Last Dance, Last Chance

his wife but occasionally forgetting and slipping into his own voice. Anyone who talked with Debbie Pignataro could see that it was obvious, however, that Anthony had written every word. She didn’t have his vocabulary, his knowledge of medical terms, or his hubris.
     
    Anthony added yet another conspirator. His attorney had sent an unsolicited package of information on the case to the famed Dr. Michael Baden, former Chief Medical Examiner of New York City, an expert in forensic science, enclosing a check. The attorney didn’t know that Baden was out of the country for an extended period. When Dr. Baden returned, he read only as far as Anthony’s attorney’s cover letter and knew this was not a case that he could confer on. Baden worked directly with the New York State Police, and any consultation on Pignataro’s case would be a conflict of interest.
    Baden returned the material unopened and sent a for check the full amount to Pignataro’s attorney. (Baden’s secretary had deposited all checks that came in to his bank account while he was out of the country.)
    Nevertheless, Anthony created several scenes in his book in which Debbie had conversations with Baden. Debbie—using perfect medical terminology that never was and never would be part of her vocabulary—“wrote” of her many conferences with Michael Baden.
    Anthony’s mind, now approaching frank paranoia, believed that Dr. Baden had conspired with the Erie County D.A.’s office to bring about an indictment. Anthony wrote: “Did the doctor [Baden] believe that there was more career potential on the prosecutorial side of the fence?”
    It was a laughable accusation. Dr. Michael Baden had already reached the pinnacle of his career as a forensic pathologist and had far more work to do than he could ever accept.
     
    Although grand jury hearings are closed to the public, and testimony given there is not available to the press or the public, there were two main areas where the Erie County District Attorney’s office felt Dr. Anthony Pignataro’s care of Sarah Smith had been so far below accepted medical standards that they merited criminal charges. The administration of anesthesia had put the patient at an unacceptable risk, and the resuscitation efforts—or lack of them—were gross deviations from acceptable conduct.
    And, of course, Anthony was outraged that anyone should ever come to those conclusions about him. He wrote of his shock that his story had received bigger headlines than Princess Diana’s death, but he was secretly pleased. The media coverage was “wild,” and he had always reveled in seeing his name in print and his face on television.
    Still, as autumn came to western New York State and the orchard trees became heavy with fruit to be harvested, Anthony had to be aware that both the Department of Health and the Erie County D.A.’s office were closing in on him. His office revenues were falling like stones from a cliff, and he knew he needed to keep paying his malpractice insurance. If he was forced to stop practicing, a patient could bring a retroactive malpractice suit against him for two and a half years after he closed down.
    Including a suit filed by Dan Smith, fifteen other patients were now suing Dr. Anthony Pignataro. Others were charging back on their credit cards, refusing to pay him.
    Although the Pignataros still lived in the duplex in West Seneca, Anthony was a big spender. He had his Lamborghini, he loved to travel, and he had taken yet another mistress. Tami Maxell * was in her early forties, an attractive woman with blond-streaked hair, and she regularly worked out at Gold’s Gym, where Anthony did. She was a widow and a grandmother, but you couldn’t tell that by looking at her. Tami owned a cleaning business, and she found Anthony exciting and attractive.
    Debbie had undergone two surgeries on her injured neck already. She was coping with that, raising Ralph and Lauren, and trying to support Anthony as he bemoaned the disaster that had befallen him. Although she knew all too well of his past liaisons with other women, she didn’t know about Tami. With her neck, Debbie couldn’t exercise at the gym, and she naively assumed that Anthony had so many problems that he was far too busy to cheat on her again. Not now. Not when she was his staunchest ally.
    That might not be exactly true. Anthony’s mother, Lena, might qualify for that position. As far as Lena was concerned, Anthony could do no wrong. She implored