Chapter 12

Lynda woke up in a hospital bed and breathing through something uncomfortable in her throat. She could hear monitors beeping around her, but she wasn’t in a room. It was some kind of ward. There was a male nurse sitting by her bedside, and as she woke, he jumped up to get the doctor. He came back with a short Hispanic looking woman in tow. She was wearing plain green scrubs but was obviously a physician.

“Good of you to wake up for us, dear. You had me worried for a bit, but I think, we got all the poison out. The dose was too high for someone your size, but fortunately the paramedics started you on a ventilator and Naloxone,” the doctor said. She had no accent, and on closer examination, Lynda could tell, she was part Asian.

“Steven?” Lynda tried to ask, but only a weak croak came out.

“Now don’t try to speak. I will take the tube out in a moment.”

The doctor was as good as her word and had the tube out of Lynda’s throat with a flick of her wrist and a cough from Lynda.

“Steven is he, all right?” Lynda wheezed through her sore throat.

“If that is your friend who called for help, I believe he is all right, but he is not here. There are a number of people waiting to see you, but they will have to wait until we get you to your room. Right now, you are in the emergency ward. I didn’t want to move you until I was sure you would have no further problems. Fentanyl is a dangerous drug.

“Just relax my child you are in a safe place. This is a secure area. There are guards and locked gates,” then the doctor turned to the nurse, “Ok Sam, you stay with her until she reaches her room,” she said, smiled, squeezed Lynda’s hand, and walked away.

It seemed like hours before they moved her, but the nurse Sam chatted away the whole time not expecting her to do more than nod. He told her the doctor’s name was Reyes, “From the Philippines, but you would never know it the way she speaks.” They were in the Westchester Medical Center secure facility. When they moved her, she went on an elevator and came out to a floor guarded by an officer in a glass booth who operated two locked gates with a space between them just big enough for the gurney.

Down The corridor, her room clearly locked from the outside, but they didn’t lock or close the door. They stationed two female guards outside to protect her. One of these women came in every hour to check on her. They were friendly and constantly cracking jokes ready to help her to a drink or more comfortable position on the bed if needed. When the shift changed one of the new women was someone, Lynda knew from her worked in the D.A.’s office, a sheriff’s deputy named Brenda Sussman.

“Hey, how you doing?” Brenda asked deep concern in her voice. She was a big black woman whose upper body looked like she worked out in a gym which Lynda knew she did because once they frequented the same gym.

“Ok, I guess,” Lynda croaked back.

Brenda smiled, “That’s our mighty mouse.” Brenda pulled her chair from outside into the room because her round womanly bottom was too large for the room’s visitor chairs. Sitting down, she reached her hand over and placed it on Lynda’s arm, her dark hand making an eerie contrast with Lynda’s ghostly pale skin.

“Want you to know, we’re all pulling for you, and don’t you worry. To get in here, they’ll have to go through half the sheriff’s department not to mention that phalanx of FBI downstairs.”

“Who?” Lynda asked, but Brenda could only shrug and say, “Don’t know who all the bad guys are, but more reporters than I can count.”

Lynda could only cringe and ask, “Steven Fitzgerald, do you know whether he’s alright?”

“He’s your man huh?” Brenda asked.

Lynda nodded her reply.

“Rumor has it the FBI took him, but they let the woman who shot the priest go. D.A. supposedly madder than a hornet. Wanted to examine her. That man smells a scandal, and he’s on it like a dog on a bone.”

“What woman? What priest?”

With that, Brenda filled in Lynda on the highly exaggerated rumors coming out of the Croton police department. Then Brenda relived her partner for her mid-shift break. Lynda had no idea of the time except it was dark outside.

Eventually, Doctor Reyes came in to check on her. “If you are up to it, there are people downstairs that would like to talk to you. Apparently, it is important and can’t wait until morning.”

“Who?” Lynda said feeling her throat getting better.

“A deputy attorney person who acts very important and lets you know she comes from Washington. Also, there’s an FBI agent named Costello, who says he has news of your friend Steven.”

“The woman is a Deputy Attorney General, perhaps?” Lynda queried.

“Yes, I believe that’s it? Do you want to see her?”

“No, but I do want to hear about Steven.”

“Well, I’m afraid it is both or neither. I’ll send them up.”

Perhaps a quarter hour passed before there was a commotion at the door. Lynda could hear Brenda arguing against another woman.

“No one but the medical staff goes into the room without an escort.”

The woman argued back in a voice that could only belong to a lawyer, but a firmer male voice intervened, and some agreement was reached. Into Lynda’s room came a woman in a dark pinstriped dress suit. She was tall, thin, blond, and late forties to early fifties. She sported an over large diamond behind her wedding band and stone-cold continence.

