“I don’t believe I do.”
“He corrected you and reminded you she had had chest pain on several previous occasions, for which he came to the house.”
“Maybe he did.”
“So it seems that your memory of what was said during this phone conversation is not as clear as we were led to believe just a few minutes ago.”
“The phone conversation was eight months ago, and I was frantic at the time. I don’t think it’s unreasonable.”
“It is certainly not unreasonable, yet you are certain Dr. Bowman specifically said Patience was having a heart attack.”
“He said that it had to be ruled out.”
“Your choice of words suggests that Dr. Bowman was not the one who brought up the subject.”
“I brought up the subject. I asked him if that was what he was thinking. I guessed, from the questions he was asking me to ask Patience.”
“Saying it has to be ruled out is a lot different than stating Patience was having a heart attack. Would it surprise you if I told you Dr. Bowman never used the words heart attack in your conversation?”
“We talked about it. That I remember.”
“You brought it up. He merely said, ‘It has to be ruled out.’ He never even said the term.”
“Maybe that is the way it happened, but what difference does it make?”
“I believe it makes a lot of difference. Do you believe that whenever someone has chest pain—like yourself, for instance—and a doctor is on call, he or she thinks a heart attack has to be ruled out?”
“I assume so.”
“So when you told Dr. Bowman Patience had chest pain, it is not surprising that Dr. Bowman would think it had to be ruled out, even if the chances were very, very small.”
“I suppose not.”
“And on those previous house calls Dr. Bowman made to see Patience in response to a complaint of chest pain, what was the ultimate diagnosis on each occasion?”
“It was assumed to be intestinal gas.”
“Correct! Intestinal gas in the splenic flexure of the colon, to be exact. It was not heart attacks or heart pain, since ECGs and enzymes were normal and stayed normal on subsequent examinations.”
“They were not heart attacks.”
“Dr. Bowman made a lot of house calls to attend to Patience. In fact, the records show a rate of visitation approximately once per week over an eight-month interval. Is that consistent with your recollection?”
Jordan nodded, which brought an admonition from the judge: “The witness will speak up for the benefit of the court reporter and the record.”
“Yes,” Jordan called out.
“Was it Patience’s preference to be seen at home?”
“Yes. She did not like to go to the doctor’s office.”
“Was she fond of hospitals?”
“She was terrified of hospitals.”
“So by making house calls, Dr. Bowman was catering to your wife’s needs and wishes.”
“Yes, he was.”
“Since you are semiretired and spent a good deal of your time at home, you had a lot of opportunity to interact with Dr. Bowman, with his making so many house calls.”
“Indeed,” Jordan agreed. “We spoke on each visit and were quite congenial.”
“I assume you were always in attendance when Dr. Bowman attended Patience.”
“Either I or our maid.”
“During any of these conversations with Dr. Bowman, which I assume dealt primarily with Patience, did the term hypochondriasis come up?”
Jordan’s eyes darted to Tony’s and then back to Randolph. “Yes, it did.”
“And I assume you know the definition of the term.”
Jordan shrugged. “I suppose.”
“It’s applied to an individual who has a preoccupation with normal sensations and functions and believes them to be indicative of severe problems needing medical attention. Is that generally your understanding of the term?”
“I would not have been able to define it quite like that, but yes, that’s my understanding.”
“Did Dr. Bowman ever apply that term to Patience?”
“He did.”
“Did he use the term in a derogatory context?”
“No, he did not. He said that it was always important to remember that hypochondriacs could have real illnesses as well as their psychological ones, and even if their imaginary illness were not real, they still suffered.”
“A few moments ago, when Mr. Fasano was questioning you, you testified that Patience’s condition did not change dramatically between your telephone conversation and Dr. Bowman’s arrival.”
“That’s correct.”
“During your conversation, you told Dr. Bowman that you believed Patience was having some difficulty breathing. Do you remember that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You also said you believed she appeared rather blue. Do you remember that as well?”
“I don’t know if those were my exact words, but it is the gist of what I was saying.”
“I contend that it was exactly what you said or extremely close. In your deposition, you agreed it was extremely close. Would you like to read the relevant portions?”
“If I said it was extremely close, then it was. At this point, I don’t remember.”
“When Dr. Bowman arrived, he found Patience totally blue and hardly breathing at all. Would you say that was a big difference from your description over the phone?”
“I was trying to do my best in a difficult situation. I made it very clear to him she was very ill and that she should be seen at the hospital.”
“One further question,” Randolph said, straightening his tall, lean frame to its six-foot-plus limit. “Taking into account Patience’s long history of hypochondriasis, along with a number of previous episodes of chest pain caused by intestinal gas, do you believe on the evening of September eighth, 2005, that Dr. Bowman thought Patience Stanhope was having a heart attack?”
“Objection,” Tony cried, getting to his feet. “Hearsay.”
“Sustained,” Judge Davidson said. “The question can be posed to the defendant himself during his testimony.”
