Face to Face (25 page)

Both twins scampered out of reach, giving Drake a chance to sit up straight. His back protested as did his neck and shoulders. Got to find someone with a real spare bed, he thought. 

Then he smelled the sweat and smoke emanating from his clothes piled beside the couch. Hart. She'd lost more than a bed. She'd lost everything.

And he'd almost lost her.

Drake ran his fingers through his hair, trying to garner the courage to open his eyes again. Monica Burns was dead, Hart was God knew where. How was he going to fix all this?

"Go outside and play. Leave DJ alone, you two." Denise's voice and the smell of coffee accompanying it brought Drake back to his senses.

Four feet pounded past, their noise sending shock waves through Drake's bruised brain. He gingerly opened his eyes again.

"Coffee, toast, and three Advil." Denise set the offerings onto the end table and took the chair beside him. "I seem to recall that was the hangover recipe you preferred."

She had the mother's tone of disappointment and scorn down pat, Drake thought, buying time by gulping down the ibuprofen.

"It's not what you think," he told her, his voice emerging as a rusty creak.

"Right." She didn't sound convinced. "I put some of Jimmy's clothes in the bathroom for you. Just a T-shirt and some running shorts. Unless you want to go around holding up your pants all day, you'll have to wash these," she kicked the pile of filthy clothes with her foot.

"I'd rather burn them," Drake told her.

"The mall opens soon, you can always buy new." She took a sip of her own coffee and looked at him appraisingly. "I'd appreciate it if you don't get Jimmy mixed up in whatever you've done this time." 

Drake set his coffee down. "Denise, believe me. I haven't done anything–" 

He stopped when her glance edged down to his liquor soaked shirt. "All right, I'm guilty. I had a few drinks too many and played a game of pool with a pretty girl. Maybe I flirted a little–believe me I was tempted to do more, but I didn't. I went back to Hart's and told her everything. I even—" He ignored the buzzing in his head as he bent over and fumbled with his slacks. Damn it, he couldn't have lost it. Then his fingers closed on the tiny velvet box.

He gave the box to Denise. "I wanted to ask Hart to marry me." 

The enormity of what he had lost in the last forty-eight hours hit him. For a second he craved a drink, but he forced that thought aside.

Denise looked at him with skepticism as she opened the box, then her eyes widened. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Of course, that was before she found a girl murdered with my gun and her house was fire bombed." He shrugged and took the box back. He didn't have anywhere to put it, so he just held onto it, his sweat slicking the velvet.

"DJ, I'm sorry," Denise told him. "When Jimmy told me you were in a jam–"

"You thought of Pamela," Drake finished for her. 

She nodded. 

"Can't say I blame you." He looked at the toast, but his stomach rebelled against the thought of food.

Denise got to her feet and picked up their cups. "Go take a shower. Leave your dirty clothes and I'll wash them." She dangled the rancid polo shirt by one finger. "Well, your pants anyway. You can always wear one of Jimmy's shirts, it'll just be baggy."

"Thanks, Denise. Where is Jimmy?"

She looked at him, puzzled. "At work. Of course."

Then it really hit Drake. It was Monday morning and he had nowhere to go. No badge, no gun, no job.

And no Hart.

<><><>

Natalie lent Cassie her car and she made it to the courthouse just in time. Except for the fact she had no photo ID to show the guard as she went through the metal detector, so he had to call Lisa Dimeo, the assistant DA in charge of the Mary Eamon case, down to escort her to Judge Flory's courtroom.

"What on earth are you wearing?" Lisa Dimeo, asked. "You can't go into court looking like that!" 

Ronald Brickner and his family passed through the security entrance and stood staring at her. At first he frowned, as if surprised to see her—or maybe surprised by how different she looked than the last time they'd met. But then he smiled. A quirky smile that made his eyes glint and made her want to take a shower as if he'd contaminated her. His mother gave his elbow a sharp tug and they both turned their backs on her, heading towards the elevators.

Cassie's silence gave Lisa further time to scrutinize her. "My God, what happened?" her tone had softened a bit, but not much. 

"Someone firebombed my house last night."

