The Silence That Speaks (Forensic Instincts Book 4) Page 23

  But Conrad’s and Madeline’s names stood out, like blazing neon signs. The description of their involvement was so heavily weighted that it stopped just short of accusing them of negligence and sloppy surgical work and naming them the root cause of Ronald Lexington’s death.

  The memo closed by assuring the entire staff that everything was being handled professionally and ethically to make the lawsuit go away as soon as possible, and that Manhattan Memorial should continue to operate business as usual.

  Madeline looked up, her eyes narrow and her lips tight with anger. “You bastard,” she said, shredding the memo and tossing the pieces on the floor. “You’re saving face by throwing Conrad and me under the bus. If that’s the way you and your attorneys want to play it, I’ll be contacting ours. I’m sure we’ll be filing defamation of character lawsuits. You know damned well that neither Conrad nor I was responsible for Ronald’s death. I never laid a finger on him, and Conrad sweated bullets to save his life.”

  Madeline rose. “And here’s more news for you and your recorder. If you think I’m going away, I’m not. This is where I work. I plan to come in for every one of my shifts—regardless of how few you give me—and do the best job I can, even if my coworkers refuse to speak to me. What you’ve done is despicable. And I’m not going down quietly.”

  Gesturing at the small box on Jacob’s desk, Madeline informed him, “You can turn that thing off now. I’ve said everything I plan to say.”

  She stalked to the door and called out, “Back off, Janet. Eavesdropping time is over. I’m about to fling open this door so hard it will knock you on your ass.”

  A brief flurry of activity from the other side of the door preceded Madeline’s exit by a split second.

  She strode past Janet and the receptionist and headed back to the emergency room.

  * * *

  Madeline called their attorney, Edward Markham, the moment her shift was over, explaining exactly what was taking place. “I printed another copy of the memo I tore up as soon as I left Jacob’s office,” she told him, “so we have that damning email in our possession.”

  “I’ll contact the hospital lawyers and get copies of everything, including the summons and complaint,” Markham said. “It’s interesting that Conrad was served and you weren’t. That means they have no basis for their accusations against you and can only subpoena you as a material witness. I’ll begin drafting a summons and complaint. Leave this to me.”

  The next call Madeline made was to Marc.

  “I’m not surprised,” Marc responded. “This is why I suggested you stay home a little longer.”

  “I’m not backing down,” Madeline informed him. “If anything, I’m more determined than ever to show up at that hospital and act like everything is normal. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find out I still have a few friends there.”

  Marc chuckled. “Are you planning on softening a few hearts?”

  “No. Just finding out who has one.”

  * * *

  Roger was utterly exhausted.

  He turned the key to the front door of his Brooklyn apartment, kicked the door shut behind him and pulled off his wrinkled clothes as he walked toward the bathroom.

  A minute later, he was standing under a steaming shower.

  He hadn’t been home in three days.

  All he’d done was stare at the computer screen for hours at a time, running one query after another on several hospital databases and providing a bunch of pompous, pain-in-the-ass lawyers with the information they wanted.

  Frankly he was losing patience. He didn’t care about the lawsuit. He didn’t even care if the hospital went down and he wound up losing his job. Talent like his would be appreciated elsewhere.

  The only reason he was working so hard to stick around Manhattan Memorial was Emma.

  Roger’s heart beat faster just thinking about her. She was funny and beautiful, and she listened to him like he was important. He’d never known a girl like her.

  Hunger started to swell up inside him, and his hand slid down his body to relieve the painful longing.

  Soon he wouldn’t have to do this.

  Soon he’d have the real thing.

  * * *

  Sleep wasn’t coming to him that night, regardless of his exhaustion. His body was tense from stress and from sexual need. They’d be going out on their first date soon. He’d get up the guts to do something then. He had to believe she’d be receptive. Maybe she even wanted him as much as he wanted her. If not, he’d convince her.

  He couldn’t take lying there anymore. He turned on the lamp next to his bed and squinted at the clock—2:00 a.m.

  He wondered what she was doing now. Probably sleeping, that luscious blond hair spread out across her pillow. And then she’d wake up, open those gorgeous eyes, flash that beautiful smile and brush that incredible hair.

  It was unearthly, fit for a princess.

  But like any true hero, Roger knew he had to earn his princess.

  Groping on his nightstand, he found and put on his glasses and grabbed his favorite toy: a Nintendo 3DS. It was a portable three-dimensional gaming system capable of transporting him to many different worlds, whenever he wanted.

  And right now all Roger wanted was to save his magnificent blonde princess.

  Popping in the cartridge, Roger entered the world of Zelda. In that moment, Roger became Link, the brave warrior fighting to save his Princess Zelda. The game started from his last save, where he was ready to enter Hyrule Castle.

  Once inside, Link had to defeat the dozens of guards blocking his path. Cycling between weapons, Link destroyed every guard, statue and enemy in his quest to save the princess. Weaving his way up staircases and down long hallways and killing guards along the way, Link finally made it to the top level of the castle. There she was! The beautiful Princess Zelda was once again being held captive by the evil Yuga. To Link’s horror, Yuga used his black magic to transform her into a stunning portrait. She was trapped. Link knew he had to defeat Yuga. He chased the evil sorcerer through the castle—and the Boss Battle began.

