Fatal Trauma Read online

  Mark decided it would be best not to get into the Gwen Woodruff thing—at least, not yet. “Oh, I’m going to see a friend from high school.”

  ***

  Gwen Woodruff’s office was located on the ground floor of an unpretentious red brick building in downtown Drayton. The building was within easy walking distance of the courthouse, which Mark figured must be convenient for a lawyer. Inside, he consulted the building directory and easily found her office. The door on one side of hers was half-glass on which black letters spelled out the name of a CPA. On the other side were the two elevators that served the four-story building.

  When he opened Gwen’s door, Mark expected to be greeted by a secretary sitting behind a magnificent mahogany desk, guarding a huge waiting room filled with men in thousand dollar suits, holding briefcases in their laps as they awaited their appointments. Instead, the desk, which was small and looked to be an Office Depot special, was unoccupied. A half-dozen upholstered chairs scattered around the walls were empty at the moment. A single door at the back of the room stood open, and through it he could see Gwen, bent over her desk typing on a computer keyboard.

  In high school, he thought he was in love with Gwen Woodruff. Then again, every boy in their class had some of those feelings. She had long auburn hair, gray eyes that sparkled with a hint of mischief behind wire-rimmed glasses, a body that made anything she wore look like a million dollars.

  He figured that the years of college and law school would have taken their toll. Instead, Mark saw that time had not only been kind to Gwen, if anything it had enhanced her beauty. The glasses were gone, either replaced by contact lenses or made unnecessary by Lasik surgery. The auburn hair was shorter, but styled flawlessly. She wore a simple green suit, and judging by what he could see above the desk, either good genes or diet and exercise appeared to be keeping her figure trim.

  Suddenly, Mark was acutely aware that he was a few days overdue for a haircut. He wore a blue blazer, an open-neck sports shirt, khakis, and scuffed loafers, all of which seemed much too informal for the occasion. He ran his hand over his chin and decided that at least his shave from that morning was holding up.

  He tapped on the frame of the open door. “Gwen?”

  She looked up and brief puzzlement gave way to genuine pleasure. “Mark, is that you?” She hurried out from behind her desk and embraced him. “It’s so good to see you again.”

  At least she hadn’t thrown something at him. That was promising. Mark approached the desk and took the chair to which she gestured.

  Gwen apologized that her secretary was out sick, and offered coffee, water, or a soft drink, all of which Mark declined with thanks. He figured they’d spend some time catching up, and he dreaded the question to which he had no good answer. Instead he was spared, as Gwen leaned back, pulled out a fresh legal pad, and said, “You told me on the phone you might need a criminal defense attorney. I’ll warn you again that I don’t do much of that—truthfully, I avoid it whenever possible. But if you’re determined to have me represent you, I need to know what’s going on.”

  Mark sketched the details of his situation, beginning with the night that Ignacio Garcia brought his brother, Hector, into the emergency room of Memorial Hospital. He told her about the threatened lawsuits from the Garcia family and Ed Purvis’s survivors. He described the shooting death of Buddy Cane and the attempt on Anna King’s life. “And I’m here because Detective Jackson essentially told me I was their number one suspect in that shooting.”

  Gwen tapped the pencil on the desk. “I suspect that was designed to scare you. Sometimes a guilty person can be goaded into making a mistake when they feel the pressure is on them.” She looked up at the corner of the room with an unfocused gaze. The moment seemed to last forever. Finally, she looked Mark in the eye. “Do you really want me to represent you? If you’re not sure, I can give you the names of two other lawyers here in Drayton with a lot more experience in criminal defense.”

  Mark didn’t hesitate. “I told you—I don’t know them. I know you. I trust you. I’m innocent, so how hard could it be to protect my rights?”

  “Harder than you think,” Gwen said. “You read every day about people who are sent to jail, even executed, only to have it shown later they were innocent. This could possibly end with a murder charge, a capital offense. This is literally life or death, Mark. Think before you give me your answer.”

