CALL FROM THE JAILHOUSE REVIEW: “I LOVED HOW THE BOOK WAS CRAFTED.”

Physician anesthesiologist at Stanford at Associated Anesthesiologists Medical Group
Richard Novak, MD is a Stanford physician board certified in anesthesiology and internal medicine.Dr. Novak is an Adjunct Clinical Professor in the Department of Anesthesiology, Perioperative and Pain Medicine at Stanford University, the Medical Director at Waverley Surgery Center in Palo Alto, California, and a member of the Associated Anesthesiologists Medical Group in Palo Alto, California.
emailrjnov@yahoo.com
THE ANESTHESIA CONSULTANT

 

Yes, you can read entertaining fiction and learn about medicine at the same time.

Rick Novak’s third novel, Call From the Jailhouse, a 5-star review from the San Francisco Book Review, is now available on Amazon:

CALL FROM THE JAILHOUSE: NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON LINK:

Call From the Jailhouse

 

REVIEW FROM THE SAN FRANCISCO BOOK REVIEW:

Call From the Jailhouse

By Rick Novak
Extasy Books,  331 pages, Format: eBook and paperback

Star Rating: 5 / 5

Author Rick Novak, MD, does an exquisite job of crafting a scenario in which a man is accused of murdering his lover and her husband and brings it all the way into a full jury trial. Call From the Jailhouse introduces readers to top defense attorney Cicely Vella. Cicely is a savage in the courtroom and is able to present to the jury all the reasons why they should acquit. Cicely’s marriage to an anesthesiologist named Sam Vella ended in divorce almost a year and a half ago, although there were certainly times when she missed him. When Sam calls Cicely from the county jail and tells her he is being accused of murder, Cicely knows she must defend him. Although their marriage didn’t work out, Cicely knows Sam didn’t kill anyone.

I loved the way the book was crafted. It starts with the phone call and then goes back in time six months to tell the readers about how Sam meets his married lover, Scarlett. The story is carefully told, with no important detail left out. As a San Francisco Bay Area native, I loved that I knew where so many of the referenced places were, including the Pacific Athletic Club (now The Bay Club), the Stanford Dish, and Kings Mountain Road. I admit that I looked up the Mahogany, where Sam meets Scarlett, and as I guessed, there was no such place listed. It seemed like it could have been modeled after the Rosewood Hotel in Menlo Park.

Call From the Jailhouse moves at the perfect pace. As Sam and Scarlett’s secret relationship starts to bloom, Sam finds himself falling in love with her even though she treats him like she owns him. So, how does Sam find himself accused of murder?

The last half of the book is dedicated to Cicely defending Sam in court. All evidence seems to lead to Sam, even though most of it is circumstantial. They say, write what you know, so Novak’s extensive knowledge in the medical field allows him to cleverly insert medical references, such as a medicine used to paralyze patients to allow doctors to insert a breathing tube. It’s details such as this that give the readers a full understanding of the events that take place in the book.

The court case is my favorite part of the book. This is also where there is a huge twist in the plot that gets uncovered. Cicely is a fantastic attorney who has integrity, grit, and grace all rolled into one small Black woman. Sam is a romantic at heart who finds himself in a black widow’s web. Call From the Jailhouse has fabulous characters, beautiful backdrops, and a plot that will pull you closer with every page.

Reviewed by Kristi Elizabeth

OUR STAR RATING SYSTEM  5 stars: Reviewer considers the book to be something that everyone should read. Reviewer would definitely read it again.

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CALL FROM THE JAILHOUSE excerpt:

Chapter One: The Call

Cicely Vella’s receptionist announced, “Ms. Vella, your ex-husband is on line one. He says he’s in jail. He wants to talk to you.”

There are mileposts in life—moments that alter the future in earthshattering ways. The sudden change can be terrific or tragic. Cicely used to think her defining moment was the end of her marriage, but instead her defining moment occurred when she picked up line one and said, “Sam, what’s going on?”

His voice came through pressured and loud, so robust she had to hold the phone six inches away from her ear. “There’s been some kind of mistake,” he said. “The police arrested me. I’m in trouble.”

Cicely was shocked. Sam had never called her since their divorce, and she’d never heard this tone in his voice. He’d always been cool, calm, and controlled, even in the most stressful times. Cicely couldn’t hide her alarm. “Arrested you for what?”

