The Loveable Resident Chapter Ten

All rights reserved
(c) Copyright Mary Faderan 2018, 2019



"MIKE STARED AT THE view of the landscape outside his penthouse window, noting the brilliant lights flickering in the buildings in front of his view. He felt a deepening gloom. The idea of returning to New Haven Hospital was almost unbearable to him. He didn’t want to return. He turned the idea of calling and quitting by remote in his mind but readily realized that was not the right way out. He took a sip of his scotch and water. He thought of what was said earlier that night at Jonathan’s library. Two stab wounds. He remembered he didn’t stab twice. He began to doubt this, but he felt sure he stabbed Levy once. It puzzled him. What made the police say there were two stab wounds? How did Moore get this information? There was a buzz at the door. He went to the intercom. A figure came to the screen. It was Lauren. “Hi. I need to come up and talk to you,” she said. “Fine.” He turned the intercom off and stood by the elevator doors. She was dressed casually. There was a hint of nervous energy in her demeanor as she walked in. He found her intensely attractive tonight. Maybe it was because she looked at him with a mysterious smile. “What brings you here?” he asked. “Care for a drink?” “I . . . Sure, I’d like a drink.” “What will you take?” “I’ll have what you’re having.” “OK.” He turned from her and went to the bar. “You and your dad.” “What about us?” “You have me totally.”
60
Mary Faderan “Does that bother you?” “No. I would rather be in your hands than anyone else’s.” “I . . . I thought I’d like to go with you to New Haven,” she announced as she looked at his back. He lifted his head and turned around. “Why?” He sounded irritated. “Don’t you trust me?” “It’s not that.” She went to him and took her drink from his hand. “I was thinking of continuing the conversation.” Her face lifted to his. “I can’t do that long distance.” He took her in his arms and kissed her. After a long pause, he smiled at her. “I didn’t think you’d give me another chance. I thought you—” “I don’t know. I mean . . . I mean . . .” She stammered, blushing. “Here we are, and I know I want this. I can’t say how it will all come out. But I feel like you and I should be together.” “Uh, Lauren. You don’t know me. I’m not good.” He pulled her close and kissed again. This time, they swayed in each other’s arms. She let him deepen the kiss. “Mike. I know you’re human. It’s all that matters. Let me go with you,” she whispered. He slipped his hands down her body, and then he pulled away. “Does your father know?” “Yes.” She laughed softly. “He seems to be good at reading minds.” Mike took her hand and led her to the couch. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. You need to pack some things.” “I have my bags downstairs.” He laughed and took her closer. “Such confidence.” She held him off. “I’m not staying at your apartment. I’m staying at the hotel.” “Why?” “I’m still your lawyer, Mike. We have to be careful.” Mike smiled at her. “Let’s be careful then,” he said mockingly. Detective Bill Gaddis and his young partner, Tom Ripley, walked up to a garden apartment in the nearby town of Hamden, Connecticut. Gaddis looked around, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “Not a bad neighborhood, eh, Tom?”
The Loveable Resident
61
Sevier took a glance around. “No,” he sniffed. “It’s OK. My girlfriend has a pad like this out in West Haven. Damn pricey, though.” “Well, what do we know about Susanna Bacon?” Sevier looked through his flip notepad. “She’s a grad student in philosophy, working on a PhD. She’s thirty years old, never married. She’s from New Jersey. Lives alone. That’s all I know.” “Good enough.” Gaddis looked at the apartment door and rapped on it. There was a sound of a chain being unlatched, and the door opened. A slim fair-haired woman stepped out and squinted at them. “Ms. Susanna Bacon?” Gaddis said. “Yes.” “I’m Lt. Bill Gaddis, and this is Detective Tom Ripley who spoke to you on the phone.” “Oh, sure, yes. Come in.” She opened the door wider. “Thanks.” Her apartment was relatively tidy, but there were several books that lay open on several surfaces—the coffee table, the desk by the window—and a small tabby cat glowered at them from her bed by the fireplace. “I’ve been studying for an exam, so please find a place to sit.” “That’s OK,” Gaddis spoke crisply. “You told Detective Ripley about the night of January 11 at the Yale Gym parking lot? Could you please give us a few more details? What time were you there, and what did you see?” “Well, I run, and I was getting out of the gym. It was about eight fortyfive p.m.” She paused. “I’m usually at the gym around seven thirty p.m., I get myself dressed for the workout, and then I leave the gym to go for a run. If it’s too cold or snowing, I stay there to get a workout on the treadmill.” “Go on.” Gaddis tried not to show his impatience. “I left about eight forty-five p.m. and left by the back door where the gym parking lot is located. People don’t usually work out past eight p.m., so the parking lot is basically empty.” She caught her breath as if dreading the next part of her speech. “I . . . I saw a guy. He was dressed in running clothes, he . . . he was leaning over another guy. That guy was on the ground. He looked like he had collapsed or something. I almost said something, but something about the whole scene gave me a shiver. The guy lifted his hand, and I saw a knife in gleam in the light.”
62
