Robin Cook 1982 - Harmful Intent Page 8

  Completely out of character, Jeffrey snatched up a piece of Carol's crystal bric-a-brac from a side table and in a moment of sheer frustration threw it with deadly accuracy at the glassfronted sideboard that he could see through- the arch leading to the dining room. There was a resounding shatter of glass that made him wince.

  '~Uh-ohl" Jeffrey said as he realized what he'd done. He got up and went for the dustpan and broom. By the time he'd picked up the mess, he'd come to a momentous conclusion: he wasn't going to prisonl No way. Screw the appeal process. He had as much confidence in the legal system as he did in fairy tales.

  The decision was made with a suddenness and resolve that left Jeffrey feeling exhilarated. He checked his watch. The bank would be open soon.

  Excitedly he went to his room and found his passport. He was lucky the court hadn't made him surrender it at the same time they'd increased his bail. Then he called Pan Am. He learned that he could shuttle to New York, bus to Kennedy, and then fly on to Rio. Considering all the carriers serving the market, he had a wide range of flights from which to choose, including one that left at 11:45 P.m. and made a few stops in exotic locations.

  With his pulse racing in anticipation, Jeffrey called the bank and got

  Dudley on the line. He did his best to sound controlled. He asked about the progress on the loan.

  "No problem," Dudley said proudly. "Pulling a few strings, I got it approved like that." Jeffrey could hear the man snap his fingers for his benefit. "When will you be coming in?" Dudley continued. "I'd like to be sure I'm here."

  "I'll be in shortly," Jeffrey said, planning his schedule. Timing would be key. "I have one other request. I'd like to have the money in cash."

  "You're joking," Dudley said.

  "I'm serious," Jeffrey insisted.

  "It's a bit irregular," Dudley said hesitantly.

  Jeffrey hadn't given this issue much thought, and he could sense Dudley's hesitance. He realized he'd have to explain if he hoped to get the money, and he definitely needed the money. He couldn't leave for South America with only pocket change.

  "Dudley," Jeffrey began, "I'm in some unfortunate trouble."

  "I don't like the sound of this," Dudley said.

  "It's not what you're thinking. It's not gambling or anything like that.

  The fact is, I have to pay it to a bail bondsman. Haven't you read about my troubles in the papers?"

  "No, I haven't," Dudley said, warming up again.

  "I got sued for malpractice and then indicted over a tragic anesthesia case. I won't burden you with the details at the moment. The problem is, I need the $45,000 to pay a bail bondsman who posted my bail. He said he wanted it in cash."

  "I'm sure a cashier's check would be acceptable."

  "Listen, Dudley," Jeffrey said. "The man told me cash. I promised him cash.

  What can I say? Do me this one favor. Don't make it any harder on me than it already is."

  There was a pause. Jeffrey thought he heard Dudley sigh.

  "Are hundred-dollar bills okay?"

  "Fine," Jeffrey said. "Hundreds would be perfect." He was wondering how much space four hundred and fifty hundreddollar bills would take.

  "I'll have it ready," Dudley said. "I just hope you're not planning on carrying this around for any length of time."

  "Just into Boston," Jeffrey said.

  Jeffrey hung up the phone. He hoped that Dudley wouldn't call the police or try to check his story. Not that anything wouldn't have jibed. Jeffrey felt the fewer people thinking about him and asking questions, the better, at least until he was on the plane out of New York.

  Sitting down with a writing tablet, Jeffrey started a note to Carol, telling her he was taking the $45,000 but that she could have everything else. But the letter sounded awkward. Besides, as he wrote he realized he didn't want to leave any evidence of his intentions in case he was delayed for some reason. He crumpled the paper, set a match to it, and tossed it in the fireplace. Instead of writing, he decided to call Carol from some foreign location and talk to her directly. It would be more personal than a letter. It would be safer, too.

  The next issue was what he should take with him. He didn't want to be burdened with a lot of luggage. He settled on a small suitcase, which he loaded with basic casual clothes. He didn't imagine South America would be very formal. By the time he had packed everything he wanted, he had to sit on the suitcase to get it closed. Then he put some things in his briefcase, including his toiletries and clean underwear.

  He was about to leave his closet when he eyed his doctor's bag. He hesitated for a moment, wondering what he would do

  if something went horribly wrong. To be on the safe side, he opened the doctor's bag and took out an IV setup, a few syringes, a quarter liter of IV fluid, and a vial each of succiny1choline and morphine and packed them in his briefcase beneath the underwear. He didn't like to think he was still entertaining thoughts of suicide, so he told himself that the drugs were like an insurance policy. He hoped he wouldn't need them, but they were there just in case...

  Jeffrey felt strange and a little sad glancing around the house for what was probably the last time, knowing he might never lay eyes on it again.

  But walking from room to room, he was surprised not to be more upset. There was so much to remind him of past events, both good and bad. But more than anything else, Jeffrey realized that he associated the place with his failed marriage. And just like his malpractice case, he'd be better off leaving it behind. He felt energized for the first time in months. It felt like the first day of a new life.

