"What do you think her chances are?"
"Impossible to predict," he said. "If we can get her out of here okay, she's still at increased risk for a year or more."
"From sudden death," I said.
"You got it. Twenty-five percent of people who make it back after cardiac arrest drop dead during the first year after discharge from a hospital. Take it out four years and you go up to about thirty-one percent. No one knows exactly why."
"That's still better odds than she had about three minutes ago."
Karlstein smiled. "Thanks for reminding me." He shook his head. "This place could get to you, if you were a half-normal person, you know?" He chuckled.
I did know. I also knew Karlstein couldn't think it was all that funny. "You can always give me a call," I half-joked, trying to take the edge off the invitation.
He slapped me on the back. "I'm one of those guys who'd fall apart if I gave myself fifty minutes to think," he said. "Better to keep on chugging."
I didn't respond, which was enough of a response to let Karlstein know I wasn't a big fan of that strategy.
"Two things I do need to tell you," he went on, "seeing as you're involved in the Bishop case-forensically, at least." The way he said "at least" made me wonder whether he intuited that Julia and I were more than professionally involved.
"Shoot," I said.
"I'm gonna go ahead and file that psychiatry consultation on the mother. I've been at this long enough to know she's having a tough time."
"Fair enough," I said. "I'm sure you're right."
"And I'm ordering a sitter, as well," he said.
"A sitter?" I said. "You want the baby on one-to-one observation?"
"One of the nurses suggested it, but I was already batting the idea around in my head." He took a deep breath, glanced at Julia, then looked back at me. "She hovers, you know? She's got that stickiness to her."
Those were code words for parents who seem too close to their kids. "You're not sure she has the baby's best interest at heart," I said. "You want someone to keep an eye on her."
"At heart, that's a good one." He smiled.
"I didn't mean it that way," I said.
"Freudian slip, maybe," he said. His voice turned serious. "Let's face it, Frank, there's been a murder in this family already. If Tess codes again, I damn well want to know it's because of the nortriptyline from last night, not something in Mommy's purse."
"She's lost one daughter," I said. "Another may die. I'm not arguing against the sitter, but I don't think there's any 'normal' way to respond in a situation like this."
"Granted," he said. "I'm being extra-cautious. It's my way."
I swallowed hard at the realization that another person I respected was red-flagging Julia as a suspect. "No. You're doing the right thing," I said. "I'll let her know to expect company."
I walked back to Julia. "Staying here around the clock isn't going to change Tess's prognosis," I said. "There's a hotel across the street. Let me check you in. You can eat, maybe sleep a little. Then you can come right back here."
"I don't trust them to keep Darwin away," she said.
"I'll stay here myself until you're back," I said.
She shook her head. "I'm not leaving."
"Okay…" I wanted to let her know about the one-to-one. "There's going to be someone watching Tess, anyhow," I said. "They're ordering what's called a 'sitter.' "
"What's that?"
"Usually a college kid, or a student nurse," I said. "The person sits by the bedside, twenty-four hours a day."
"What for?" she asked.
I thought about fibbing that the reason was to monitor the baby's breathing, but decided to be straight with her. "With the investigation ongoing, the hospital needs to protect Tess from anyone who may have had access to her before the overdose," I said.
"Including me," she said.
"Right," I said, watching for her reaction.
"Good," she said. "That makes me feel a little better. At least they're taking her safety seriously."
Julia's comment made me feel a little better, too. Typically, a parent who has caused a child's injuries will resist close monitoring by the staff, sometimes insisting on a meeting with the hospital's patient rights advocate, or even calling in an attorney. "Does that mean you'll think about the hotel?" I asked.
"I'll get a room a little later," she said unconvincingly.
"You know, I live ten minutes from here, in Chelsea," I said. "You could always-"
"Thanks." She reached for my hand and held it a few moments. "You've been incredible," she said. "I need you with me to make it through this."
"You've got me," I said.
"Just blind luck, I guess," she said.
13
I stopped at Cafe Positano for a quick, late dinner. Mario steamed my milk and handed me a cappuccino while I waited for three slices of the best pizza outside of Rome. It felt good to be back in familiar territory. When Carl Rossetti walked in, I actually started to relax for the first time in days.
"You're buying," he said, striding over to me at the espresso bar.
"The two-carat stone tap you out?" I said.
"I got some information for you. But it's gonna cost you. A double espresso, a nice bottle of Limone soda, and a cannoli."
"Done."
He laid his hands on the bar, his pinkie still dancing with excitement about the ring. "I would have called you, but this is news to me, like two hours ago, so I sat on it, seeing I was on trial in Suffolk Superior, and you can't carry a cell phone in there. That, and I was thinking I might bump into you here."
"How'd you do in court?" I asked him.
"Not so good this time. Statutory rape case. The guy's an accountant, twenty-six years old, never so much as a traffic ticket. He meets a girl who says she's seventeen- according to his version of events-when she's really fourteen, almost fifteen. I'm sitting there, looking at this girl, who's drop-dead gorgeous, built like a centerfold. And I'm thinking how many of us would turn it down, right? Not Roman Polanski. Not Elvis. Not Jerry Lee Lewis. Probably not me. I would have liked to ask the judge and court clerk what they'd do."
"I bet you didn't," I said.
"No," Rossetti said. "I asked for six months house arrest."
"What did you get?"
"Judge Getchell came down on him like a ton of bricks, sent him to MCI Concord for two years. He gets listed as a pedophile on the state registry, probation for five years. That's if he makes it out of Concord alive. The inmates get word he's a sex offender, they'll be waiting for him."
"That's the kind of verdict you get when the judge has to wonder whether he'd commit the crime," I said. I caught Mario's eye. "Double espresso for the counselor," I told him.
"And…" Rossetti said.
"And a Limone and cannoli," I said.
"Thank you, Franko."
"Exactly what am I paying you for?" I asked.
"I heard back from my buddy Viktor in Russia," he said. "The one who runs an oil refinery."
"Right…"
"He snooped around, asked his globe-trotting friends about Darwin 'Win' Bishop-who, by the way, I hear had another tragedy in the family."
"Tess, the other twin, is at MGH," I said. "I just came from there. She was poisoned. She went into cardiac arrest."
"She made it, though? She'll pull through?" he asked.
"Looks that way."
"Good. Good for her."
"They're saying the Russian boy did it," he said.
"They're not supposed to say anything publicly," I said. "Billy's a minor."
"Yeah, well, it's all over the news, as of ten minutes ago, anyhow. He broke into the Bishop estate, blah, blah, blah. They're gonna leak everything on this kid. Harrigan wants him. Like any D.A. would. Another notch in the prosecutorial belt." He shrugged. "Myself, I don't buy the party line here. Everything I hear about this Darwin Bishop makes me more convinced he's the killer."
"What did Viktor find out?" I asked.
"Long and short of it, Bishop isn't Trump-if Trump is even Trump."