Mary Faderan “And then what did you do?” “I took off. I realized this was a bad scene.” Sevier spoke, “Did you see him stab the other guy?” “I didn’t, I just ran away.” Susanna’s pale face crumpled in emotion. “I’m sorry. I really don’t like to remember that.” Gaddis glanced at Sevier. “OK. If we had a lineup, would you be able to recognize the man that was leaning over the other guy?” “No,” Susanna Bacon replied. “That guy had a hood over his head. He looked like he was big. But I couldn’t see his face.” “Can you tell if the knife you saw was big or small?” “I think it was a regular-size knife.” She shrugged. “Thanks, Ms. Bacon. You’ve been very helpful.” Gaddis gave her a brief smile. Once they were outside, Ripley said, “It’s not a great thing she couldn’t make him.” “No.” “So we know he’s a big guy with a knife—a regular-size knife.” “What do we know about Levy anyway?” “He was in his fifties, divorced, lived alone. Rich or at least he had some money.” “Any heirs or what?” “Only a niece that lives in Waterbury.” Ripley twisted his mouth. “I haven’t found out if she stands to get any of his cash. I know that he had a big malpractice suit against him a year ago. Name of the patient that died is Mary Keene. Suit alleged that his patient died from negligence on his part. Result of the case was that Levy got off.” Gaddis and Sevier got into Gaddis’s car, and as they buckled up, Gaddis said, “Find out the particulars about Levy’s malpractice suit. The people who brought the case to court. Interview the lawyer for the plaintiff—that sort of thing.” “Right.” “We might be looking at a case of revenge,” Gaddis said, slanting a look at his sergeant. Mike woke up, feeling disoriented. He opened his eyes and found himself on his side, his arm flung over Lauren as she slept beside him. He
The Loveable Resident
63
felt a surge of desire as he remembered the previous night’s passion. He looked at her face in repose next to his. As soon as he moved against her, Lauren awoke and looked at him unseeingly. Then she smiled shyly at him. “Good morning,” Mike said softly. “Hi.” “You’re beautiful.” She blushed and then said, “No. I must look a mess.” “No, not really.” “Are we—” “Shh.” He kissed her, and they were quiet for a few moments. Afterward, she leaned up on her elbow and surveyed him. For a moment, he felt unsure what she thought of him. “What time do we leave?” “Whenever we are ready. It’s up to you and me.” She leaned over him, her hair spilling over his face. “I’m not ready yet,” she murmured. She slid her slim body over his and kissed him. He pulled her close and gave a low groan when she closed herself over him. An hour later, both were dressed and stood in the middle of the penthouse, sipping coffee that the waiter brought up together with the breakfast trolley. She looked at the breakfast items on the sidebar. “Lovely!” she uttered appreciatively. He was reading the newspaper. “I’ve asked them to pack us some lunch for the trip.” “Um, fine.” Then she turned and said, “Oh, Mike!” “Yes?” “Your party. Your mom—she doesn’t know you were leaving town today?” “Oh. I called her when you were in the shower. She’s good.” “Ah, that’s good, then.” She took her plate and sat down at the breakfast bar. “Aren’t you eating?” “No.” He glanced up at her and then chuckled. “Lovemaking for me means I can’t eat for hours after.” A ghost of a smile came to her face. “It’s the opposite for me.” Mike realized he wasn’t her first, and a look of alarm crossed his face. “Of course. I should know better.”
64
Mary Faderan
“Why?” “I’m not the first one you ever made love to.” “Should that be a problem?” Her eyes looked solemnly at him. “Do you like being the first for any woman?” He put the paper down and sat down across from her. His eyes were serious. “I wanted to be the first for you. I thought you—” “Well, you aren’t,” Lauren said crisply, biting into a piece of toast. “Mike, you must accept that 80 percent of women have already had sex after the age of twenty-one?” “Is that a fact? Do you have any sources?” he taunted. “No, but I’m going out on a limb to say that I am pretty close with that statistic.” Mike was caught in a difficult moment. He didn’t want to argue. He wanted to tell her that she was someone he was falling for even now when she had to tell him he wasn’t the first. “Oh, never mind!” He felt deflated. She watched him surreptitiously as he got up and went to the side bar. A disquiet reigned while he reluctantly picked up a plate and put food in it. Lauren studiously avoided his gaze when he returned to the table. “Are you sure you want to check into a hotel when we get to New Haven?” “I’m very sure.” “You sound so lawyerlike.” “I am a lawyer.” “God, what happened to us?” His eyes blazed. “Mike, what do you mean?” “Well . . .” He frowned at the boiled egg in front of him. “No, you’re right. You and Jonathan have been great. I owe you both a lot. Someone has to have a level head, and it might as well be you.” She put her napkin down and got up to refill her coffee. “Last night was lovely,” she said without turning. “Yes. I thought so too.” “Mike, you . . . and I,” Lauren said in a light tone, “we have to get you out of this problem. You need to understand there’s a lot of hurdles you have to go through.”
The Loveable Resident
65
“Fine,” he said with a snap. “I’ll do what you want. I’m still a murderer. Is that what you’re saying?” “No. Technically, you did not murder Dr. Levy,” she said cautiously. “We know someone else killed him off—finished him off.” “And that’s what I’d like to know. Who would want him dead?” Relieved that the conversation was now on business, Lauren finally joined him at the table. “I haven’t got a clue. We need to make sure that you don’t talk about the stabbing to anyone or even to the police.” “I won’t.” He looked at her face. “This isn’t ethical, is it?” “Not exactly,” she said coolly. “We—my father and I—have been your father’s legal counselors for years, and now we are yours. I believe my father owed a lot to your family when he first made partner. It’s something that has kept us in touch with your family. Let’s just say my family wants you to get off as much as possible.” He gave her a nod and said nothing."

