The Perfect Game Page 6

  As she left, Lauren said, “I’m sorry I frustrated you, Mr. Brown, I genuinely appreciate your efforts on this case.”

  He gave her a sour look, “My name is Baxter, not Brown.”

  Lauren had accidentally referred to him by the name she had secretly assigned him. Thank goodness it was not something worse like “Bully.”

  ***

  “Those are some serious scratches you have on your arm,” the phlebotomist commented as he drew Lauren’s blood in the police station laboratory.

  “Yeah,” Lauren agreed, looking at the fading scratches she had all but forgotten about.

  “Maybe we should take some pictures of those,” he suggested.

  “Yeah, you probably should.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  (Tuesday, August 16)

  The next day at the hospital, Dr. Stone tracked Lauren down accompanied by an unfamiliar man in civilian clothing.

  “Don’t freak out,” Stone said, “but this gentleman is here to serve you with a subpoena. We get these often. It’s usually some patient haggling with their insurance company over payment.” Lauren accepted the white envelope handed to her and Stone directed her to the office of Mr. Lawrence, the hospital attorney. She handed the subpoena to Mr. Lawrence for routine legal review. There, she learned she was not being subpoenaed regarding a medical case, but with a court order to report to the Scottsdale Police Department within twenty-four hours.

  “It requires you to submit to photography of your person,” Mr. Lawrence advised after a quick review of the document. “Any idea why?”

  “I got scratched a couple weeks ago by a patient. The police asked me about the scratches yesterday when I was having my blood drawn.”

  “Seems like they’re looking at you pretty hard in your sister’s murder. I can’t represent you because this doesn’t involve a hospital matter, but I can recommend a good criminal defense attorney. Sounds to me like you need one.”

  Lauren felt as if she had the wind knocked out of her. She had never had so much as a traffic ticket before. Now, she needed a defense attorney for the murder of her own sister.

  Lauren had few people in whom she could confide. She did talk to Rose-ma on the phone every day. But as much as Lauren adored Rose-ma, she was tired of hearing Liz’s murder attributed to God’s will. Additionally, Lauren felt she had to protect Rose-ma from some of the things that were bothering her most, such as her own treatment as a possible suspect.

  Her fellow interns had been amazing. In a field renowned for vicious competition, their intern class had managed to foster a spirit of cooperation. Lauren could share any work-related concern with the other interns and feel supported. Still, she didn’t feel comfortable sharing details of the investigation with them. They had picked up on this and had respectfully stopped asking.

  Lauren still had frequent phone calls from old friends, all calling to express concern about her in the wake of the tragedy. Most seemed sincere, others appeared to be fishing for gossip. Given the constant stories that showed up in the press, Lauren found it hard to trust anybody with her innermost fears.

  She found herself leaning most heavily on Jake. She had never been particularly close to him before. He was a famous baseball player and she had been his wife’s little sister. But now, they seemed to have everything in common. He understood her feelings of grief, anger, and loneliness because he was riding the same emotional roller coaster. They discussed the case nearly every day. He was as obsessed with the status of the investigation as she was. And he was equally frustrated by the detectives.

  So, Lauren immediately called Jake about the police summons for photographs. “That’s fucking ridiculous,” he raged. “Enough’s enough. I don’t think you should do it. What the hell could they possibly want to take pictures of?”

  “I was scratched by a patient at the ER.”

  “Don’t you have witnesses? Somebody must have seen it happen.”

  “No one else was there at the time.”

  “Did this happen before or after Liz’s…” his words petered out.

  “A few days before.”

  “And you still have scratches?”

  “They’re healed now, but the scars are still visible. Jake, have the police said anything to you about me? Do they really think I might have done this?”

  “Of course not. Those jerks don’t know what they’re doing. Pretty boy Boyd is a know-nothing and Wallace is a know-it-all.” Lauren was touched by his anger on her behalf. “I think you should stop cooperating. Force them to stop focusing on you and turn their attention to real suspects. Why don’t you talk to my family lawyer? I’m sure I can get you a free consultation.”

  Lauren let out a sigh of relief. Her parents’ life insurance policy had covered college expenses for both Liz and Lauren, but Lauren had taken out student loans to finance medical school. Now, she was making substantial payments on her loans. She could ill-afford an expensive criminal defense attorney.

  “Thank you, Jake. I don’t know how I would survive this without you.”

  “That’s what family’s for.”

  “Jake, did you know Liz changed her life insurance policy?”

  “Of course I knew. The policy was up for renewal and we agreed she should change her beneficiary to you. Have you gotten the payout yet?”

  “No. They said they can’t pay it until the investigation is complete. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care about the money. I was just wondering why she changed her beneficiary.”

  “I didn’t need the money. So we agreed the money should go to you if, you know…Do you need money, Lauren?”

  “No, thanks. I’m just worried about how much a lawyer is going to cost. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “I know.” He sighed deeply. “Me neither. That’s why you should talk to my lawyer. Let me call him and I’ll call you right back.”

