Inadvertent Disclosure (24 page)

CHAPTER 35

Friday morning

Sasha woke up after only three
hours of sleep because someone was tickling her nose. She opened one eye. Sir
Thomas More was perched on her upper chest, almost on her neck, his long fur
fanned out over her face. He was staring at her. She stretched, raising her
arms above her head and pointing her toes. In response, Atticus Finch pounced
on her moving feet and swatted at them through the covers. She pulled back her
feet and clambered out of bed.

“Guess you guys are looking for
some breakfast,” she said to the cats as she followed the aroma of freshly
brewed coffee out into Judge Paulson’s kitchen.

When she’d emerged from
Gloria’s hospital room, it had been two thirty in the morning. Dr. Kayser had
vanished. Dr. Brown had assigned a medical student to chauffeur the
gerontologist back to Pittsburgh. Apparently, being a medical student was not
much different from being a junior associate at a law firm. Aside from the
occasional saving of a life, it seemed to be an existence devoted to low-level
scut work and the performance of demeaning errands for one’s superiors.

In the days before e-mailed
PDFs were the preferred method of exchanging counter-signed legal documents,
she had once been tasked with babysitting a fax machine in her old firm’s office
for an entire weekend, with instructions to hand deliver a settlement agreement
to the partner’s home the minute the papers stopped curling off the fax. At
least this hapless medical student/chauffeur had good company for half the
trip: Dr. Kayser had probably asked a dozen questions to make the kid feel
involved and important.

In any case, Dr. Kayser had
left and Jonas had insisted that she and Connelly stay the night in the judge’s
apartment. They’d been too tired to do anything but gratefully accept the
offer. Sasha had tried to talk Connelly into finding an all-night market where
they could get batteries for her tape recorder, but he’d promised to run out
first thing in the morning.

Given that she was alone in the
apartment, save for two hungry felines, it looked like he’d kept his promise.
He’d even had the foresight to beg some coffee off Jonas before he’d gone,
judging by the large work thermos sitting on the counter.

She was working on her second
cup of coffee, while the cats licked the vile-smelling fishy juice leftover
from breakfast off their dishes, when Connelly returned. He held a plastic
convenience store bag aloft, like a trophy.

“Morning,” he said. He leaned
in for a kiss. “Do you know I had to drive all the way to Copper Bend to find a
store that (a) was open and (b) sold batteries?”

“Where the hell is Copper
Bend?”

“My point exactly.” He poured
himself a mug of coffee from the thermos and tore at the hard plastic packaging
around the batteries.

“Oh,” he added, looking up, “I
forgot to tell you this—last night, Dr. Kayser said he needed to talk to you
and would give you a call this morning.”

“He tried twice to tell me
something last night but there was so much chaos, he never got to say what was
on his mind.”

“I like him,” Connelly said.

Sasha nodded, glad his
impression of the doctor lined up with hers.

“You met Dr. Spangler in
Gloria’s room last night?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said from behind
his coffee mug, his tone careful.

“What did you think of her?”

Connelly looked stricken.

“Relax, Connelly, I’m not going
to ask who you think is prettier. Did she seem, I don’t know, kind of off to
you?”

His relief at not being put on
the boyfriend hot seat palpable, Connelly considered the question. “Off how?”

“Inappropriately sexual?  Or, I
don’t know, just not the way you’d expect a doctor to behave.”

“I guess she was sort of
flirtatious—with everyone, I mean, Russell, Jonas, and Dr. Kayser, too—but she
seemed genuinely concerned about Gloria. I need scissors or a knife.”

He tossed the batteries on the
counter in frustration. His struggle to free them from their plastic prison had
yielded nothing but a bashed-in package.

“Here.”

Sasha took the kitchen shears
from the judge’s knife block and snipped off a corner.

She found the tape recorder and
popped the cover off the battery compartment. Before she figured out which
direction the batteries went, her cell phone rang.