At first Lisa looked at Cassie as if she had suggested the dog ate her homework. Then she glared at Brickner. They took the stairs up to the second floor courtroom. 

"You don't think it could have been Brickner, do you?" she asked. She seemed eager to add witness tampering to the charges against the child killer.

Cassie shrugged. She hadn't thought of Brickner. It could be. It could also be the Rippers, the Gangstas, Drake's stalker, or someone hired by Alan King. Or maybe there was someone else out there with a grudge against her. She wouldn't rule it out. "I don't know who did it. The police are investigating."

Lisa gave Cassie another appraising glance. Cassie felt ridiculous beside the tall willowy blonde in her tailored suit and three inch heels. Appearing before Judge Flory looking like Bozo the clown on a bad hair day would only mean more unwanted attention.

"Don't worry," Lisa assured her after taking a second look. "We can use this to our advantage." She reached up and pulled off the ball cap Cassie had used to cover her mangled hair. "That's better."

Cassie sincerely doubted it, but she followed Lisa into the courtroom. Since this was a pretrial motion hearing, the courtroom was empty except for the essential personnel, lawyers, Brickner and his mother and wife, and Cassie.

Then she saw who sat beside Brickner at the defense table. Alan King. Smirking at her like she was the prize at the bottom of a cereal box.

She plopped into her seat, unable to stop staring at him. He'd said he'd be seeing her today. She should have realized he'd meant it as a threat.

After Judge Flory dispensed with some preliminaries he nodded to Lisa. "I'll hear Dr. Hart now."

Cassie stood up. She was always nervous about testifying. She hated the double and triple negatives the lawyers used, trying to trip you and twist what you were saying.

Today was worse than usual. Rivulets of sweat made the cotton top cling to her like a clammy second skin and the lesser-burned parts of her body all itched simultaneously.

She squirmed her way onto the witness stand, gave her particulars to the court reporter. Judge Flory hadn't noticed her yet; he and his secretary were discussing a scheduling conflict. After Lisa approached Cassie, he turned his attention to the witness stand.

And stared. His face grew red and his mouth dropped open. Lisa began to ask Cassie her first question but the judge interrupted her. "Dr. Hart," he snapped. "Have you ever testified in a court of law before?" his tone was one of admonishment.

Cassie turned in her seat to look at him. "Yes sir," she said, feeling her face heat with an embarrassed flush. She looked over at the defense table and saw Brickner and King both shaking with restrained laughter.

"Is this what you would consider proper deportment for such grave proceedings? Your appearance is deplorable. Did we interrupt your week at the beach," he asked sarcastically, "if so, the court sincerely apologizes."

"I apologize your honor," she said meekly.

"I could cite you for contempt," he told her.

Cassie looked to Lisa for help. The ADA saw her cue. "Your honor, Dr. Hart was the victim of a serious crime last night. Her house was set on fire by an unknown party and she barely escaped with her life."

Judge Flory straightened at that and regarded Cassie once more, still with no sympathy. "Is that true, Dr. Hart?"

"Yes sir."

"Have the police any idea who may have started this fire?"

"No sir. At least not that they've told me."

"Your honor may recall hearing about Dr. Hart's car being destroyed by automatic gunfire two days ago."

The judge nodded. "That was you?"

"Yes sir," Cassie replied.

"In light of these threats against our witness' life, the state asks Mr. Brickner's bond be revoked immediately. We would also request a continuance–"

Alan leapt to his feet, objecting to Lisa's "unwarranted curtailing of his client's freedoms" and a legal brawl ensued.

Cassie watched the verbal jousting but didn’t really care. Her entire body alternated between itching and throbbing pain, her eyelids sagged with the strain of staying awake, and her head was pounding.

She just wanted this all to be over with one way or the other. Just let her tell Mary's story, the facts would speak for themselves.

But the lawyers kept squabbling. Judge Flory leaned back, enjoying the legal antics, rewarding points to first Lisa then Alan as if this was about keeping score and not a little girl's murder.

Cassie took the opportunity to reach under her pant leg and scratch at a particularly bothersome patch of peeling skin. Ahh. Then there was silence and everyone was looking at her again. She edged her fingers back from under her pant leg and tried to look alert.

