Cassie frowned. "No, that wasn't relevant–"
"I'm certain it was relevant to them, Dr. Hart," Alan shot back. "I'm certain her family wanted to know that their child was receiving the best possible medical care!" His tone of indignation filled the courtroom.
"Objection!" Lisa raised her voice to be heard over Alan.
"Sustained. Counselor, is there a question somewhere in there?"
"I apologize, Your Honor, my emotions got the better of me," Alan replied in a contrite tone and looked down to consult his notes.
Which left Cassie on the hot seat. Just as Alan cleared his throat to ask another question, Cassie noted a movement in the rear of the gallery. The bailiff held the door open to allow Richard to roll his wheelchair inside. Richard gave her an encouraging smile—at least she thought it was encouraging. Maybe he was waiting for his brother to decimate her and he thought he'd come to her rescue.
"Your honor, would you please instruct the witness to answer?" Cassie heard Alan's voice from a distance.
"Dr. Hart, please answer the question," Judge Flory sounded annoyed.
Cassie tore her attention from Richard. "Could you repeat the question, please?"
Alan rolled his eyes and sighed. "I asked if your competence had ever come in question prior to the Mary Eamon case?"
"No, of course not." Cassie was on sure footing here.
"And since then?" he flung the question out off-handedly, a casual inquiry, ticking off an item on his legal pad.
When Cassie didn't answer immediately, Alan waited a beat then raised his head as if surprised. "Dr. Hart?"
Cassie knew what he was doing, but there was nothing she could do. "Yes."
Alan did a double take as if this was a surprise to him. "Yes, your medical competence has been questioned since Mary's death? By whom? When did this happen?"
"I am currently involved in a malpractice suit," Cassie admitted.
"I see. And are you still caring for patients while this malpractice suit," he made the last word sound like an epithet, "proceeds?"
"No."
"And why is that?"
Cassie swallowed hard. "I was suspended from my duties."
"Suspended. That's pretty serious, right?"
"Yes."
"Let’s get back to your previous experience. I believe you told the judge you testified in abuse cases before. Correct?"
"Yes."
"And what would you testify to?"
"The medical history, any actions—"
"Let's just stick to the medical history. That's based on questions you ask the patient's family, correct?"
"Yes." Cassie wondered where Alan was headed.
"And it becomes part of the medical record?"
"Yes."
"So when you wrote that my client and I quote, 'confessed to repeatedly punching the patient in the abdominal area as well as paddling her,' that was for the purposes of documenting her physical injuries?"
"Of course." Cassie frowned, trying to see where the trap lay. She glanced at Lisa who shrugged.
"But all this documentation took place after Mary died, correct?"
"Yes. As soon as I had a chance to dictate my part of her chart."
"
After
you learned that she died from a perforated intestine?"
"Yes."
"Dr. Hart, what is one of the most common complications of an abdominal paracentesis? The procedure you performed on Mary that sent her into cardiac arrest."
Cassie jerked upright. Alan leaned back against the defense table, containing his smile just barely.
"Intestinal perforation," she finally said. "But—"
"Your honor," Alan interrupted, "given that the medical examiner's report and other forensic evidence has been suppressed, I move for dismissal on the grounds Dr. Hart just admitted her own experimental procedure could have been the cause of death."
"Objection!" Lisa was on her feet. "Your honor, this is ridiculous."
"Then I move for suppression of Dr. Hart's testimony on the grounds it's self-serving in that it may be covering her own medical incompetence at the expense of my client."
Judge Flory leaned forward. "Silence," he thundered. "Ms. Dimeo are there other medical experts who could testify to the cause of the victim's injuries?"
Lisa glanced at Cassie who nodded vigorously. Kurtis Waite, the pediatric surgeon, could tell them it wasn't Cassie who caused Mary's death. He could tell them about the festering length of dead intestine and how painful it would have been. Lisa drew in her breath. "Yes, of course, your honor. However, they aren't present here this morning."
"Very well. Before I rule on Dr. Hart's testimony or Mr. King's motions, I'd like to hear from them. Get them here tomorrow at nine o'clock sharp. Until then bail is continued."