She thought it might be Dr.
Kayser, so she abandoned the batteries and answered the call.

It wasn’t the good doctor. It
was the annoying opposing counsel.

“Sasha, good morning. It’s Drew
Showalter. With my apologies for calling so early, have you made a decision
about returning our inadvertently produced document?”

Seriously?  It wasn’t even
seven o’clock. This guy was too much.

“I have. I looked at the
document. It’s a flyer about a pizza luncheon. There’s no way a court would
rule in your favor on this. There’s no privilege, nothing confidential—there’s
no basis for you to claw it back. To be honest, Drew, I don’t know why you
called attention to it. All you’ve done is highlight it.”

She expected him to bluster and
pound the table, but instead he conceded defeat immediately and almost happily.

“I understand. My client asked
me to try, so I tried.”

She ended the call with the
distinct feeling that he had just wanted to make sure she’d looked at the
document. She shrugged off Showalter’s increasingly bizarre behavior and
inserted the batteries into the back of the tape recorder.

She hit play and sat the
recorder on the breakfast bar. Connelly came over to hear better and they
leaned over the bar together, listening.

Judge Paulson’s baritone voice
rumbled out of the tiny speaker. “This is the Court’s order and opinion in Big
Sky Energy Solutions Incorporated versus the Clear Brook County Commissioners. Counsel
for the plaintiff is Martin K. Braeburn, Esquire, of the Law Offices of Martin
Braeburn. Counsel for the defendant is Drew J. Showalter, Esquire, of the Law
Offices of Drew J. Showalter.”

Sasha was moderately surprised
that the two attorneys she knew in Springport were both involved in the case,
but then she figured they probably both had a hand in almost every case in
town.

She reached across the counter
and pulled a pen and notepad from her bag. She scribbled a quick note. Drilling
ban? Had the judge’s last act been to rule on Big Sky’s motion that it was
unconstitutional for the county council to consider a moratorium on drilling?”

The judge went on, his voice
rhythmic and slow. “This matter is before the Court on Plaintiff Big Sky Energy
Solutions Incorporated’s motion for a declaratory judgment. Plaintiff seeks a
declaration that Defendant’s approval of Springport Hospitality Partners LLP’s
plans to build a ninety-eight room hotel on a parcel of land located at Lot 14,
Block 60 in Firetown was improper and failed to consider a memorandum of
understanding entered into between Keystone Properties and Plaintiff regarding
the mineral rights located on the property.”

Judge Paulson paused on the
tape, maybe to gather his thoughts, and Sasha hit the pause button on the
recorder to gather hers.

She rubbed her temples.

“What?” Connelly asked.

“My case for VitaMight is
against Keystone Properties. And the distribution center is located at Lot 14,
Block 60 in Firetown.”

“Are you sure?  The same
address?.”

“I’m sure.”

She’d read the lot and block
number on the lease. She wouldn’t forget.

“I’m just not sure what it
means.”

“Coincidence?”  Connelly
suggested.

She raised an eyebrow.
“Seriously? No way.”

When Keystone Properties had
booted VitaMight from the site, they’d refused to give a reason for the
eviction. That decision had puzzled Sasha from the beginning of the case. It
almost guaranteed a victory for Sasha in the breach of contract case; the only
real question was the amount of damages, provided she could skirt the
liquidated damages clause in the lease. It looked like the judge’s opinion
might provide the reason.

“I’m going to jump in the
shower,” Connelly said.

“Okay,” she replied, ignoring
the hint of invitation she thought she heard in his voice. Not that she wasn’t
interested, but she had work to do.

By the time Connelly emerged
from the bedroom, dressed in khakis and a sweater, she’d listened to the entire
opinion and had written four pages of shorthand notes.

“So,” Connelly said, “did you
hear anything worth killing the judge over on that tape?”

“Maybe. Listen to this—” Before
Sasha could launch into her theory, her phone rang.

