Knock Off by Rhonda Pollero Page B

be distracted, was totally pre-occupied with the Evans matter. Jane was right, I needed something more concrete than jury duty, medically certified accidents, a grainy videotape, and a grieving widow.
    And a suspicious tingle in the pit of my stomach.
    That meant I had to read the trial transcripts. Where was Cami when I needed her? Since I was the first one in, I flipped on the light switches as I made my way to my office. I didn’t feel particularly excited when I looked at the massive tower of white cardboard boxes. Still, I dove in bravely, knowing it was a necessary evil.
    By ten o’clock, I’d consumed two pots of coffee and read the plaintiff’s portion of the transcripts. Well, “read”
    was a bit of an overstatement. There was some definite skimming involved. And a few breaks just to rest my eyes and keep my brain from going completely numb. Work was definitely a four-letter word.
    I’d flagged a few pages, things I needed to research or clarify, starting with the Internet. And, since I’d busted butt for hours already, I figured a small detour wouldn’t hurt. Too much work and not enough time on eBay lost me the bid I’d had going on the Rolex box. Since I was already there, I searched for new listings and found another one, and while it was in good condition, it wasn’t excellent, so I bid accordingly. I also found two more band links and bid on those as well.
    Hell, while I was at it, I checked for any new Betsey Johnson designs and found an adorable, flirty blue chiffon vintage dress in my size. It was a little pricey, especially when I converted the Euros to dollars, and the shipping charges were a bitch, but it was a Betsey and it could be mine—assuming I didn’t get outbid—in four days for about seventy bucks.
    Shopping needs met, I decided to get some background on the medical witnesses who’d testified on Hall’s behalf. I knew they had to be top-notch and expensive. Money always favors the defendant. Lots of money—the kind Hall had at his disposal—almost guarantees a favorable verdict.
    But that didn’t mean he committed malpractice during or after the transplant. If he had done something wrong, he probably would have settled out of court. That was the smart move. The safe one.
    The first witness was Dr. Carlton Peterman. His curricu-lum vitae was a zillion pages long, with enough commendations, awards, and certifications to qualify for sainthood.
    As Brad Whitley’s primary cardiologist, his testimony was pretty persuasive. Especially the part about the infection being a known and foreseeable complication of the transplant that he had personally explained to Brad and his wife, Sara.
    The other expert was from Johns Hopkins, the mecca of western medicine. While Dr. Zorner wasn’t even present for the surgery, he was emphatic that Hall had done a stel-lar job. His credentials made the first guy look like a slacker.
    Rubbing my forehead, I closed my eyes and reviewed what I knew to be true.
    (A) Brad Whitley needed a heart transplant or he was going to die.
    (B) The donor, Ivy Novak, had suffered massive head injuries as a result of a motorcycle accident, and once she’d been pronounced brain-dead by the neu-rologist on call, and Dr. Hall, her organs were harvested.
    (C) Every expert, as well as the entire transplant team, testified that Hall performed the operation to perfection.
    (D) The postop infection and not some surgical blunder caused Brad Whitley’s death.
    (E) Three of twelve jurors had died within weeks of one another. All of the deaths were ruled accidental by the M.E.
    “The trial was three years ago,” I mused aloud. “Who would wait that long to seek revenge?” Assuming they really were murdered, and assuming the motive really was revenge.
    “The only person with motive is Sara Whitley.”
    I smelled Liam’s cologne, and my eyes flew open. He was standing in my doorway. God, he was gorgeous.
    “Morning.” He walked in and sat across from me. “I guess the tape