Robin Cook - Crisis

"That night while we were in the car?"

"Yes, that night."

"He said she was a hypochondriac, which he could not stand. He said hypochondriacs were the same to him as malingerers. I remember because I had to look the word up later. It means someone who fakes illness to get something they want. It's pretty bad."

"Looking up malingerer is very commendable. What motivated you?"

"I'm studying to be a medical lab technician or nursing assistant. I've got to know the lingo."

"Did Dr. Bowman ever say anything else to you about his feelings toward Patience Stanhope?"

"Oh, yeah!" Leona said with a fake laugh for emphasis.

"Could you explain to the jury when this occurred?"

"It was on the evening he was served with the lawsuit. We were at Sports Club/LA."

"And what exactly did he say?"

"It's what he didn't say. I mean, he ran off at the mouth like you wouldn't believe."

"Give the jury some sense of what you are talking about."

"Well, it's hard to remember the whole tirade. He said he hated her because she drove everybody crazy, including herself. He said she drove him crazy because all she ever talked about was her BMs and that sometimes she'd save it to show it to him. He also said she drove him crazy because she never did anything he said. He called her a hypochrondriacal, clinging excuse for a wife, and an entitled bitch that demanded he hold her hand and listen to her complaints. He said her passing was a blessing to everybody, including herself."

"Wow!" Tony said, pretending he'd heard the testimony for the first time and was shocked. "So I guess it was your impression that from what Dr. Bowman had said, he was glad Patience Stanhope had died."

"Objection," Randolph said. "Leading."

"Sustained," Judge Davidson said. "Jurors will disregard."

"Tell us what you thought after Dr. Bowman's tirade."

"I thought he was glad she died."

"Hearing such a tirade, as you put it, you must have thought Dr. Bowman was really upset. Did he say anything specific about his being sued, meaning that his performance and decision-making would be reasonably questioned in a court of law?"

"Yes. He said it was an outrage that the oddball bastard Jordan Stanhope was suing him for loss of consortium when he couldn't imagine Mr. Stanhope having sex or wanting to have sex with such a miserable hag."

"Thank you, Miss Rattner," Tony said, collecting his widely spread papers from the lectern's surface. "No more questions."

Once again, Jack glanced over at Alexis. This time, she met his eyes. "Well," she whispered philosophically, "what can Craig expect? He certainly dug his own hole. Leona's testimony was about as bad as I imagined it would be. Let's hope you can come up with something on the autopsy."

"Maybe Randolph can do something on cross. And don't forget Randolph has yet to start the case for the defense."

"I'm not forgetting. I'm just being realistic and putting myself in the place of one of the jurors. It doesn't look good. The testimony is convincingly making Craig sound like a completely different person than he is. He has his faults, but the way he cares about his patients is not one of them."

"I'm afraid you're right," Jack said.

"Let me see the floor plan again," Renaldo said to Manuel. They were sitting in a black Chevrolet Camaro parked on a treelined side street around the corner from the Bowmans's residence. They were dressed in nondescript brown work clothes. On the backseat was a canvas carpetbag similar to those carried by plumbers for tools.

Manuel handed Renaldo the plans. They crinkled as Renaldo unrolled them. Renaldo was sitting behind the steering wheel. He had to fight to get the paper to flatten out enough to look at it.

"Here's the door we're going in," Renaldo said, pointing. "You oriented?"

Manuel leaned over, almost touching Renaldo's shoulder so the top of the page was pointing away from him. He was sitting in the front passenger seat.

"For shit sake," Renaldo complained. "It's not that complicated."

"I'm oriented!" Manuel said.

"What we have to do is locate all three of the girls fast so none of them has a chance to alert the others. You know what I'm saying?"

"Sure."

"So they'll either be here in the family room/kitchen, probably watching TV," Renaldo said, pointing to the area on the plans, "or they will be in their separate bedrooms." He struggled to get to the second page. The plans wanted to roll back up into their original tight cylinder. He ended up tossing the first page into the backseat. "Here are the bedrooms along the back of the house," he said when he got the second page flattened. "And here are the stairs. You got it? We don't want to be searching, and it has to happen fast."

"I understand. But there's three of them and only two of us."

"It's not going to be hard to scare the shit out of them. The only one that might be trouble is the oldest, but if we can't handle this, we're in the wrong business. The plan is to tape them up fast. I mean, really fast. I don't want any screaming. Once we get them taped up with gags, then the fun begins. Okay?"

"Okay," Manuel said. He straightened.

"You have your gun?"

"Of course I have my gun." He pulled a snub-nosed thirty-eight out of his pocket.

"Put it away, for Christ's sake," Renaldo snapped. His eyes darted around to make sure there were no strollers. The area was quiet. Everyone was at work. The widely spaced houses seemed deserted.

"What about your mask and gloves?"

Manuel pulled those out of his other pocket.

"Good," Renaldo said. He checked his watch. "Okay, this is it. Let's move it!"

While Manuel got out of the car, Renaldo reached into the backseat and got the canvas bag. He joined Manuel, and they walked back to the intersection, turning right. They didn't hurry, nor did they talk. Due to the canopy of leaves, the street was shaded yet each house blazed in bright sunlight. An elderly woman was walking a dog in the distance, but she was heading away from them. A car approached and passed by without stopping. The driver ignored them.

Coming abreast of the Bowman property, they briefly stopped, looking up and down the street.

"Looks good," Renaldo said. "It's a go!"

Maintaining a normal gait, they crossed the edge of the Bowmans's front lawn. They appeared like two workmen on a legitimate errand. They entered the treeline separating the two neighboring homes and were soon even with the backs of the houses. Eyeing the back of the Bowman house, they could see the door they intended to enter. It was about forty feet away, across a patch of sun-drenched lawn.

"Okay," Renaldo said. "Time for the masks and gloves."

Each quickly donned the items: masks first, gloves second. They eyed each other and nodded.

Renaldo snapped open the canvas bag. He wanted to be certain he had everything. He handed Manuel a roll of duct tape, which Manuel pocketed. "Let's do it!"

Reflecting their professionalism, they were across the lawn and through the door in a blink of the eye and with almost no sound. Once inside, they hesitated and listened. They could hear a TV with canned laughter from the family room. Renaldo flipped a thumbs-up and motioned for Manuel to move forward. Treading lightly and moving quietly, they passed through the study and down the central corridor. Renaldo was in the lead. He stopped just shy of the arched entrance to the family room. Slowly, he looked around the edge of the arch, seeing an ever-expanding view first of the kitchen and then of progressively more of the family room.

When he saw the girls, he pulled himself back. He raised two fingers, indicating two girls. Manuel nodded.