This time it was Dr. Kayser.
“Shoot, it’s the doc. Let me see what he wants.”

 Connelly nodded and pulled out
his own phone. Probably to check his e-mails while he waited.

“Good morning, Dr. Kayser,”
Sasha said.

“Yes, it certainly is. I have
something you’re going to be very interested to hear.” Excitement buzzed in his
voice.

“In that case, do you mind if I
put you on speaker?  Agent Connelly’s here with me.”

“By all means,” he replied.

Sasha hit the speakerphone
button and Connelly returned his phone back to his pocket.

“Can you both hear me?” the
doctor asked.

“Clear as day,” Connelly
assured him.

“Very good. Well then, this is
a bit awkward, but I did try to tell you last night, Sasha. After you left
Jed’s room the first time—before the telephone hearing—I considered Agent
Connelly’s suggestion that we just do the blood tests notwithstanding the
uncertainty about whether Jed had left Dr. Spangler’s practice. I felt I really
didn’t have the right to do that, but I did track down Dr. Brown. And, I
convinced him to run the tests.”

“How did you do that?” Sasha
interrupted. “I thought he was afraid of Dr. Spangler.”

“He was, or is, I suppose. But,
he’s also not planning to spend the rest of his career in Clear Brook County. I
suggested that I knew many chiefs of staff and hospital administrators
throughout the Northeast and that, perhaps, it would behoove him to have me
make some inquiries on his behalf after he’d served out his commitment at
County General.”

His tone was equal parts
ashamed and proud of himself.

“I see,” said Sasha.

It struck her as a fairly shady
thing to do, and she was thankful he hadn’t told her of his plan in advance.
She was, however, thankful he’d done it.

“Dr. Brown called this morning
with the results. Jed Craybill has extremely high levels of an over-the-counter
antihistamine decongestant combination allergy medication in his bloodstream. A
known side effect of these drugs in the elderly population is an
anticholinergic effect that can result in dementia-like symptoms, including
dehydration, confusion, inability to concentrate, and memory loss.”

“Jed’s condition is being
caused by his allergy medication?”

“Quite possibly. The drugs
block acetylcholine, a neurotransmitter that helps with memory and
concentration. The effect is more pronounced in older adults because the
natural levels of acetylcholine decrease as we age. Thus, a higher percentage
of the neurotransmitter will be blocked in an older person. And, Mr. Craybill
seemed to be taking a rather high dose of his medication.”

“Once the drugs are out of his
system, will the effect go away?”

Sasha could feel the excitement
rising in her chest.

“It should. However, Dr.
Spangler ordered another dose, which was administered late last night, so it
could be another twenty-four hours before we know if that’s the cause of his
symptoms. It was a curious decision on her part to order another dose, because
he’s not exhibiting any seasonal allergy symptoms currently. Which is to be
expected, given that he’s in a HEPA-filtered, closed air environment at the
hospital.”

Connelly spoke up. “Are you
suggesting Dr. Spangler is deliberately medicating him to cause him to be incapacitated?”

Dr. Kayser answered carefully.
“I can’t say that. I can say I see no reason for him to be taking an
antihistamine at the moment, and I would never, under any circumstances,
prescribe an anticholinergic drug to an elderly patient. It’s simply not
justifiable, given the ready availability of effective, allergy medications
that do not have such side effects.”

If he had tried to keep the
judgment out of his voice, he’d failed.

“So, what do we do? Medically,
I mean.”

“Dr. Brown, in his capacity as
Mr. Craybill’s temporary guardian, has agreed to inform Dr. Spangler she is not
to order any additional medications. He’s also going to instruct the nurses not
to administer any, even if Dr. Spangler does order them. The poor young man is
quite nervous, though. It would be a help if Agent Connelly could go to the
hospital to provide support when Dr. Brown talks to her. And perhaps he could
stay in or at least near Mr. Craybill’s room to ensure the instructions are
followed?”