As Time Goes By (29 page)

He had a first-time patient, State Senator Brian McElroy, scheduled at 9
A.M.
and it was now five of nine. All new patients were asked to arrive at least twenty minutes early in order to fill out necessary forms.

He looked at his new receptionist, Heidi Groner. Without greeting her, he asked, “Have you heard from Senator McElroy? He's not here yet.”

Groner answered timidly, “He called last night and got the answering service. He canceled.”

“Did he give any reason?”

Twenty-two years old and looking even younger, she replied haltingly, “He said that after the way his friend's operation turned out, he wouldn't let you touch him with a ten-foot pole.”

Scott stared at her, his gaze withering.

“I'm sorry, Doctor, but you did ask me.”

Scott turned abruptly, went into his private office and slammed the door. That means only one other patient appointment later this morning, he thought bitterly. He had been sure he was in good shape the morning he had operated on Darrell Hopkins.

State Senator Brian McElroy was viewed as a rising star in New Jersey politics. It was unfortunate that he knew Darrell Hopkins, the patient who had come in for a routine knee replacement a month ago. Scott knew that he had been distracted. He hadn't put in the artificial knee properly and an infection had followed. The operation was being redone by another orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Kent Adams.

The office was running at a loss. The overhead was crushing. In addition to the high rent and his increasingly expensive medical malpractice insurance, he employed a nurse, a part-time X-ray technician and a full-time receptionist to handle appointments and insurance forms.

His phone rang. Heidi Groner's voice came over the intercom. “Doctor, your ex-wife is on the phone.”

Karen, he thought angrily as he picked up the receiver. She'll bleed me dry. His greeting to the mother of his three children was “How much do you want now?”

His afternoon appointment was not a patient. It was a reporter for the
Washington Post
who was interviewing doctors about the drug problem in New Jersey. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to a reporter, but when Jonathan Cruise had called, he told him that he had already spoken with Dr. Mario Iovino, an obstetrician, about the impact of drug abuse on the unborn child, and Dr. Neil Carpenter, a rheumatologist, about the addictive nature of pain medications. Both were highly respected in their specialties and Scott could see no reason for refusing the appointment.

At ten minutes of three Heidi's voice came on the speakerphone in his office. “A Mr. Cruise is here to see you. He apologizes for coming early. But I told him you weren't busy and you don't have any other appointments this afternoon.”

“Send him in,” Scott barked.

Scott put forth his most cordial self when Jonathan Cruise was escorted into his office. He already knew what he was going to say. In the next half hour he explained that, of course, the practice of orthopedic medicine included doctors routinely ordering pain medication for patients following surgery. “We have to keep a very close eye on when it is necessary to either renew prescriptions or cut them back. We are very careful with all patients but have to be especially diligent with younger ones who too easily can become addicted to painkillers such as Percocet and Vicodin. That is our responsibility. Those of us in the practice of orthopedic medicine are very much aware of it.”

Jon's impression of Clifton was that he was a good-looking man in his late fifties who appeared to be a concerned and caring doctor. However, when he again walked through the empty waiting room he had a sense almost akin to desolation. I wonder how many patients chose to go with Dr. Adams when they broke up their practice, he thought.

As soon as the door closed behind Cruise, Scott turned to Heidi Groner. “Ms. Groner, it is obvious that you are far too immature for this position,” he said. “When my former spouse phoned, you should not have referred to her as ‘my ex.' And when I receive a visitor, it is not proper to share with him my appointment schedule for the balance of the day. You can consider yourself terminated effective immediately. You will be paid through the end of next week and your check will be mailed to you.”

Heidi Groner was already on the verge of quitting herself. There was too little to do and she thoroughly disliked Dr. Scott Clifton. As she rose from the desk she slipped into her pocket the business card the reporter had given her.

Could I give him an earful, she thought, smiling to herself.

A
lan Grant had lost ten pounds since the trial began. Testifying had been a harrowing experience. Seeing Betsy at the defense table had made him wonder how he would feel in her place. Why couldn't Dad have just died of a heart attack? Why did it have to come to this?

He was asked to go to Georgia to do a prestigious and lucrative photo shoot for
Happening
magazine. The original photographer had been delayed on another job in Buenos Aires.

Alan knew that even though this job would pay very well, and he certainly needed the money, he had to turn it down. As a witness who could be potentially recalled, he had been instructed not to attend the trial. But when the jury completed its deliberations, he could be in court to hear the verdict. She'll be found guilty, he promised himself. There's no way she'll be let off. Then the nightmares will be over.