The Loveable Resident Chapter 9

All Rights Reserved
(c) Copyright Mary Faderan 2018, 2019


"Chapter Nine

MANHATTAN WAS DELUGED WITH a torrential rainstorm that morning when Jonathan told Mike to return to New Haven. At the heart of downtown Manhattan, the traffic was snarled more than usual. There were no police to help guide the motorists through the maelstrom of gridlocked traffic that morning. More than a few disgruntled motorists laid on their horns and expressed their frustrations with uttered curses. A few blocks from the building where Henderson kept his office, a subway train disgorged a flood of passengers, and soon, they emerged from the bowels of the subway station and poured into the street. Umbrellas flickered into view. A lone figure emerged last from the stairs and walked purposely toward the side entrance of Henderson’s building. He was clad in a black raincoat, slicked wet from the rain. A dark fedora hid his face from view. He made his way to the elevator and rode up to the eighth floor. The hallway was dark at this time of the day. Henderson’s office was quiet. There was no secretary or receptionist at the front desk. Henderson’s door was closed as the man approached. He tapped on the door, then opened it. Henderson was seated, facing the window while speaking on the phone. “I’m sure things will be OK from this point on, Missy dear. Take a few days off. Come and stay with Marjorie and me over the weekend.” Henderson heard a creak behind him and looked around. “Oh, I have to go. See you this weekend, then? Yes, see you in Branford, then. Bye.” Henderson looked at the man finally. “I received your report. What more is there?”
 “Police have no idea who killed Levy.” The man’s voice was rough. “I need to get out of the East Coast.” “Are you sure they don’t know?” Henderson ignored the request implied. “Yes, I’m sure. They know that Levy was an SOB. Nobody’s that eager to help the cops find who offed him.” He leaned forward. “I’m leaving town, and I need to get my cut.” “And you’ll get it.” “Do you know if anyone else saw what happened?” “I was the only one who saw. I wanted to get Levy before Oates got him. Like you ordered, boss.” “What happened? Why didn’t you get him first?” “Levy’s an athlete. He runs like the wind.” The man frowned. “He was too fast for me. When I got there, Oates was there first. There was an argument. Then I saw Oates had a knife. It went quick.” “But after?” “Oates dragged the body out of view. He left like hell was after him.” “And then what did you do?” “I looked around and saw nobody. Levy was still alive when I got to him.” Henderson leaned back and steepled his fingers together. “OK. You finished him off.” The man grunted. “He would have bled out.” “But you finished him off.” Henderson’s eyes were sharp on him. “I did,” he replied finally. Henderson opened a drawer and took out a thick envelope. He looked at it for a moment and then gave it to the man in the black raincoat. “Here’s your cut. I don’t want to see you again.” “You got it, boss.” The door closed shut, leaving Henderson silent in the darkness. The unit was having a lull that morning. Morning meds had been dispensed. The OR was now taking care of the surgical patients that were scheduled for their respective procedures. Two nurses were manning the nurses’ station, and one of them had hung up her cell phone. She sighed and smiled sadly. “I am so ready for this weekend,” she uttered. “So am I, Missy,” said her companion, Karen Challoner. “What are
your plans?” Her smile was polite. Karen was a bit more senior to Missy and had a more sensible outlook, which served her well on the unit. Karen had a shock of blonde hair, slightly mussed and gray strands peeking through. Her face was a bit stern, borne of the duties of her job. Her eyes were blue, and she wore little makeup, unlike Missy who wore the latest in colors. “Oh, a friend asked me to spend the weekend with him and his wife in his house in Branford,” Missy said with pride. “He’s a pretty wealthy guy, a friend of the family. Known him for years.” “Nice!” Missy closed the binder she had in front of her. “I just wish I could tell when Mike comes back. If he gets back Friday, I could ask him to come with me.” “Mike Oates?” Karen replied. “He’s on vacation, I heard.” “Yes. I wish I knew earlier when he was going out of town.” “Sounds like you and he are serious, then?” “I think we are,” Missy replied, her lips pursed. “I heard he’s a Romeo around here.” Karen rolled her eyes. She had a low opinion of Mike Oates. She thought Mike was a bit of a suck-up, someone who carried the water for the one who gave the most favors, and that was “Lead” Bartholomew. Karen suppressed a snort and ended up coughing. “No way. He’s my Romeo.” “OK.” Karen shrugged. “Oh, I see Mrs. Plank is needing a nurse.” She nodded at the blinking lights on the monitor. “I’ll go find what she needs.” Missy nodded in agreement and then sighed again. Karen made her way to Mrs. Plank’s room and found that the patient was in need of her pain medication. She administered the medication and left Mrs. Plank’s room and almost bumped into Corcoran. “Hey, sorry, Karen!” Corcoran said, folding his flip notebook and tucking it into his pocket. “Kind of a quiet morning, eh?” he said with a slight grin. “It’s all good, Cor,” she said, smiling. She liked Corcoran. Her face became more radiant as she looked at him. She wished there were more jolly doctors like Cor. To keep the conversation going, she asked, “How are your patients doing, by the way?”
