“That would be so nice of you.” There was warm appreciation in Connie Garrett’s voice.
Jennifer thought of what the girl’s life must be like, sitting there totally helpless, day after day, month after month, year after year, unable to do anything for herself.
“I can’t promise anything, I’m afraid.”
“Of course not. But do you know something, Jennifer? I feel better just because you came.”
Jennifer rose to her feet. It was a moment to shake hands, but there was no hand to shake.
She said awkwardly, “It was nice meeting you, Connie. You’ll hear from me.”
On the way back to her office, Jennifer thought about Father Ryan and resolved that she would never succumb to his blandishments again. There was nothing anyone could do for that poor crippled girl, and to offer her any kind of hope was indecent. But she would keep her promise. She would talk to Melvin Hutcherson.
When Jennifer returned to her office there was a long list of messages for her. She looked through them quickly, looking for a message from Adam Warner. There was none.
12
Melvin Hutcherson was a short, balding man with a tiny button nose and washed-out pale blue eyes. He had a shabby suite of offices on the West Side that reeked of poverty. The receptionist’s desk was empty.
“Gone to lunch,” Melvin Hutcherson explained.
Jennifer wondered if he had a secretary. He ushered her into his private office, which was no larger than the reception office.
“You told me over the phone you wanted to talk about Connie Garrett.”
“That’s right.”
He shrugged. “There’s not that much to talk about. We sued and we lost. Believe me, I did a bang-up job for her.”
“Did you handle the appeal?”
“Yep. We lost that, too. I’m afraid you’re spinning your wheels.” He regarded her a moment. “Why do you want to waste your time on something like this? You’re hot. You could be working on big money cases.”
“I’m doing a friend a favor. Would you mind if I looked at the transcripts?”
“Help yourself,” Hutcherson shrugged. “They’re public property.”
Jennifer spent the evening going over the transcripts of Connie Garrett’s lawsuit. To Jennifer’s surprise, Melvin Hutcherson had told the truth: He had done a good job. He had named both the city and the Nationwide Motors Corporation as co-defendants, and had demanded a trial by jury. The jury had exonerated both defendants.
The Department of Sanitation had done its best to cope with the snowstorm that had swept the city that December; all its equipment had been in use. The city had argued that the storm was an act of God, and that if there was any negligence, it was on the part of Connie Garrett.
Jennifer turned to the charges against the truck company. Three eyewitnesses had testified that the driver had tried to stop the truck to avoid hitting the victim, but that he had been unable to brake in time, and the truck had gone into an unavoidable spin and had hit her. The verdict in favor of the defendant had been upheld by the Appellate Division and the case had been closed.
Jennifer finished reading the transcripts at three o’clock in the morning. She turned off the lights, unable to sleep. On paper, justice had been done. But the image of Connie Garrett kept coming into her mind. A girl in her twenties, without arms or legs. Jennifer visualized the truck hitting the young girl, the awful agony she must have suffered, the series of terrible operations that had been performed, each one cutting away parts of her limbs. Jennifer turned on the light and sat up in bed. She dialed Melvin Hutcherson’s home number.
“There’s nothing in the transcripts about the doctors,” Jennifer said into the telephone. “Did you look into the possibility of malpractice?”
A groggy voice said, “Who the fuck is this?”
“Jennifer Parker. Did you—”
“For Christ’s sake! It’s—it’s four o’clock in the morning! Don’t you have a watch?”
“This is important. The hospital wasn’t named in the suit. What about those operations that were performed on Connie Garrett? Did you check into them?”