  Mark wondered if he was making the biggest mistake of his life. He’d chosen Gwen to defend him because he knew and trusted her, but was there some hope deep in his mind of rekindling their romance from years ago? He formed a prayer for guidance in his mind. No disembodied voice replied. He looked around but didn’t see the answer written in fiery letters on the wall. Finally, with a bit more certainty than he felt, he said, “Yes. I want you to represent me.”

  ***

  Kelly had been on duty for a couple of hours when it happened. Up to that point, she’d managed to forget her own dangerous situation and lose herself in ministering to others with more acute (although in most cases less deadly) problems. Then she saw the EMTs wheel in a stretcher bearing a toddler. The little boy’s head was immobilized with a long loop of tape that ran to both sides of the stretcher. The EMT at the front was bent over, whispering words of comfort, doing his best to keep the child calm. Behind the stretcher came a man with his arm draped over the shoulder of a crying woman. Both looked familiar to Kelly, although she couldn’t place them.

  “What do we have?” she asked the lead EMT.

  “Climbed up on a coffee table at home and fell, hitting his head. Either dazed or unconscious for less than a minute, as best we can tell. When we got there he was crying and moving all extremities. Vital signs were okay. Parents—” He nodded to the man and woman who hovered at the foot of the stretcher. “Parents initially apologized for calling us unnecessarily. They wanted to ignore the problem. When we told them about the possible consequences, maybe a head injury or broken neck, they agreed to come here.”

  By this time they were in a cubicle, and the ER doctor was moving the curtain aside to enter. It was Eric McCray, and Kelly gave silent thanks. Eric was experienced, but more than that, he exuded an aura of calm, even in the most difficult situation.

  He looked at the record of the child’s vital signs, shone a penlight into the little boy’s eyes, tested his reflexes, all the while speaking to the toddler in a calm voice. The child’s crying had subsided to a whimper, and he’d managed to get his thumb up to his mouth so he could suck it.

  “We’re going to do some X-rays of his head and neck,” Eric said. “This may be a simple concussion, but we don’t want to miss a fractured spine or an early collection of blood pressing on the brain,” Eric indicated Kelly. “The nurse will take him to the radiology department and stay with him there. You can go along if you wish.”

  The mother was still sobbing. The man spoke up. “I’d better stay here and try to calm my wife.”

  The lead EMT turned to Kelly. “I’ll go with you. If the lateral X-ray shows no C-spine problems, we’ll transfer the little guy to a hospital gurney. While I’m gone, my partner can clean up the back of our vehicle and get ready for the next run.”

  Kelly nodded and moved to the head of the stretcher, where she began to speak soothingly to the child. He was whimpering only occasionally now, still had his thumb firmly in his mouth, and seemed about to go to sleep. “What’s his name?” she asked the parents.

  The father spoke. “We call him Junior, but his real name is Addison. Addison Ames, Jr.”

  ***

  Gwen Woodruff pushed the legal pad away from her and leaned back in her chair. Mark had given her a detailed account of everything, starting with the gunman in the ER and ending with Anna lying in the hospital near death. She couldn’t believe the police would proceed with such a flimsy case, but if they did, she’d be ready.

  She and Mark had hammered out most of the details of her representation. He now had her cell number prog
rammed into his own phone. They’d established a fee, and to give him credit, he didn’t flinch when she named the figure. Apparently, he’d been expecting to pay, which was a refreshing change from distant acquaintances who somehow seemed to expect a “friends and family discount” for her services.

  “So what do I do now?” Mark asked.

  “You let me do what you retained me to do. I’ll find out what the detectives have, how serious they are about making you a suspect. In the meantime, you go on about your business.”

  “And if they arrest me?”

  She leaned forward to face him across the desk. “You punch in my number on your cell phone. Even if they make you hang up, I’ll see the missed call and know what it’s about. You go with them, don’t fight or balk. You can say you understand the Miranda warning, but after that your only response is ‘I want my attorney.’”

