The 5th Horseman (Women's Murder Club 5)
Friedlander had been leaning forward in his chair, but now he sat back.
“Number? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Well, the hospital refers to the bed closest to the window as ‘bed one,’ and the bed closest to the door is ‘bed two.’ Do you remember which bed Josh occupied?”
“Okay. He would have been in bed one. He was by the window.”
“Do you know why hospital beds are numbered?” Kramer asked.
“I don’t have any idea,” said the witness, his tone edgy, getting irritated.
“The beds are numbered because the nurses dispense medication according to the room and bed number,” Kramer explained. He went on. “By the way, do you recall if you ordered a special television package for Josh?”
“No, he was only supposed to be there for the one day. What’s your point?”
“My point,” Kramer said, shrugging his shoulders apologetically. “My point is that David Lewis checked out of the hospital after lunch on the day you saw him there.
“Your son, Josh, expired in bed number two that night. Josh was in David’s bed when he died, Mr. Friedlander.”
“What are you saying?” Friedlander asked, his eyebrows flying up, his mouth twisting with anger. “What the hell are you trying to tell me?”
“Let me say this in a different way,” Kramer said, showing the jurors with his body language and his phrasing, I’m doing my job. But I mean this man no harm.
“Do you know why your son was found in bed number two?”
“No idea.”
“Well, it was because of the TV. Josh got out of his bed by the window, pulled his mobile IV pole over to bed number two so he could watch the movie channels—let’s see. . . .” Kramer referred to his notes.
“He ordered a movie on Showtime.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“I am aware of that,” Kramer said, his voice compassionate, even fatherly, thinking, knowing, that the witness wasn’t getting it. He still didn’t have a clue what had happened to his son and why he had died.
“Mr. Friedlander, you have to understand. Josh did get David Lewis’s insulin by mistake. The paperwork on David Lewis’s discharge hadn’t yet caught up with the nurse’s orders. That can happen in a hospital the size of Municipal. But let me ask you this. Wouldn’t any fair-minded person understand how the nurse didn’t catch this error?
“David and Josh were about the same age. The nurse brought insulin for the sleeping patient in bed number two and injected it into the IV bag beside that bed. If Josh had stayed in his own bed . . .”
Kramer turned as an anguished howl rose from the gallery. A middle-aged woman stood, dark clothing hanging from her frail body, wailing, “Noo,” as she clutched at her face.
Friedlander reached out a hand to her from the witness box: “Eleanor! Eleanor, don’t listen to this. He’s lying! It wasn’t Joshie’s fault. . . .”
Lawrence Kramer ignored the roar of voices in the courtroom, the repeated crack of the gavel. He dipped his head respectfully.
“We’re very sorry, Mr. Friedlander,” he said. “We’re very sorry for your loss.”
Chapter 30
IT WAS A LITTLE AFTER 8:00 p.m. as I grunted my way up Potrero Hill on the return leg of my nightly run.
I obsessed as I ran, the long blur of the investigation repeating itself in my mind—seeing the cops in my office all day, running their cases, me advising, giving orders, treading paper, going after warrants, settling disputes, hating the stress of the whole sorry business.
On most nights, the rhythmic slapping of my rubber soles on pavement had a calming effect, but it wasn’t happening tonight.
And for this I blamed Chief Tracchio.
His lecture, or whatever it was, had gotten to me.