They stood as the judge exited. Cassie slumped against the side of the witness box, stunned. Ronald Brickner walked free another day. Because of her.
No wonder Mary haunted her nightmares.
CHAPTER 29
Drake felt better after a shower and shave and clean clothes. He'd even come up with a plan for the day. At least the start of one. Hart was testifying this morning, so she'd be safe at the courthouse behind walls of security, but after that, he wanted to be free to watch over her.
"I've a big favor to ask," he told Denise after he returned to the family room and found her already at her computer juggling spreadsheets. She worked from home, so he had the feeling she'd rather him gone anyway. "Can I borrow the minivan?"
"My van?" Her voice was edged with disapproval. Maybe this wouldn't be so easy after all. "No. Take Jimmy's car."
When Denise was pregnant with the twins, Jimmy traded his sports car in for the safest vehicle in the safest color he could find: a Volvo station wagon painted canary yellow.
"I need something that will blend in."
"Are you implying that my minivan is boring?"
"Why would anyone think a gray—"
"Champagne."
"Champagne minivan is boring? I'm just saying it won't stick out like the banana mobile, that's all."
"Who are you worried will spot it?"
"Hart." And whoever was targeting her. "I want to stay close, keep an eye on her, but she won't like it."
"So you want to use my minivan to spy on your girlfriend?"
"Well—" Put that way it didn't sound so good. "Someone's got to keep her safe."
To his surprise she jumped up from her computer and gave him a hug. "DJ, that's the most romantic thing I ever heard." Then she let him go and gave him the van's keys. "If it comes back with one scratch, one ding, so much as a scuff—"
"Don't worry," he assured her, already halfway out the door.
To his surprise the Sienna handled better than his Mustang. Not as much power, but good suspension and decent acceleration. And damn comfortable once he unearthed the toys stuck between the cushions of the driver's seat. First stop, Wal-Mart to grab clothing, snacks and other essentials for the duration. Who knew how long he'd be living from the van?
He called the courthouse. According to Judge Flory's secretary, Hart was still on the stand. He sweet-talked her into letting him know when Hart left. Then he called Jimmy.
"Webster been through Burns' apartment?" If he couldn't work the case against him, he could use the time while Hart was busy in court working his original case: Burns' burglary.
"Yeah, didn't find anything. At least nothing interesting to him. Who knew if a crack detective with keen intuitive skills took a look? I'll meet you there in twenty. You can watch me in action."
"Since officially, I won't even be there."
"Right."
Drake hung up. Jimmy was waiting for him when he pulled up at Burns' apartment house.
"Denise let you use her van?" Jimmy gave a low whistle. "She doesn't ever let me drive it. What'cha do to my wife, DJ?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Drake waggled his eyebrow, feeling almost back to normal for the first time in days. "What've you got?"
"Copy of the file on Burns. Thought you'd like to take a look."
Jimmy was putting everything on the line here: job, pension, future. Drake didn't know what to say. So he said nothing except, "Thanks."
Jimmy nodded, realizing there was more behind the word, and they headed inside to Burns' apartment.
The crime scene guys and other detectives had not left it neat or tidy. Fingerprint covered the doorknobs, windows, and light switches as well as other strategic locations. But Drake wasn't interested in forensics. He wanted to learn more about the woman herself. It bothered him the strange way she'd shifted personalities Saturday night at the Stone.
He went directly to her personal papers, now strewn across the kitchen table. "What was her job?"
"Didn't have one. Told her neighbors she was an acting student but there's no history of her being enrolled anywhere."
"She said she was new in town. Where'd she come from?"
"The landlord lives downstairs but was gone for the weekend. We can check on the way out, see what she listed on her rental application."
Drake nodded as he leafed through her bank statements. They only went back two months. Each month there was a cash deposit for five thousand dollars. Burns' rent and living expenses added up to only a fraction of that. "Be nice to know where the money was coming from."
"Nice even number. Maybe a trust?"
"Then why deposit it herself? Why not direct deposit?"