  “If they take me to jail—”

  “If you’re arrested, you’ll be taken to jail. You may be questioned, you may be booked, but whatever they do, just clam up until I get there.” She shoved the legal pad away. “In the meantime, try not to worry.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Mark muttered.

  “Yes, the same way it’s easy for a surgeon to tell someone not to worry about a procedure. The surgeon knows what he’s doing, and the patient has to trust him. Now you have to put your trust in me.” She paused, considering her words, then plunged on. “That is why came to me, isn’t it?”

  Now that he was face-to-face with her, should she ask him why, although they’d been in the same town for over two years, he’d never called, never made an effort to see her? She knew this wasn’t the setting for such a conversation. But now that he was here, it was definitely a conversation she intended to have.

  “Do you have plans for this evening?” she asked. “Maybe we could go out for dinner. Not as lawyer and client, but as two friends who haven’t seen each other in years.” When he was silent, she added, “I’m inviting you, so it would be on me. Or we could split the check if it would make you less uncomfortable.”

  Mark frowned, and she could see him pondering the decision.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Gwen said. “Maybe it would open old wounds. But I’d like to find out what happened between us. I know we went to different colleges, but sometimes long-distance relationships work out. I’d like to know why ours didn’t. Actually, it seemed that you were glad of the excuse to break off all contact with me. I guess I want to know why.”

  Mark spoke while looking somewhere above her head, apparently afraid or ashamed to meet her gaze. “I like you a lot, Gwen. Maybe I even loved you. But when I got to college, so many things came at me at all at once—I guess I couldn’t handle them all. I sort of pushed some things aside, and our relationship was one of them.”

  Gwen looked him in the eye. “Mark, I think there are some unresolved issues between us. I’ll say it again. Let’s have dinner together tonight—not as former high school sweethearts, looking to get back together again, but as two friends who want to reconnect. We’ll talk—see if we can clear the air. That’s all. What do you say?”

  ***

  Kelly stood behind the Ames family as Dr. McCray talked with them. So far, Ames had made no mention of their meeting on Saturday night after the gunman terrorized the ER. Perhaps he’d forgotten her. After all, Mark was the focus of the drama that played out that night. Maybe Ames hadn’t considered her important enough to remember.

  “The CT scan of Junior’s head and his neck X-rays were negative,” McCray said. “My exam doesn’t indicate any active problem, but it takes the brain a couple of weeks to fully heal after a concussion, so Kelly will give you a list of things to watch for—incoordination, headaches, vomiting, things like that.”

  “But we can take him home?” Ames said, one arm tightly gripping his wife’s shoulder.

  “Yes,” McCray said, “but be sure to check with your pediatrician tomorrow. We’ll send him a copy of this record, but he may not see it immediately.”

  After the doctor left, Kelly went over the checklist with the Ames family. The father seemed to focus on the instructions, while the mother’s attention was on Junior, whom she cradled in her arms as he slept.

  “Do you have any questions?” Kelly asked, handing the instruction sheet to Ames.

  “No, but thank you.” He folded the sheet and put it in his pocket.

  “Don’t forget to call the pediatrician,” she cautioned. “And come back here if he has a convulsion or a severe headache or—”

  “I know what you said. We have the instructions. We’ll take it from here,” Ames snapped.

  Her mention of the pediatrician triggered a question in Kelly’s mind. Had Mark called the Ameses’ doctor? To her knowledge, this was the second instance of the child being treated in the ER because of trauma. Everything about the situation pointed to child abuse. If Mark hadn’t reported it, someone needed to.

  As the family turned to leave, Ames fixed Kelly with a glacial stare. “I hope you’re taking steps to protect yourself after what happened here Saturday night. The people you encountered can be quite dangerous—in so many ways. If I were you, I’d be very careful.”

  16

  Mark let Gwen pick the restaurant. It was an early dinner, but as they sat down the smells of Italian food wafting out of the kitchen made him remember he’d skipped lunch.

  “Have you been here before?” he asked Gwen, as he held her chair for her.