The woman didn’t say hello but pulled up a visitor’s chair close to the bed and sat herself leaning in, “I’m afraid we will need to keep our voices low. The guards insist on being able to observe us. Fortunately, the FBI is here to distract them. My name is Nancy Reeves, and I’m deputy attorney general in the organized crime section. I’ve been sent from Washington to interview you.”

“I understand, and the guards are just doing their job as they’ve been instructed. You see, this is a prison ward. The security rules are made for that purpose,” Lynda said in a whisper forced by her raw throat.

“I see, well that explains I guess, and I perceive you are a local.”

“I used to work for the Westchester D.A. office.”

“I bet you wish you never left there, but I need to get to the point. What can you tell me about the man who attacked you?”

“Nothing, two men forced their way into my apartment and forced me to call Steven. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“They didn’t say why?”

“No.”

“But you know why don’t you?”

“I’m not sure, but Steven does.”

“Mr. Fitzgerald isn’t talking. Yes, he’s quite all right and in a safe place. I can’t say, I appreciate your taste in men. Now agent Costello is going to speak to you. If your position is that you know nothing, then tell him that.”

“And my job?”

“Why, I’m assuming that you will be accepting the position I’ve been instructed to offer you in our organized-crime section in Washington. You strike me as too smart a girl to turn it down.”

“What happens to Ms. Ross?.”

“Oh, you haven’t heard! She was taken ill this morning. I’m afraid she will have to resign,” Nancy said with a smirk.

“That’s all? She’s sick and resigns.”

“Only Mr. Fitzgerald can do more, and until he starts talking, that’s it. However, when you come to work with me in Washington, I will introduce you to a better class of men.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“You can ask, but as a good lawyer, I may not answer.”

‘Why the organized-crime section? How are you involved?”

“Maybe you truthfully don’t know anything. Good, if I were you, I would keep it that way and stop asking questions you really don’t want the answers to.”

The Albany Medical Center was built in haphazard stages. It is a maze of corridors and floors that barely connect. Into this labyrinth, James O’Reilly walked the day of his release from federal custody. The FBI held him for seventy-two hours. They permitted him no counsel or contact with the outside world.

The Feds asked him no questions and told him that he was in protective custody. O’Reilly assumed they did not interrogate him because they already knew far more than he did. Lefty Bolzano’s tape was apparently not the only unauthorized surveillance that had taken place.

Having held Jimmy, as long as they legally could, the government released him. They informed him that his wife had been taken to the Albany Medical Center where she was in serious condition. The governor had intervened once again and arranged special transportation for the heroic Dr. Simone Mercer O’Reilly. At the same time, it was announced that she would receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom for her services to humanity.

Jimmy had no idea where he was to go in the great maze of a hospital. Arriving at the main entrance, he asked at the information desk. There a permanently bewildered young receptionist tried to look up the name of his wife for the handsome man. Twenty-five minutes into the search it was discovered by the young woman’s supervisor that Mr. O’Reilly was wanted urgently by Dr. Croke in the administrative offices in the newest wing.

“You go down this corridor and turn at the gold strip. Take the E elevators to five—”

“Or you could go back outside and walk around to the east entrance and follow the signs to the administrative offices. You need room 515,” the supervisor interrupted helpfully.

When he finally managed to arrive at room 515, Jimmy was greeted by a tall, middle-aged man in a business suit. Dr. Timothy Croke had discarded his tie and looked a bit frazzled. There was no secretary in residence. The doctor personally led Jimmy into a large office with a view of the Lake in Washington Park.

Tim, as he wished Jimmy to call him, was clearly uncomfortable. The task of informing the husband of the wife’s condition fell on his shoulders. Normally, Dr. Croke managed the surgical resources and passed or declined the actions of the senior surgical staff when they infringed on hospital policy. Although a surgeon by qualification, he had become a bureaucrat, the man who determined the extent to which his fellow professionals could push the rules in their pursuit of a happy outcome.

“As you know, your wife, Dr. Mercer O’Reilly was brought here by helicopter from Stewart Airport where she arrived on a military transport,” Dr. Croke began.

‘“ No, I didn’t know that. I’ve been incommunicado for the last few days,” Jimmy said.

“Well, the point is that she is here. Last night, we performed some initial surgery. She is scheduled for more extensive procedures today. Your wife suffered a severe injury to her legs. While we feel confident, we can save her legs; the current prognosis is that she will lose her right foot. She has been informed of this and has consented to the surgery—”

“And you would like my consent as well since my name is on her health care proxies. I assume she is not fully aware because of the trauma, and her current medications.”

