No Cure for Murder (12 page)
Lola approached her tiny consultation room and saw Sarah picking at her black fingernails. She was an image in black: boots, miniskirt, and leather jacket.
“I’m Lola. Come into the office.”
When Sarah looked up, Lola read her defiance—more black, thick eyeliner, lipstick, and multiple piercings.
Lola wondered...where else is she pierced?
Lola faced Sarah, extending her warmth, and then smiled. “I love your earrings, and that diamond in your nose. Is it real?”
“No, it’s faux...it looks real, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Lola said as they entered the room with a small metal desk and two easy chairs facing each other, a small coffee table between them, and a La-Z-Boy in the corner.
“Where’s your couch?”
“At home. It’s real simple here, Sarah. We just talk.”
“Talking’s going to change me?”
“Do you want to change something?”
Sarah smiled. “That’s a real shrink question if I ever heard one.”
Lola smiled in return. “You’ve talked with a counselor before?”
“Counselors, psychiatrists, psychologists, and even a chaplain. It’s all a lot of crap.” Sarah paused for a moment, staring at Lola. “How old are you? You look like a hundred.”
“Almost, I’m eighty-five. How old are you?”
“Fifteen,” said Sarah as she walked around the room. She stopped at the wall behind Lola’s desk, looking at the framed certificates. She pointed to several ornate diplomas. “I can’t read these. What language are they?”
“They’re German .”
“You must be pretty smart to have so many diplomas.”
“If you live long enough and you keep your eyes and mind open, you can learn a few things.”
“I think this psychiatry stuff is so much bullshit.”
“You mean a smart woman like me has been wasting all these years on bullshit?”
Sarah stared at Lola, then returned to her chair and inspected her nails again. “You wouldn’t be the first. Anyway, you know I’m not here by choice. It was either get shrunk or go to jail. I don’t know which is worse.”
Lola laughed. “I know what you mean, but you and I know that forcing somebody into therapy guarantees its failure...I have two strikes against me before I begin.”
Sarah felt herself smiling back. “Well, what do we do?”
“Let me ask you a few simple questions: Are you happy? Are you satisfied with the way your life is going? Are you optimistic about the future?”
“No, no, and no...and neither of us can do a damned thing about it.”
“You’re wrong, Sarah. We can accomplish a lot together if you’ll give me a hand.”
Sarah lowered her head into her hands and began to cry.
She looks like a little girl, Lola thought. She rose from her chair, stood beside Sarah, caressed her hair, and handed her a tissue.
When Sarah regained control, Lola faced the girl. “You hate bullshit, so you won’t hear any from me. When we meet, this will be the one place you can talk about anything, and I mean anything. What we say here, stays here. That’s called patient-physician confidentiality. I’ve never broken it. I never will. Moreover, I’ve been at this a long time and I doubt you’ll tell me anything I haven’t heard before.”
“How is this supposed to help me?”
“Getting feelings off your chest will help a little, but it’s just the foundation for what I hope to accomplish with you.”
“And that is?”
“You’re a smart girl. I can give you objective advice if you want it, but what I really want to do, is help you understand yourself and change.”
“Change what?”
“I don’t know yet. We’ll need to work that out together.”
Sarah stared at her hands.
“Once you do that, you’ll be the one in charge and you can deal with most anything. When you take control of your life, anything’s possible, including happiness.” Lola stood. “Think it over. We’ll talk about it next week.”
Chapter Twenty-One
When Zoe Spelling entered the house at nine that evening, Byron was sitting in his leather lounge chair reading. Zoe hung her coat on the rack near the front door. “I’m sorry I missed dinner. I had another emergency.”
“Jacob’s on call tonight. I thought we’d have a pleasant evening together.”
“I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t walk away from my patient. It’s part of how I practice medicine. You, of all people, should know that by now.”
“Look Zoe, we agreed to try for a semblance of a normal life...I don’t see much effort on your part.”
She sampled the air. “Something smells good. Is anything left over from dinner? I’m famished.”
Byron stared at her with disbelief. He sat across the table watching as she ate.
When Zoe finished, she looked up at Byron. “That was really good. Thanks for saving some for me.”
“Can we talk?”
“I’m tired. Can’t it wait?”
“You’re always finding excuses for not paying attention to me. Do you know what’s going on in my life? Do you know or even care whether I’m happy or depressed, satisfied or unfulfilled with my work?”
“Damn it, Byron, you’re not a child, don’t act like one. I work long hours and carry incredible amounts of responsibility...I really don’t need this shit!”
Byron turned away. When he turned back, she had moved to his side. She held his face between her hands, and then kissed him.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she said. “Forgive me. I’m way behind in my sleep. I’m working too hard. I love you, and I don’t know what I’d do without you beside me.”
He grasped her waist and held his face against her breasts. “I love you too. Let’s see if we can get some time off together. Maybe we can go down to Big Sur for a few days.”
“That’s a great idea. Let me check my schedule.” She paused. “Come to bed with me. I’ll bet I can think of something that you can do to relax me and help me sleep.”
The next day at noon, Jack Byrnes and Warren Davidson sat in the doctor’s lounge drinking coffee.
Warren put his cup on the table. “Marion Krupp was in my office this morning. That woman’s a swift pain in my ass.”
“She’s a malcontent who loves to share her misery with others. What’s she up to now?”