It had gotten to the point where every night he dreamt of his father's skull being crushed by that pestle. And often other events filtered into his consciousness. Sobbing with his father at his mother's grave. His father buying him the condominium. And the best photography equipment. His father rejoicing as he started to get good reviews for his work.

When Alan woke up, he would be shivering. The trouble was that even though I'm good at photography, I hate it, he thought. When he got his money from the estate, he would figure out what else he could do. He realized that he never again wanted to be owing money, having creditors dunning him. He hadn't filed a tax return for years. And he had just received a notice from the IRS demanding that he contact them immediately.

This pressure is too much, he thought. When Betsy is convicted, I'll go to the chancery court right away and request enough money to pay everybody.

But when he fell asleep, the nightmares began again.

•  •  •

At 4:00 in the morning he had taken two Ambien, or was it three? He slept until almost 2:00 in the afternoon. After turning on the small TV in the kitchen, he put two pieces of bread in the toaster. When the newscaster said, “new development in the Betsy Grant case,” he moved closer and turned up the volume. He stared ahead in shock as he heard that a man just arrested for burglary claims to have seen a car leaving the Grant property at 2:00 in the morning on the night his father was murdered.

H
er tone was flirtatious as she said, “Mr. Cruise, I hope you remember me. I met you at Dr. Scott Clifton's office yesterday. On your way in, you gave me your card.”

“Yes, of course. How can I help you?”

“I don't want to talk over the phone, but I'd like to meet you. I have some very interesting information that you should know.”

“Of course, I'll meet you,” Jon said. “Do you want to pick a place near your office in Fort Lee?”

“I no longer work in Fort Lee. I was fired right after you left.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Now Jon was even more intrigued about what the former receptionist wanted to tell him. People who have been fired are usually willing to share a lot more than those who are worried about keeping their jobs.

He continued, “Where would you like to meet?”

“I live with my parents in Tenafly. The Clinton Inn is in the middle of town. Will that be all right?”

“Yes. Would six o'clock tonight be okay?”

“Okay, and after what I tell you, you're going to want to buy me dinner.”

After he finished his conversation with Groner, Jon called Delaney. “We'll have to meet later this evening, Delaney,” he began. “A few minutes ago I received a phone call from Heidi Groner, a receptionist who was just fired by Dr. Scott Clifton. She claims she has important information and wants to share it. I have no idea what it's about. This may be a case of a disgruntled employee who wants to vent after getting fired, and I'll be honest, I think she's a bit of an airhead—”

“Jon, you have to see her,” Delaney said immediately.

She had been planning to tell Jon at dinner that Betsy Grant and Peter Benson were her parents. But that could wait.

“Jon, I am still stunned about that guy who was arrested in Saddle River and claims he was in Dr. Grant's home the night he was murdered.”

“It's an astonishing development,” Jon said.

“I know the prosecutor doesn't believe him, but the defense attorney is going to call him as a witness. Jon, do you realize what this could mean for Betsy Grant?”

“Yes, I do. And I know how strongly you feel about her. But Delaney, so many nuts love the limelight, and Tony Sharkey may be one of them. They'll say or do anything to get attention.”

“I know you're right,” Delaney said, “but I think there's something to this.”

O
n Tuesday afternoon Lisa Clifton met with the real estate agent in Morristown and found a four-room condo in a luxurious new building with an available rental. It was exactly what she had in mind, a large two-bedroom unit with plenty of windows.

As she signed the lease, she felt a sensation of relief wash over her. Why did I stay in the marriage this long? she asked herself. I've been miserable for at least two years. Now I just want to get away from him.

She got back in her car, pleased to have been successful in apartment hunting. A few days more, she thought, I can't wait. Can't wait to get out of that house with its dreary modern furniture. And the fact that Scott was being so affectionate was making it worse. Last night, after she left Betsy's home, they had met friends for dinner. He had called her “Dear” so often he had sounded silly. Was he worried that if they broke up, she would go after more than was in the prenup? She had, after all, given up her well-paid job at his specific request. I wish I could tell him not to worry about that, she thought. I'm not looking for any of his money. I just want out!

While driving home, she heard about the thief who claimed to have been in Betsy's house the night of Ted's murder and who had seen a black Mercedes leaving the grounds. Lisa gripped the wheel. She distinctly remembered that night. After she and Scott got home from the dinner party, he had told her that he was too upset after the scene in the dining room to go to bed. When she came down the next morning, he was asleep on the couch in the den. She had not questioned his story for a minute. He claimed that he had had a few drinks to help him calm down and that's why he fell asleep there.

He
had
been upset that night.