Lisa Dimeo led her through her credentials and the events surrounding Mary's care in the ER with efficient, well thought out questions. Several times Cassie noted the district attorney hesitated as if waiting for objections from the defense which never materialized. Lisa cast several quick glances at the defense table but did not break her smooth rhythm as she drew the evidence of Ronald Brickner's confession from Cassie.

"Thank you, Dr. Hart," she concluded. "No further questions."

Cassie straightened in her seat, preparing for the defense's cross-examination. She watched as Alan ignored the stacks of paperwork in front of him and instead kept his gaze fixed on hers. And she realized what his tactics were. By not objecting to her testimony he reduced the horror of Mary's death to a cold recitation of facts, depersonalized her from a little girl to a gory list of medical facts.

Now all he had to do was destroy the credibility of the witness who presented those facts.

He sauntered over to the lectern and adjusted the microphone. "Good morning, Dr. Hart," he began in his melodious speech. "My name is Alan King. I'd like to thank you for coming here this morning."

It was a move Cassie had seen before when she testified. Force a potential hostile witness to be grateful for the opportunity to have her character shredded in public.

"You're welcome," she replied in a neutral tone.

"Dr. Hart, you've testified in how many abuse trials?"

"Eighteen," Cassie replied. Lisa had already asked this, but the ADA didn't object.

Cassie looked away from Alan to his client and Brickner's mother. Both smiled at her.

"Pardon?" she asked. It was a mistake to let her focus waver and Alan had pounced on it.

"Excuse me, doctor, I thought we had your full attention. I asked if you clearly remembered the events surrounding Mary Eamon's death." Alan kept his tone gracious but Cassie caught the frown Lisa threw her way.

"Yes, of course I do."

"But, correct me if I am wrong, Doctor, but you weren't actually present when Mary died, were you?"

Cassie flushed, embarrassed at being led into such a simple trap. Two minutes of questioning and Alan already had her contradicting herself.

"I was present at the events that immediately preceded her death," Cassie emphasized the positive.

"But not actually at her death, correct?"

"Yes," Cassie grudgingly conceded the point.

"What were you doing while Mary Eamon's lay dying in the operating room at Three Rivers Medical Center?" he asked, implying the only reason Mary died was because she'd been delivered to the hands of incompetent surgeons.

Cassie forced herself to remain neutral and chose her words carefully. Even though there wasn't a jury present, this was all on record. "I was speaking to the family, informing them about Mary's injuries and how serious they were."

"And you told them there was a good chance she might not survive. You already knew that after your resuscitation, did you not, Dr. Hart?"

Christ, now he was trying to blame her for Mary's death. "Yes. She had arrested in the ER but we brought her back."

"And while she was under your care in the emergency room did you perform any procedures that were temporally related to Mary's heart stopping?"

Cassie had no choice but to explain about the paracentesis. "But without releasing the pressure we would not have been able to get oxygen into her lungs and she would have arrested from that."

"I see," he nodded, making his disbelief evident. "And have you performed this procedure before under these circumstances, Dr. Hart?"

"I've performed paracentesis before on several occasions."

"But, under these circumstances, Doctor?" he persisted.

Cassie opened her mouth to snap that they didn't get many three year olds with their intestines ripped apart, but caught Lisa's warning glance and snapped her mouth shut. "No two cases are exactly alike," she allowed.

"So you've never done this procedure which led to Mary Eamon's cardiac arrest under these particular circumstances before?" his voice rose, implying he was incredulous that such an incompetent physician be allowed to practice.

Cassie took a deep breath to collect her thoughts. "I hope never to see these particular circumstances again." 

"Your honor, the witness is unresponsive," Simeon addressed the bench.

"Dr. Hart, please answer the question," Judge Flory instructed.

"Have you ever performed a paracentesis in these exact circumstances before, yes or no?" Alan repeated his question as if Cassie was a recalcitrant child. He pivoted so that his back was to the judge and leered at her.

Cassie couldn't restrain the glare she shot at the defense attorney. "No, but every case–"

"Thank you Doctor," Alan interrupted her. "And did you tell Mary's family your performance of the paracentesis led to her cardiac arrest?"