“Murder.”

Cicely almost dropped the phone. “Murder? You’ve got to be kidding. Where are you right now?”

“The San Mateo County Jail. I need a defense attorney. I need you. Please help me.”

Cicely pictured Sam Vella sitting alone in a jail cell, and her response surprised her. She leapt out of her chair, ready to go to him. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” she said. “And don’t answer any questions from anyone until I arrive. Got that?”

“I won’t. And thank you so much for doing this for me.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.” Cicely hung up the phone, feeling the room spinning around her. This wasn’t possible. Sam was a smart guy—an altruistic medical doctor who simply couldn’t kill anyone. He’d been a flawed husband, a man who never quite got used to his overachieving wife’s career eclipsing his, but he wasn’t wired to commit violent crime. Cicely grabbed her purse and car keys and headed for the door. A petite Black woman, Cicely wore a gray wool pantsuit and a Brooks Brothers white cotton shirt. Her androgynous attire was her statement that, in the male-dominated world of litigating attorneys, she had the power to match up with her masculine opponents. Her business—the world of defendants and their alleged misdeeds—was a grim reality of treachery, deceit, ruses, and lies. Cicely didn’t see her vocation as a quest for truth, but rather a competition in search of victory. It was her job to conjure deception. Her joy came from constructing any reasonable alternative to the allegations of the prosecution. Every new case was a puzzle with a yet undiscovered solution. Finding that solution was the most enjoyable pastime Cicely had ever discovered. The money was good, but she knew in her heart she might even have done it for free.

It was that fun.

As Cicely exited through the waiting room, her receptionist said, “I overheard your conversation with Sam. Are you going to defend him?”

“Hell, yes. What kind of defense attorney would I be if my ex-husband spent the rest of his life rotting in prison as a convicted murderer?”

“You’ll be center stage if you defend him.”

“I’ll be center stage whether I’m his lawyer or not. We share a last name. We share a past. I’m going to the jail. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” Cicely’s thoughts were in turmoil. Her divorce was fresh—only one year old. After five workaholic years as man and wife, she and Sam painted themselves into two distant corners—a sad California career-trumps-love divorce. She’d pulled the plug on their marriage and concentrated on climbing to the pinnacle of the legal world. Cicely had only seen Sam twice since the divorce, and each time she felt the same two opposing emotions―a strong attraction to his physical presence, and sadness that the man who had once been her best friend was a stranger to her now.

Cicely knew the drive from her office to the jail very well. She met most of her clients for the first time within those very walls. Minutes later she sat face-to-face with Sam in a windowless white-walled room. He wore an orange jumpsuit with the number 71427 scrolled across his chest. His hair was parted in the middle, lanky and wet, as if he’d just stepped out of a storm, and his gaze never left Cicely. Her heart raced to be sitting so close to him again. He looked as vulnerable as a lost puppy and as breathtaking as any man she had ever set eyes on. Cicely skipped any pleasantries and started with the obvious question, “Who are you accused of killing, Sam?”

He shook his head and dropped his stare toward the table separating them. Then his eyes flicked upward for a second, partially hidden below thick hooded brows, and he said, “It was this woman I was dating. They claim I killed her. And they claim I killed her husband, too.”

“Two murders? Good God.” Cicely exhaled mightily. “Tell me what happened, starting when you first met this-this woman.” Cicely balanced her pen over an 8.5 X 14-inch yellow legal pad and prepared to chronicle Sam’s story.

“Her name was Scarlett,” Sam said. “It all started one rainy January night last winter…”

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CALL FROM THE JAILHOUSE: NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON LINK:

Call From the Jailhouse

 

Rick Novak’s first novel, THE DOCTOR AND MR. DYLAN

Rick Novak’s second novel, DOCTOR VITA

COMING SOON: RICK NOVAK’S NEW NOVEL, CALL FROM THE JAILHOUSE

Physician anesthesiologist at Stanford at Associated Anesthesiologists Medical Group
Richard Novak, MD is a Stanford physician board certified in anesthesiology and internal medicine.Dr. Novak is an Adjunct Clinical Professor in the Department of Anesthesiology, Perioperative and Pain Medicine at Stanford University, the Medical Director at Waverley Surgery Center in Palo Alto, California, and a member of the Associated Anesthesiologists Medical Group in Palo Alto, California.
emailrjnov@yahoo.com
THE ANESTHESIA CONSULTANT

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is screen-shot-2023-08-15-at-7.59.41-am.png

Litigator Cicely Vella’s ex-husband is arrested for a double murder, and asks her to be his defense lawyer. Cicely rarely loses a case, but her extraordinary record is in jeopardy when she chooses to defend Sam Vella, the only suspect in what appear to be two indefensible crimes.

