CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ami had not seen Vanessa standing with the other reporters when she rushed across the hospital lobby with her head down and her shoulders hunched, obviously uncomfortable with the size of the crowd, the television lights, and the shouted questions. Even if Ami had studied the mob of reporters, she would not have recognized her client, who wore a black wig, makeup, and dark glasses and looked more like a society reporter than a haphazardly dressed representative of a sleazy tabloid.
While the other members of the press waited for the return of the reporters who had been chosen for the pool that was to be allowed to record Morelli’s arraignment, Vanessa slipped away from the press corps and stationed herself around the corner from Leroy Ganett’s office. Shortly after the arraignment ended, Ganett returned with Brendan Kirkpatrick at his side. Fifteen minutes later, the two men walked out of the doctor’s office, and Vanessa heard Ganett tell the prosecutor that he was going to the cafeteria to get something to eat. She waited until the elevator doors closed and took the next car to the basement.
Vanessa pretended to look over the hot dishes while Ganett put a sandwich, an apple, and a soft drink on his tray. As soon as the doctor paid the cashier, Vanessa followed him. He was unwrapping the cellophane from his sandwich when she spoke.
“Dr. Ganett, I’m Sheryl Neidig,” Vanessa said as she slipped onto a chair opposite the doctor. “I flew in from LA to look into the Little League case.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t talk about that.”
“And I don’t expect you to, right now. I know that you have to honor the doctor-patient privilege.”
Dr. Ganett looked confused. “What do you want with me, then?”
“I’m an executive with Phoenix Productions. We’re an independent production company based in Hollywood and we’re exploring the possibility of making a television movie-of-the-week about Daniel Morelli’s case.”
“I still can’t discuss my patient with you.”
“Actually, you can if Mr. Morelli agrees to waive the physician-privilege. And, I assure you, it will be in his financial interest to do so. Yours too, in fact. If he sells us the rights to his story, our movie would have a character based on you.”
“On me? Well, I don’t know…”
“We wouldn’t use your name, unless you wanted us to, but Mr. Morelli was wounded and he is in a hospital. Naturally, there would be a doctor in the movie, and we would need a technical consultant to help us make the film as realistic as possible.” Vanessa flashed her sexiest smile. “Would you be interested?”
“Uh, well, I don’t know. What would I have to do?”
“Oh, it would be a snap for you. You’d supervise the technical aspects to make sure our actors behave like real doctors; you’d explain medical procedures, stuff like that. We might even arrange a cameo role, if you’re interested. You know, give you a small part in the film.” Vanessa smiled. “Who knows, this could be the start of a whole new career.”
Ganett looked interested and nervous. “I’d have to clear this with the hospital administrator.”
“Then you are interested?”
“I might be.”
“You’d be paid, of course.”
“Oh?”
“We’d have to negotiate the fee, but-and don’t tell anyone I told you this-ten to twenty-five thousand wouldn’t be out of the question.”
“That sounds, uh, fair. When can I tell you if I can do it?”
Ganett sounded eager now. Vanessa smiled. “Why don’t I call you tomorrow?”
“Okay.”
“Great. What’s your office number?”
Dr. Ganett told her, and Vanessa made a show of writing it down in a spiral notebook she took out of her purse. When she’d put away the notebook Vanessa stood up.
“I’ll call LA and tell them you’re interested. My boss will be excited. And we’ll touch base soon.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ami had trouble containing her excitement on the drive back to her office. George French had warned her about the dangers of investing too heavily in the type of story that Carl was telling, but she was certain that he wasn’t lying.
As soon as Ami was seated behind her desk, she dialed her expert’s number.
“George, it’s Ami. I just got back from the hospital.”
“How did it go?”
“Morelli opened up to me, only his name isn’t really Daniel Morelli.”
“Who does he say he is now?”
“This is highly confidential, George. You’ll understand why you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone once you hear what he told me.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Ami.”
“Okay. Morelli says that his real name is Carl Rice and that he went AWOL from the army in 1986. He told me some other things, George. If he’s telling the truth, this is huge.”
“What does that mean?”
Ami told French about Carl’s claim that he worked in a secret unit run by Morris Wingate. She recounted his missions and ended with Rice’s claim that Morris Wingate had ordered him to murder Congressman Glass.
“What do you think, George?” Ami asked when she was done.
“Either our boy has a very active imagination or you’re sitting on top of the biggest scandal in the history of American politics.”
“Which do you think it is?”
“Honestly? I go with door number one. The whole story is too fantastic. One of the leading candidates for president of the United States is out to get him. That’s right out of the introductory chapter to
“We should be able to check on some of his story now that we know Carl’s real name.”
“If it is his real name.”
“Can you ask your friend to find Carl Rice’s military record?”
“Yes, but this is the last time.”
“No, I agree. If Carl lied about this, then I’ll wash my hands of him.”
“I’ll call you when I know something.”
Ami hung up and thought about calling Vanessa Kohler, but she decided against it. She wanted to meet with Vanessa face to face and she wanted to be prepared for their meeting. Ami booted up her computer. Moments later, she had found a story about a black belt in San Diego named Mark Torrance who had been beaten up during a burglary.
Next, she searched the Web for articles about the murder of Congressman Eric Glass. The results were encouraging. The congressman had been murdered at Lost Lake, California, in 1985; and a witness, whose identity had been kept secret by the police, had named Carl Rice as a suspect. There were more stories about the case, but they added no new information.
Ami brought up articles about the murder of General Peter Rivera. One of them contained disturbing information. General Rivera had been tortured and killed in his home in Bethesda, Maryland, in a manner similar to the way that Congressman Glass had been killed, and Carl Rice was named as a suspect. An enterprising reporter for the
Ami’s intercom buzzed, and her receptionist announced that Brendan Kirkpatrick was calling. Ami toyed with not taking the call from her least favorite lawyer, but she was still representing Carl Rice until another attorney took the case off her hands.
“Hello, Mr. Kirkpatrick.”