“No more questions,” Randolph said. He strode back toward the defense table.
“Do you wish to redirect?” Judge Davidson asked Tony.
“No, Your Honor,” Tony said.
As Jordan stepped down from the witness box, Jack turned to Alexis. He flashed her a thumbs-up on Randolph’s cross-examination, but then his eyes went to the jurors. They didn’t strike him as being nearly as riveted as he had been. Instead of many of them leaning forward as they’d been earlier, they were all leaning back in their chairs, arms folded across their chests, except for the plumber’s assistant. He was back to fussing with his nails.
“Plaintiff, call your next witness!” Judge Davidson ordered.
Tony stood up and bellowed, “Ms. Leona Rattner to the stand, please.”
12
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
Wednesday, June 7, 2006
3:25 p.m.
Jack twisted around. He had a mildly prurient interest in seeing the nubile hussy turned spurned-lover vixen. Having read her racy deposition, he was sure her testimony was going to be a show.
Leona came through the courtroom door and strode unhesitantly down the courtroom’s central aisle. In contrast to Craig’s description of her typically sexy apparel, she was now dressed demurely in a dark blue pantsuit with a white blouse buttoned to the neck. Jack assumed it was at Tony Fasano’s suggestion. The only hint of her normal style was extra-high-heeled sandals that made her walk slightly wobbly.
Although the woman’s clothing was modest, Jack could immediately appreciate what had attracted Craig. Her individual features were not special, nor was her straw-blond, obviously dyed hair with its dark roots. But her skin was flawless and radiant. She was the picture of youthful sensuality brazenly projected.
Leona went through the b
ar with a saucy shake of her head. She knew she was onstage and she loved it.
Jack hazarded a glance in Alexis’s direction. Her face was set in stone, reflecting a determined expression, with her lips pressed firmly together. Jack had the sense that she was steeling herself for what was coming. He thought that was a good self-preservation ploy, having read Leona’s deposition.
The court clerk administered the oath while Leona held her right hand heavenward. “Do you swear or affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?”
“I do,” Leona said in a slightly nasal voice. She glanced modestly at the judge through eyelashes heavy with mascara as she stepped up into the witness box.
Tony took his time getting to the podium and arranging his notes. Then he hiked one of his tasseled loafers onto the brass rail, as was his habit, and began the direct. First off, he established a short biography: where she was born (Revere, Massachusetts); where she’d gone to high school (Revere, Massachusetts); where she was currently living (Revere, Massachusetts). He asked how long she had worked in Dr. Craig Bowman’s office (more than a year) and where she was going to night school three nights a week (Bunker Hill Community College).
As Leona answered these neutral initial questions, Jack had more of an opportunity to observe her. He noticed she and Tony shared the same accent, which to him seemed as much like a Brooklyn accent as a Boston accent. Jack could also see more evidence of the personality traits Craig had described: opinionated, high-spirited, and willful. What he had yet to observe was the mercurial petulance.
“Now, let’s talk about your relationship with your boss, Dr. Craig Bowman,” Tony said.
“Objection,” Randolph said. “Immaterial.”
“Counsels, approach the bench!” Judge Davidson ordered irritably.
Randolph complied immediately. Tony motioned to Leona to sit tight and followed.
Using his reading glasses similar to the way a person uses a newspaper roll to threaten a dog, Judge Davidson directed his attention to Tony. “This better not be an elaborate sham, and I want to be assured again that this social crap is germane to the plaintiff’s case. Otherwise, we are going to be dealing with a mistrial and potentially a directed verdict for the doctor.”
“It’s absolutely germane. The witness will testify that Dr. Bowman did not consider meeting Patience Stanhope at the hospital because of their relationship and their evening plans.”
“All right. I’m going to give you a lot of rope, and I hope you don’t hang yourself with it. I’m going to allow the social testimony for the reasons I’ve already given in the past, specifically, the assurance that its probative value outweighs its prejudicial value.” Judge Davidson waved the glasses in Randolph’s direction. “As far as the defense is concerned, I will allow you wide latitude on your cross-examination, which Mr. Fasano will respect. Now, within this framework, I want to move things along. Between the two of you, these interruptions are annoying me to death. Understood?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” both counsels echoed in unison. They turned on their heels and returned to their respective spots.
“Objection overruled,” Judge Davidson called out for the court reporter’s benefit. “Continue the direct of Ms. Rattner.”
“Miss Rattner,” Tony said. “Could you tell the court about your relationship with Dr. Bowman?”
“Sure. At first I was, like, just one of the employees. But about a year ago, I could tell Dr. Bowman was giving me the eye. You know what I’m saying?”
“I think I do,” Tony responded. “Go on!”
“At first I was embarrassed and everything because I knew he was married with kids and the whole works. But then one evening when I was working late, he came into the file room where I was working and started talking. One thing led to another, and we began hanging out with each other. I mean, it was okay since I found out he had moved out of his house and gotten an apartment in Boston.”