“Yes, you understand I see.”

“Well doctor, I must do as the professionals think best, So, bring on the paperwork.”

“Certainly, but...” Tim hesitated seeking the words he had been looking for since this unpleasant job had been foisted on him.

“I need to inform you that there exists a small risk to the fetus from the anesthesia. Up to this point, we have been using a local anesthesia, but the final surgery should be performed under a general anesthetic. Let me assure you the risk is minimal, but there is still some risk considering this is a first-trimester pregnancy.”

There, he got it out without stumbling and without staring. He told the husband his wife was clearly pregnant by another man. He buried the news in a clinical explanation and now turned to see if the message had been perceived.

James O’Reilly showed no emotion whatsoever. His face was as neutral as it had been when he walked into the office. He sat quietly for a moment and then said.

“Whatever my wife has agreed to is fine. She is a doctor after all and well aware of the risks. My only question is when my daughters can come to visit their mother. My wife has not seen her family in almost a year. Our girls are worried about her.”

“We will perform the surgery today, and she should be ready for a visit by her daughters tomorrow morning.”

“Fine, I will have my sister bring the girls in tomorrow.”

“Yes, that would be acceptable. Would you like to see your wife now? I can take you. We have arranged a private room.”

“No, I have no desire to see Dr. Mercer.”

“I see. You know she is a great heroine. The account of her activities after the attack—when despite her own injuries— she managed to render emergency care to the other injured is astounding. She is a remarkable doctor and woman.”

“Yes, very remarkable doctor, but not much of a wife or mother. Thank you, Tim, for the attention you have given to Dr. Mercer,” Jimmy said as he left Dr. Croke’s office.

The man who would be Speaker of the New York State Assembly was at one end of a long table in the governor’s New York City office. He was alone and uncomfortable because he had been summarily shown into the large conference room by the governor’s secretary. He knew that he must answer for his part in a busted conspiracy. Three men were dead, and no one was answering his calls.

Jose Prez, the former John Martin, could not help but shake as Governor Kincade entered with his assistant Carrie Wilson.

“Good morning, John,” the governor said, “And how are you today? Good, I hope.”

The friendly cheery greeting was ominous. Jose could only grunt in response. His eyes which had been fixed on the governor moved to Ms. Wilson, but she was staring down at a file that she had placed on the table before her. It was open, and he could see she was reading a typed sheet within the folder.

“You may be wondering why I asked you here this morning,” the governor began with just the barest bit of a smile breaking the blank look on his face.

“Yes, actually,” Jose replied.

“It’s like this,” the governor began and outlined the entire conspiracy to murder Steven Fitzgerald and Patrick Sullivan, including Jose’s part in it with the reasons why.”

“You see, I have the complete file of the Catholic Diocese of New York, including those parts you sought to redact. I also have a set of very interesting tapes. These last may not be usable, but I shouldn’t like to bet on that. With so many people dead, and the broad felony murder statute in this state that seems an unwarranted risk to me, but then it’s not my life at risk anymore is it.”

“What do you want?”

“Carrie here has a statement that I need you to sign. Basically, you admit the elements of the conspiracy, but contend that you were misled as to the ultimate ends. It paints you as a victim of extortion. You sign it, and I’ll keep it with the understanding that it never sees the light of day while you cooperate.”

“Cooperate?”

“You become Speaker, but you do as I say or else.”

“You must think I’m stupid that would be like jumping from the frying pan into the fire. There is no statute of limitations on murder.”

“Quite right, but what choice do you have. The feds won’t prosecute. Far too embarrassing, but I have no such problem. Right now, I have all the evidence a special prosecutor would need to convict you of murder several times over. So, here’s your choice. Become speaker and play ball or spend the rest of your life in Attica, a very uncomfortable place.”

“What guarantee do I have that you don’t take this statement straight to the press?”

“The fact that you know that I’m just as crooked as you are,” the governor said his smile broadening. He permitted the reality of the situation to sink in and then said, “First order of business will be the passage of a bill to reopen the statute of limitations for child abuse.”

“You playing a game on me. We both know that is pointless since the State Senate will never agree to it,” Jose shot back.

“That’s not my problem. The bill is the cost of Mr. Fitzgerald’s silence. My outside counsel is charged with delivering the Republican senators. Mr. O’Reilly has assured me he has a method of securing the support of the Arch Diocese.”

“What kind of devil’s bargain are you proposing to make?”