 “Oh, they’ll live another day,” he said, strolling down the hall with her. “I’m also taking care of Mike Oates’s patients.” There was a twist in his mouth. “Damn Mike for taking off with short notice. Didn’t know his mom was sick.” “Oh. So when is he due back?” “I don’t know. Guess that is up to how his mom is doing.” “I heard he’s up for the chief residency spot.” “Yes,” Corcoran replied. “He’s on the make, that Mike.” “On more ways than one,” Karen said softly. “Are you interested in him too?” Karen laughed scornfully. “No. Missy’s cornered that market, I think. I don’t like men on the make,” she said with a sniff. “Missy’s in for a lot of heartache,” Corcoran said. “I don’t think Mike’s ready to settle down. Not for a while.” “Yes, I think you’re right.” In companionable silence, they walked back to the nurses’ station. When Karen and Corcoran returned to the nurses’ station, Leo Bartholomew was pacing the floor in front of the desk. He looked up at them impatiently and then rapped his pen on the counter. “Ms. Challoner, you do know that I am having open heart surgery tomorrow morning at 7:30 a.m.?” His voice seemed calm, but his eyes were blue and icy. Karen summoned up her reserve of strength to reply. Lead (as they called him) was not in a happy mood. “I need to check the schedule, Dr. Barth—” “No need for you to trouble yourself. I myself checked the schedule, and I am telling you now that I need Patricia Steele to be my rotating nurse on the operation.” He leaned toward her. “Why did you not schedule Mrs. Steele to be in my surgery team tomorrow? You know very well that my team is sacrosanct. Nobody can substitute themselves, and nobody can be given leave to be absent without my express permission.” Corcoran muttered something, “I just remembered I need to be somewhere else now.” He shrunk away and disappeared in a short minute. Karen straightened her slim shoulders and stared back at Bartholomew. “Doctor, I am aware that you prefer to have your . . . sacrosanct team . . . intact when you need to perform your open hearts, but—”
“Then tell me why Patricia isn’t in this roster?” He motioned toward the clipboard in his hand. “I don’t know, Dr. Bartholomew.” She knew he would hate her reply. And he did. “I don’t accept that reply. I want answers. If I have to have someone else, I am going to have to reschedule this. It will take a bloody lot of finagling to reschedule these things as they are too bloody important to delay. Now find Mrs. Steele, and have her do what she needs to do to be in my team at seven thirty a.m. sharp tomorrow. Is that understood?” Karen bit back a retort, and then to her horror, she realized she was about to burst into tears. She hated that and clenched her jaw. “Yes, Dr. Bartholomew. I’ll keep you posted.” “No need. I will expect her to show up tomorrow. I will be very unhappy if she doesn’t show up.” With that, he stepped away and walked off unhurriedly to his office. Karen watched his back as he went away, and then finally, she sat down in the nearest chair. She looked around and saw that nobody was there at the station. It was eerily quiet. She picked up the schedule and saw that, indeed, Steele was missing from the team roster. Karen took up the telephone and dialed a number. “Hello, Steele?” she said in an even voice. “Karen Challoner here. Listen, I somehow missed putting you on Bartholomew’s open heart tomorrow. By any chance, can you be there at seven thirty a.m. sharp?” She waited for the response. Then she lifted her eyes to heaven and uttered a silent thank-you. “Good. I will put you down. Goodbye.” Karen sat back and slumped in her chair. Corcoran came back and looked at her with pity. “How did it go?” he asked quietly. “It went. She’s able to do it. I’m ready to fall apart. Why the stupid, bloody temperamental son of a bitch—” “Careful, he’s within earshot.” “Well, I am going to be pretty frank with you, Cor. If that man weren’t so damned good at what he does, I would be the first person to give him a piece of my mind for his ridiculous ‘sacrosanct’ nonsense.” “Well, at least he’s not unhappy that Oates isn’t assisting him on it.” Corcoran lifted an ironic eyebrow.
 “Oh, potty on Mike Oates,” she said, finally snapping into some semblance of poise. “I need a drink. And I have three more hours to go here.” “Just call off and say you’ve been ‘leaded.’ The office will understand. They hate him too.” Karen looked up at him. “You think they’ll understand? I am not just one mealy-mouthed nurse that cavils when people like him throw their weight around, you know? I’m supposed to have some experience dealing with this.” “So what do you want to do now?” “I don’t know. I’m finally getting back my scattered thoughts.” Karen took the pen next to the roster and wrote Nurse Steele’s name in the list. “I am glad I don’t have to be part of his team.” “I remember he threw a scalpel at Oates one day in surgery. Oates hated him for it. It wasn’t really that he purposely threw it at Oates, but, well, he was in the way. He didn’t fancy using the scalpel—wrong type— and it just got into Oates’s way.” Corcoran chuckled. “I thought Oates was going to brain him then and there. And Lead said nothing—not even acknowledged what he did. I think Oates was fit to be tied for the rest of the surgery. Although Oates did something really interesting.” “What was that?” “When Lead wanted to have a break, Oates volunteered to monitor the patient while Lead went to change his scrubs. It had way too much blood on it. Pretty awful case, you see. Lead likes to keep himself above it all, you know.” Corcoran smiled at the memory. “Oates wasn’t the type to do that sort of thing. It’s an intern’s job to do that. But he did it, and Lead said yes. Oates looked at me with a hint of a smile and then did as he was told.” “I can’t stand Oates. He’s such a suck-up,” Karen said with an edge to her voice. “Yes, well, Lead remembers these things. I suppose Lead knew what he was doing to Oates then. Those two, well, they seem to be cut from the same cloth. Oh hell, there goes my beeper!” He silenced his beeper and stared at it. “Time to talk to Mr. Frobischer. He’s keen on leaving today. I have to sign off on his dispatch paperwork.” Corcoran ambled off, leaving Karen strangely calm."