  Dozens of sword-slashes later, Link won the battle. But Yuga escaped again with the princess trapped in the portrait. Link followed, and suddenly found himself sucked into another world: Lorule. Dark and scary though it was, Link didn’t care. He would follow Princess Zelda to the end of time and earn her love by becoming the hero she needed.

  Sighing, Roger saved his game and powered off the 3DS. If only he had Link’s courage and confidence. Then he would win Emma for sure.

  It was now 4:00 a.m. He had to be back at work in two hours. Time to try sleeping again.

  He turned the lamp off and started to doze. Images of blonde princesses flashed through his head, and he finally fell asleep with a smile on his face.

  27

  IF MADELINE THOUGHT things were going to get better, she was wrong.

  The more days that passed, and the more visible the attorneys and accountants were within the hospital walls, the more hostile her work environment became. Even the people she’d counted on to reach out to her were too angry or too afraid of the ramifications to do so. Once in a while, she’d see one of her colleague friends gazing in her direction, as if they wanted to say something reassuring, but then thought better of it and hurried on their way.

  Madeline was totally shocked and devastated.

  The only two people at Manhattan Memorial with whom she ever really spoke were Emma, who didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of her, and Doug Wilton, who, fortunately, hadn’t been Ronald’s cardiologist and was therefore unnamed in the lawsuit.

  Doug was a true friend, and not just to Conrad, but to her. Because of his loyalty to them both, he cared more about preserving the friendships than he did about whatever revenge Jacob Casper would take if he knew that Doug had “b
roken the rules.” The injustice of the lawsuit pissed him off. He was a top cardiologist with credentials to match. He could get a job anywhere.

  Still, Madeline didn’t want to jeopardize Doug’s career. So the two of them talked only in private—in Doug’s office with the door shut. He kept her apprised of any memos he received or gossip he overheard, and he listened when she needed to vent.

  Because Madeline and Conrad had been advised by their attorney to make no contact with each other, Doug filled Madeline in on Conrad’s end of things. As Madeline already knew from Casey, Conrad had released himself from Crest Haven several days ago and was back in his own apartment under a psychiatrist’s care. He and his lawyer would be meeting with Manhattan Memorial and their counsel to answer whatever questions Ed agreed to let Conrad address. If no meeting of the minds took place, Ed would be preparing papers to serve the hospital on behalf of both Conrad and Madeline, and yet more lawsuits would commence.

  The whole situation was spinning out of control.

  Sometimes, when Madeline finished up a particularly painful shift, she’d leave the hospital—always with her head held high—go straight home and weep. She was a strong woman, but even she had her limits. She felt like Hester Prynne straight out of The Scarlet Letter.

  With one wonderful difference—she had Marc.

  Marc always seemed to know when she needed him because he’d show up at her door with sandwiches or Chinese food or her favorite cinnamon buns from the bakery around the corner. They’d eat and talk and inevitably wind up in bed, which was the only time Madeline’s mind was truly free, filled only with Marc and her love for him.

  “We’re going to get through this,” he told her repeatedly. “This bullshit lawsuit is going to be a thing of the past. More important, you’re going to be safe. Whoever’s trying to kill you will be thrown in jail to rot. And you and I can start to build the life together that we should have started ten years ago.”

  Those words got Madeline through the worst of the days.

  But the stress of it all was wearing her down more and more each day.

  * * *

  Emma marched into the FI conference room, tossed down her tote bag and threw herself into a chair.

  “This sucks,” she said.

  Casey put down the attachment Patrick had emailed her, outlining the security detail now firmly posted inside Conrad’s apartment. The agreement they had with Conrad was that they supplied the security and he supplied updates on what was happening at his end. It was a win-win arrangement for all of them—although Conrad insisted on paying them a substantial fee, as well.

  Now Casey shot an impatient look at Emma.

  “Are we talking about your candy striping again?”

  “No.” Emma straightened up in her chair. “I can handle that. I’m even having a drink with Roger the loser later this week. What sucks is the way everyone is treating Madeline. She’s such a good person, she hasn’t done anything wrong and they’re treating her like crap.”

  “I agree.” Casey was surprised and touched by Emma’s concern. The cocky little girl who’d walked in here a month and a half ago, thinking only of herself, had matured into a young woman who was showing compassion—and grit for sticking out her responsibility to Forensic Instincts.

  One step closer to being an FI team member.

  “I just don’t understand it,” Emma continued. “Madeline was barely in the O.R. when Ronald Lexington died. Why is she being named in this lawsuit? And why is the hospital dumping on her?”

  Ryan walked in in time to hear Emma’s last comment and to respond to it. “Because Nancy Lexington is a vindictive bitch and because Jacob Casper is throwing everyone he can under the bus to save his ambitious ass.”

  “Well, his ambitious ass is screwing Sharon Gilding,” Emma informed him. “She’s now the temporary chief of surgery. You should hear what the staff thinks about that.”