“Not your business. Just sign the document,” the governor said as Carrie brought the statement down the table for Jose to read.

The governor was right Jose/John had no choice. He signed and slid the statement back to Carrie, who slipped it back into the file. When the future speaker left, Kincade turned to his assistant.

“That went better than I thought,” he said.

“You didn’t give him much choice.”

“Yes, but I thought there would be more whining. Now as to you,” he said.

“Me?”

“Yes, I’m going to appoint you to the Court of Claims. Get a couple of years there on secondment to the criminal court to handle the backlog in NYC cases, and we’ll see about moving you up. I want you in a position to be appointed to the federal bench when I make it to the Whitehouse.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you will get rid of O’Reilly. The last thing you need is an association with a man with that kind of reputation. Women get held for the perceived sins of their men. It’s just the way of things. A judge needs the public’s respect. Appearances and respect are everything on the bench. People may have sympathy for the poor innocent spouse, but they can’t respect her.”

“But Jimmy’s a good man.”

“The best. I never said he wasn’t, but that’s exactly the problem. Far too concerned with doing the right thing no matter the consequences. Such men are to be avoided in government where the appearance of being right is the only thing that matters.”

“Do you think he can deliver the Arch Diocese.”

“Yes. I have no idea how, and I don’t want to know. Only a legal magician could perform such a feat, but I have no doubt Mr. O’Reilly will succeed.

In her heart, Carrie knew the governor was right. Jimmy would succeed, and she would leave him to pursue her political dreams.

The governor was watching her, “Don’t antagonize over it. To succeed in this game sacrifices are a necessity, our own and those that are close to us.”

Carrie nodded her assent, and the governor moved on, “We need to get ready to shift to the left. This new Democrat business-oriented image needs to go. The next president of the United States will be a progressive Democrat. Make an appointment for me to sit down with that DeVoe slut. I need to spin out a platform of legalized Marijuana and Medicare for all.”

“Won’t that seem odd after four years of corporate giveaways.”

“The voters have the memory of goldfish. The only thing that can derail me is a scandal involving children. Thanks to your Mr. O’Reilly I’ve put that one to bed.”

“What about Fitzgerald?”

“Don’t worry, a man like that the last thing he wants anyone to know is that he once was a victim. He would see it as a failure, and his professional image can’t tolerate that,” the governor said quite sure he had covered all his bases.

The Cardinal was seated behind his seraphim decorated baroque desk. He had agreed to see the young Mr. O’Reilly despite the lawyer’s disreputable reputation because he believed that he might gain some information that would help him locate the church’s missing file. The unfortunate death of Monsignor Mourluck was hard to accept. The Cardinal’s closest advisors were now telling him that the man, he had trusted like a son, had been out to betray him.

There is no limit to the evil that can lurk in the human soul. How easy it was for ambition to turn a man from the path of righteousness onto the road to hell. The Cardinal said five masses for his deceased subordinate, two for the departed and three to thank the merciful Lord for preserving the Cardinal’s ass. Now, if God would just deliver unto his most faithful servant that damn file.

Father Phillips, the Cardinal’s secretary, announced James O’Reilly and in walked the tall, handsome attorney. The cardinal thought, “I would know this man’s occupation even without the esquire at the end of his name.”

“Please be seated and tell me what brings you here today,” the Cardinal said.

“Thank you, and in reality, it is a simple matter. I need your support in amending the statute of limitation to reopen the time for the filing of suits involving crimes against children.”

“Mr. O’Reilly you must be aware of the church’s position in this matter. We believe that true healing comes from divine forgiveness. Going back years and decades to find retribution serves neither the victims nor society.”

“I understand, but before we discuss this further, I thought you should see these,” James O’Reilly said pulling from his inside jacket pocket a packet of papers which he handed across the desk to the cardinal.

The cleric examined these papers, but could make no sense of them, “What am I to learn from these.”

“Yes, they are rather confusing, but simply put they are the records of two bank accounts — one here in a small savings and loan and the other in Barclay’s Bank in Ireland. Because the Westchester Municipal Employees Savings and Loan is not a federal bank, it kept only minimal records of the checks drawn on its account; however, it did record the deposits coming in from a parish building fund. Oddly, that particular parish does not exist.

“This allowed Monsignor Robert Montgomery to make regular payments into the Barclay’s Bank in Cork Ireland without raising any interest with federal banking authorities. In turn, Elizabeth Cullen and her daughter Lisa could withdraw the funds easily.

“You remember Beth Cullen. She was what, seventeen when you left Ireland some thirty-five years ago. That was around the time she gave birth to her daughter,” O’Reilly said.