Announcement

Mary here,

I've decided not to write anymore novels.  It's way too difficult for my psyche.  I'm prone to get too involved with the character development part of it.  I'm still going to write non-fiction and blog.

The Loveable Resident Chapter Eight

All rights reserved
(c) Copyright 2017, 2019 Mary Faderan

"CHAPTER SEVEN

Jonathan Moore, Esquire, sat in his chair, looking dissatisfied. He was dissatisfied because he did not yet receive his afternoon coffee; his secretary was engaged in finding paperwork for the informal discussion that was to commence. He looked at the document on his desk and saw the name at the very top. That name belonged to the man who sat in front of him.

Two other people were in the office. Adam Mattingly and Lauren Moore. Adam, silent and dark in demeanor, looked dispassionately at the scene before him. He glanced at Lauren and saw her looking at Mike Oates. Adam frowned.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” Moore started, leaning forward to make a note on the document. “Let’s dispense with the audio recording of our interview with Mike. I would like it, Lauren, if you can take notes. Adam, you know that this is a part of our interrogation of a client. I don’t want to belabor the point, but as such, Mike is our employer.”

Adam nodded slowly. “Yes, I understand.” He continued to regard Mike without much emotion.

Moore leaned back. “Yes, well, we want to keep it within the family as it were.” His tone sounded ironic. Lauren took her seat on the leather divan. She avoided looking at Mike who sat like the proverbial hostage in the middle of the room. “Ready.”

“Mike, you brought to Lauren’s attention your involvement in Dr. James Levy’s murder,” the elder Moore started. “Is that accurate?”

“Yes.”

“And if you can describe in your own words how you became involved in his murder, please do so now.”

Mike’s face was pale. Beads of perspiration appeared on his brow. “It started when I parked in his reserved space the morning of the twenty-eighth of January,” he began. His voice was steady. Unemotional. “I was late for rounds. I never want to be late for rounds.”

“Why is that?” Lauren asked.

“I wanted to impress Dr. Bartholomew.”

“Who is Dr. Bartholomew?” Adam asked sharply.

“He’s the chief of surgery.” Mike glanced at Adam, then at Lauren, and then went on. “I didn’t want to be late. The parking lot was full. I decided to park in Dr. Levy’s space and put a sign on my dashboard.”

Lauren wrote on her pad.

“So I thought nothing of it all day. When I left work and went to the gym, I didn’t think about it.”

Mike paused. Then when nobody spoke, he continued. “When I was done with my workout, I showered at the gym and got my bag and left to go to my car. That was when I saw Dr. Levy. Only I didn’t know it was him. Until he spoke, accusing me of parking in his space.” The words came out headlong as if Mike didn’t want to own any of it by speaking aloud, as if what he was saying would not be tagged to him, in his thoughts. “I tried to talk to him about it. Tried to persuade him to give me another chance.”

“And did he say he forgave you?” Jonathan glanced at his daughter.

“No, he actually threatened to kick me out of the program,” Mike replied. His hands were sweating, and he rubbed his palms against the material of his pants.

“And then what happened?”

“I hit him between the eyes. Then I felt my switchblade deploy in my hand, and I instinctively stabbed him with it.” He stopped. His eyes sought Lauren’s. She stared back at him unwinkingly.

Jonathan quickly asked, “What did you do, then?”

“I dragged the body to get it out of my way. Then I got into my car and left.”

“What did you do with the knife?”

“I kept it.”

Jonathan avoided looking at his daughter when he said, “I’d be glad if you gave me the knife, Mike.”

Mike put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the knife.

“Place it on the table. Thank you.” Jonathan wrote a few more notes on the document that bore Mike’s name. “I need to go into a discussion with Lauren and Adam. Mike, I commend you for coming to us for help. Needless to say, I will be your counsel, and as your counsel, I don’t want you to leave Columbus at this time. I have a few thoughts to ponder, and it will help if you stayed here. Does Lauren have your current contact information?”

“I have it, Dad,” Lauren said.

“You do your part in letting your hospital know you’re on an extended vacation,” Jonathan directed Mike.

“Yes.”

“What I can say now, Mike, is that you won’t be totally out of the woods when all is said and done. I hope you at least see that reality?”

“Yes,” Mike replied. He felt like a noose was being fitted around his neck. “I’d like to leave now. I have to talk to my mother.”

“I won’t tell her anything about this right now, Mike,” Jonathan said quickly. “It will have to be strictly between us for the time being.”

Mike stood up and shook Jonathan’s hand. Jonathan smiled at him in a reassuring way. “Don’t worry, Mike. The worst is over for you.”

“Is that really true?” Mike remarked to himself before turning toward the door.

Lauren made a movement toward Mike, but Jonathan’s words stopped her. “Lauren and Adam, let’s have a huddle, shall we?”

As Mike closed the door after him, Jonathan lifted his intercom and barked, “Laina, can I have my tea now?”

“Yes, Mr. Moore,” Laina answered.

Jonathan leaned back and lifted his arms over his head. “Damn, Lauren, what a pickle.”

“I’m afraid it’s not a great case for us.”

“What happened between you?”

Lauren’s eyes met her father’s directly. “Nothing. Well, something.” She tried not to glance at Adam who straightened up at the reply.

“Oh?” Jonathan pursed his lips. “Why don’t we discuss that later, Lauren? For now, Adam, you and I will work together and figure out how best to work on Mike’s case. Do you have any thoughts, Adam?”

