jokes as he asked which terminals people wanted. Jack was happy to learn that Delta was the first stop.
The next aggravation was getting a ticket. Luckily, the shuttle had its own section. After that came the security line, but even that was not too problematic. It was eleven twenty when Jack shoved his feet back into his shoes and sprinted down the concourse toward the shuttle gate.
Jack was not the last person on board, but it was close. The plane's door was closed behind the individual who'd boarded right after him. Jack took the first seat available to facilitate deplaning in New York. Unfortunately, it was a middle seat between a scruffy student with an iPod so loud Jack could hear every note and a pinstriped businessman with a laptop and a Blackberry. The businessman treated Jack to a disapproving glare when Jack indicated he wanted to occupy the middle seat. It required the businessman to move his carry-on from where he'd stowed it and to pick up his jacket and briefcase, which he'd placed on the seat.
Once seated with his carry-on at his feet, Jack put his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. Despite his bone-weary exhaustion, there was no chance he could fall asleep, and not just because of his neighbor's iPod. He kept replaying the too short and unsatisfactory conversation he'd had with Alexis, and the belated realization that he'd not apologized for being the one who had uncovered Craig's perfidy, not only to the profession but also to his family. Even the rationalization that Alexis and the children might be better off knowing the truth did not make Jack feel any better. The chances of the family hanging together in the face of what was coming were unfortunately slim, and that thought underlined for Jack how deceptive appearances could be. From the outside, the Bowmans seemingly had it all: professional parents, beautiful children, and a storybook house. Yet on the inside there was a kind of cancer undermining it all.
"May I have your attention please," a voice cracked over the plane's intercom. "This is the captain speaking. We've just been informed from ground control that we have a gate hold situation. There's a thunderstorm passing through the New York area. We are hoping this will not be long, and we will keep you informed."
"Shit!" Jack exclaimed to himself. He gripped his forehead with his right hand, using the balls of his fingers to massage his temples. The anxiety and lack of sleep were conspiring to give him a headache. As a realist, he began to contemplate what would happen if he did not make the wedding. Laurie had given him more than a hint. She'd said she'd never forgive him, and he believed her. Laurie was frugal with promises, and when she made one, she kept it. Knowing that, again begged the question in Jack's mind whether he'd stayed in Boston as long as he had more from an unconscious wish to avoid getting married than to solve the Patience Stanhope mystery. Jack took a deep breath. He didn't believe that was true, nor did he want it to be true, but he didn't know for sure. What he did know was that he wanted to get to the church on time.
