The Oath

Hardy moved too, as fast as he could, getting himself between them. For an instant, he thought he and his client were going to mix it up. "Get out of my way, Diz."

"Not happening," Hardy said. "You going to make me?"

"Don't you make me."

"See?" A

"I didn't do anything on Saturday!" He pointed at her over Hardy's shoulder. "You want to talk about the problem here! You want to talk danger to the kids, you want to talk unstable?" Then he took it directly to her. "You really think I've got it in me to kill somebody? Give me a break, A

Hardy had to find a wedge to get in or this was over before it started. "Speaking of scared, she was scared, Eric."

"She's got no call to be scared of me. I've never done anything to hurt her. If she doesn't know that…" He shifted his focus from Hardy to her, his own anguish now evident in his voice. "What were you thinking, A

A

"Of me? How could you be scared of me?"

Now she pleaded for understanding from him. "I was just scared, okay? Of everything." Her voice was small. "I didn't want to make another mistake and then, of course, I did."

It was the closest thing to an apology Kensing was going to get. Hardy recognized that and took the moment. "Why don't we sit back down?"

"Did Ross go in?" Hardy asked. "It must have been minutes before the monitors went off."

"He might have. He could have. I just don't know."

"Where were you then?" A

Kensing kept any defensiveness out of his reply, directed as much to Hardy as to A

"How did that happen?" Hardy asked.

Kensing shrugged. "Nobody stopped him. You'd have to know him. He carries himself with a lot of authority. If any of the nurses would have said anything, he would have just said, 'It's all right, I belong here,' and they probably would have accepted it."

"I hate the little bastard," A

"Did he?" Hardy asked. "Order him around?"

"He tried, especially when it came to his time. Scheduling."

"And how did Tim feel about that?"

"He couldn't live without him," Eric put in, unable to keep some fresh venom out of his voice. "Brendan did about half his work."

"Wrong!" A

Eric snorted in disagreement.

"…there's no question who was the leader."

"So there was friction between them?"

"Major," Eric said. "You've got to know Brendan to appreciate him. 'The little engine that could.'"

Hardy came back to A

She hesitated. "I think some of Tim's financial decisions. Tim was more of a risk taker."

"With Parnassus's money?" Hardy's main interest was the murder, but if he could uncover some business dirt that might be helpful to Jackman, he'd be glad to have it.

"Well, I don't know exactly. The last couple of years they've had to run pretty lean…and then there were some perso

"Me, for example."

A

Kensing amplified. "Brendan wanted Tim to fire me straight out starting three or four years ago. Make an example of me."

"Why? What had you done?"

"General attitude, I think, more than anything. Lack of respect. I kind of took the lead in standing up for the patients over money."

A

Hardy cut off the potential argument. "So how did the secretary get involved in all this? He had no real power, did he?"

"How did Rasputin get in?" Eric asked. "He had no real power, either."

The dynamic was still eluding Hardy. "But the guy's just a secretary, right?"

For the first time, A

"And I hope that's clear," A

"As to how he got where he did," Eric kept it on point, "as A

A

"Then, while you wait and wait, and you do, Brendan the very well-dressed and extremely formal executive assistant basically explains the ground rules. Mr. Markham doesn't like personal confrontation. He prefers to keep meetings short. Within a week, he tells you, you'll receive a written pre´cis of the main points covered and actions you discussed that would be taken. You should then sign this letter to acknowledge its contents and return it to the office.

"The point got made. The guy had developed this just unbelievable array of rules and protocol, all designed to insulate and protect his boss. I mean, he'd write in unsigned postscripts at the bottom of letters, and you'd think they were from Tim."

Suddenly, hearing the specifics, Hardy understood completely. David Freeman's receptionist, Phyllis, was a lesser version of Brendan Driscoll. Hardy had been humorously pressing Freeman to fire her for about five years, but the old man wouldn't hear of it, saying he'd never get his work done without her. And perhaps he believed it. But Hardy had on several occasions seen Phyllis restrict access to Freeman so thoroughly-and with such sincere compassion and sympathy-that associates she didn't like had finally quit the firm over it, thinking all the while it had been Freeman who'd been stiffing them. "And Tim was okay with this?" Hardy asked.

"Actually, no," A

"Enough to get Driscoll fired?" Hardy asked.

A