  With the suitcase in the trunk and his briefcase on the passenger seat beside him, Jeffrey drove out of the garage, beeped the door shut, and was on his way. He didn't look back. The first stop was the bank, and as he got closer, he began to get anxious. His new life was starting out in a unique fashion: he was deliberately planning to break the law by defying the court. He wondered if he would get away with it.

  By the time he pulled into the bank's parking lot, he was very nervous. His mouth had gone dry. What if Dudley had called the police about his requesting the bail money in cash? It wouldn't take the intelligence of a rocket scientist to figure that Jeffrey might be planning on doing something else with the money rather than turn it over to the bail bondsman.

  After sitting in his parked car for a moment to summon his courage, Jeffrey grabbed his briefcase and forced himself into the bank. In some respects he felt like a bank robber, even though the money he was seeking technically belonged to him. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he went to the service desk and asked for Dudley.

  Dudley came to meet him with smiles and small talk. He led Jeffrey back to his office and motioned to a chair. To judge by his demeanor, he didn't hold Jeffrey suspect. But Jeffrey's anxiety stayed razor sharp. He was trembling.

  "Some coffee or a soft drink?" Dudley offered. Jeffrey decided he'd be better off without caffeine. He told Dudley some juice would be fine. He thought it best to give his hands something

  to do. Dudley smiled and said, "Sure thing." The man was being so cordial,

  Jeffrey was afraid it was a trap.

  "I'll be right back with the cash," Dudley said after handing Jeffrey a glass of orange juice. He returned in a few minutes carrying a soiled canvas money bag. He dumped the contents onto his desk. There were nine packets of hundred-dollar bills, each containing fifty bills. Jeffrey had never seen so much money in one place. He felt increasingly uneasy.

  "It took us a little doing to get this together so quickly," Dudley told him.

  "I appreciate your effort," Jeffrey said.

  "I suppose you'll want to count it," Dudley said, but Jeffrey declined.

  Dudley had Jeffrey sign a receipt for the cash. "Are you sure you don't want a cashier's check?" Dudley asked as he took the signed paper from

  Jeffrey. "It's not safe carrying this kind of cash around. You could call your bail bondsman and have him pick it up here. And you know, a cashier's check i
s as good as cash. He could then go into one of our Boston offices and get cash if that's what he's after. It would make it safer for you."

  "He said cash, so I'm giving him cash," Jeffrey said. He was actually touched by Dudley's concern. "His office isn't far," he explained.

  "And you're sure you don't want to count it?"

  Jeffrey's tension was beginning to evoke irritation, but he forced a smile.

  "No time. I was supposed to have this money in town before noon. I'm already late. Besides, I've been doing business long enougk with you." He packed the money into his briefcase and stood up.

  "If I'd known you weren't going to count it, I would have taken a few bills from each packet." Dudley laughed.

  Jeffrey hurried out to the car, tossed in the briefcase, and drove out of the parking lot with extra care. All he needed was a speeding ticket! He checked the rearview mirror to make sure he wasn't being followed. So far so good.

  Jeffrey drove directly to the airport and parked on the roof of the central parking building. He left the parking stub in the car's ashtray. When he called Carol from wherever, he'd tell her to pick the car up.

  With the briefcase in one hand and the suitcase in the other, Jeffrey walked to the Pan Am ticket counter. He tried to behave like any businessman going off on a trip, but his nerves were shot; his stomach was in agony. If anyone recognized him,

  they'd know he was jumping bail. He'd been specifically told not to leave the state of Massachusetts.

  Jeffrey's anxiety went up a notch every minute he waited in the ticket line. When his turn finally came, he bought a ticket for the New York to

  Rio flight as well as one for the 1:30 P.m. shuttle. The agent tried to convince him it would be far easier to take one of their late afternoon flights directly to Kennedy. That way Jeffrey wouldn't have to take the bus from LaGuardia to Kennedy. But Jeffrey wanted to go on the shuttle. He felt the sooner he got out of Boston, the better he would feel.

  Leaving the ticket area, Jeffrey approached security's X-ray machine. There was a uniformed state police officer casually lounging just beyond it. It was all Jeffrey could do not to turn around and run.

  Right after he hoisted his briefcase and then the suitcase onto the conveyer belt and watched them disappear into the machine, Jeffrey had a sudden fright. What about the syringes and the ampule of morphine? What if they showed up on the X-ray, and he had to open the briefcase? Then they'd discover the stacks of moneyl What would they think of all that cash?

  Jeffrey thought about trying to reach into the X-ray machine to yank his briefcase back, but it was too late. He glanced at the woman studying the screen. Her face was illuminated eerily by the light, but her eyes were glazed with boredom. Jeffrey felt himself being subtly urged on by the people waiting behind. He stepped through the metal detector, eyes on the policeman the whole time. The policeman caught his eye and smiled; Jeffrey managed a crooked smile in return. Jeffrey looked back at the woman studying the screen. Her blank face looked suddenly puzzled by something.

  She had stopped the conveyor belt and was motioning for another woman to look at the screen.

  Jeffrey's heart sank. The two were examining the contents of his briefcase as it appeared on the screen. The policeman hadn't noticed yet. Jeffrey caught him yawning.