  “I can imagine.” Casey was unsurprised by Emma’s announcement. Based on what Claire had sensed, she’d long suspected that the man having sex with Sharon Gilding was Jacob Casper. And Madeline had already told her about Bitch Doctor’s “temporary” promotion. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had precipitated that.

  “She’s got him by the balls. No surprise there.” Ryan plopped a pile of printouts in front of Casey and Emma, all articles from the current online editions of tristate area newspapers.

  “The media must have missed that hookup. But they didn’t miss much. Take a look at these,” he said.

  Both women leaned over and read Patients Spooked by Rumors of Malpractice at Manhattan Memorial, Hospital Kills One of Its Own and Surgical Sloppiness at Manhattan Memorial.

  “None of this is exactly a shock,” Casey said, frowning. “The media got wind of what’s going on and they’re running with it. They’re probably interviewing every staff member who’ll talk and every patient going in and out of the hospital.”

  She turned to Emma. “What’s the inside scoop?”

  “Nothing good,” Emma stated flatly. “I listen and I ask questions. The bottom line is that patients are canceling elective surgeries. The surgical suites, which are normally SRO, are half-empty. Surgeons who have multiple hospital affiliations are opting to do their surgeries at other facilities—at the request of their patients.”

  Ryan nodded. “From what I’m seeing from the internal emails shooting back and forth is that the hospital board has told inside and outside counsel to work faster. More lawyers. More paralegals. Everyone’s hours are being cut back to save money, which is scaring the shit out of staff members already afraid of losing their jobs. The surgical nurses are especially hard hit because that department is limping due to the effects of the lawsuit and the ensuing media feeding frenzy.”

  “Yeah, and candy stripers are being asked to do more and more work,” Emma added, rolling her eyes. “There’s nothing like using slave labor to save money.”

  “And Madeline is right in the middle of this.” Casey ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Not only is she being treated like a pariah, she’s less safe than she was at home. No matter how thorough Patrick’s security is, Madeline is a sitting duck throughout her entire shift. I don’t like it any more than Marc does.”

  “Would it help if I knew exactly what information the hospital was trying to dig up?” Ryan asked.

  “Absolutely. What did you have in mind?”

  “I can deploy keystroke logging software on all the major players’ computers. They won’t have any idea what’s going on, and by knowing every key that they press, we’ll be able to see what information they’re compiling against Madeline and Conrad.”

  Casey gave an emphatic nod. “Do it.”

  “Done. When is Conrad being questioned?” Ryan asked.

  “Yeah,” Emma echoed. “Isn’t it time he gets his share of the heat?”

  “It’ll be soon. But his lawyer is delaying that as long as possible,” Casey replied. “The Westfields’ attorney is still gathering ammo to initiate defamation of character lawsuits. He needs to find a way to subpoena that audio file Jacob Casper made when Madeline took him on. There’s verbal confirmation on that recorder. And there’s verbal confirmation Ryan has on the audio recording of Nancy’s voice, but she’s hardly a reliable source.”

  “Why don’t you let Marc loose to get a copy of what’s on that digital recorder?” Ryan asked.

  “If it comes down to it, I will. I’m just buying time.”

  “Yeah, well, time is one thing we’re running out of.”

  * * *

  Trix was thinking much the same thing.

  The walls were starting to close in. Once the next steps were taken, it was only a matter of days, maybe hours.

  If only there was a strategy guide to life. The anticipation was lethal, knowing that it could b
e Game Over any second. The odds were stacked in this Boss Battle—and not in Trix’s favor. Which meant that the likelihood of victory was slim, and there were no extra lives, no second chances. Trix needed some Jack, hold the Coke.

  Time to abort mission.

  Time for a Hail Mary.

  Trix fired up the Tor Browser. No cookies. No browsing history on the computer. Trix was too smart and too careful to leave electronic footprints.

  Anonymity was now ensured. No one could know about this. No one would be able to trace this. Not ever.

  The worst was about to become reality. An emergency exit was needed.

  Six words were typed into the start page search bar: Criminal Defense Attorney, New York City.

  28

  DAYS HAD PASSED. Janet was worn out and disgusted.

  This damned lawsuit was dominating every minute of her time. And it had yet to go to court. By the time this bloodbath was over, Nancy Lexington would be dead of old age and unable to reap the joys of her revenge.

  And Madeline was a new thorn in Janet’s side, insisting on reporting for all her shifts and intensifying the tension throughout the hospital—especially with Jacob. Couldn’t she have just stayed home and out of the way?

  Then Janet had her daughter to worry about. Because of the escalating tension, Diana was a nervous wreck. Worse than that, Diana felt compassion for Madeline, who’d been such a mentor to her, so kind and helpful—those were feelings that Janet had to nip in the bud. Diana was young, vulnerable and compassionate. But now was not the time to align herself with a liability. Janet explained that to Diana over and over again. So far, Diana had listened, quite simply out of fear of the ramifications of standing up for Madeline.

  Things had to be brought under control. And Janet had no clue of how to do that. All she knew was that she was about to explode.