The room fell silent. Slowly, Waterson nodded. Kent summoned someone from the PD’s office. Within an hour, everything was set into place.

The public defender was Gilda Rosen—thirtysomething, tall and dark, and dressed in a red power suit. She had Waterson sign on the dotted line. For turning state’s witness, he was spared the death penalty.

Waterson spoke in a monotone.

“I have known Azor Moses Sparks for many, many years and had always regarded him as a pillar of our community. A leader in his field of medicine, an active and forceful member of our church, a devoted father of six children, and a loving husband.”

He looked at the glass of water in front of him. Made no attempt to drink.

“When my wife…got sick, I looked to Azor for support both emotionally and medically. And he seemed generous with his help. Set up appointments for me with the best doctors, reviewed their opinions, informed us of our options, assured us both that everything was going to be all right.”

He sighed deeply.

“And we believed him. After all, he was one of the top physicians in this country. We believed him, all right.”

Waterson stared into his water glass.

“Even when my wife’s kidneys failed, he said everything was under control. He said not to worry.”

He looked up, tears in his eyes.

“He lied to me…everything was not all right. Nothing was under control!”

The room was silent.

Waterson said, “I know there’s only so much man can do. But why didn’t he just tell us that! Instead, he chose to represent himself as God…giving us false hope…lying to us day after day after day. Meanwhile, Ellen was deteriorating. She needed a transplant.”

He wiped his cheeks.

“Azor found a donor. But he didn’t do the surgery. Instead, he sent us to someone else who charged exorbitant fees. Sent our insurance rates sky-high. By the time the second surgery came around, our insurance company canceled on us.”

“They can do that?” Martinez asked.

“Oh yes, they can do that.” Waterson perked up, had found a sympathetic ear. “Enough to make your blood boil. You pay out premiums and then when they’ve had enough, they cancel on you.”

“Terrible,” Webster agreed.

“That doesn’t even begin to describe it, Detective,” Waterson said. “I was a desperate man. I begged Azor to do the surgery himself. Because I couldn’t afford another surgery without bankrupting myself. But he wouldn’t do it. He just refused to do it!”

Waterson growled with anger.

“He made excuses. Said it wasn’t his bailiwick. Said he had misgivings about operating on such a close friend.” The lawyer thumped his fist against the table. “Don’t you see? It was all a frameup because he knew he had failed.”

“Failed?” Webster asked.

“He knew from the beginning that she was going to die.”

“Mr. Waterson,” Kent said, “we all die—”