Laura Caldwell - Red Blooded Murder

Before I could decide whether to call, an intern came up to me. “Izzy, you have a visitor,” he said. “Some guy named John Mayburn. He’s outside.”

“Thanks.” I had forgotten he was coming by to pick up Maggie’s pearl thong. I put it in my purse, along with my cell phone and the list of names from Jane’s research.

Outside, Mayburn was standing on the cracked front sidewalk, his hands in the pockets of a leather jacket.

“I thought this was some big news outfit,” he said, glancing with disdain at the building.

“Nice to see you, too. Here’s your thong.” I handed him the box.

“How’s your head?”

“Fine. I took a couple of Advil. And I’ve got bigger things to worry about other than a headache.” I told Mayburn about seeing Jackson Prince, about his stalking off the set a few days ago. I showed him the paper and the names I’d found in Jane’s desk, which all appeared to be doctors. “The list is probably nothing. I think I’m grasping at straws. But tell me-what would you do if you’d found that list and you were working on a case like this?”

He squinted at the names. “Lots of ways you can go. I’d get all the addresses and phone numbers of everyone here and start by calling them. See if they’ll talk to you. That Carina Fariello is probably a doctor, too, from the sound of it. I’d check her out.” He paused. “Look, I wanted to talk to you about this person of interest thing. I was talking to Lucy and we’re…well, we’re kind of worried about you.”

“You are?” For some reason, this struck me as unbelievably sweet.

“Well, I’m not worried,” he said. “If I was I wouldn’t have you work for me. You’re a cool customer.”

“I was.”

“Why do you say that in the past tense?”

“You sure you’re not worried about me?”

He nodded. “Maybe a little. But not because of my case or anything. We just want to know if you’re all right.”

“‘We,’ as in you and Lucy, right?”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly I liked the fact that Mayburn had known me only recently. Sure, he’d met me while I was a lawyer, but in general Mayburn didn’t seem to think of me as Izzy McNeil, star attorney, or Izzy McNeil, fiancée, or Izzy McNeil…anything. He just saw the Izzy I was now-tougher in some ways than she’d thought, but also struggling after the murder of a friend and the fact that she was now a “person of interest.”

So, I just came out with it. “I’m afraid that if I think about it too much, I’ll fall apart.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, like he expected that answer. “What do you usually do when you fall apart?”

“Talk to my friends. My family. Sam.” There was Sam, showing up last again, even though he’d been sending texts all day-Are you okay, Red Hot? I love you.

“Have you done that yet?” Mayburn said. “Seen your friends and family?”

“Yesterday after the memorial. And Sam the night before.”

He peered into my eyes. “Seems like you could use some more of that. Got any other friends you can talk to?”

I almost said, I’ve got you, right?

But we weren’t quite there yet. And then I thought of someone who was there. “I’ve got to go,” I said, “but tell me. How should I check into Carina Fariello?”

“Let me copy that list. I’ll run her name for you, and I’ll check out the docs, too. I’ve got some time after I drop off this thong at the lab.” He grinned. “The guys there are going to love this.” He put the box under his arm, took out his phone and typed in the names from the list.

I gestured to the box. “Don’t you want to check it out?”

He opened it, looked inside the tissue. “Holy mother of God.”

“I know.”

He looked back up at me. “Get one of these for Lucy, and give me an hour on the docs,” Mayburn said.

“Got it.”

He turned and left.

I looked up at the clear, sun-soaked sky. I raised my face, trying to feel a breeze that might blow off the lake. But back here, on the west side, the breeze was barely a tickle.

I thought about Mayburn’s questions about seeing my friends.

Then I lifted my phone and called Grady.

“S he finally calls,” Grady said, answering.

“How are you?”

“Trying not to be wounded. You know, every other woman I date calls me too much. You never call.”

“I have a decent excuse.” I told him about Jane.

“Shit, Izzy. You were the one that found her?”

The blood…that scarf…Jane’s lifeless eyes. “Yeah.”

“What can I do?”

“Talk to me about something else for a second? Something I’m researching?”

“Shoot.”

“I’ve got these names.” I told him about finding the list among Jane’s research. I read the names. “Know any of these docs?”

“I took a dep of that Ritson guy once. And I’ve seen Dr. Hay’s name. He’s a Chicago doc. So is Hamilton-Wood. She’s supposed to be good.”

I felt a little piece of disappointment cut into me. “So they might just be the names of expert witnesses? Like maybe on a class action case?”

“Well, probably not just one case. If they’re all rheumatologists, that’s too many for one case. I mean, when you’re hunting for experts, you might blow through a few of them, looking for someone who will give you the right testimony.”

“But in a class action case, with so many plaintiffs, wouldn’t you need this many docs to testify?”

“Right. That’s the point of class actions. They pool all the plaintiffs, so you can pool all the resources, all the experts. By the way, what class action case are we talking about?”

“Ladera.”

“Jackson Prince’s case?” Everyone in Chicago knew Prince. He won the biggest verdicts, and he scored more PR than any attorney in the city. “On a case like that, where Prince is the liaison-counsel, he would end up with a panel of experts, maybe one or two rheumatologists, maybe a cardiologist to testify how the drug caused heart attacks or whatever, a rehab doc to testify about the plight of the injured plaintiffs, maybe some neurologists if the drug affects the brain. That kind of thing.”

“So maybe the list is the group of doctors Prince was considering as expert witnesses?”

“Where did you say you found the list?”

“I found it in Jane’s stuff.”

“I don’t know why a newscaster would have a list of Prince’s proposed experts. That stuff is protected by the work-product privilege.”

The sun shifted around the building and felt hot, as if spring was really here. And yet I couldn’t get in touch with that spring feeling, that infusion of renewal. I wondered for a bleak moment if I would ever feel that again. “Ever heard of Carina Fariello?”

“Nope. Another doc?”

“I’m not sure.” My cell phone buzzed. I looked at it. Mayburn on the other line. “Grady, can I call you back in a second?”

He laughed. “I think we both know you’re not going to call.”

“No, I am. I just have to-”

“You don’t have to call me. You don’t have to do anything. It’s okay, Iz. Really. Let me know if you need me.”

“I’ve got something,” Mayburn said.

“Already?”

“My place isn’t far from Trial TV, and hey, I’m good. So, you got a pen to write this down?”

“Hold on.” I hurried inside the Trial TV building. C.J. stood inside the newsroom, a pen behind her ear, and seemed about to speak.

One second, I mouthed as I hurried past her.

I skirted the Trial TV sets where the afternoon anchors were in full swing and went to my desk. I found a pen and cradled the phone with my ear. “Ready.”

“Carina is actually Margaret Fariello. I think Carina is her middle name. Address…” He read off a location. “That’s north of Lawrence.”