  Lauren paced until her phone rang again a few minutes later. “Sorry, Lauren,” Jake said. “I talked to Bob, but he said he can’t help. He said it represents a conflict of interest since I’ve already consulted him. I don’t get that legalese stuff. Anyway, he says he thinks you should stop talking to the police. He says they’ll only try to use what you say against you.”

  “But I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “You know that. And I know that. But those jackasses haven’t figured that out yet.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  (Wednesday, August 17)

  In the end, Lauren decided to comply with the court order, confident in forensic science. The day after the summons, she reported to the Scottsdale Police Department. She was required to strip down to her undergarments so the police photographer could take photos of her entire body. They focused several frames on the scratches fading on her upper right arm. The experience was humiliating and by the time she left the small windowless room, she was in tears.

  As she was approaching the station exit, she heard somebody calling her name. “Miss Rose.”

  Lauren had become accustomed to people calling out to her. Perfect strangers recognized her from the exhaustive coverage of the case. Many felt they knew her. It had been surreal at first. Now, it was annoying. Every trite condolence offered by a stranger was a stabbing reminder of her loss.

  Lauren increased the length of her stride. The building was closing in on her. She was desperate to get outside.

  The calls became more insistent, “Miss Rose!” The voice sounded familiar, but she did not pause long enough to try to identify the speaker.

  Lauren was speed walking, practically running. She hit the door at a brisk pace and forced her way out to the front steps.

  She could hear somebody pushing through the door behind her. She descended the steps two at a time. Her ten-year-old Civic had recently died a quiet death from a blown gasket. Lauren had long ago promised herself a new c
ar when she finished her internship, but she had been forced to buy a new car eleven months shy of that goal. Her shiny new emerald Acura beckoned to her from across the parking lot.

  Reaching the last step, she miscalculated her footing and went sprawling across the parking lot. The latch on her purse sprang open and her keys, a bottle of Tylenol, and two tubes of cherry chapstick scattered across the ground. Her right knee ripped open on the rough asphalt.

  Before she could collect her thoughts, somebody pulled her to her feet and began gathering up the contents of her spilled purse. Detective Boyd.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” she snapped. “Nothing bruised but my ego. Did you need something?”

  He looked surprised at the sharpness of her tone, his blue-green eyes reflecting the bright sunlight. “I spotted you leaving the building. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

  “I’ll tell you how I’m doing. I’ve lost my only sister and my best friend. I’ve been falsely accused of her murder. I’ve been served a subpoena and taken a polygraph. I’ve been poked and prodded and photographed in my underwear. And now you have chased me down the stairs and literally onto my knees. And you want to know how I’m doing? I’m doing crappy. That’s how I’m doing.”

  Boyd took a step back. His face was somber, but the corners of his eyes turned up a bit at the corners. “I’m very sorry I chased you onto your knees. I just wanted you to know that we now have a very real suspect in this case.” He turned on his heel and bounded up the steps.

  Now it was her turn to call after him. “Detective Boyd? Wait.” But he disappeared into the police station without a backward glance.

  A very real suspect? Finally! Lauren’s immediate euphoria was quickly followed by a foreboding feeling. She had just been photographed in her bra and panties. Perhaps she was the “very real suspect” that Detective Boyd was referring to.

  Chapter Fifteen

  (Wednesday, August 17)

  Returning to the ER, Lauren still had blood oozing from one knee. She was yanked into an exam room by LaRhonda. Lauren and LaRhonda had very different upbringings, but had immediately bonded over the fact that they had both been orphaned at about the same age. LaRhonda had never known her biological father, and her mother had succumbed to knife injuries incurred during a drug deal gone wrong when LaRhonda was fourteen, cementing LaRhonda’s determination to become an emergency room doctor.

  “Honey, you are a hot mess.” LaRhonda began to swab Lauren’s knee with antiseptic, removing tiny pebbles that embedded in Lauren’s flesh. “How can so much gravel find a home in these scrawny legs of yours? Look, I know you don’t like to share your personal business. You pride yourself on being tough. Believe me, I know all ’bout that, but you best tell me what’s going on.”

  All of Lauren’s frustration came spilling out, concluding with her paranoia about being Boyd’s very real suspect. “They keep telling me they need to rule me out so they can narrow their investigation. That makes sense, right?”

  “Wrong! They shoulda been able to rule you out long ‘go. For some reason, they think you did it. I know you grew up in some white-bread town where the biggest crime was stolen panties off some little ol’ lady’s clothesline, but honey, this ain’t Mayberry. You need to get yourself a lawyer and fast. You need me to come with you? Cause I will. I will march into that lawyer’s office with you and demand justice.”

  Lauren could easily imagine LaRhonda taking the entire judicial system by storm. “No, you don’t need to march anywhere with me. Mr. Lawrence gave me the name of an attorney. I’ll call him.”

  LaRhonda finished off Lauren’s knee with a fancy bandage. Lauren began to get down from the exam table.

  “Where do you think you’se going?” LaRhonda asked.

  “I need to grab some scrubs. That police brutality set me back and I need to get to work.”

