Robin Cook - Crisis

"I can explain," Jack said. He winced at a stab of shoulder pain.

Tentatively, he touched the area, finding a point of tenderness at the juncture of his collarbone and shoulder.

"Good grief," Craig complained. He tossed what turned out to be a baseball bat onto the bed. He came over to Jack. "God, I'm sorry I freakin' hit you. I could have killed you. Are you all right?"

"I've had worse," Jack said. He glanced over at the bed. What he'd thought had been Craig was merely pillows and bedcovers. "Can I check it?" Craig asked solicitously.

"Sure, I guess."

Craig took hold of Jack's arm and gently put his hand on Jack's shoulder. He rotated Jack's arm in its shoulder socket, then raised it slowly. "Any pain?"

"A little, but the movement doesn't make it worse."

"I don't think anything is broken, but an X-ray wouldn't hurt. I could drive you over to the Newton Memorial if you'd like."

"I think I'll put some ice on it for now," Jack said.

"Good ideal Come on down to the kitchen. I'll put some ice in a Ziploc bag."

As they walked along the upper hallway, Craig said: "My heart is going a mile a minute. I thought you were one of these guys who'd broken in and manhandled my daughters, who was back to carry out his threat. I was ready to knock you into the next county."

"I suppose I thought you were one of those guys as well," Jack said. He noticed that Craig was wearing a dark-colored bathrobe and not the black ninja outfit Jack had creatively imagined. He also felt the gun in his jacket pocket knocking against him. He'd not thought of it in the fury of the moment, and it was a good thing.

Craig got Jack set up with an ice bag. Jack was sitting at one end of the couch, holding the cold pack against the point of his shoulder. Craig collapsed at the other end, holding a hand against his forehead.

"I'll get out of here so you can get back to sleep," Jack said. "But I owe you an explanation."

"I'm listening," Craig said. "Before I went to bed, I went downstairs to check the apartment. You'd pulled the linens off the bed. I certainly didn't expect you, and especially at this hour, and especially not sneaking around upstairs."

"I promised Alexis I'd check on you."

"Did you talk with her tonight?"

"I did, but not until quite late. Frankly, she's worried about your mixing alcohol and sleeping pills, and she should be worried. I've autopsied a few people, thanks to that combination."

"I don't need your advice."

"Fair enough," Jack said. "Nonetheless, she asked me to check on you. To be honest, I didn't think it was necessary. The reason I was seemingly sneaking was because I was afraid to wake you for fear you'd be angry I was there."

Craig took his hand away from his face and gazed at Jack. "You're right about that."

"I'm sorry if I offended you. I did it for Alexis. She was afraid you might be more upset than usual after what happened at the trial."

"At least you're honest," Craig said. "I suppose I should see it as a favor. It's just hard with what's going on. I'm being forced to see myself in an unflatteringly different light. I was a miserable, ridiculous, self-defeating witness today. When I think about it in retrospect, I'm embarrassed."

"How do you think the afternoon went with the defense experts?"

"It was reasonable. It was nice to hear some positive words for a change, but I don't think it was enough. Unless Randolph pulls off an Oscar-winning performance with his summation tomorrow, which I personally believe he's incapable of, I think the jury is going to find for that bastard, Jordan." Craig sighed despondently. He was staring at the blank TV screen.

"I had another reason for coming out here at this late hour," Jack said.

"Oh! And what was that?" Craig asked. He turned to look at Jack. His eyes were glazed, as if he was ready to cry but too embarrassed to do so. "You haven't told me about the autopsy. Did you do it?"

"I did," Jack said. He went on to tell Craig a truncated version of the day's events, starting with the exhumation and ending with the meeting with the toxicologist. He didn't tell Craig as much as he'd told Alexis, but the gist was the same.

As Jack spoke, Craig became progressively riveted, especially about the toxicologist and the possibility of the involvement of criminality. "If the toxicologist could find some drug or poison, it would be the end of this malpractice nonsense," Craig said. He sat up straighter.

"No doubt," Jack said. "But it is a very, very long shot, as I explained. Yet if Patience did not have a heart attack, it opens up the possibility of many more potential agents. The other reason I came out here tonight was to look at the box of bedside biomarker assay devices in your doctor's bag. Is there any reason you can think of that your result could have been a false positive?"

Craig raised his eyebrows for a moment while he mulled the question. "I can't think of any," he said at length. "I wish I could, but I can't."

"The lab supervisor at the hospital asked me if the one you used tested for both troponin I and myoglobin or just troponin I."

"It's the one with the myoglobin. I chose to stock that one for the reason the lab supervisor mentioned – namely, it gives a result in as little as two hours."

"Is there a shelf life for those devices?"

"Not that I know of."

"Then I guess we'll just have to limit the possible agents to those capable of causing a heart attack."

"What about digitalis?" Craig suggested.

"I thought of digitalis, for sure, and it was part of the screen. So digitalis was not involved."

"I wish I could help more," Craig said. "One of the worst parts of being sued is you feel so helpless."

"You could help if you could think of any cardiotoxic drugs Patience or Jordan might have had access to."

"She had quite a pharmacopoeia in her medicine cabinet, thanks to my absent partner, Ethan Cohen. But all those records were turned over in discovery."

"I've been through those," Jack said. He got to his feet. Relaxing for a few minutes seemed to make his legs feel heavy and sluggish. It was obvious he was going to need some coffee before the night was over. "I better get back and see if the toxicologist has had any luck, and you better get back to bed." He started for the door.

"Are you going to work all night?" Craig asked, accompanying Jack.

"It looks like that," Jack said. "After everything that's happened, I wish I could be certain of some positive result, but it's not looking likely."

"I don't know what to say other than thanks for all your effort."

"You're welcome," Jack said. "And it's been positive despite the problems I've caused and the whacks I've taken. It has been nice to hook back up with Alexis."

They reached the front door. Craig pointed down toward the study. "Should I run and grab my doctor's bag so you can look at the biomarker assay box? I'm sure it's the same box. After this fiasco, I'm not making many house calls."

Jack shook his head. "I'm good. You told me what I needed to know."

"Will we see you in court tomorrow?"

"I don't think so. I've got some pressing personal plans that are dictating I take the first shuttle back to the Big Apple. So let me say, good luck!"

Jack and Craig shook hands, having become, if not friends, a bit more knowledgeable and appreciative of each other.

THE RIDE BACK into the city a little after four a.m. was a mirror of the ride out. There was traffic on the Mass Pike but very little once in the city along Mass Ave. It took Jack less than twenty minutes to get all the way to the medical examiner's office. He parked right on the side of the building in a reserved space, but since he would be leaving at such an early hour, he didn't think it would matter.

Security recognized him and let him in. As he climbed the stairs, he looked at his watch. It was coming down to the wire. In less than two hours he'd be on the plane, taxiing away from the terminal.