Jodi Picoult - Lone Wolf

Edward stares for a moment. “So it’s okay to let doctors help people who shouldn’t live, live,” he calls out, “but not to help people who should be dead die?”

The reporters pivot, the heavy heads of the cameras swiveling to catch Edward. “Shut up, ” I say, grabbing his arm.

But he’s bigger and stronger, and shakes me off. “How many of you have taken an old, sick pet to the vet to be put down, because you don’t want them to suffer? You think that’s murder, too?”

“Edward, stop talking, ” I yell. I pull him with all my might in the other direction, away from Danny Boyle, who is grinning from ear to ear.

And why shouldn’t he be; Edward’s just compared his father to a dog.

Although I am tempted to lock Edward in a closet so that he cannot dig himself a deeper hole, I settle for a blistering lecture the whole way back to his father’s house, and a promise that I will duct-tape his mouth the next time we’re in public if I have to. Then I drive to the hospital, calling Georgie to let her know that Edward’s out on bail and safe, for the time being.

Dr. Saint-Clare is in surgery, I’m told when I go to his office. So I get a cup of coffee and park myself in front of the ICU nurses’ desk. “Hi there,” I say, grinning at a woman with curves as broad as the Great Wall of China. “You look like a woman who’s in charge.”

She glances up over her computer screen. “And you look like a pharmaceutical rep. You can leave samples in the closet.”

“Actually, I’m a lawyer,” I say.

“My condolences.”

“I’m trying to find the nurse who was involved in Thursday’s… incident? There’s a chance she could wind up with some monetary compensation in a settlement-”

“Figures. Maureen gets all the luck. I’m stuck with the chronic vomiter in 22B while she gets bumped into and cries whiplash.” The nurse points down the hall to another woman wearing scrubs, and stuffing soiled linens into a hamper. “That’s her.”

I walk down the hall until I reach her. “Maureen?” I say. “My name’s Joe Ng. I’m an attorney.”

“Oh, for the love of Pete,” she sighs. “I suppose my brother sent you?”

Her brother probably heard what happened and saw dollar signs. It’s guys like that who make my living possible.

“Yes,” I lie.

“I really shouldn’t be talking to you. The hospital’s sure it’s going to be slammed with a lawsuit,” Maureen says, shaking her head. “But that poor man. He’s only here for six days, and the son makes the decision to terminate life support?”

“From what I understand, Mr. Warren’s prognosis isn’t very good…”

“Miracles happen,” Maureen says. “I see it every day.”

“What exactly went on in there?”

“The son signed the papers for organ donation, and the harvest was scheduled. We all thought he’d gotten consent from his sister.

She’s a minor, so technically, she doesn’t get a legal vote, but the policy is to get the whole family on board before terminating life-sustaining measures. When the hospital lawyer realized that wasn’t the case, they went to talk to her.”

“Where were you during all this?”

“Sitting in front of the ventilator,” she says, lifting her chin. “I don’t necessarily agree with the decisions some families make, but it’s still my job to do what I’m told.”

“What was Mr. Warren’s son doing?”

“Waiting,” she says. “With the rest of us. He wasn’t talking. It was a difficult moment for him, as you can imagine.”

“And then?”

“The girl came in like a bat out of you-know-where. And before I knew what was going on, the son pushed past me and yanked the plug out of the wall.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.” Maureen shrugs. “It happened very fast.”

“You never heard him say ‘Die, you bastard’?”

She snorts. “I think I’d remember something like that.”

“Are you sure you didn’t miss what he said because he pushed you out of the way?”

“He bruised my hip, not my ears,” she says. “Look, I have to get back to work. And anyway, I told my brother all of this last week.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “Danny Boyle? The one who sent you here?”

Danny Boyle, I am told, is taking a deposition and cannot meet me without an appointment. “Oh, he wants to see me,” I insist, and I walk past the secretary, opening doors until I find the one that is a conference room. Boyle is sitting across from an attorney and a client, and when he notices me, he looks like he’s going to burst into flame.

“I’m a little busy right now,” he says, his voice serrated.

By now the secretary has caught up to me. “I tried to tell him, but-”

I smile beatifically. “I think it’s really in Attorney Boyle’s best interests to hear what I have to say,” I announce. “Considering my next stop is the press.”

Boyle flattens his mouth into a two-dimensional smile. “Excuse me a moment?” he says to his client, and he leads the way toward his office. Dismissing his secretary, he closes the door behind us. “This better be fucking important, Ng, because I swear I will have the bar slap you with misconduct if you-”

“You are in serious trouble, Danny,” I interrupt. “ Die, you bastard? Really?”

He shrugs. “That’s what she told me. She testified under oath.”

“Here’s what I know: You spoke to your sister and you knew damn well Edward had never said anything even remotely like that. So you intentionally allowed perjured testimony into the grand jury proceeding. You may think a high-profile case like this will get you the conservative vote and settle you back into office before your chair even gets cold, but most people in this county prefer knowing that their attorney is honest and upright, not a weasel who’s willing to twist the law in order to gain a political advantage.”

“The girl came to me, ” Boyle says. “Not the other way around. I’m not the one to blame here if she’s an outright liar.”

I take a step toward him and poke him in the chest, even though I’m a full head shorter than he is. “Did you ever hear of due diligence, Danny? Did you speak to any of Luke Warren’s doctors to find out whether Cara really understood her father’s prognosis? Did you ask anyone else who was in the hospital room-anyone who isn’t a blood relative of yours, that is-if there was intent or malice? Or did you just choose to believe a seventeen-year-old kid who’s distraught and desperate to keep her father alive?”

Taking my phone out of my pocket, I hold it up between us. “I’ve got the Union Leader on speed dial, and you’re going to be above the fold tomorrow morning unless you do something right now.” Then I sit down in his office chair. “In fact, I’m going to wait right here until I know you’ve done it.”

He gives me a dirty look and then crosses to his desk, pressing the speakerphone button before dialing one of his contacts. To my surprise, though, the voice on the other end of the line is not that of the editor of the biggest newspaper in New Hampshire but one I recognize. “Cara,” Boyle says when she answers her cell phone, “it’s Daniel Boyle.”

“Is something wrong?” she replies.

“No… I just have a really important question to ask you.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Um. Okay.”

“Did you lie to the grand jury?”

Her voice comes back in a flood of words. “You told me I needed to make them believe it was premeditated and that Edward intended to kill my father and that there was malice, too, so I did what I needed to do. I didn’t lie, I just said what you told me to say.”