  Then the conveyor belt started again. The briefcase came out, but the second of the two women stepped over and put her hand on it.

  "Is this yours?" she asked Jeffrey-

  Jeffrey hesitated, but there was no denying it was his. His passport was in it.

  :'Yes," he said weakly.

  'Do you have a Dopp Kit in there with a small pair of scissors?"

  Jeffrey nodded.

  "Okay," she said, giving the briefcase a push toward him.

  Stunned but relieved, Jeffrey quickly took his belongings to a far comer of the waiting area and sat down. He picked up a discarded newspaper and hid behind it. If he hadn't felt like a criminal when the jury handed down its verdict, he felt like one now.

  As soon as his flight was called, Jeffrey pressed to get on. He couldn't wait to get on the plane. Once he was on, he couldn't wait to take his seat.

  Jeffrey was in an aisle seat fairly close to the front of the plane. With his suitcase secured in the overhead compartment and his briefcase tucked under his feet, Jeffrey leaned back and closed his eyes. His heart was still racing but at least he could now try to relax. He had just about made it.

  But it was difficult to calm down. Sitting there in that plane, the seriousness and irreversibility of what he was about to do finally began to sink in. So far, he hadn't broken any law. But as soon as the plane crossed from Massachusetts into another state, he would have. And there would be no turning back.

  Jeffrey checked his watch. He began to perspire. It was one twenty-seven.

  Only three minutes to go before the door would be sealed. Then takeoff. Was he doing the right thing? For the first time since he'd come to this decision that morning, Jeffrey felt real doubt. The experience of a lifetime argued against it. He'd always followed the law and respected authority.

  Jeffrey began to shake all over. He'd never experienced such agonizing indecision and confusion. He looked at his watch again. It was twenty-nine after the hour. The cabin attendants were busy slamming all the overhead compartments, and the crashing noise threatened to drive him mad. The door to the cockpit was closed with a resounding click. A gate agent came onto the plane and gave a final manifest. All the passengers were in their seats. In a way he was ending the life he had always known, as surely as if he'd released the stopcock the night before.

  He wondered how running away would affect his appeal. Wouldn't it make him appear the guiltier? And if be was ever brought to justice, would he have to serve extra time for fleeing? Just what did he plan to do in South

  America? He didn't even speak Spanish or Portuguese. In a flash, the full horror of his action hit home. He just couldn't go through with it.

  "Waitf" Jeffrey shouted as he heard the sounds of the plane's

  door closing. All eyes turned on him. "Wait! I have to get off!" He undid the seat belt, then tried to pull his briefcase from under the seat. It opened and some of the contents, including a stack of hundred-dollar bills, fell out. Hastily, he jammed the things back inside, then got his suitcase from the overhead compartment. No one spoke. Everyone was watching Jeffrey's panic with stunned curiosity.

  Jeffrey rushed forward and confronted the cabin attendant. "I have to get off!" he repeated. Perspiration was running down his forehead, blurring his vision. He looked crazed. "I'm a doctor," he added, as if to explain. "It's an emergency."

  "Okay, okay," the cabin attendant said calmly. She pounded on the door, then made a gesture through the window at the gate agent who was still standing on the jetway on the other side. The door was opened, too slowly for Jeffrey's taste.

  As soon as the passage was clear, Jeffrey rushed from the plane. Luckily, no one confronted him to ask for his reasons for deplaning. He ran up the jetway. The door to the terminal was closed, but it was unlocked. He started across the boarding area, but he didn't get far. The gate agent called him over to the boarding podium.

  "Your name, please?" he asked with no expression.

  Jeffrey hesitated. He hated to say. He didn't want to have to explain himself to the authorities.

  "I can't give you your ticket back unless you give me your name," the agent said, slightly irritated.

  Jeffrey relented, and the gate agent returned his ticket. Pushing it hastily into his pocket, he then walked past the security check and went into the men's room. He had to calm down. He was a nervous wreck. He put down his hand luggage and leaned on the edge of the sink. He hated himself for vacillating, first with suicide, now with fleeing. In both cases

  Jeffrey still felt he made the right choice, but now what were his options?

  He felt depression threaten to return but he fought against it.

  At least Chris Everson had had
the fortitude to follow through with his decision, albeit a misguided one. Jeffrey cursed himself again for not having been a better friend. If only he knew then what he knew now, he might have been able to save the man. Only now did Jeffrey have an appreciation of what Chris had been going through. Jeffrey hated himself for not having called the man, and for compounding the oversight by failing to call his young widow, Kelly.

  Jeffrey splashed his face with cold water. When he'd regained

  some semblance of composure, he picked up his belongings and emerged from the rest room. Despite the bustle of the airport, he felt horribly alone and isolated. The thought of going home to an empty house was oppressive. But he didn't know where else to go. Directionless, he headed for the parking garage.

  Reaching his car, Jeffrey put the suitcase in the trunk and the briefcase on the passcngcr-sidc seat. He got in behind the wheel and sat, blankly staring ahead, waiting for inspiration.