Cicely is living the dream life of a young professional. She’s bright, beautiful, Black, and successful, but she harbors one weakness—lingering feelings for Sam, the husband who got away.

Samuel Vella is a physician with high intellect, striking good looks, and a proclivity for making poor decisions. In the aftermath of his split from Cicely, Sam initiates an affair with Scarlett Lang, a free-spirited married woman, and their liaison lands Sam behind bars.

After receiving Sam’s call from the jailhouse, Cicely feels the triple lures of her emotional attachment to her ex-husband, the opportunity to redeem the Vella name in the courtroom, and her zest for fame in this sensational high-profile trial. Nothing in the world but this court date could make Cicely and Sam sit elbow to elbow, day after day.

The odds of a divorced couple remarrying the same person are 6 in 100, a statistic Cicely is both aware of and wary of, as she’s drawn back into Sam’s life.

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CALL FROM THE JAILHOUSE excerpt:

Chapter One: The Call

Cicely Vella’s receptionist announced, “Ms. Vella, your ex-husband is on line one. He says he’s in jail. He wants to talk to you.”

There are mileposts in life—moments that alter the future in earthshattering ways. The sudden change can be terrific or tragic. Cicely used to think her defining moment was the end of her marriage, but instead her defining moment occurred when she picked up line one and said, “Sam, what’s going on?”

His voice came through pressured and loud, so robust she had to hold the phone six inches away from her ear. “There’s been some kind of mistake,” he said. “The police arrested me. I’m in trouble.”

Cicely was shocked. Sam had never called her since their divorce, and she’d never heard this tone in his voice. He’d always been cool, calm, and controlled, even in the most stressful times. Cicely couldn’t hide her alarm. “Arrested you for what?”

“Murder.”

Cicely almost dropped the phone. “Murder? You’ve got to be kidding. Where are you right now?”

“The San Mateo County Jail. I need a defense attorney. I need you. Please help me.”

Cicely pictured Sam Vella sitting alone in a jail cell, and her response surprised her. She leapt out of her chair, ready to go to him. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” she said. “And don’t answer any questions from anyone until I arrive. Got that?”

“I won’t. And thank you so much for doing this for me.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.” Cicely hung up the phone, feeling the room spinning around her. This wasn’t possible. Sam was a smart guy—an altruistic medical doctor who simply couldn’t kill anyone. He’d been a flawed husband, a man who never quite got used to his overachieving wife’s career eclipsing his, but he wasn’t wired to commit violent crime. Cicely grabbed her purse and car keys and headed for the door. A petite Black woman, Cicely wore a gray wool pantsuit and a Brooks Brothers white cotton shirt. Her androgynous attire was her statement that, in the male-dominated world of litigating attorneys, she had the power to match up with her masculine opponents. Her business—the world of defendants and their alleged misdeeds—was a grim reality of treachery, deceit, ruses, and lies. Cicely didn’t see her vocation as a quest for truth, but rather a competition in search of victory. It was her job to conjure deception. Her joy came from constructing any reasonable alternative to the allegations of the prosecution. Every new case was a puzzle with a yet undiscovered solution. Finding that solution was the most enjoyable pastime Cicely had ever discovered. The money was good, but she knew in her heart she might even have done it for free.

It was that fun.

As Cicely exited through the waiting room, her receptionist said, “I overheard your conversation with Sam. Are you going to defend him?”

“Hell, yes. What kind of defense attorney would I be if my ex-husband spent the rest of his life rotting in prison as a convicted murderer?”

“You’ll be center stage if you defend him.”

“I’ll be center stage whether I’m his lawyer or not. We share a last name. We share a past. I’m going to the jail. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” Cicely’s thoughts were in turmoil.

