Due Justice

Chapter 7

Tampa, Florida

Wednesday 9:15 p.m.

January 6, 1999

Marilee puffed on the unlit cigar. Asked, “And why do you think she’s talking to those two sharks?”

“Grover and Johnson?”

“She does explant surgeries for their clients. Breast implant ‘victims,’ they claim. About $5,000 a pop. Then she talks the women into reconstruction surgery for another $5,000.”

“How many of those can she do?” I asked, not laughing now.

“I can’t get an operating room for my cardiac surgeries two days a week because she’s doing explants. And that’s just at my hospital. I know she’s on staff at three others where she does the same thing. I’d say she does 25 a week. Add it up. Those two guys are going to make her a wealthy woman, and they’re just a couple of her sources.”

I’d been seeking an opening to ask her about Dr. Michael Morgan. Tampa is a very small town in many ways. Marilee practiced medicine here for years. I was sure she’d know him; might know who’d want to kill him, too. How to bring it up?

Before I could ask, George joined the conversation. He heard the tail end of Dr. Aymes’ comments about Dr. Young.

“You mean to say that Dr. Young is charging $200,000 to $250,000 a week to do reconstructive surgery on breast implant patients?  What insurance company would ever pay for that?”

George doesn’t particularly care for Dr. Aymes; says I shouldn’t be seen with her. After all, what would people think?

Marilee was too involved in her subject to notice. “That’s just it. The insurance companies won’t pay for it. There’s no scientific evidence linking breast implants to any health problem. The lawyers pay for it.”

“But where do they get the money?” He said, disbelieving. “I know those guys have made a lot of money in their lifetimes, but come on.”

“I don’t know, George.”  Dr. Aymes snapped. Annoyed.  George questioned what she told him as absolute fact. She wouldn’t be interrogated. Or disbelieved. “You’re the banker. How do people normally finance a business deal?”

“I’m not sure, Dr. Aymes, I haven’t been in banking for quite some time. But speaking of banking, Willa,” he said as he turned smoothly to me, “I promised Bill Sheffield you’d speak with him briefly. Would you excuse us, Dr. Aymes?”

I couldn’t think of a quick reason to refuse and found myself propelled. “See you soon,” I said, and meant it.

George mumbled “What a most disagreeable woman. How preposterous.”

He can be as stuffy as my father sometimes. I was still smiling. Marilee had provided more laughter than I’d felt since Carly ambushed me.

We joined Bill Sheffield, a local stock broker, and his wife just as the rest of his group were moving away. They discussed the status of investments and the Dow Jones; I listened with half an ear while my mind wandered.

I heard Bill suggest that George consider stock in medical products companies.

“The breast implant mess has devalued the stock of a number of companies that are otherwise very sound, George. I have no doubt this crisis will blow over and those stocks will increase again. You can buy MedPro, for example, at $3.00 a share right now. It’s a local company and I think it’s going to turn around. It went public at $7.00 and it’ll definitely go higher.”

“I’m investing in technologies right now. Last week I bought DataTech and it’s up fifteen points already,” George responded, the first volley in a lengthy set.

I tried to pay attention, but Carly’s employer was not mentioned again and my mind wandered.

Ten minutes later, both Mary Sheffield and I were long past any ability to feign interest. She opened a conversation about the next Junior League Show House, which I found only slightly more interesting than watching paint dry.

Spied a more interesting conversation near the Sunset Bar. Again, I escaped.

Chief Hathaway and Frank Bennett were doubtless talking shop. I approached, slightly obscured behind a passing waiter.

“How long will it take to make a positive I.D.?”  Frank asked Chief Hathaway.

Ben replied, “The body’s in bad shape. Finger prints are impossible. Searching medical and dental records will take a while. Too long, maybe.”

“Are you sure it’s the tourist, at least?”

“In fact, we’re pretty sure it’s not.”

Frank saw me lurking, invited me to join them, and caught me up. “Sorry for discussing business at a party, Willa. But I was asking Ben about the victim we discussed earlier. I’ve got to have something to report at eleven besides Elizabeth Taylor’s no-show.”

I said, “You’re kidding, right? You’re not going to say that.”

Ben ignored our nonsense, looked thoughtful for a few seconds and instructed Frank. “There’s no point to upsetting everyone until we get a little more information.”

Frank acquiesced. “Can I quote you that it’s not the tourist, at least?”

“Not yet.”

“Can you give me something on the missing Dr. Morgan, at least?” Frank never gives up.

Ben asked, “Isn’t he here, Willa?  I saw his name on the guest list and Peter told me he’d checked in. I marked that case closed.”

Relief flooded through me in palpable waves.

Morgan wasn’t dead after all.

Carly was ok.

I was okay.

I told them the truth. “I’ve never met Michael Morgan. But if Peter said he’s here, I’m sure he is.”

Just then two waiters walked by ringing chimes to signal that dinner was served; I was grateful for the excuse to move on.

By the time everyone was seated for dinner, I was ready to call it a night.

Kate was seated at the senator’s table, as were George and I. Elizabeth Taylor’s place remained empty--a no show, as Frank said. The meal passed uneventfully.

The senator gave a short speech thanking everyone for their contribution to AIDS research and reminding them of the work ahead. Privately, the senator was campaigning. I heard him tell Kate that it was a critical time for foreign policy and free trade, and the party needed him on the Foreign Relations Committee for another term.

Elections were several months away, but early money is like yeast:  its necessary to raise the dough to get elected. From the looks of the crowded room, I guessed he’d made the same pitch to all of them and several thousand packages of yeast would be contributed to his campaign in the next few days.

There was no question that the Republican candidate posed a serious threat to Warwick’s reelection, but I wondered whether the campaign contributions made to Warwick’s campaign would really support free trade or just his ego.

The party ended and everyone gone by midnight.

Left George to close up, trudged upstairs for bed.

Called Carly again to tell her the good news: that Dr. Morgan had been here tonight, alive and in person.

Still no answer; I didn’t leave another message.

George and I usually like to dissect these events and rehash the various conversations. But tonight, I collapsed into deep slumber long before he came upstairs.

Even though I consume mystery novels like candy, I was new to the investigator game. I had learned what I needed to know about Dr. Morgan without having to inquire. No one acted guilty, whatever that means.

So I missed my best opportunity to investigate everyone who had a reason to kill Michael Morgan.

In the long run, it would have saved me a lot of pain if I’d figured that out.

But ignorance is bliss. I had the last sound sleep I would have for a while.