Robin Cook - Crisis

"I guess I'd say he was depressed, but he didn't dwell on it. In fact, we ended up having a pretty damned good Friday night back at the apartment."

"Miss Rattner, allow me to ask you a personal question. You strike me as a high-spirited young woman. Have you ever said things you didn't really mean when you've been angry, maybe exaggerate your feelings?"

"Everybody does," Leona said with a shallow laugh.

"On the night Dr. Bowman was served with the lawsuit, did he become upset?"

"Very upset. I'd never seen him so upset."

"And angry?"

"Very angry."

"Under such circumstances, do you believe there was a chance when he, quote, 'ran off at the mouth' and voiced inappropriate comments about Patience Stanhope that he was merely blustering, especially considering the strenuous effort he'd made to resuscitate her on the fateful evening, and the weekly house calls he'd made during the year leading up to her death?"

Randolph paused, waiting for Leona to answer.

"The witness will answer the question," Judge Davidson said after a period of silence.

"Was that a question?" Leona said with apparent befuddlement. "I didn't get it."

"Repeat the question," Judge Davidson said.

"What I'm suggesting is that Dr. Bowman's comments about Patience Stanhope on the evening he was served were a reflection of his agitation, whereas his true feelings about the patient were accurately demonstrated by his dedicated commitment to attend to her at her home on a weekly basis for almost a year and his strenuous efforts to resuscitate her the night she passed away. I'm asking, Miss Rattner, if this sounds plausible to you."

"Maybe. I don't know. Maybe you should ask him."

"I believe I will do that," Randolph said. "But I first want to ask you if you are still living in Dr. Bowman's rented apartment in Boston."

Jack leaned over toward Alexis and whispered, " Randolph is getting away with some questions and statements that should have raised objections from Tony Fasano. Fasano has always been quick on the trigger before. I wonder what's going on."

"Maybe it has something to do with that hushed conversation the judge had with the lawyers earlier in Leona's testimony. There's always a bit of give-and-take for fairness."

"That's a good point," Jack agreed. "Whatever the reason, Randolph 's making the best of it." Jack listened while Randolph cleverly began questioning Leona about her feelings since the malpractice suit began and Craig moved back with his family. Jack knew exactly what Randolph was doing; he was setting the stage for a "spurned love" defense, where the previous testimony would be rendered suspect as having been motivated by spite.

Jack leaned back toward Alexis and whispered, "Let me ask you a question, and be truthful. Would you mind if I slipped out? I'd like to get in some basketball for exercise. But if you want me to stay, I will. I have a sense the worst is over. From here on, she'll just be making herself look bad."

"Please!" Alexis said sincerely. "Go get some exercise! I appreciate your having been here, but I'm fine now. Go and enjoy yourself. The judge is going to wind things up here momentarily. He always does around four."

"You are certain you're okay," Jack asked.

"Absolutely," Alexis insisted. "I'll eat early with the girls, but there'll be something for you to eat later. Take your time, but be careful, Craig always gets hurt when he plays. You have your key?"

"I've got the key," Jack said. He reached around his sister for a quick hug.

Jack got to his feet, and by excusing himself to those people sitting in his row, he worked his way to the aisle. When he arrived, he glanced over at Franco's typical location. Jack was surprised. The man wasn't in his accustomed seat. Although Jack did not stop, he searched among the spectators for the hoodlum's familiar silhouette. When Jack got to the door, he turned around and quickly scanned the spectators again. No Franco.

Using his back to press down the door's lever, Jack backed out of the courtroom. Not seeing Franco in his usual place gave him pause. The thought of running into the man in some difficult location with limited egress, such as the underground parking garage, passed through his mind. Although several years previously he wouldn't have given the issue a second thought, now that he was getting married in two days, he wasn't quite so nonchalant. With someone else to think about besides himself, he needed to be careful, and being careful meant being prepared. The idea of getting some pepper spray had occurred to him the previous day, but he'd failed to act on it. He decided to change that.

The third-floor elevator lobby was full of people. The doors to one of the four courtrooms were propped open, and people were being disgorged. A trial was in recess. There were clumps of people chatting; others hurried to the elevators, trying to determine which of the eight elevators would come next.

Jack joined the group and found himself looking around warily and wondering if he'd run into Franco. Jack doubted there would be any problem in the courthouse building. It was outside that he was concerned about.

At the security checkpoint at the entrance, Jack stopped to ask one of the uniformed guards if he knew of a nearby hardware store. He was told there was one down on Charles Street, which Jack was told was the main drag of neighboring Beacon Hill.

Jack was assured he'd have no trouble finding the street, especially since it also bisected the park, meaning it was the street Jack had used to get into the car park where his rent-a-car was waiting. Armed with that information and the advice that he should wander westward, down through the maze of Beacon Hill, Jack left the courthouse.

Again, Jack scanned for signs of Franco, but he was nowhere to be seen, and Jack chuckled at his paranoia. Having been told the general direction was opposite the courthouse's entrance, Jack made his way around the courthouse building. The streets were narrow and twisty, hardly the grid he'd become accustomed to in

New York. Following his nose, Jack found himself on Derne Street that mysteriously became Myrtle. The buildings for the most part were modest, narrow four-story brick town houses. To his surprise, he suddenly came upon a charming toddler playground awash with kids and moms. He passed aptly named Beacon Hill Plumbing with a friendly chocolate Labrador doing a poor job of guarding the entrance. As Jack crested the hill and began a slow descent, he asked a passerby if he was going in the right direction for Charles Street. He was told he was but advised to take a left at the next corner where there was a small convenience store, and then a quick right onto Pinkney Street.

As the street became progressively steeper, he realized that Beacon Hill was not just a name but a real hill. The houses became larger and more elegant, although still understated. On his left he passed a sun-filled square with a stout wrought-iron fence circling a line of hundred-year-old elms and a patch of green grass. A few blocks on, he came to Charles Street.

In comparison with the side streets he'd been following, Charles Street was a major boulevard. Even with parallel parking on either side, there was still room for three lanes of traffic. Lining the street on either side were a wide variety of small shops. After stopping one of the many pedestrians and asking for a hardware store, Jack was directed to Charles Street Supply.

When he walked into the store, he silently questioned if purchasing the pepper spray was necessary. Away from the courthouse and Craig's lawsuit, Franco's threat seemed a distant possibility. But he had come that far, so he bought the pepper spray from the square-jawed, friendly proprietor, whose name coincidentally was Jack. Jack had learned this fact by chance when another employee had called out the owner's name.