Her divorce was fresh—only one year old. After five workaholic years as man and wife, she and Sam painted themselves into two distant corners—a sad California career-trumps-love divorce. She’d pulled the plug on their marriage and concentrated on climbing to the pinnacle of the legal world. Cicely had only seen Sam twice since the divorce, and each time she felt the same two opposing emotions―a strong attraction to his physical presence, and sadness that the man who had once been her best friend was a stranger to her now.

Cicely knew the drive from her office to the jail very well. She met most of her clients for the first time within those very walls. Minutes later she sat face-to-face with Sam in a windowless white-walled room. He wore an orange jumpsuit with the number 71427 scrolled across his chest. His hair was parted in the middle, lanky and wet, as if he’d just stepped out of a storm, and his gaze never left Cicely. Her heart raced to be sitting so close to him again. He looked as vulnerable as a lost puppy and as breathtaking as any man she had ever set eyes on. Cicely skipped any pleasantries and started with the obvious question, “Who are you accused of killing, Sam?”

He shook his head and dropped his stare toward the table separating them. Then his eyes flicked upward for a second, partially hidden below thick hooded brows, and he said, “It was this woman I was dating. They claim I killed her. And they claim I killed her husband, too.”

“Two murders? Good God.” Cicely exhaled mightily. “Tell me what happened, starting when you first met this-this woman.” Cicely balanced her pen over an 8.5 X 14-inch yellow legal pad and prepared to chronicle Sam’s story.

“Her name was Scarlett,” Sam said. “It all started one rainy January night last winter…”

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is img_1542.jpeg

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Rick Novak’s first novel, THE DOCTOR AND MR. DYLAN

 

Rick Novak’s second novel, DOCTOR VITA

SERIALIZATION OF THE DOCTOR AND MR. DYLAN… CHAPTER ONE

Physician anesthesiologist at Stanford at Associated Anesthesiologists Medical Group
Richard Novak, MD is a Stanford physician board certified in anesthesiology and internal medicine.Dr. Novak is an Adjunct Clinical Professor in the Department of Anesthesiology, Perioperative and Pain Medicine at Stanford University, the Medical Director at Waverley Surgery Center in Palo Alto, California, and a member of the Associated Anesthesiologists Medical Group in Palo Alto, California.
emailrjnov@yahoo.com
THE ANESTHESIA CONSULTANT

1) GOING, GOING, GONE

            first-degree murder n. an unlawful killing which is deliberate and premeditated (planned, after lying in wait, by poison or as part of a scheme)

My name is Dr. Nico Antone. I’m an anesthesiologist, and my job is to keep people alive. Nothing could inspire me to harm a patient. Alexandra Antone was my wife. Alexandra and I hadn’t lived together for nearly a year. I dreaded every encounter with the woman. I wished she would board a boat, sail off into the sunset, and never return. She needed an urgent appendectomy on a snowy winter morning in a small Minnesota town. Anesthetist options were limited.

Life is a series of choices. I chose to be my wife’s doctor. It was an opportunity to silence her, and I took it.

Before her surgery, Alexandra reclined awake on the operating room table. Her eyes were closed, and she was unaware I’d entered the room. She was dressed in a faded paisley surgical gown, and she looked like a spook—her hair flying out from a bouffant cap, her eye makeup smeared, and the creases on her forehead looking deeper than I’d ever seen them. I stood above her and felt an absurd distance from the whole situation.

Alexandra opened her eyes and moaned, “Oh, God. Can you people just get this surgery over with? I feel like crap. When is Nico going to get here?”

“I’m three feet away from you,” I said.

Alexandra’s face lit up at the sound of my voice. She craned her neck to look at me and said, “You’re here. For a change I’m glad to see you.”

I ground my teeth. My wife’s condescending tone never ceased to irritate me. I turned away from her and said, “Give me a few minutes to review your medical records.” She’d arrived at the Emergency Room with abdominal pain at 1 a.m., and an ultrasound confirmed that her appendix was inflamed. Other than an elevated white blood cell count, all her laboratory results were normal. She already had an intravenous line in place, and she’d received a dose of morphine in the Emergency Room.

“Are you in pain?” I said.