"Maybe she doesn't trust computers." Jimmy shrugged. They didn't find anything else of interest in Burns' papers, so he flipped open the binder. "I wanted to ask you. The guys found your card here in the apartment."
"Yeah. I gave it to her that first day, why?"
"But they found a second card in her wallet. Did you give her another that night when you took her over to the Stone?"
Drake thought hard. "No. She already had one with my cell—but what's weird is I don't remember giving her my cell number at all. But she showed me the card and there it was, in my own handwriting."
"Maybe you didn't. Maybe you gave her the first card, the one without your cell number on it. Maybe someone else, someone who knew about your stalker, gave her that card. Who was the last person you gave a card with your cell phone written on it?"
"Hart. She has it programmed into her cell, but you know her, she never carries the damn thing. So she put it in that little wallet she carries on her keychain."
"That went in the fire so we can't check it." Jimmy blew out his breath. "Damn, I thought we were on to something."
"Anyone who knows Hart could have taken it from her wallet. Doesn't exactly narrow our field of suspects."
"Anyone else you gave your cell to?"
"A few people, like the Trevasians—"
"The couple with the kids who were being threatened a few months ago?"
"Yeah. But they aren't involved in this." Drake thought hard. "That's it, that's all I can remember."
"Okay. Let's see if we can find the landlord." Jimmy led the way down to the ground floor apartment. From the smells of cabbages and cigars concentrated in the hallway outside the door, Drake expected an overweight Polish guy. Instead it was a young woman in her mid-twenties with a baby on her hip.
"Can I help you?"
Jimmy explained why they were there and showed her his credentials. Good thing she didn't ask to see Drake's, since he didn't have any.
"Oh, of course. We were at my mom's for the weekend and didn't hear about it until we got home last night. It's so awful to think about. That poor girl." She led them into the kitchen and secured the baby into a high chair where it happily played with a bowl of dry Cheerios.
"Did Monica express any concerns about her safety?" Jimmy asked. He sat at the kitchen table while the landlord, Gail MacAfee, searched for Burns' rental application.
"No, of course not. This is a very safe building."
"What about after the break in?" Drake asked.
MacAfee whirled around. "What break in?"
"The one Thursday night."
"We were here until Saturday morning. There was no break in I know about."
Jimmy and Drake exchanged glances. "Monica never mentioned it?"
"No."
"Did she mention being followed? Or being afraid?"
"No. She never said a word. Not that she ever left the place much. I think maybe she was sick or not feeling too good. Only time I saw her come or go was to get groceries. Never even had any visitors."
Hard to attract a stalker when you never left the apartment, Drake thought.
"Found it. Here you go." MacAfee laid a folder in front of them. "I remember now. Instead of just first and last month's rent, they paid six months up front. Said they weren't sure when they'd get their checking set up here. Moving from LA, I guess it made for complications."
"They?" Jimmy asked.
"Well, the lease and application were taken out by the one, but her roommate, Monica, arrived here first. Sounded like they were starving actresses and when they couldn't break into Hollywood from out in LA, they thought they'd come here since Pittsburgh is making so many movies these days."
"Did you meet the woman who signed the lease?"
"No. We did everything by fax and phone. But it's all there, even a copy of her driver's license."
Drake shuffled the papers until he found the lease application. Signed by Elizabeth Reynolds.
He glanced at the blurry copy of the drivers' license. It was dated six years ago and showed a brunette with short, dark hair, thick glasses, and a good fifty pounds heavier than Monica Burns.
"She lost weight with the cancer treatment." Drake showed Jimmy the license. "Dyed her hair, colored contacts—"
Jimmy gave a low whistle. "I'm missed it. But you're right."
They'd finally found Pamela's missing sister.
CHAPTER 30
Cassie spent the next hour going over the medical facts with Lisa Dimeo so the lawyer would have everything she'd need to make sure Curtis Waite's testimony would be enough to nail Brickner. Then she finally left the ADA. Lisa seemed happy to dissociate herself from the mess Cassie had made of things. Or maybe it was just Cassie projecting her own feelings—she couldn't believe that because of her Brickner might get off.