No Cure for Murder (35 page)
That evening, after dinner, Jacob repeated Margaret’s concern.
“She loves you, sweetheart. She may have as many hours invested in you as I do, and I agree with her that maybe you’re a bit depressed.”
“Don’t go shrink on me, Lola.”
“That’s a wife’s evaluation, not a shrink’s. When you have enough time, fortitude and cash, we can get into the darker aspects of your personality.”
“Neither of us will live that long. I think I’ll skip it.”
“What’s happening with Tommy Wells?”
“He’s not talking. They have him cold on the drugs, but all the rest of it, who knows. He had opportunity, the means, but motive...who knows why he’d go this far? I find it hard to believe that it was all anti-Semitism. The killings feel more like the acts of a psychopath.”
“It’s possible,” said Lola. “If the overt acts of those with Antisocial Personality Disorder, or Psychopath, don’t get them in trouble, they’re likely to lead to the highest achievements in our competitive culture. Narcissism, aggression, and lack of remorse, work well in business, politics, athletics, and for more than a few religious leaders. It’s the triumph of ends over means and the win at all cost philosophy. Like those who say we get the leaders we deserve, we also get the world we deserve.”
“You may be an intellectual cynic, Lola, but I choose to define you by what you do. In my book, that makes you a pussy cat.”
When Jacob awakened, he knew something was wrong. He felt different. His back ached, and when he got up to go to the bathroom, his right foot slapped against the floor. He tried to extend the right foot. It wouldn’t move. He tried the right big toe that remained immobile in spite of his commands.
“Lola. Come here,” he shouted as he fell to the floor.
She rushed to his side. “What is it, Jacob?”
“I can’t move my right foot or big toe.”
“Could it be a stroke?”
“I don’t think...”
“I’m calling an ambulance and Arnie Roth. He can meet us at Brier Emergency.”
“This isn’t necessary,” he said, trying to sit up.
“Jacob Weizman. Stay put or you won’t have to worry about any disease. I’ll kill you!”
Like the arrival of a celebrity, Brier Emergency filled with those concerned about Jacob Weizman.
Arnie Roth stood next to Jacob. “How do you feel?”
“Foolish. It’s nothing. Get me my clothes and let me out of here.”
“You aren’t going anywhere, Jacob. Not until I run some tests.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Use that ancient brain. Give me a Jacob Weizman history.”
“I went to bed well and awakened with an ache in my back, a little discomfort in my right thigh, and a complete foot drop on the right. How are my reflexes?”
“Nothing in the ankle and a diminished knee jerk.”
“That’s a lumbar disc three and four lesion. It’s got to be a disc compression on those nerves.”
“I agree. I’m sending you over for an MRI scan.”
Jacob paled. “I can’t Arnie. Ever since the concentration camps, enclosed spaces drive me crazy.”
“You and lots of others. You’ll deal with it.”
“You’ll never get me into that damn tunnel without sedation, Arnie. Don’t even try.”
“Would you sedate a patient with an unexplained neurologic diagnosis?”
“If it was me, you bet I would because that’s the only way I could get the information I need. With conscious sedation, I won’t know what’s happening and will be awake in minutes.”
Jacob awakened in the icy cold MRI suite with Lola and Arnie at his side. “Nothing to it.”
“You were right. It’s an L3-L4 disc,” said Arnie. “The neurologic defect is profound, Jacob. I’m calling in a neurosurgeon. We need to get pressure off those nerves ASAP.”
Lola turned to Jack. “What about conservative therapy?”
“It’ll take a while to know whether it will work. The foot drop’s likely to persist, and it’s with this much pressure, he’ll need surgery anyway.”
Arnie looked between Lola and Jacob. “Do you want to hear what I think?”
“Yes?” said Jacob.
“It’s your personality,” said Arnie. “I can’t see you lying around for a month or so waiting to see if this thing improves on its own.”
“Good boy,” said Jacob. “Get the neurosurgeon in here and let’s get this over with.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
The DA, Kevin Walters, sat with Ira Green at the chief’s Berkeley office. “Wells won’t talk.”
“I don’t blame him,” said Ira. “If he’s responsible for the killings at Brier, he has nothing to gain by cooperating. If we had enough evidence, he might agree to a plea to reduce his sentence.”
“Now that our focus is on Tommy Wells, maybe it’s time to re-interview everyone to try and place him at the scene.”
“That’s not the problem, Kevin. He was around. He had access to all the patients, he had the means, but what’s his motive?”
“The thing with Dr. Weizman...his anti-Semitism.”
“Can you make that work in court?”
“Not based on what we have so far. Dig into his life. Talk with his friends, family and let’s see what comes up.”
“What about our surveillance at Brier?” asked Ira. “The administration hates the prison-level security.”
“Keep your people in place for a while. I’d hate for something to happen to another patient if we pulled out prematurely.”
“Do you think we have our man, Kevin?”
“I don’t believe in luck in this business. Until we catch the perpetrator in the act, with pictures or video, and can prove it in all in court, I’ll remain a skeptic.”
Lola sat at Jacob’s bedside. “You’ve hardly uttered a word.”
“This is no time for major surgery. I know the odds. I know the complications and the rehabilitation that I’ll need. I don’t know if I’m up to it.” He hesitated, then took her hand. “I’m just tired...too damn tired.”
“It’s appropriate to feel that way. Even for the indefatigable Jacob Weizman.”