“She’s always been hostile to Jacob...God knows why. Now she’s accusing him of killing his patient, Joshua Friedman.”
“The woman’s out to lunch.”
“They went to war again over the care of Jacob’s terminal patient. I have fought with her over the same issue, and to tell you the truth, I’m sick of it.”
“Jacob may be the most compassionate physician I’ve ever known, Warren. He doesn’t believe in letting his patients suffer as they die. Neither do I.”
“She’s alleging that when she refused his orders for high dose morphine, he gave it himself.”
“Does she have proof?”
“Why? Would that stop her? I’m meeting with the director of nursing. Maybe it’s time Marion Krupp and Brier Hospital parted company.”
Jack smiled. “She’ll love that.”
Just before breaking for lunch, Zoe joined Jacob in his office. Zoe patted Jacob’s shoulder. “I heard about Josh Friedman. I know you two were close, but his death was a blessing. He suffered enough.”
“I agree, but each death of late carries with it an extra element of grief. It’s great to live a long life, but it’s tough to watch the characters in your play move off stage for good. I’m outliving my patients, my colleagues and the public figures, some of whom enriched my life.”
“You’re in a philosophical mood this morning.”
“When you reach my age, that’s all you have left.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jacob. You’re more alive, more involved, and more in touch with life than anyone I know. You and Lola bring hope for all of us.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Warren Davidson, the chief of medicine, stretched back in his leather desk chair after his last patient of the day. Following a night interrupted by phone calls, naturally he’d have a busy day.
His office manager, Stacey, stuck her head into the office. “I have Marion Krupp on the line, Warren.”
Shit! “Tell her I’m with a patient, or better, tell her I died.”
Stacey stood, hands on hips, awaiting a response.
Warren shook his head. “All right, get her number and tell her I’ll get back to her as soon as I can.”
“She says it’s urgent.”
“Everything’s urgent with that woman.”
Warren shook his head and picked up the phone. “Marion, it’s Dr. Davidson. What can I do for you?”
“I tried to talk with the director of nursing, but she won’t listen to me.”
“Yes.”
“I know you think I’m just a complainer...” she paused. “It’s about time the medical staff did something about Jacob Weizman. He’s too old to practice. His ideas are out of date...”
“I heard it all before, Marion. I know Jacob and I assure you, he’s among the most competent of our docs. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’m getting a little sick of it. Maybe it’s time for you to move on.”
Marion let out a long sigh. “You guys always stick together. If you only knew...”
“Knew what?”
“I can’t prove it, but I suspect Dr. Weizman in the death of one of his patients, Joshua Friedman.”
“Are you prepared to give me specific written evidence to back up such a charge? This is serious business.”
“No, but...”
“I think you’re a very disturbed woman. I’ll be discussing this with nursing administration.”
Marion hung up.
Warren called Jacob. They agreed to meet the next morning.
Jacob groaned as he plopped himself in the doctors’ lounge easy chair next to Warren Davidson.
“You’re moving kinda slow this morning, old feller.”
“Wait until you’re eighty-eight.”
“Odds are, I’ll never make it.”
Jacob smiled. “Of the myriad benefits that accrue with age, one tickles me.”
“I’m waiting. Remember that I’m not that far behind you.”
“Only twenty years or so, Warren”
“I’m still waiting.”
Jacob scratched his head. “What was I talking about?”
“You’re a truly evil man, Jacob.”
“Oh. I remember. As a young man, I wasn’t what you’d call a catch. Not tall, not dark, and not handsome, but short, pale, and with an entirely forgettable face. At eighty-eight, I still recall the pain of girls’ rejections...crazy, isn’t it, after all these years?
“It’s a good thing I’m happily married, or maybe it’s the threat of Lola in her Honda S2000 rolling over my body, but I always enjoyed just flirting with women. It was benign and fun, but always I perceived an element of reticence in women...a built-in evolutionary constraint that protects them from predators. It was rare with women who knew me, but common with casual contacts.
“Now, at eighty-eight, and looking it, I can approach and talk with women I don’t know and they’re perfectly comfortable with me. It’s like I’m wearing a sign around my neck that says, not to worry...he’s safe, he couldn’t get it up if he tried.”
Warren laughed. “And that tickles you?”
“Nature has her way. Each time I lose one thing, she replaces it with something else. In my case, it’s mostly humor. You wanted to see me, Warren?”
“I’m sorry to have to bring this up, but Marion Krupp’s at it again.”
“It’s time to do something about her.”
“It’s funny, Jacob, but she used the same exact words about you.”
“Look, Warren, I know she’s obsessed with me, but I’m not the only one.”
Warren smiled. “Well, it will please you to hear that she thinks you’re special.”
“Of course. I remember a number of Krupps...prison guards at Auschwitz. I think she may have a special affection for Jews.”
“Don’t be paranoid. She can be obnoxious without being an anti-Semite.”
“You’re right, of course, but don’t accuse me of paranoia...with my history, I don’t think that’s possible.”
“It’s the Josh Friedman case. I know you two fought over end-of-life care, specifically morphine dosing, but now she’s suggesting you had something to do with his death.”
Jacob smiled, his ‘when-does-it-ever-end’ smile. “I figured that living long enough would put me beyond banal human pettiness. I guess you’re never too old to learn.”