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“We've all heard of some notorious cases over the last couple of years,” Laurie said.

“That's an understatement,” Lou said. “I'm ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that all the Angels Healthcare principals will be able to spend some time with those more famous brethren. The CEO, CFO, and COO have all been arrested and arraigned. Two posted very high bail, but the third couldn't.”

“What if they didn't know they were supposed to file when their cash flow fell?”

“Ignorance of the law is not an excuse,” Lou said. “At the same time, they knew. Except for the CEO, they are experienced businesspeople, and the CEO had recently been through business school. They all knew what they should have done. In fact, the reason Paul Yang and his secretary, Amy Lucas, were killed, as near as we can tell, is because Paul wanted to file the necessary paperwork and the others put pressure on him not to do it. That's serious business.”

“Have the Angels Healthcare executives also been charged with murder?” Laurie asked with shock.

“No. We were able to learn through Freddie Capuso, who has copped a plea, that the two killings and your being put in jeopardy was from the civilian guy on the boat, Michael Calabrese.”

“I remember your mentioning him. What was his role?”

“He used to be married to the CEO, Angela Dawson, and even had a child with her. In the past, he was an investment banker with Morgan Stanley but left because of the opportunity to invest all the racketeering and drug money Vinnie Dominick controlled. He was, in essence, a professional money launderer. On top of that, he's going to be tried for murder.”

“God, what a mess,” Laurie said.

“In a very real way, we owe you for breaking the case or, more accurately, breaking the cases. If it hadn't been for you, all these people would be still carrying on.”

“I don't think I deserve the credit,” Laurie said. “I'm afraid my motivations were to get Jack to postpone his surgery, so the rest is fallout.”

Lou smiled. He didn't agree but wasn't going to argue.

“What has Walter Osgood been charged with?” Laurie asked.

“Haven't you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Walter Osgood committed suicide yesterday.”

“Good grief,” Laurie said.

“His son, whom he'd been trying to raise the money for, died on Saturday. Osgood had a lot of reasons to be depressed.”

“It's a multilayered tragedy for everyone involved.”

“I'll tell you what it is,” Jack said, speaking up for the first time. “It's equivalent to the adage in politics that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. The difference is that with medicine it's money, not power.”

 

CHET McGOVERN PRESSED
his nose against the bus's window and looked across the East River at LaGuardia Airport. He was close enough to see individual windows on the jetliners as they waited to take off. He was close, but in another way he was far because Chet was on a New York City bus heading across a long two-lane bridge that not only had he never seen but he never knew even existed. Having lived in the city for fifteen years, he thought he was familiar with it, but here he was on a bridge every bit as long as the mighty George Washington, and it was his first contact, and he hoped his last. The bridge led from the borough of Queens to Rikers Island, the largest penal institution in the world. As a metaphor for incarceration, Rikers Island was a long way from its neighbor, LaGuardia Airport, which, like any airport, was a contrasting icon for freedom.

Chet's morning had started early in the courthouse. Although he had had significant experience testifying during many trials involving all manner of death, he'd had little other contact with the courts, and that morning, he'd had to face a steep learning curve. Over the Easter weekend, he'd fretted over the news that had been in the
Times
concerning Angels Healthcare and its CEO and founder, Angela Dawson. She, her chief financial officer, and her chief operating officer had been arrested for an astounding array of charges, including various conspiracies, a number of different categories of fraud, money laundering, violations of the Patriot Act, and violation of Sarbanes-Oxley. An even more serious charge of accessory to depraved-heart murder had been quickly dropped.

Chet had first been angry. Here was a woman who'd impressed and charmed him into going to frivolous lengths to spend a little time with her and to get to know her, not to mention the money he'd spent on her, and now, after all the effort, he learns from a newspaper that she's a criminal. For him, it had been yet another reminder that women, like his old college girlfriend, cannot be trusted, and keeping them at arm's length represented an act of self-preservation.

Yet by late Easter Sunday, Chet's initial response had mellowed enough for him to question the charges, since they hardly fit the mental and emotional image he'd begun to construct of Angela Dawson. He also reminded himself of a basic tenet of American jurisprudence: namely, that people are innocent until proven guilty. It was at that point that another fact had begun to bother him: All three individuals had been offered bail, but only two had posted it. Angela Dawson had not done so, and the reason given was that she'd consumed all her equity in trying to prop up her floundering company.

From there on it had been downhill, as far as Chet's sense of well-being was concerned. He'd been unable to get two images out of his mind. One was Angela chained to a bare stone wall in a damp, dungeonlike cell with rats and cockroaches running around. The second was a ten-year-old daughter crying incessantly. By Monday, Chet had made a decision, which he assumed was irrational and surely had more to do with his own needs than with chivalry. And by that morning, Tuesday, he'd started the process by calling a bail bondsman and arranging for a quick meeting.