“I’ve lived a long life, a productive life, and in spite of our time in Europe, a fortunate one too.”
“Jacob, don’t be a pain in the ass.”
“Looking out through my eyes, the view from within has never changed over the years. If I didn’t have to look in the mirror or feel the aches and pains of an ageing body, my perspective on the world remained unchanged until this thing hit me.”
“And now?”
“Everything’s diminished. My senses seem muted...color, taste, smell and even my hearing.”
“Jacob, you understand all of this. It’s your circumstances and your mood that affects perception. Use that fantastic mind of yours to make sense of this.”
“Intellectually, I understand, but you’ve worked with depression long enough to know that it’s like trying to swim through thick mud, cut off from sensation, where the smallest thing is just too difficult.
“Do I understand this? Sure.
“Do I know it’s transient and will get better? You bet.
“Does knowing these things make me feel better, Lola? No!”
Mickey Katz, Brier’s top anesthesiologist, sat at Jacob’s bedside. “By acclamation, Jacob, the staff’s decided that general anesthesia is the way to go.”
“Your polite way of saying that they want me unconscious during surgery. The only way to shut me up.”
“Seriously, we can do it either way, spinal or general. It’s up to you. You know the advantages and disadvantages as well as I.”
“When I was young and brave, or young and foolish, I would have picked a spinal, but now, I’m fearful of the discomfort, the claustrophobic sensations, and yes the inane conversation of the surgeons and nurses as they cut me up.”
“Okay. I’ll keep you under, enough for the relaxation they need, but as light as possible.”
“Promise me one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t put a mask over my face until I’m under...just the thought of it frightens the hell out of me.”
“No problem, Jacob.”
Lola had to curtail the well-wishers, admitting family, close friends, Margaret Cohen, and Zoe.
Margaret was pale and tearful, and when Jacob saw her, he grasped her hand. “You’re giving me something to worry about. What do you know that I don’t?”
“Nothing, Jacob. I’m just frightened.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Take care of our patients, would you?”
“Of course. I’ll see you afterward.” Lola held his hand as the gurney burst through the door. She leaned over, kissed him on the lips. “You come back to me...promise.”
“You’re not getting rid of me so easily, Old Lady.” He paused, then turned to his wife, his eyes welling. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m so lucky.”
Lola watched as they loaded Jacob onto the gurney. They pushed him through the door, and when it closed behind them, she lowered her head into her hands and wept.
Chapter Sixty-Six
“This pain is killing me,” groaned Jacob the next morning.
Lola held his hand. “The neurosurgeon found two fragments of extruded disk material in the vertebral canal. Both were pressing on your nerves. He removed them easily.”
“It feels like my back is on fire. Where’s my dope?”
“Right here,” she said, handing him the PCA (Patient Controlled Analgesia) button. “Go to it.”
Jacob pushed the button and within two minutes felt the relief of the potent narcotic.
“If I push this hard enough, maybe I can sleep through the next three or four days.”
“Remember, sweetheart, you can push as hard or as frequently as you like, but they’re locking you out so you can’t overdose.”
He grimaced and pushing the button again. “This place is no fun.”
“I had to turn off the phone and put a large ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign at the door. You have quite a following.”
“Maybe I did something right, after all?”
“You might say that.”
“How’s Zoe doing?”
“She’s running around. You left her with too many patients in the hospital and Margaret says the office is jammed.”
“I should be back to work in a few days.”
“Right. Why don’t you go in this afternoon?”
Lola studied Zoe as she came into Jacob’s hospital room just after noon. “You look beat.”
Zoe had her lab coat over a yellow sundress decorated with red flowers. “Margaret’s putting off as many patients as she can, but with a practice full of octogenarians, that’s difficult. It’s your fault, Jacob, for keeping them alive.”
“Keeping who alive?” Jacob asked.
“Your office patients, Jacob,” said Zoe.
Jacob turned to Lola. “What is she talking about?”
“She’s talking about how busy it’s been in the office with you out of commission.”
Jacob looked at Lola and shook his head in confusion.
Zoe stared at Lola, looking for an answer.
“It’s probably a combination of stress and morphine,” said Lola. “He’s fine most of the time.”
“Betty, Trudy, and Margaret send their regards,” said Zoe.
“Trudy...Betty, do I know them?”
Zoe held Lola’s hand. “Don’t worry. A little thing like surgery won’t keep Jacob Weizman down for long.”
“I’m not worried.”
“I’ve got to grab a bite before I run back to the office. I’ll try to come back later, but I may not make it until tomorrow. Make sure you’re getting enough sleep, Lola. We don’t want both of you sick.”
“Thank you for coming,” said Lola.
Lola ate a thick rare steak at the bedside for dinner.
Jacob sipped on clear liquids and ate lime-green Jell-O cubes.
“It’s time for me to go,” said Lola. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. I hope you’re wrong.”
“I hope so too.”
It’s been an hour since the loudspeakers announced the end to visiting hours. The corridors at Brier are silent except for the occasional nurse moving between patient and nurse’s station.
I love the evening, especially this one. I’ve been lucky, very lucky but tonight with Jacob Weizman within my reach...well, it’s more than I hoped for.
Thank you Lord.
His door is ajar, the room darkened.
I hear Jacob snoring, a soft flutter like wings beating in the distance. A soft haze of illumination from the nightlight disperses over his coarse features. He looks good in this light.