Rough Trade

stood in the corridor outside the surgical suite where he still hovered between life and death. Fortunately, the hospital spokeswoman was too inexperienced to object to the guidelines I set down. Either that or she was being careful not to queer the hospital’s chance at future donations. I had just finished outlining what kind of information could be released when a nurse appeared to take Chrissy to see her husband. As soon as Chrissy was gone, I took the opportunity to do what every lawyer does in a crisis; I asked for a telephone.
    The hospital spokeswoman offered me a desk in an empty office. As soon as I got there I set about dialing the world. As far as I was concerned, the first order of business was to find out what the hell Jeff Rendell was doing in Milwaukee when he was supposed to be in L.A. I tried the number I had for Jack McWhorter at his apartment, but all I got was an answering machine. I fared no better with Ken, who I caught at home watching the postgame wrap-up of the Monarchs’ game on TV.
    He almost had a heart attack when I told him what had happened. Jeff had called Ken early that morning and begged off golf, explaining that he’d woken up with the flu. Ken wasn’t surprised that with all the stress Jeff had been under he’d picked up some kind of virus. Ken had offered to call a doctor, but Jeff had been adamant that he just needed to sleep. After that Ken obliged by rescheduling the day’s appointments and then had taken the opportunity to catch up on his dictation. Until that moment he’d assumed that Jeff was sound asleep in his hotel room.
     
    What was Jeff Rendell doing in Milwaukee? Why had he lied to Ken? Why the obvious deception? I racked my brain but could come up with no plausible explanation. Frustrated, I called Elliott Abelman. He picked up on the first ring.
    “Are you okay?” he asked as soon as he heard that it was me.
    “I’m fine.”
    “I heard about what happened. Where are you?”
    “I’m in Milwaukee at the hospital with Chrissy. Jeff just got out of surgery. They’re moving him to intensive care.”
    “Is he going to make it?”
    “Unfortunately I think it’s just wait-and-see time.”
    “That bad?”
    “It’s bad.”
    “I thought you said he was going to L.A.”
    “He did. He went to L.A. on Friday. This morning he told the partner who’s out there with him that he had the flu and was going to bed. Obviously between the time he hung out his Do Not Disturb sign and the time he surprised a burglar in his father’s house in River Hills, he hopped a plane back to Wisconsin.”
    “Why?”
    “That’s what I want to know.”
    “Any idea who the burglar is?”
    “No, but now that you mention it, I wonder whether it might not have been the Jester.”
    “You mean the guy who roughed up you and Chrissy?”
    “Yeah, only this time he decided to bring a real gun with him. I can’t believe they actually let him out of jail.”
    “Oh, that’s not the best part,” offered Elliott. “You’ll never guess who the lawyer was who paid his bail.”
    “Who?”
    “Your friend, Harald Feiss.”
     
    I went off in search of a ladies’ room and found the woman from the hospital PR office standing at the mirror carefully lining her lips with a pencil and then filling them in with a brush, getting ready to face the cameras. Chrissy put hers on the same way. I found myself wondering whether I was the only woman in America who just slapped her lipstick on straight out of the tube.
    “Can you show me the way to the ICU?” I asked.
    “I can take you up to the family lounge on the fifth floor. I’m afraid they allow only one family member into the intensive care unit at one time.”
    “No exceptions?” I inquired. I’ve never been any good at wringing extra privileges out of people, especially under these circumstances.
    “I’m afraid not,” she replied. “It’s not an arbitrary rule. There’s so much equipment in the ICU and so many personnel that space is very tight.”
    “Just promise me that Mr. Rendell’s doctors are as conscientious about his care as they will be answering the press’s questions.”
    “They’re very good, especially with a VIP patient. They’ll tell you every time they take his temperature if that’s what the family wants.”
    “And what about your less important patients?” I demanded irritably. My experience with Russell had left me with a long list of issues I still needed to work out about how medical care is