David Kessler - Mercy

But why? Nat wasn’t a journalist. They had seen his resume and, apart from the Grand Tour, all it showed was academic studies and an impressive legal internship with the Public Defender’s office. Why would a budding lawyer risk his career to pass on a few juicy tit-bits to the press?

The obvious answer was money. Some of the papers would pay a lot for a scoop like that. But then you’d expect him to be dealing with magazines like the National Enquirer , not respectable news networks. Maybe the fax from London was nothing. Maybe it was just a formal statement that they couldn’t supply the requested information.

There was no time to think about it. She keyed in their number.

“Finchley Road Medical Centre,” a woman’s voice answered.

“Hallo, could I speak to Nurse White please?”

“Susan? I’m afraid she’s off duty.”

“When did she finish?”

“At two.”

“What?”

“Two am. She worked the ten pm till two am shift.”

“I don’t understand. She sent us a fax a couple of hours ago.”

“Wait a minute, are you calling from America?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I should have said. I’m calling from the law firm of Alex Sedaka.”

“Oh yes. Look, I don’t know any more than I told the man.”

“What man?”

“The man who called earlier … from the law firm.”

“From the law firm?”

“Yes. He called not long ago.”

“ Our law firm?”

“I … I think so.

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him that I didn’t think Mr. Lloyd could have sent the fax because he wasn’t here at that time as far as I know. Also, I’m sure he would never disclose confidential information about a patient without permission.”

“And did the man you spoke to give his name?”

“I think he did, but I can’t remember. I got the impression that he represented the patient.”

Juanita felt her mouth going dry.

“Represented the … you mean Dorothy Olsen?”

“I think so … yes.”

“I want you think carefully. Could the man’s name have been Nathaniel — or Nat — Anderson?”

“I think it was — yes!”

So that was it! He had phoned them pretending to be Dorothy’s representative to get them to send her details! He wasn’t leaking information to the press or trying to sabotage their efforts. He was bending the rules in order to help them! He knew that the clinic wouldn’t release the information without some sort of authorization. So he phoned them and pretended to be Dorothy’s representative and asked them to fax over the information! She smiled with relief.

But why had he intercepted their fax? If it contained the information they needed then why not produce it?

She realized why. Because they hadn’t sent the information! They presumably sent a letter asking for signed papers from Dorothy herself. Or maybe they’d sent something else referring to Nat’s request. But whatever it was, it showed what Nat had done, without actually getting a result and he was afraid that he would get into trouble if she or Alex saw it. So instead he intercepted it to cover his tracks.

He probably hadn’t given up yet. If they had asked for a signed power of attorney from Dorothy, he would probably forge one. It was a risky strategy — too risky for Juanita to consider herself, let alone Alex — but she could understand a zealot like Nat doing it. She knew that she ought to stop him, for his sake as much as for high principle. But with Clayton’s scheduled execution less than five hours away, she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Maybe — just maybe — it would work.

She decided to call Alex right away to tell him that her original suspicions were unfounded. But she wouldn’t tell him her suspicion that Nat was going to forge a power of attorney. Prior knowledge might compromise Alex’s ethical and professional position.

Nat had waited nervously in case Juanita came back suddenly. There was something edgy about her that worried him; he feared that she might be onto him. He wanted to make a phone call, but he knew he had to be careful. She said she was going out for some fresh air, but how long would she be gone for? Five minutes? Ten? He couldn’t be sure and things had come so far now, it was too late to take a risk on things going wrong.

The phone rang. He answered it.

“Oh, hi, Nat. It’s David here.”

He heard a note of excitement in the voice.

“Hi, David. Before you ask, they’re both out.”

He said it with a nervous laugh. David picked up on it.

“That’s what I was afraid of. I don’t suppose you know where they are?”

“Well Juanita just went out for some fresh air and I think your father’s taken a detour to an arraignment.”

“Arraignment? Who? Why?”

“He got a call from a client. Lee Kelly. A burglary charge, I think.”

“ Now ? Couldn’t he have got you — I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. But couldn’t he have unloaded it on another lawyer?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well how are things going with Clayton Burrow?”

“We’re treading water right now.”

“Well look, I’ve got something else that may be of use.”

“Yes?”

“More of that poem.”

“Er … right.”

“I know it sounds silly Nat, but apart from the travel information and the payment to that health center this is the best I can do. And it does seem to contradict something my dad said earlier.”

“What exactly is it you’ve found?”

“I found a particular verse of the poem that really does remind me of Sylvia Plath’s poem ‘Daddy.’”

“Are you sure she wasn’t just plagiarizing?”

“I don’t think so. There are similarities, but differences too. The verse reads: ‘Daddy, I know I am guilty / Though someone killed you first / I killed you as surely as if / I had pulled the trigger myself / Bang Bang! All over.’”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“But how does that contradict what your dad told you?”

“Well my dad told me that Edgar Olsen killed himself. But here it’s as if she’s saying that she killed him.”

“Maybe it’s metaphorical?”

“Yes, but elsewhere she wrote a line that included the words ‘only when you died,’ and it would appear to be addressed to the same person. Also, I Googled the Plath poem. There’s a verse in it that starts with a remarkably similar line.”

“I can see the similarity of the poems. But what’s this got to do with Dorothy’s death?”

“Well I read in Wikipedia that Sylvia Plath committed suicide. I was wondering if this poem was Dorothy’s suicide note.”

“We already considered that. And you’ve already discovered evidence that she was alive long after she went to England?”

“Maybe it was a gradual decision. Maybe her depression built up to breaking point.”

“Look, David. I know you’re trying to be helpful, but we’ve considered all these possibilities. But it’s not just a question of coming up with theories. We’ve got less than four and a half hours to come up with evidence !”

“Okay, well maybe this poem isn’t evidence per se . But I was just wondering … how did Dorothy’s father die?”

There was silence at the other end.

“Nat?”

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to think.”

“You see what I mean. Is it possible that there was some sort of confrontation between them?”

“Yes, I see what you mean. I’ll pass it on to your father.”

“Okay, thank you.”

David rang off. Nat held the receiver in his hand. He wanted to make another call. He had to do it. His hand trembling, he started to key in the number.