All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright Mary Faderan and Colin Firth 2017
Ten o’clock the next day found Mike Oates with
Jonathan Moore. They sat in the interview room at the police
department. Mike looked as though he had not slept well and
had a stubble of a beard on his jaw. His hair was tousled, and
his face was grim. “I want to see Lauren, please. May I see
Lauren?”
“No, not yet, Mike. This case isn’t hers now. I am
happy to say she is well, and nothing about last night’s fracas
with Missy Wright has injured her peace of mind. She is glad
you are safe, however—that, I can tell you.”
“I suppose she’s not here any longer? Is she back in
Columbus?”
“She is on her way there, yes.” Moore’s face was
nonchalant.
“Fine. Tell her that I still love her and want to be with
her when all this is said and done.” He pulled out a folded
piece of paper and set it on the table. “I’d like to have this
given to her if you would.”
“Mike, we have more important things to discuss.”
“Please, Jonathan.”
“Fine.” But Jonathan made no attempt to take the
paper.
Mike looked angry and sat back with his arms crossed.
“OK, what’s next, Jonathan? I’m going to jail. I will cooperate.
I’ve already talked to the detectives. They understand how it
all went down. When do I see the judge? I want this over and
done with.”
“Not so fast.”
“What does that mean?”
Moore sighed. “I’ve got to tell you something about
your parents and I.”
“Well, go on.”
“I’ve always had the highest regard for you mother,
Olivia. She and I spoke earlier, and she’s very, very concerned
about your well-being. When we were much younger, your
mother and I were about to marry, and then she decided on
marrying your father instead.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. I’ve sworn to help Olivia through all the ups and
downs of marrying George Oates.”
“That is pretty noble of you, Jonathan.” Mike’s eyes
were soft. “I’m sorry that she chose my father.”
“Well, he was more of a swashbuckler than I ever will
be.”
“Damn. So now you have me to deal with—a chip off
the old block.”
“I am very fond of your mom. I still hope she will be
well after this whole affair has been put to bed.”
“What else is there to do, Jonathan? I’m set for jail.
How long a term do I face?”
“I’ve got to talk to a few people. I’m thinking that jail
may not be required in this case.”
Mike’s face looked guarded. “Oh?”
“OK, look. I have yet to do my job, and that is to get
you as light a prison term or no prison term at all. We have a
few thoughts about that at my office. I’ll say this, though.
Don’t feel bad now. The worst may be over. You will need to
rest, and after bail has been set, you can go back to your place
and get cleaned up. Your mother is on her way here, and she
will be with you for the hearing.”
“When will that be?”
“We have a few days. I’ll let you know.”
“Great.” Mike paused. “I’m not looking forward to
seeing Mom.”
“She loves you and knows that you need her.”
Mike stared at him. “Will you give this letter to Lauren
for me or not?”
Jonathan returned his stare and then relented. He took
the letter and put it in his pocket. “Let’s say we meet
sometime before the end of this week, then.” He stood up and
waited until the guard escorted Mike away from the interview
room.
The offices of Justice Eamus Harald were in the nearby
city of Hartford, where Mike Oates would have been tried. On
the Friday after Mike’s arrest, at just after 10:30 a.m., a black
Mercedes SUV swung into view and slid to a stop at the front
of the building where Justice Harald held his court. The driver
got out and quickly opened the back- and front-passenger
doors. The first to alight was Jonathan Moore, clad in his
camel-hair coat, his well-kept demeanor as collected as ever.
The second to get down from the SUV was Inspector
Ingraham, looking beleaguered but determined. The third to
finally leave the vehicle was Dr. Leo Bartholomew. His
manner was grim and also determined, and it was also greatly
apparent that he was suffering from emotional distress.
“You OK, Leo?” Ingraham asked as they filed into the
building.
“No, not at all. My daughter’s decided to elope.”
“Oh my. Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s OK. My wife is adamant there will be a church
wedding.” Leo quickly moved away as if to forget the
recollection of his wife’s face when she told him.
