Michael Baden - Remains Silent

She swallowed it. “You bet I care about my clients. I didn’t traipse up to Poughkeepsie for you, I did it for Patrice Perez. And if I find out this is some sort of scam, I’ll roast her till she’s tender.”

“Scam? No way. You haven’t met her. If there was ever a more vulnerable, more-”

“Forgive me, Dr. Rosen, but I’ve found that scientists know little about the human heart. Vulnerable is a con artist’s stock-in-trade.”

“You think she’s a con artist?”

“I didn’t say that. Just mentioned the possibility.”

She’s trying to one-up me, Jake thought. Pay me back. The idea pleased him. “Still, you traipsed up to Poughkeepsie.”

“Of course. If she’s straight, the poor woman thought her father abandoned her. Now she has no idea what happened to him. For all she knows, the doctors in that psycho ward botched his treatment and buried him in the backyard like a mad dog.” She sipped her wine, though all the talk of death and destruction made her want to chug it back. “Even if there’s no wrongdoing here, the State of New York still owes her an explanation. She may not have fifty dollars in the bank, but she has every right to stand up for her-” She cut herself off. “What are you smiling about?”

“You really care. I like that.”

She shrugged. “My father nicknamed me Saint Jude after the patron saint of lost causes.”

“I see.” He took a bite of his warm chocolate cake. “But he named you Philomena Erminia.”

They looked at each other, eyes lingering for a moment. “Found out my middle name, did you?”

“I’m very thorough,” he said. “Besides, it was on the court records.”

She digested that for a second. “Now we’re on the same team, you might as well call me Manny. Everybody does.”

“Not Philly?”

“Not,” she said, “if you want to keep your teeth.”

They ordered more coffee. She told him about her trip to the Academie and how fruitless it seemed to her. “Interesting about the hospital’s history, but not a word about Lyons.”

“Maybe that’s interesting in its own way. Significant.”

“It is strange. There are files for other patients from around the same time. His is missing.”

“Stolen, you think? Destroyed?”

“Could be. Patrice said you found the remains. You and a Dr. Harrigan, who seems to have since died. Anything significant about them?”

He wondered if she was mocking him, but her tone and expression were serious. The sparring they had engaged in earlier had ceased in the face of their mutual cause. “Lots,” he said. “For one thing, we made a positive identification through the dental records. But you already know about that.”

“What about the cause of death?”

“Fracture of the second cervical vertebra.”

“The hangman’s break.”

“O-ho! How did you know about that?”

“The history of lynching intrigues me. I’m a collector of those moments when the courts have bestowed their imprimatur on the immoral. Keeps me from being too reverent about our legal system- as if I ever was.” She leaned forward. “How can you be sure his neck didn’t break when the body was dumped into the grave?”

“Because when we looked under the microscope we saw iron, the residue of broken-down hemoglobin. That means there was bleeding at the fracture site, which in turn means-”

“That he was alive when it happened. Do you think he could’ve been hanged?”

“It’s possible. But given that he was in a mental hospital, I think there’s a likelier explanation. The broken neck could be a consequence of electroshock therapy.”

She shuddered involuntarily. “Brutal.”

“Years ago, if they used too much current and didn’t administer a muscle relaxant- or the staff wasn’t trained right- it happened. I can show you examples in the museum at the ME’s office.”

“I’ll pass.” She swirled her tiny spoon in the espresso cup. “What gets me is that no one cared about his death. The court system only worries about statistics, how many cases the judge has closed.”

He shared her cynicism. Careless autopsies, sloppy evidence, false testimony- these had always influenced courts, which didn’t seem to give a damn when the errors were discovered. Case closed all too often meant case closed forever. “Look,” he said, “you and I know this wasn’t a natural death. It should have been reported to the medical examiner, but it wasn’t. It should have been reported to Lyons’s wife, but it wasn’t.”

“Do you think the legal system’s concerned about truth, justice, and fairness? In my experience-no!” Manny’s voice was so loud the kissing couple at the next table stopped to look at her.

“We’re not done yet. I haven’t even seen the X-rays. Dr. Harrigan’s secretary was supposed to forward them to me, but they haven’t arrived. I’m not sure what’s taking so long.”

“What about toxicology?”

“Harrigan was going to use an outside lab. Haven’t seen the paperwork, though.”

“Why didn’t Harrigan let the hospital lab deal with it?”

“Because he didn’t trust them. Regular hospital labs are notoriously bad at toxicology. They’re set up to do testing of normal body chemistry; it stops there.”

She pushed back her espresso cup. “In the meantime, I’ll try to run down Lyons’s medical records. Maybe they overlooked some in the hospital before it closed. And I’ll see if I can find anybody who knew him, in the hospital or before. Maybe some of his army buddies are still alive. I can also try to talk to the doctors who treated him, if I can find out who they are. Patrice will waive the medical privilege.”

He looked at her sympathetically. “You should hire an investigator. You must be busy.”

“I can’t afford one. Losing Carramia wasn’t pretty for me. I spent a lot of money on that case, and when you lose it doesn’t get refunded. And new clients don’t start running your way, either. Thank God for the Terrell settlement. Without it, I’m reduced to last year’s clothes. “

Jake shifted uncomfortably. I won’t say I’m sorry she lost. “I can pay for a private investigator, if it would help.”

Manny thought she’d been reduced to a third-grader in Catholic school, sitting in front of her stern teacher, her hands folded in front of her. I guess you can afford it when you bill five grand for a day, she thought, her sassiness trumping softness. “Thanks, but I’d just as soon do it myself.”

“You’re really going up to Turner Hospital? It’s a dreadful place. Better take someone with you.”

But not you. You’re too busy. She felt resentment return like nighttime and stood, anxious to get home.

His cell phone rang, and he motioned her down. “I’ll be right back.” The caller ID said it was from upstate. He moved toward the bar.

Manny sat in his chair and rummaged through his jacket pockets. There were car keys, house keys, a quarter and a penny, a roll of Tums, and a letter from a woman that her conscience didn’t let her read. Maybe he does spend time with people who still have a pulse.

She retreated to her own seat, wondering if she should have tried to work things out with Alex, whom she had dated for a year. He was a banker with a self-involvement that often left her a bystander, but kind nevertheless. He had wanted to marry her, but he had also wanted her to “leave the trial work to others,” so that was that.

Jake returned. He tried a smile, but it was obvious that he was troubled.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look freaked out.”

“I’ve been called upstate to do an autopsy. There’s no medical examiner, and the family asked for me.”

Turner, she thought, and felt a spasm of foreboding. “Who died?”