“I think he needs to give himself up, Jonathan,” Adam said straightforwardly. “He’s confessed. We are the law, and as such, we have to work with the authorities.”

“Remember, Adam, that we work for Mike now. Yes, he should give himself up at a point in the future, if our efforts to find out what exactly transpired come to the same conclusion.”

“What more can we know?” Lauren asked.

“That’s where Adam comes in,” Jonathan said with a slight smile. “Adam, you have a few contacts in the East Coast that might come in handy. You could make a few inquiries?”

Adam sat back and looked at him unblinkingly. “Yes. I’ll see what I can do.”

Jonathan looked at his daughter. “As for you, Lauren, I would keep a certain distance from Mike. You used to be childhood friends. But he’s a different man now. Having said that, I think you and he can keep your friendship. Keep an eye on him. I think he’s interested in you.”

Adam’s lips were pressed together. “If that’s all, I will get to work.” He stood up abruptly.

“Yes, Adam, thanks.” Jonathan watched his straight figure head for the door. He frowned momentarily.

“Now, what happened between the two of you?”

“Mike and I—we had what you might call a night of passion.”

“When? The man is a fast worker, damn it.”

“In New York. When we went out for a . . . a date.”

“What do you feel for him now, Lauren?” His voice was deceptively gentle.

“Not sure, Dad. Confused. He’s . . . he’s hard to say no to.”

“I’m tempted to get him back here and give him a tongue-lashing.” He pressed his lips together in pent-up emotion and then tossed his pen down in front of him. “I blame his father for this. George Oates was a driven man. Made his career by stepping over bodies and gave his son that same attitude. I knew something like this might happen someday. And that day is now.”

“But you and George Oates were good friends.”

“I have to tell you this is a dangerous journey you are on, my dear. He is not to be trusted. Despite what I told you earlier, Lauren, will you promise me you won’t have any more relations with him?”

Lauren lifted her eyes to his. “I promise.”

Jonathan looked at her and read the plea in her gaze. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. “OK, if you promise to at least keep out of each other’s business for the time being, let me decide how to get him out of this pickle. I’ll be very glad.” He sighed.

The early-morning bustle in Manhattan’s Lower East Side gave Mark Henderson a good feeling as he stared out of his thirty-second–floor office window. The lights of the coffee shop eight hundred feet below flickered on, and the morning manager was outside, flushing away the previous night’s detritus with the water hose. A few steps down from that coffee shop, the vegetable-store owner, Mr. Kim Seoung, was up and ready, the fruits round and plump in the different bins outside.

Henderson looked away from the view and noticed his right-hand man entering his office. “Morning, Sal. How’s it going?”

Salvatore “Buddy” Trivero was a husky man whose physique belied three tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan. Sal, as his boss called him, looked bland on the outside but the blandness belied a steel-trap mind and cunning reflexes. He looked at Mark Henderson’s handsome Irish Italian face and spread his hands. “It’s too soon to tell, Mark.”

“I don’t know about that.” Mark moved to his desk and pulled out two documents. “I’ve been talking to my lawyer and to our unnamed contact.”

“Ah.” Sal had an expectant tone in his reply.

“The unnamed contact came up in conversation last night. He called my home.” Mark wrinkled his brow. “Sal, could you please make sure these people never have my phone number? I get really nervous when this happens.”

“Sorry, Mark. Won’t happen again,” Sal said. “But this man is golden. He’s good at his job.”

“Well, he didn’t do his job.” Mark’s eyes were like slits.

“Sorry?”

“He didn’t come up with the goods.”

“I still don’t understand.”

Mark tossed the first document at him. “Read that and tell me if that is what we agreed on.”

The document was a copy of surgeon’s notes after surgery on a woman named Mary Keene. Sal knew about this. He also knew that the patient, Mary Keene, died eighteen hours after Dr. James Levy performed extremely risky surgery on her arteriovenous malformation. “So that is what it is. Levy died. What’s to be upset about?”

“Damn it, he died, but someone else got him before our unnamed contact did.”

Sal looked interested. “Yeah? How good is that? Some other unhappy client got to Levy first?” He sounded a crow of delight.

Henderson sighed. “Yes, Sal. Someone else did. And you won’t believe who it is.”

“Who? I know Levy was a son of a bitch. Nobody cares if he died.”

His boss handed him the next document.

Sal looked through it. “This is a contract. You agreed to run a Manhattan branch of the Ohio Bank and Trust. That’s a legit company, boss.”

“Look at the signatories.”

“Your name.” Sal looked up. “And another guy’s name.”

“What’s the name?”

“George Oates.”

Sal’s intellect was being tried. He shifted his position. “Boss, I know you think I’m smart. But I’m not as smart as you are. And plus, this document has been in your possession since eleven years ago. Surely you don’t think this George Oates had anything to do with Levy’s hit?”

“No, but his son has.” Mark looked sympathetically at his assistant. “He killed Levy.”

“No kidding?” Sal crowed again.

“No kidding,” Mark said ironically. “I’m owing a lot to George Oates more than I thought I would.”

“OK. So now what? His son—what about him now? Do you need me to do something about that?”

“I’m still thinking, Sal.” Henderson sat down finally and sighed. “There’s a word out that his son was here over the weekend. He had lunch with a woman at Pellegrino’s.”

“Um hm.”

“You know, Sal, I pay you to be up on the news.”

“I’ll do my best, boss. I’ll call over and talk to Danny.”

