Free By My Hands by Alton Gansky

that this
is a news conference and not a court of law; that you are a
reporter and not a trial lawyer; and further, that I am not on
trial.” Morgan’s voice elevated in volume. “I will answer as
briefly or copiously as I choose. If that is not agreeable with
you, you are perfectly free to leave.”
    Silence covered the room. Priscilla sat grinning.
She had accomplished what she wanted. She had made Dr. Morgan pay
for attempting to shut her out of the news conference.
    Morgan looked embarrassed. Rachel saw him deftly
slip his hand to his side and flick the test button on his pager. A
shrill beep echoed through the room. Morgan feigned surprise and
frustration.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” Morgan continued, his voice
returning to its previous pleasant tone, “I must excuse myself to
attend to some other important matters, but Dr. Tremaine will be
glad to answer any further questions.” Morgan turned and quickly
exited the room.
    Rachel’s stomach tighten as she watched, what seemed
to her, a hundred pairs of eyes staring, prying and piercing her
soul. Why do I have to be so insecure before crowds? I can cut open
a human body without a second thought; why do I feel like running
from the room? Rachel took her place behind the lectern.
    “Who will be next?” she said softly. Her throat was
dry. She had a classic case of stage fright. Morgan had abandoned
her without proper preparation. She had nothing to offer these
people. She had received the assignment only a few hours before.
All she had time to do was read the medical charts of the two
patients involved, and she had been warned by Morgan not to
disclose any details contained in them. “It might cause certain
legal complications,” he had said.
    The next thirty minutes were filled with a repeat of
the questions asked of Morgan and inquiries about her task. “Why
were you selected? What do you think happened? How long before any
information will be released? Do you believe in miracles?” Rachel
fielded the questions as best she could, telling the reporters that
they would have to be patient, that it was too early to make
definitive statements. She then thanked them for their
attentiveness and dismissed herself.

 
Six
    Wednesday, March 4, 1992; 7:45
P.M.
    PRISCILLA DID NOT RETURN DIRECTLY to the station.
Before attending the news conference, Irwin had handed her the
addresses of Bill and Lois Langford and Lisa Hailey. The Haileys
lived on Charger Boulevard in the community of East Clairemont. The
Langfords lived in Linda Vista. Since the East Clairemont address
was closer, Priscilla decided to make that her first stop.
    It took less than ten minutes for Priscilla to
navigate her red BMW through traffic on Interstate 805 to
Clairemont Mesa Boulevard and over the surface streets to the
Haileys’ home. The house was a relatively new two-story home with a
wood and stucco exterior. With the increasing cost of housing in
San Diego, this house could easily sell for over a quarter million
dollars.
    Priscilla parked her car curbside and walked up to
the front door. She listened carefully for a moment for any
indication that the occupants were at home. Hearing nothing, she
rang the bell. No one answered. Turning to what she assumed was the
window to the front room, Priscilla looked in. It seemed to be a
formal living room; perhaps the house had a family room in the
back. If so, it was possible that the Haileys had not heard the
bell. Stepping back to the front door she again rang the bell and
waited. Again nothing. She was glad that she hadn’t brought the
camera crew.
    Looking at her watch, Priscilla saw that it was
almost 7:45. Maybe the neighbors would know where the Haileys were.
She walked across the lawn to the next house. When she rang the
doorbell, she was greeted with noise. A small girl answered the
door accompanied by two Pomeranians that yapped constantly. The
girl was no more than three years old, with tangled blond hair and
two dirty fingers placed firmly in