Her eyes were dull, narcotized—pinpoint pupils under drooping lids. “I like the morphine,” she said. “Give me more.”

Another command. For two decades she’d worked hard to control every aspect of my life. I ignored her request and said, “I need to go over a few things with you first. In a few minutes, I’ll give you the anesthetic through your IV. You won’t have any pain or awareness, and I’ll be here with you the whole time you’re asleep.”

“Perfect,” she oozed.

“When you wake up afterward, you’ll feel drowsy and reasonably comfortable. As the general anesthetic fades and you awaken more, you may feel pain at the surgical site. You can request more morphine, and the nurse in the recovery room will give it to you.”

“Yes. More morphine would be nice.”

“During the surgery you’ll have a breathing tube in your throat. I’ll take it out before you wake up, and you’ll likely have a sore throat after the surgery. About one patient out of ten is nauseated after anesthesia. These are the common risks. The chance of anything more serious going wrong with your heart, lungs or brain isn’t zero, but it’s very, very close to zero. Do you have any questions?”

“No,” she sighed. “I’m sure you are very good at doing this. You’ve always been good at making me fall asleep.”

I rolled my eyes at her feeble joke. I stood at the anesthesia workstation and reviewed my checklist. The anesthesia machine, monitors, airway equipment, and necessary drugs were set up and ready to go. I filled a 20 cc syringe with the sedative propofol and a second syringe with 40 mg of the paralyzing drug rocuronium.

“I’m going to let you breathe some oxygen now,” I said as I lowered the anesthesia mask over Alexandra’s face.

She said, “Remember, no matter how much you might hate me, Nico, I’m still the mother of your child.”

Enough talk. I wanted her gone. I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and injected the anesthetic into her intravenous line. The milky whiteness of the propofol disappeared into the vein of her arm, and Alexandra Antone went to sleep for the last time.

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Published in September 2017:  The second edition of THE DOCTOR AND MR. DYLAN, Dr. Novak’s debut novel, a medical-legal mystery which blends the science and practice of anesthesiology with unforgettable characters, a page-turning plot, and the legacy of Nobel Prize winner Bob Dylan.

KIRKUS REVIEW

In this debut thriller, tragedies strike an anesthesiologist as he tries to start a new life with his son.

Dr. Nico Antone, an anesthesiologist at Stanford University, is married to Alexandra, a high-powered real estate agent obsessed with money. Their son, Johnny, an 11th-grader with immense potential, struggles to get the grades he’ll need to attend an Ivy League college. After a screaming match with Alexandra, Nico moves himself and Johnny from Palo Alto, California, to his frozen childhood home of Hibbing, Minnesota. The move should help Johnny improve his grades and thus seem more attractive to universities, but Nico loves the freedom from his wife, too. Hibbing also happens to be the hometown of music icon Bob Dylan. Joining the hospital staff, Nico runs afoul of a grouchy nurse anesthetist calling himself Bobby Dylan, who plays Dylan songs twice a week in a bar called Heaven’s Door. As Nico and Johnny settle in, their lives turn around; they even start dating the gorgeous mother/daughter pair of Lena and Echo Johnson. However, when Johnny accidentally impregnates Echo, the lives of the Hibbing transplants start to implode. In true page-turner fashion, first-time novelist Novak gets started by killing soulless Alexandra, which accelerates the downfall of his underdog protagonist now accused of murder. Dialogue is pitch-perfect, and the insults hurled between Nico and his wife are as hilarious as they are hurtful: “Are you my husband, Nico? Or my dependent?” The author’s medical expertise proves central to the plot, and there are a few grisly moments, as when “dark blood percolated” from a patient’s nostrils “like coffee grounds.” Bob Dylan details add quirkiness to what might otherwise be a chilly revenge tale; we’re told, for instance, that Dylan taught “every singer with a less-than-perfect voice…how to sneer and twist off syllables.” Courtroom scenes toward the end crackle with energy, though one scene involving a snowmobile ties up a certain plot thread too neatly. By the end, Nico has rolled with a great many punches.

Nuanced characterization and crafty details help this debut soar.

Click on the image below to reach the Amazon link to The Doctor and Mr. Dylan:

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Learn more about Rick Novak’s fiction writing at ricknovak.com by clicking on the picture below:  

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