  LaRhonda forced her own cell phone into Lauren’s hand. “You’re not going anywhere until you call and get yourself an appointment with a lawyer. And that’s final.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  (Thursday, August 18)

  The law offices of Dennis Hopkins were located on the seventeenth floor of a fancy high-rise in downtown Phoenix. The picture windows in the waiting room offered an expansive view. Lauren spotted Camelback Mountain in the distance, Good Samaritan Hospital where she worked, and Chase Field where the Diamondbacks played.

  At her three o’clock appointment time, she was escorted back by the receptionist, who introduced her to the man behind the enormous desk before exiting. Dennis Hopkins rose from his chair to greet Lauren with a hearty handshake. He was a large man with a protruding belly underneath his western shirt, jeans, and a large silver belt buckle. He had salt and pepper hair, with extra salt.

  Dennis instructed Lauren to sit in one of the bulky armchairs across from his desk. No sooner had her butt hit the chair than he drawled, “I understand you are a suspect in the death of your sister.”

  “Who told you that?” Lauren asked, shocked by his bluntness.

  “You did. Isn’t that why you scheduled this consultation?”

  “I suppose so,” Lauren conceded. “The detectives are trying to rule me out so they can narrow the focus of their investigation.”

  “Uh huh. And what have they done so far to rule you out?”

  “They’ve questioned me a couple of times. They collected the clothes I was wearing on the evening of the crime. They talked to colleagues to confirm my whereabouts. I took a polygraph test, actually two polygraph tests. I provided DNA and hair samples and they took pictures of my body.”

  “Once you get to know me, you’ll learn I’m a real straight shooter,” Dennis said. “I don’t need to sell my services to those who don’t need ’em because I have plenty of potential clients who do. So please believe me when I say you need a defense attorney. Don’t hire me if you don’t feel comfortable with me, but you need to hire someone. No kidding, no sugarcoating, no fooling around.”

  Dennis explained the need to formalize the business contract before having any further discussion, explaining, “Signing the contract establishes attorney-client privilege.” They reviewed it together and Lauren hired Dennis by signing on the dotted line.

  “I can begin making some phone calls on your behalf now that I officially represent you. I’ve practiced in this city my entire career. I even used to be one of those SOB prosecutors once upon a time.” Dennis chuckled. “I’m well-acquainted with most of the judges in this town and a great many of the prosecutors. I’ll start making calls today and find out why the police find you so interesting. I don’t think it’s because you’re easy on the eyes, though that will help if we have to go in front of a jury.”

  Lauren usually felt uncomfortable when a man complimented her, but she knew Dennis was not hitting on her. He was simply sizing up her potential strengths and weaknesses in front of a jury. She imagined this came naturally to him, just as she was inclined to notice any obvious signs of disease in people.

  “Now, Lauren. I never ask my clients if they are guilty…”

  “I’m not guil—” she started to say before he shushed her.

  “As I was saying, I never ask my clients if they are guilty or not and there are some fine reasons for that. First of all, it’s completely irrelevant. That might sound strange to you. Most people think criminal prosecutions are about determining whether the accused is guilty or not guilty, but that isn’t true. Trials are about determining whether the prosecution can prove the defendant guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, and that’s a different question altogether. Second, I’m in a better position to defend my clients when I operate on a presumption of innocence.”

  That’s probably because most of your clients are guilty, Lauren thought.

  “Finally, it is my legal obligation to ensure you do not perjure yourself. If you are charged with this crime,
it is your constitutional right to refuse to testify. However, if you did choose to testify on your own behalf, I could not allow you to testify to anything I know to be untrue. You see what I mean?”

  Lauren nodded. His rhetoric was stoking her fear as she imagined being charged with Liz’s murder.

  “For this reason, you and I will often speak in hypotheticals. When I start a question with the phrase ‘hypothetically speaking,’ I’m not asking you to tell me about something that happened in your own life, I’m just asking you to explore the facts of the case as you know them in a hypothetical manner. You see what I mean?”

  “Yes.” Lauren was familiar with this strategy. Doctors used similar tactics to discuss cases with the hospital legal office.

  “I take my job very seriously. Every citizen in this country is entitled to a rigorous defense and that is what I pledge to provide for you. You won’t find any other lawyer in this state who would defend you as relentlessly as I will. And…” he paused for emphasis, “…I never violate attorney-client privilege, not even to my own wife. I say that because it is imperative you feel comfortable confiding in me. Do you have any questions whatsoever about that?”

  “Yes,” Lauren responded, thinking about doctor-patient confidentiality. Most of the things patients told Lauren were legally protected from disclosure, but there were some exceptions such as threats of self-harm or issues affecting public safety. “Are there any exceptions to attorney-client privilege?”

  “None. Zilch, zero, nada. Not even your death would vacate the privilege. Not disclosures of past crimes. There are absolutely no exceptions whatsoever save the one I mentioned already. I cannot knowingly allow you to commit perjury or any other future crime. Anymore questions for me?”

  Lauren took a deep breath. “What makes you so sure I need a lawyer?”

  “A very good question. When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you know what is routine for police investigations and what is not. Asking you questions, confirming your alibi, that’s all standard stuff. But collecting DNA and hair samples, and subpoenaing bodily photographs?” He shook his head. “Those things aren’t typical. Other questions?”