“Do that. And send one of your best to tail Oates’s son. He might be needing a little help.”'

The Loveable Resident Chapter Seven

All rights reserved
(c) Copyright Mary Faderan

"CHAPTER SEVEN

Jonathan Moore, Esquire, sat in his chair, looking dissatisfied.  He was dissatisfied because he did not yet receive his afternoon coffee – his secretary was engaged in finding paperwork for the informal discussion that was to commence.  He looked at the document on his desk and saw the name on the very top.  That name belonged to the man who sat in front of him.  

Two other people were in the office.  Adam Mattingly and Lauren Moore.  Adam, silent and dark in demeanor, looked dispassionately at the scene before him.  He glanced at Lauren and saw her looking at Mike Oates.  Adam frowned.

"Let's begin, shall we?"  Moore started, leaning forward to make a note on the document.  "Let's dispense with the audio recording of our interview with Mike.  I would like it, Lauren, if you can take notes.  Adam, you know that this is a part of our interrogation of a client.  I don't want to belabor the point, but as such, Mike is our employer."

Adam nodded slowly.  "Yes, I understand."  He continued to regard Mike without much emotion.

Moore leaned back. "Yes, well, we want to keep it within the family, as it were."  His tone sounded ironic.  Lauren took her seat on the leather divan.  She avoided looking at Mike who sat like the proverbial hostage in the middle of the room.  "Ready."

"Mike, you brought to Lauren's attention your involvement in Dr. James Levy's murder."  The elder Moore started.  "Is that accurate?"

"Yes."

"And if you can describe in your own words how you became involved in his murder, please do so now."

Mike's face was pale.  Beads of perspiration appeared on his brow.  "It started when I parked in his reserved space the morning of the 28th of January."  He began.  His voice was steady.  Unemotional.  "I was late for rounds.  I never want to be late for rounds."

"Why is that?"  Lauren asked.

"I wanted to impress Dr. Bartholomew."

"Who is Dr. Bartholomew?"  Adam asked, asked sharply.

"He's the Chief of Surgery."  Mike glanced at Adam, then at Lauren, and then went on.  "I didn't want to be late.  The parking lot was full.  I decided to park in Dr. Levy's space and put a sign on my dashboard."

 Lauren wrote on her pad.

"So, I thought nothing of it all day.  When I left work and went to the gym, I didn't think about it."

Mike paused.  Then when nobody spoke, he continued.  "When I was done with my workout, I showered at the gym and got my bag and left to go to my car.  That was when I saw Dr. Levy.  Only I didn't know it was him.  Until he spoke, accusing me of parking in his space."  The words came out headlong, as if Mike didn't want to own any of it by speaking aloud.  As if what he was saying would not be tagged to him, in his thoughts.  "I tried to talk to him about it.  Tried to persuade him to give me another chance."

"And did he say he forgave you?"  Jonathan glanced at his daughter. 

"No, he actually threatened to kick me out of the program."  Mike replied.  His hands were sweating and he rubbed his palms against the material of his slacks.

"And then what happened?"

"I hit him between the eyes. Then I felt my switchblade in my hand and I instinctively stabbed him with it."  He stopped.  His eyes sought Lauren's.  She stared back at him unwinkingly. 

Jonathan quickly asked:  "What did you do then?"

"I dragged the body to get it out of my way.  Then I got into my car and left."

"What did you do with the knife?"

"I kept it."

Jonathan avoided looking at his daughter when he said, "I'd be glad if you gave me the knife, Mike."

Mike put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the knife.

"Place it on the table.  Thank you."  Jonathan wrote a few more notes on the document that bore Mike's name.  "I need to go into a discussion with Lauren and Adam.  Mike, I commend you for coming to us for help.  Needless to say, I will be your counsel and, as your counsel, I don't want you to leave Columbus at this time.  I have a few thoughts to ponder and it will help if you stayed here. Does Lauren have your current contact information?"

"I have it, Dad."  Lauren said.

"You do your part in letting your hospital know you're on an extended vacation."  Jonathan directed Mike.

"Yes."

 "What I can say now, Mike, is that you won't be totally out of the woods when all is said and done.  I hope you at least see that reality?"

"Yes."  Mike replied.  He felt like a noose was fitted around his neck.  "I'd like to leave now.  I have to talk to my mother."

"I won't tell her anything about this right now, Mike."  Jonathan said quickly.  "It will have to be strictly between us for the time being."

Mike stood up and shook Jonathan's hand.  Jonathan smiled at him in a reassuring way.  "Don't worry, Mike.  The worst is over for you."

"Is that really true?."  Mike remarked to himself before turning towards the door.

Lauren made a movement towards Mike but Jonathan's words stopped her.  "Lauren and Adam, let's have a huddle, shall we? "

As Mike closed the door after him, Jonathan lifted his intercom and barked, "Molly, can I have my coffee now?."

"Yes, Mr. Moore."  Mollie's voice replied.

Jonathan leaned back and lifted his arms over his head.  "Damn, Lauren, what a pickle."

"I'm afraid it's not a great case for us."

"What happened between you?"

Lauren's eyes met her father's directly.  "Nothing. Well, something."  She tried not to glance at Adam who straightened up at the reply.

"Oh?"  Jonathan pursed his lips. "Why don't we discuss that later, Lauren.  For now, Adam, you and I will work together and figure out how best to work on Mike's case.  Do you have any thoughts Adam?"

