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."'