The judge in the case of Mike Oates was expecting
them all. He was a well-dressed man, in his fifties, with silver
hair cut very short. He had a fairly athletic physique but
tended to have a middle that expanded when he sat down. He
glanced down at his attire as if to check that nothing was out
of order. He sat down at his desk and expectantly watched the
door.
His secretary opened the door and smiled tentatively at
him. “Judge Harald, I present Inspector Matthew Ingraham,
Dr. Leo Bartholomew, and Mr. Jonathan Moore.” The men
came in and the judge rose to greet them individually. Once
the introductions were made, Judge Harald’s secretary
disappeared out of the room.
“Have a seat, please, gentlemen,” Harald said with a
formal tone. “I’m sure you had a good trip?”
“Very nice, sir,” Inspector Ingraham said. “Thank you
for taking time out of your day to see us at such short notice.”
“Not at all. I’ve had a few chats on the phone with one
of you,” Harald said, ignoring Jonathan Moore.
“Oh, really?”
“Well, I’ve been apprised of this case. The case of
Michael Oates, MD? Who will be his representative? Is that
you, Mr. Moore?”
“Yes, Judge,” Jonathan said respectfully. “He’s my
client. And we wish to request that his prison sentence be
commuted.”
“On what grounds?” spat Harald. His stare was
frightening.
Jonathan kept his demeanor as calmly as possible when
he said in reply, “Mike Oates fully admits to having stabbed
Dr. James Levy. He said he was caught in a terrible train of
thought. He was full of ambition, and he had no idea that Dr.
Levy was still alive when he left the scene of the crime.”
“Go on.”
“The man who discovered Levy’s body was actually
the murderer of Levy. He knew that Levy was still alive, and
he stabbed him in the heart and watched him die. That man
was ordered by Ross Henderson as a hit man to murder
Levy.”
Harald sat back and frowned. “I’ve read the report,
Moore. Why do you want this man’s prison time commuted?”
“If I may, Judge, it is because we here together have
come to request and plead the court that Oates be given a
different kind of sentence. He is a brilliant surgeon. He is
otherwise a good man, and he is truly remorseful. He wants to
serve his time doing good as a doctor. Perhaps Dr.
Bartholomew might expand on this?” Jonathan looked at Leo.
“Yes, well,” Bartholomew started, “I’ve known Oates
for about two or three years, and I’ve always found his work
impeccable. He has a talent—a gift—as a surgeon. While he
may not wish to be a surgeon for the rest of his life, he does
wish to be a doctor in a capacity that will be best for his
personality.”
“What personality is that?” Harald asked.
“He is someone who has a kind heart, and his patients
all love him. But he is easily tempted by the victories of
surgery, and that is where his flaw lies. He wants to be a
doctor somewhere where he can be of help. Something like
that organization that serves the underprivileged in
Appalachia.”
“Oh,” Harald said with some interest, “I see.
Something that will work to serve his time whatever it is and
that will also help others with his profession?”
“That is so.”
“What about the fact that his license might actually be
in peril? Will anyone of you address this?”
Ingraham coughed before speaking. “I’m sure that we
at the police department can find something to . . . uh . . . work
on that.”
“That so?” Harald asked speculatively.
“He does appear to be most remorseful. He told me
that he didn’t realize what he had done until he did it. I think
he’s worth a second chance.”
Leo glanced at the others with him. “I’d like to add that
if Mike were ever wanting to return to surgery, he would be
welcome to.”
There was a profound silence in the room. Jonathan
Moore’s eyes never left Harald’s. The judge stood up and
paced the room. “I think that you present a convincing case,
gentlemen,” the judge said coolly. “I’d like to think about it
for a few days. Over the weekend, at least.”
The others sat unblinkingly and then realized that they
were being dismissed. Jonathan got up first, and then the rest
followed. “Thank you, Judge Harald,” Jonathan said with a
smile.
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