"I think he needs to give himself up, Jonathan."  Adam said straightforwardly. "He's confessed.  We are the law and as such we have to work with the authorities."

"Remember, Adam, that we work for Mike now.  Yes, he should give himself up.  At a point in the future, if our efforts to find out what exactly transpired come to the same conclusion."

"What more can we know?"  Lauren asked.

"That's where Adam comes in."  Jonathan said with a slight smile. "Adam, you have a few contacts in the East coast that might come in handy.  You could make a few inquiries?"

Adam sat back and looked at him unblinkingly.  "Yes.  I'll see what I can do."

Jonathan looked at his daughter.  "As for you, Lauren, I would keep a distance from Mike.  You used to be childhood friends.  But he's a different man now.  Having said that, I think you and he can keep your friendship - keep an eye on him.  I think he's interested in you."

Adam's lips were pressed together.  "If that's all, I will get to work."  He stood up abruptly.

"Yes, Adam, thanks."  Jonathan watched his straight figure head for the door.  He frowned momentarily.

"Now, what happened between the two of you?"

"Mike and I – we had what you might call a night of passion."

"When? The man is a fast worker, damn it."

"In New York.  When we went out for a – a date."

"What do you feel for him now, Lauren?"  His voice was deceptively gentle.

"Not sure, Dad.  Confused. He's – he's hard to say no to."

"I'm tempted to get him back here and give him a tongue lashing."  He pressed his lips together in pent up emotion and then tossed his pen down in front of him. "I blame his father for this.  George Oates was a driven man.  Made his career by stepping over bodies and gave his son that same attitude.  I knew something like this might happen."

"But you and George Oates were good friends."

"I have to tell you this is a dangerous journey you are on, my dear.  He is not to be trusted.  Despite what I told you earlier, Lauren, will you promise me you won't have any more relations with him?"

Lauren lifted her eyes to his.  "I promise."

Jonathan looked at her and read the plea in her gaze.  For a moment he couldn't speak.  "Ok, if you promise to at least keep out of each other's business for the time being, let me decide how to get him out of this pickle, I'll be very glad."  He sighed. 

The early morning bustle in Manhattan's Lower East Side gave Mark Henderson a good feeling as he stared out of his 32nd floor office window.  The lights of the coffee shop 800 feet below flickered on, the morning manager was outside, flushing away the previous night's detritus with the water hose.  A few steps down from that coffee shop the vegetable store owner by Mr. Kim Seoung was up and ready, the fruits round and plump in the different bins outside.

Henderson looked away from the view and noticed his right hand man entering his office.  "Morning, Sal.  How's it going?"

Salvatore "Buddy" Trivero was a husky man whose physique belied three tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Sal, as his boss called him, looked bland on the outside but the blandness belied a steel trap mind and cunning reflexes.  He looked at Mark Henderson's handsome Irish-Italian face and spread his hands.  "It's too soon to tell, Mark."

"I don't know about that."  Mark moved to his desk and pulled out two documents.  "I've been talking to my lawyer and to our unnamed contact."

"Ah."  Sal had an expectant tone in his reply.

"The unnamed contact came up in conversation last night.  He called my home."  Mark wrinkled his brow.  "Sal, could you please make sure these people never have my phone number?  I get really nervous when this happens."

"Sorry Mark.  Won't happen again."  Sal said.  "But this man is golden.  He's good at his job."

"Well, he didn't do his job."  Mark's eyes were like slits.

"Sorry?"

"He didn't come up with the goods."

"I still don't understand."

Mark tossed the first document at him.  "Read that and tell me if that is what we agreed on."

The document was a copy of surgeon's notes after surgery on a woman named Mary Keene.  Sal knew about this.  He also knew that the patient, Mary Keene died 18 hours after Dr. James Levy performed extremely risky surgery on her arteriovenous malformation.  "So, that is what it is.  Levy died. What's to be upset about?"

"Damn it, he died but someone else got him before our unnamed contact did."

Sal looked interested.  "Yeah?  How good is that?  Some other unhappy client got to Levy first?"  He sounded a crow of delight.

Henderson sighed.  "Yes, Sal.  Someone else did.  And you won't believe who it is."

"Who?  I know Levy was a sonofabitch.  Nobody cares if he died."

His boss handed him the next document. 

Sal looked through it.  "This is a contract.  You are to run a Manhattan branch of the Ohio Bank and Trust.  That's a legit company, boss."

"Look at the signatories."

"Your name."  Sal looked up. "And another guy's name."

"What's the name?"

"George Oates."

Sal's intellect was being tried.  He shifted his position.  "Boss, I know you think I'm smart.  But I'm not as smart as you are.  And plus, this document has been in your possession since 11 years ago.  Surely you don't think this George Oates had anything to do with Levy's hit?"

"No, but his son has."  Mark looked sympathetically at his assistant.  "He killed Levy."

"No kidding?"  Sal crowed again.

"No kidding."  Mark said ironically. "I'm owing a lot to George Oates, more than I thought I would."

"Ok.  So now what?  His son, what about him now.  Do you need me to do something about that?"

"I'm still thinking, Sal."  Henderson sat down finally and sighed.  "There's a word out that his son was here over the weekend.  He had lunch with a woman at Pellegrinos."

"Um hm."

"You know, Sal, I pay you to be up on the news."

"I'll do my best, boss.  I'll call over and talk to Danny."

"Do that.  And send one of your best to tail Oates' son.  He might be needing a little help."'