Milt now extended Broker the courtesy of addressing him as a player and a peer. “So Allen calls me up the other night and says Jolene’s houseguest, Earl Garf-alias Clyde-had a run-in with you. .”
Broker, caught off guard by Downs’s appearance, went on the attack. “Hank belongs in a nursing home, he needs full-time, skilled care. She’s working herself ragged.”
Milt reacted frankly, hands open, fingers spread. “I couldn’t stop her, she went ballistic when the Blue Cross tanked. Look, Allen’s been monitoring him every day. He’s in remarkably good shape for a. .”
“Vegetable,” Broker said.
“I didn’t want to rush her. I also had to get a feel for working with her. .”
Broker said, “What’s the matter? Afraid she might jump to another lawyer?”
Milt said, “Monday I’m moving him into a full-care facility.”
“Who’s paying?”
“I’m paying. I’m also on the calender in probate in Washington County. It might take a month, but Jolene will be appointed Hank’s guardian and executor of his trust. We all just got off to a bad start on this thing.”
“Too bad. Garf wouldn’t be there if she hadn’t come up broke because of Hank’s trust-fund antics,” Broker said.
Milt said, “I
“I know about Stovall,” Broker said.
The preliminary fencing ended and they both backed off. Milt glanced at his hands and inquired diplomatically, “Don’t like surprises, do you? Like Downs being here?”
Broker changed the subject and pointed to a medical monitor the size of a breadbox that sat on the desk. “What’s that?”
“That,” Milt said, “is our case. It’s a GE Marquette, it monitors vital signs; what they had Hank hooked up to. I rented one.” Milt reached across the desk and fiddled with knobs and dials. “And this is what I think happened: they had one nurse watching Hank and, to be fair, half the other patients in the place, plus covering the ER. Once you attach the leads to the patient, the monitor starts graphing vital signs. But if you don’t program the machine for a new patient, the alarm doesn’t activate.
“So I’m thinking the anesthetist miscalculated the amount of sedation she gave Hank throughout the operation and took him off the gas too soon. They get him up to recovery-but the nurse is busy, she hooks up the leads and forgets the programing procedure; she sees the wave forms going across the screen and thinks everything’s all right. She gets distracted, leaves the room, Hank stops breathing, and nobody knows.”
Milt picked up a manila folder full of forms and dropped it on his desk. “The case is very strong.”
Broker said, “Jolene insists he looks at her.”
Milt nodded. “She told me. We’ve had experts. Allen checks him regularly for visual pursuit. There is no indication of voluntary reflexes.” He paused and then focused his full attention on Broker.
“So, let’s talk about you. You thumped Garf and he checked around and came up with some interesting background on our trusty northwoods guide; like you did time in Stillwater, and so on. That’s when I got ahold of Downs, who investigates this kind of stuff for us, and I asked him to check you out.
“And he just laughs and says, ‘Good luck,’ because you were only the most freewheeling undercover operative in Minnesota cop land and the longest-running one. Apparently fragments from your undercover days are still scattered through the system, and that’s what Garf found in NCIC. You were with the state Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, right?”
Broker remained silent, utterly unreadable and unflappable; it had been his most useful talent as a cop and his least endearing quality to civilians.
Milt, in no way intimidated, leaned forward across his desk. “Right?”
Clearly Milt was no cherry, and he had mouse-trapped him with Downs. So Broker said, “Yeah.”
“Among other things”-Milt raised an eyebrow-“like rumors, you’re stringing for ongoing deep-shit federal stuff nobody is willing to talk about. Which is why you’re still carried in the system.”
Broker cleared his throat, crossed his legs, and scratched his cheek. “What else did Tim have to say?”
Milt leaned forward a little more, grinning, “That you’re a misfit, a maverick, and maybe a shade more outlaw than cop-not a team player, at any rate.” He seemed intrigued by these revelations. Even amused. And something more. Broker sensed the lawyer was a quick study who spotted a passing advantage. He asked, “Can I still get some coffee?”
“Sure.” Milt tapped the intercom. “Kelly, could you bring us two cups of coffee.”
Broker inclined his head forward. “Did you tell Allen any of this?”
Milt smiled. “Allen, the invincible surgeon? Of course not. I love to keep that guy in the dark.”
“So Garf still thinks. .”
“You have a checkered past. Like he does. Which is how you’re playing it with them, I suspect.” Milt straightened up when his assistant brought in a tray with cups, carafe, cream, and sugar. When she withdrew, he doled out coffee, then he turned back to Broker. “Naturally-once I learned about your background, I’d been thinking about the difference between omission and commission.”
“Say what you mean, Milt.”
“What are you doing hanging out at Hank’s?”
“You mean, like Allen? And maybe you?”
Milt opened his hands and pursed his lips. “Jolene’s in a tight spot. We all feel bad.”
“She’s the fucking Lorelei.” Broker pointed to the white-water pictures on the wall. “I’d plug my ears and mind the rocks, if I were you.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
Broker sipped his coffee and watched a Cessna traverse Milt’s windows on approach to the St. Paul Municipal Airport. “Are you going to win?” he asked.
“Nothing’s for sure. But, yeah, I’m going to win.”
“Big?”
“Pretty big.
“How will the money be disbursed?”
Milt picked up a handspring from his desktop and squeezed it methodically. “Most of it will go into a trust for Hank’s extended care. Some will go to Jolene directly; she has a claim to loss of consortium.”
“What’s that?”
Milt shrugged. “It compensates for the loss of aid, comfort, and society of the injured party. But as the spouse she has a lot to say about administering the trust.”
“Along with her lawyer,” Broker said.
“Of course.”
Now Broker leaned forward. “Let’s say you do win big and the money gets paid, and then, when it’s all settled, Hank conveniently dies the rest of the way. What happens to the money?”
“She gets it all. What’s your point?”
“I don’t see Jolene shackled to bedsores for the long haul. Too many men are interested in her.” Broker paused for emphasis. “And love always finds a way.”
“That’s melodramatic,” Milt said, lowering his eyes in distaste.
Broker paused a moment. “You’re not married, are you?”
“Not at the moment,” Milt said, getting up, turning his broad pinstriped back to Broker. He stared out his windows. “I take it you’ve been in among these rocks you’re talking about?”
Broker couldn’t see his face. “Close enough to know when to get the hell out, after I take care of one little detail.”
Milt’s shoulders tensed slightly. “Which is?”
“Persuading Garf his self-interest lies elsewhere. The way I see it, I owe Hank a favor for saving my butt out on that lake.”
“Can you do that?” Milt turned just a fraction too fast.
Broker almost felt sorry for Garf: more and more he was being cast as the main speed bump on the way to Jolene’s bounty. Like everybody, Milt wanted him gone. But he didn’t want to get his hands dirty and he didn’t want to see the messy part. He just wanted it to be made nice and clean; the pretty woman all alone in the big house