It had been at that point that Chet's learning curve about criminal law had had to begin. He'd always had a rather simplified view of posting bail. A person brought the money, handed it over, and that was it. But, particularly in high-profile cases, such as Angela's, especially when the bail amount was high, as it was, there was a bit more involved. In fact, it took all morning for Chet and the bail bondsman to arrange for a court surety hearing to make sure Chet's twenty-five thousand cash and his collateral for the other two hundred thousand were coming from legitimate sources and not drug money or something similar. Forced to wait even over a court adjournment for lunch, Chet had not gotten the final determination that the bail had been met until one-thirty. It was for that reason that it was now almost three as he was at last approaching Rikers Island.

Chet looked around the bus's interior. The other riders were mostly female and appeared to reside mostly on the south side of the poverty line. Although it was abundantly clear that rich people were as capable as anyone else of committing crime, the lion's share of the burden of paying for it fell on the poor.

After what seemed like an exceptionally long drive, the bus drove onto Rikers Island proper and presently came to a stop at the Rikers Island Visitors Center. As Chet climbed down from the bus, he got the immediate impression the complex was generally dirty and run-down. It was not a happy place.

Unsure of where to go, Chet followed the crowd into the scarred and scuffed building. The atmosphere was repressive. As the others who'd come on the bus with Chet filed off to their respective destinations, Chet stopped. He didn't know where to go. He'd not realized how large the place was. Spotting an official-appearing person, Chet started in his direction for advice, but he didn't need it. He saw Angela sitting among a crowd who plainly had more in common with one another than with her.

Angela had been staring ahead blankly until she caught sight of Chet. Her first reaction was confusion, as if she recognized him but couldn't quite remember who he was. Chet walked directly up to her and looked down into her eyes, which suddenly reflected recognition. She stood up with confusion.

“Chet,” she said, as much a question as a statement.

“What a coincidence meeting you here,” Chet said spontaneously. He'd not planned on what he should say.

Angela laughed uneasily. “I had no idea it would be you. Suddenly, I was told my bail had been posted and that I was to be picked up. I thought maybe by my CFO or my COO, but never you.”

“I hope I'm not a disappointment.”

“Hardly,” Angela said. She reached out and gave him a hug, pinning his arms to his sides. For a moment, she wouldn't let go. When she did, he saw her eyes had become significantly wetter. “Thank you, and my daughter thanks you. I don't know what else to say.”

“Thanks is fine,” Chet said. “And you're welcome.” Then he hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Maybe we should try to catch the bus I came out here on. Otherwise, I don't know how long we will have to wait.”

“Let's for sure!” Angela said eagerly. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and Rikers Island as possible, and as quickly as possible. She picked up her small bag. Together, they headed for the exit. Both were self-conscious. They didn't touch.

“Why did you do it?” Angela asked when they got outside.

“To be honest, I don't know.”

Angela stopped for a moment and glanced around. “When you are locked up, you realize how much you take freedom for granted. This has been the worst experience of my life.”

“I think we better hurry,” Chet said. The bus was still standing where Chet had gotten off, but the line to board was down to three people.

Chet and Angela ran and climbed on. The first empty double seat was close to the very rear.

“I guess I posted your bail because I don't think you could have done the things you are charged with.”

“I'm sorry to disabuse you of that belief,” Angela said, turning to Chet. “I did do some of them, but hardly as charged. I have had a number of miserable hours thinking about everything. The main thing is that I knowingly did not file an eight-K. It's a required SEC form. But do you know something? There was never a precise moment when it should have been filed. I mean, at first there was no cash-flow problem. It happened over time, and we thought the MRSA would be easily handled. We never suspected it was being deliberately spread.”

“I spoke to a lawyer friend of mine,” Chet said. “He told me in cases like this, the judge has a lot of discretion.”

“I hope so,” Angela said. “My biggest worry right now is the threat of losing my medical license, which is a very real possibility. For me, that will be the worst punishment, because I've finally seen the light. As a businesswoman, I don't like the person I've become. It's like I've had blinders on. I've come to realize that money is a seductive but illusionary goal, and it's addictive. The problem is one's never satisfied, and no matter how much money is made, it can't shake a stick at how I remember feeling after helping an office full of patients. What I'm saying is I want to go back to medicine.”

“Come again?” Chet said with surprise.

“I want to go back to the practice of medicine,” Angela repeated. “My immediate goal is going to be to solve my legal problems, so I can do it. It's been a hard lesson, but I know now that mixing medicine and business is great for business, with the huge amount of money available, but an unmitigated disaster for medicine and the doctors who allow themselves to be caught up in it.”

“Interesting,” Chet said.

“Interesting?” Angela repeated questioningly. “Are you humoring me? I've really been thinking about this nonstop. I'm being very serious.”

“I'm not humoring you at all,” Chet said. “Quite the contrary. I'm realizing that you are telling me why I was willing to post your bail.”