good.
“Hutch, I gotta go. My client’s on the other line. Rain check on the phone sex?”
“Okay.” He sounded about as thrilled as a kid who’d gotten his privileges revoked. “Take the call from your client.
I’m
taking a cold shower.”
“I wish I could take it with you.”
“Then I wouldn’t need it.”
Casey smiled. “Call me from Munich. We’ll have international phone sex.”
“Done.”
Casey punched off and answered Madeline’s call.
“Madeline? What’s the matter?”
“I’m sorry to call you in the middle of the night.” Madeline’s voice was trembling violently. “But Conrad is in the E.R. Patrick and I are about ten minutes away.”
Casey sat straight up. “What happened?”
“An overdose. The doctors are calling it attempted suicide.”
“And you?”
“I’m calling it attempted murder.”
10
CASEY SPED UP to Danbury Hospital, getting there in under an hour. It was still pitch-dark out, without a sign of dawn’s arrival, and a fine mist of rain was falling, making the roads slick with water and dampening leaves, and the visibility crappy.
With a quick glance at the clock on her dashboard, Casey realized it was 4:00 a.m. She hadn’t even been aware of the time. She just wanted to get to Madeline ASAP.
Thank God Patrick had been on security detail at Madeline’s apartment. No one was as good as he was. If anyone else had been on duty, Madeline would probably have found a way to give her guard the slip, made the drive alone—and risked her life in the process.
After locking the car, Casey rushed through the front doors of the hospital. Madeline was pacing in the lobby waiting for her. Her face was drawn, and she’d obviously been crying. Patrick was standing close by her side. He and Casey exchanged quick glances. Patrick looked troubled and suspicious.
“How’s Conrad?” Casey asked.
“He’s alive and his vitals are weak but steady.” Madeline didn’t sound any better than she had on the phone. She looked like hell, white as a sheet, her face streaked with tears.
“If an aide hadn’t found him when she did...” She stopped, and averted her head.
“So he’s going to make it.”
“I think so, yes.”
Casey blew out a relieved breath, and then looked at Patrick. “What facts do we have?”
“Conrad was prescribed a cocktail for his depression and anxiety,” Madeline replied before Patrick could speak.
“A cocktail?”
“Several different psychiatric medications given together. They were prescribed by Dr. Oberlin, and divvied out to Conrad each day, a few of them two to four times a day. The pills and dosages were strictly administered by licensed nurses. Medication was never left in his room.”
“Okay.” Casey digested that information, and then turned her gaze, once again, to Patrick. “So the police think he did what—chose not to take the medication until he’d stored up enough to kill himself?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“No.” Madeline dragged a hand through her hair. “Conrad would
never
take his own life. He spent too much time saving others. Life was precious to him. Besides, he was doing better. I saw him right after Ronald was pronounced dead. He was shattered. If he was going to do something stupid, he would have done it then. He didn’t. As for now, there were absolutely no signs of this. Dr. Oberlin adamantly agrees.”
“So do I, for what it’s worth,” Casey said. “I’m just a layperson, but when I met with Conrad, I didn’t see a man on the verge of suicide. I saw someone who was trying to reconcile himself to the past and move on.” She frowned. “The problem is, the police will never believe that someone got past the security at Crest Haven. That residential treatment center is like Sing Sing.”
“I know.”
Patrick cleared his throat. “It may be Sing Sing, but it’s also a hospital. So is Manhattan Memorial, which is filled with professionals who know just what types and dosages of
“Hutch, I gotta go. My client’s on the other line. Rain check on the phone sex?”
“Okay.” He sounded about as thrilled as a kid who’d gotten his privileges revoked. “Take the call from your client.
I’m
taking a cold shower.”
“I wish I could take it with you.”
“Then I wouldn’t need it.”
Casey smiled. “Call me from Munich. We’ll have international phone sex.”
“Done.”
Casey punched off and answered Madeline’s call.
“Madeline? What’s the matter?”
“I’m sorry to call you in the middle of the night.” Madeline’s voice was trembling violently. “But Conrad is in the E.R. Patrick and I are about ten minutes away.”
Casey sat straight up. “What happened?”
“An overdose. The doctors are calling it attempted suicide.”
“And you?”
“I’m calling it attempted murder.”
10
CASEY SPED UP to Danbury Hospital, getting there in under an hour. It was still pitch-dark out, without a sign of dawn’s arrival, and a fine mist of rain was falling, making the roads slick with water and dampening leaves, and the visibility crappy.
With a quick glance at the clock on her dashboard, Casey realized it was 4:00 a.m. She hadn’t even been aware of the time. She just wanted to get to Madeline ASAP.
Thank God Patrick had been on security detail at Madeline’s apartment. No one was as good as he was. If anyone else had been on duty, Madeline would probably have found a way to give her guard the slip, made the drive alone—and risked her life in the process.
After locking the car, Casey rushed through the front doors of the hospital. Madeline was pacing in the lobby waiting for her. Her face was drawn, and she’d obviously been crying. Patrick was standing close by her side. He and Casey exchanged quick glances. Patrick looked troubled and suspicious.
“How’s Conrad?” Casey asked.
“He’s alive and his vitals are weak but steady.” Madeline didn’t sound any better than she had on the phone. She looked like hell, white as a sheet, her face streaked with tears.
“If an aide hadn’t found him when she did...” She stopped, and averted her head.
“So he’s going to make it.”
“I think so, yes.”
Casey blew out a relieved breath, and then looked at Patrick. “What facts do we have?”
“Conrad was prescribed a cocktail for his depression and anxiety,” Madeline replied before Patrick could speak.
“A cocktail?”
“Several different psychiatric medications given together. They were prescribed by Dr. Oberlin, and divvied out to Conrad each day, a few of them two to four times a day. The pills and dosages were strictly administered by licensed nurses. Medication was never left in his room.”
“Okay.” Casey digested that information, and then turned her gaze, once again, to Patrick. “So the police think he did what—chose not to take the medication until he’d stored up enough to kill himself?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“No.” Madeline dragged a hand through her hair. “Conrad would
never
take his own life. He spent too much time saving others. Life was precious to him. Besides, he was doing better. I saw him right after Ronald was pronounced dead. He was shattered. If he was going to do something stupid, he would have done it then. He didn’t. As for now, there were absolutely no signs of this. Dr. Oberlin adamantly agrees.”
“So do I, for what it’s worth,” Casey said. “I’m just a layperson, but when I met with Conrad, I didn’t see a man on the verge of suicide. I saw someone who was trying to reconcile himself to the past and move on.” She frowned. “The problem is, the police will never believe that someone got past the security at Crest Haven. That residential treatment center is like Sing Sing.”
“I know.”
Patrick cleared his throat. “It may be Sing Sing, but it’s also a hospital. So is Manhattan Memorial, which is filled with professionals who know just what types and dosages of
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