  “I occasionally bring clients here,” she said. “It’s relatively quiet, and I thought that would be a good thing for us tonight.”

  Mark buried his nose in the menu as he wondered exactly what agenda Gwen might have in mind for their time together. It didn’t take long for her to make it clear.

  “You didn’t write, you know. Not a single letter. Not even a postcard.” He looked up and saw her eyes steady on him, her hands folded on the unopened menu in front of her. “Even when you were home from college for the holidays, you seemed to go out of your way to avoid me. Why? What happened?”

  The necktie Mark had put on for tonight’s dinner felt like a noose, gradually tightening around his neck. He resisted the urge to tug at it. “I think it’s pretty much what I told you. Things changed.”

  “What changed?” Her voice was flat, almost emotionless. But her expression told a different story.

  “My parents were very happy when we started going out together,” Mark said. “I think they hoped you’d be a good influence on me. I’d taken the first step—become a Christian—but I wasn’t very active when we were dating. On the other hand, you were a preacher’s daughter. Some of that was bound to rub off on me.” He reached for his water glass and drank deeply. “Then, my first night at college, my roommate and I had a long talk about almost everything—including religion. His contention was there was no need to go to church. The church was full of hypocrites anyway. Why go to church? God didn’t check roll.”

  “And you listened to him.” Gwen fixed him with those deep gray eyes.

  He looked down, avoiding her gaze. “It was easy to believe him. Now I was away from home. I could do what I wanted.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you broke off contact with me.”

  “No, I guess it doesn’t.” Mark began to doubt the wisdom of making contact with Gwen again today. But he needed her help. Might as well get it all out in the open. “My roommate discovered I’d never dated anyone but you. He kept telling me now was my chance to shop around. You know, date other girls, see if what you and I had was something beyond puppy love.”

  “And what did you find out?” she asked, her eyes boring into his.

  He picked up his water glass and discovered he’d drained it. Where was the waiter? He needed a break more than he needed water. Mark took a deep breath. “Just to shut up my roommate, I started dating. He helped—it seemed that he knew half the girls on campus. The ones I went out with were nice. And it did help to have a standard for
comparison.”

  “You mean to compare with me?” Gwen’s voice fairly dripped with sarcasm.

  Mark chose to ignore that. “My dating didn’t last long. Once my premed classes got started, I discovered there wasn’t a lot of time for socializing. I had to work hard to keep from flunking out. So I buckled down. I didn’t date, and I didn’t write you. Then, by the time I came back home for Christmas vacation, I was too embarrassed to face you. So I let our relationship slide.”

  The waiter appeared and took their order. Mark hoped that the interruption would refocus their conversation, but obviously Gwen had other ideas.

  “You know I had scholarship offers from any number of colleges for my pre-law work,” she said. “I chose Harvard, mainly because it wasn’t too far from where our folks lived. I figured that when you came back for a weekend I could make the trip as well, and we could get together.” She grimaced. “That didn’t work too well, though.”

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “After the first semester, I knew something was wrong. That’s when I decided I wanted to be as far away from you as possible. So I transferred the next year to Stanford in California. It’s almost impossible to get into, but I made it. And when you still didn’t contact me, I decided to stay there for law school.”

  At that point the waiter appeared with their salads. As soon as the server left the table, Mark jumped in to make certain the subject stayed changed—anything to avoid talking about his breakup with Gwen, which was still embarrassing after all these years. “So how did you end up in Drayton, Texas?”

  “I had a lot of job offers, but the one I accepted was with a large law firm in Dallas: Gilmore, Chrisman, and Rutledge. I worked there for a year, sort of a probationary time. I did well, impressed everyone, but I discovered pretty quickly that I’d rather be a solo practitioner. I chose Drayton because it was close enough to Dallas to offer the things I wanted, but still small enough for me to be comfortable.” Now it was her turn to drink deeply from her water glass. She put it down and continued. “I didn’t know you were here. If I’d known . . .”