don’t know,” Rina said. “Every time I sneak a glance at him, he’s straightening his tie or wiping lint off his suit. He dresses nicely. He obviously cares about his appearance.”
Ryan said, “Tell you one thing. He isn’t involved with manual labor. Soft hands.”
“Maybe he’s like a private attorney,” Joy said. “The guy on trial can use someone better than that schlump he has.”
“Yeah, he is pretty schlumpy,” Ally said.
Kate said, “We probably shouldn’t be talking about the case.”
“We’re not talking about the case,” Joy said, “just the schlumpy attorney.”
“Still, Kate has a point,” Rina said. “So what’s the guess on who Mr. Smiles is?”
Shrugs all around.
“I just hope he’s not a stalker,” Ally said quietly.
“He’s a little out in the open to be a stalker,” Rina said.
Joy said, “I once had a stalker. Some guy at work. Wouldn’t leave me alone.”
Ally said, “What did you do?”
“I repeatedly told him to bug off. When he wouldn’t, I threw coffee in his face.” When the group stared at her, dumbfounded, Joy said, “It was lukewarm. But I made my point. He never bothered me again.”
“You’re tough,” Ryan said. “Tougher than my clients.”
Joy patted his hand with maternal affection. “I may be a grandma, but that still doesn’t mean you can mess with me.”
Ally said, “Did you bring up the stalker at the voir dire when they asked about experience with crime?”
“Nah, I didn’t bring it up. It wasn’t a crime really. Just bad behavior. Hell, if they eliminated people based on bad behavior, the system wouldn’t have anyone left for jury duty.”
SINCE IT WAS L.A., the scene might have been a generic opening shot for any of the many hospital shows that had graced the small screen over the years. Men were shouting orders as they rushed down the hallways with anxious nurses in tow. Except in this case, the guys weren’t in scrubs but suits and ties with an entourage of walking-around guys. The nurses were barking commands at the executive group, but the men clearly weren’t listening. Someone mentioned calling security.
The crew charged past Marge and Decker as the detectives exchanged glances.
“The Kaffey family?” Marge asked.
Decker answered, “Maybe we should intercede before someone throws them out.”
“Not likely being as we’re in the Kaffey Emergency Services Building.” Marge watched the confrontation in front of the ICU. “We should put a guard in front, Loo. We don’t know if the family is involved. Maybe they’ve come back for unfinished business.”
“Absolutely.” Decker took in a deep breath and let it out. “Let’s go.”
They walked over to the sizable assemblage, the voices loud and demanding. The revolt was led by a young man in his twenties, backed up by an older man in his late fifties. Decker weaved himself into the hubbub. “Can I help someone?”
The young man glared at Decker with furious eyes. He was medium sized with a thick swatch of sandy hair. If Decker squinted hard enough, he could see some common fraternal features with Gil.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Detective Lieutenant Peter Decker, LAPD. This is Detective Sergeant Marge Dunn. She’s from Homicide.” He held out his hand. “Are you Grant Kaffey?”
The eyes narrowed. “Let me see some ID.”
Decker opened the billfold, and both the young and older man scrutinized the badges. When they were satisfied, the older one said, “What the hell is going on?”
“How about some introductions first? We’d like to know who we’re talking to.”
The older man spoke up. “Mace Kaffey. I’m Guy’s brother.” He ran his hand over a face shadowed with grief, fatigue, and grizzle. “This is Grant Kaffey. We want to talk to Gil.”
“Gil is very heavily sedated right now. He was wounded—”
“How bad?” The younger one looked horrified. “Was he shot?”
“He was shot.”
“Oh God,” Mace exclaimed.
Decker said, “How about if we find a quiet room and get some coffee? Sergeant Dunn and I will try to bring you up to speed.”
“When do I get to see my brother?” Grant demanded.
“That’s not my decision, Mr. Kaffey, that’s up to the doctor.” Decker turned to one of the nurses. “Can we get an empty room here?”
The head nurse—a stout woman with a stern expression named Jane Edderly—came charging into the commotion. “There are way too many people here. It’s blocking the hallways.”
Grant said, “Harvey, get us some coffee. Engles and Martin, you two stay here with us. The rest of you wait downstairs.” Upon hearing orders, the underlings scattered. The younger Kaffey was still glaring at Decker. “I want to see my brother now!”
Decker turned to the head nurse. “Can you page Dr. Rain, please?”
“He’s in surgery,” Jane huffed.
“Do you know when he’ll be out?”
“I have no idea! You’re still blocking the aisles.”
Grant started to speak, but Decker held up a hand. “Nurse Edderly, this is Grant Kaffey and Mace Kaffey. They’ve just undergone a terrible shock—the loss of Grant’s father and mother and Mace’s beloved brother and sister-in-law. I need to talk to them. Surely there’s an empty room in the Kaffey building where we could talk.”
Jane’s eyes widened. She finally got it. “Let me look and see what’s available.”
“Thank you, I appreciate your cooperation.” Decker turned to the men. “I’m very sorry for your losses. Tragedy of this kind just defies words.”
Mace Kaffey ran his hands over a haggard face—exhausted eyes and deep-set wrinkles. The man was portly. “What happened?”
“We don’t have all the details right now. As soon as we find a room, I’ll fill you in on what I do know.”
“Goddamn ranch!” Grant started pacing. “Too many fucking people
