cars, lights flashing, screeched to a halt in the park-ing lot. Television remote vans pulled up. Station wagons driven by radio reporters and smaller cars loaded with newspaper reporters and photographers disgorged their loads with vomitous urgency. They had not descended simultaneously, but it was obvious that someone had broadcast word of the DA's arrival.
'Election year,' Fletcher noted. 'And a slow news day, too.' Lawrence sighed. The reporters headed toward the police cars with the giddy expectation of heirs around a deathbed.
Big trouble was brewing, and the administrator was deter-mined to control not only what he said but what the DA per-ceived.
'I would advise everyone,' he told the other three, 'to re-main calm and let me handle the DA.' His intercom buzzed. He pressed a button. 'Is that the DA, Sherry?'
'Yes,' a tinny voice said over the speaker.
'Please send him in.'
The door opened to admit Malcolm Frawley, an impressively large man who was once a college football star and radio an-nouncer. He nodded his head of thinning red hair at Lawrence.
'Dr. Lawrence,' he said. His voice had the rich, deep tones of a professional orator. 'Is this the woman?'
'This is Dr. Evelyn Fletcher,' Lawrence said. 'Dr. Leo Cospe, Mr. Shawn Deyo.' Frawley shook the men's hands. He sat in the chair that Dr. Lawrence indicated. The others returned to their own.
'I must admit, Dr. Lawrence, that your call knocked me off my feet. I haven't heard anything this monstrous since.. well, for a long time. Are you sure it's as you say?' He produced a notebook and a gold Cross ballpoint.
'I'm afraid so. I received a call from a lab technologist who voiced suspicions that confirmed some of my own. I confronted Dr. Fletcher, and she admitted everything. I called you only minutes later. You have my assurance that the medical center knew nothing of this.' He eyed the DA with earnest intensity.
'You must understand that we wish to avoid publicity if at all possible. It's the policy of Bayside to assist in the prosecution of doctors who engage in unethical or illegal practices. An eth-ics subcommittee has already-'
'Railroaded me,' Fletcher said.
Before Lawrence could continue, his intercom buzzed again. This time he picked up the phone.
'Yes?'
He listened for a moment, thanked the secretary, and cradled the phone. His puffy fingers tapped a few times against the black plastic.
'There you have it,' he said. 'The valiant press decided to interview members of our permanent floating picket line. They naturally found out what's going on up here. Someone just decided to heave a bench through the lobby window.'
Frawley nodded wearily. 'I think you'll want to issue a state-ment that my department has everything in hand.' He turned toward Evelyn. 'As an officer of the court, I'd like to inform you of the following rights. You have the right to remain si-lent. If you give-'
'If you had any understanding of or respect for rights,' she said icily, 'you wouldn't be here doing this.'
Frawley shrugged. Rising to stride over to the office doors, he poked his head through to signal one of the young officers. He promptly entered with a pair of handcuffs.
'Must you?' Dr. Lawrence asked.
Frawley nodded. 'It's for her own protection.'
Fletcher held out her hands. 'What he means is it looks good on TV around election time.' The DA shook his head with a disappointed expression and removed his navy-blue jacket, offering it to the manacled woman.
'What's that for?' she asked.
'To cover your face when we go past the reporters.'
She threw him a withering glare. 'I had reason to be secre-tive. I have none to be ashamed.'
'Have it your way,' he said, slipping back into the jacket. 'Gentlemen.' The two officers flanked him by the door. He grasped Evelyn by the arm and said, 'Keep your head low and walk with me as fast as the boys can clear a