“Was this a platonic affair?”
“Hell, no! He was a tiger. It was a very physical relationship. We even did it on the examination table one afternoon at the office. He said his wife didn’t like sex and, besides, she’d gained all this weight after she’d had her kids and never lost it. It was like he was starving and needed a lot of attention, so I went out of my way. A lot of good it did me!”
“Your Honor, this is beyond—” Randolph began, rising to his feet.
“Sit down, Mr. Bingham,” Judge Davidson snapped. Then he looked at Tony over his reading glasses. “Mr. Fasano, it is time to establish foundation, and it better be convincing.”
“Of course, Your Honor,” Tony said. He made a quick detour to take a sip of water at the plaintiff’s table. Then, running his tongue around his lips as if they were dry, he returned to the podium and shuffled his papers.
There was a murmur of expectancy from the spectator area, and the jurors appeared more attentive than usual, with many leaning forward. Salacious material never failed to titillate.
Once again, Jack furtively glanced at Alexis out of the corner of his eye. She’d not moved. Her grim expression had not changed. He couldn’t help but feel a tender, brotherly compassion for her. He hoped her professional psychology training could provide some element of ego protection, as humiliating as the situation was.
“Miss Rattner,” Tony began. “On the evening of September eighth, 2005, you were in Dr. Bowman’s Boston apartment, where you were at that time residing.”
“That’s correct. I’d moved from the dump where I’d been in Somerville, because the landlord was an ass.”
Judge Davidson leaned over toward Leona. “The witness will restrict herself to answering questions and refrain from spontaneous monologues.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Leona said meekly through batting eyelashes.
“Could you tell the jury in your own words what you and Dr. Bowman were doing that evening?”
“What we had planned to do and what we did were two different things. We had planned to go to Symphony Hall for some kind of performance. Craig—I mean, Dr. Bowman—was on this Renaissance-man kick to make up for lost time, and he had bought me this terrific pink dress that came down low.” She traced a deeply concave arc across her chest with her finger. “We were both excited. The most fun was arriving at Symphony Hall with all the bustle and excitement. I mean, the music was pretty good, too, but walking in was the best part for both of us. Dr. Bowman had season tickets and the seats were way down in the front. It was like being onstage walking down the aisle, which is why he liked me to look real sexy.”
“It sounds as if Dr. Bowman liked to show you off.”
“Something like that,” Leona agreed. “It was okay with me. I thought it was fun.”
“But to do this, you had to get there on time or maybe a little early.”
“That’s right! If you got there late, sometimes you had to wait until intermission to sit down, and it wasn’t the same.”
“What happened on September eighth, 2005?”
“We were rushing around getting ready to go when Dr. Bowman’s cell phone rang.”
“I presume it was Jordan Stanhope,” Tony said.
“It was, and it meant the evening was up in the air because Dr. Bowman decided he had to make a house call.”
“Did you stay at the apartment while Dr. Bowman made the house call?”
“No. Dr. Bowman told me to come. He said if it turned out to be a false alarm, we could go directly to the concert from the Stanhopes’. He said the Stanhope house was not that far away from Symphony Hall.”
“Meaning it was closer than Newton Memorial Hospital.”
“Objection,” Randolph said. “Lack of foundation. The witness said nothing about Newton Memorial Hospital.”
“Sustained,” Judge Davidson said with a tired voice. “Jury will disregard! Proceed.”
“Miss Rattner,” Tony intoned, licking his lips as he was wont to do. “On the way to the Stanhope residence, did Dr
. Bowman say anything to you about his sense of Patience Stanhope’s condition? Did he feel the house call he was about to make would be a false alarm?”
“Objection,” Randolph said. “Hearsay.”
“Sustained,” Judge Davidson said with a sigh. “The witness will confine herself to Dr. Bowman’s actual comments and not offer an opinion as to his mind-set.”
“I repeat,” Tony said, “did Dr. Bowman say anything to you about what he thought Patience Stanhope’s condition was?”
Leona looked up at the judge. “I’m confused. He’s asking, and you’re telling me not to answer.”
“I’m not telling you not to answer, dear,” Judge Davidson said. “I’m telling you not to try to imagine what Dr. Bowman was thinking. He will be able to tell us that himself. Mr. Fasano is asking you what Dr. Bowman specifically said about Patience’s condition.”
“Okay,” Leona said, finally understanding. “He said he was scared that the visit was legit.”
“Meaning that Patience Stanhope was legitimately sick.”
“Yes.”
“Did he say anything about how he felt about patients like Patience Stanhope, the PPs, or problem patients?”
“That night while we were in the car?”
“Yes, that night.”
“He said she was a hypochondriac, which he could not stand. He said hypochondriacs were the same to him as malingerers. I remember because I had to look the word up later. It means someone who fakes illness to get something they want. It’s pretty bad.”
“Looking up malingerer is very commendable. What motivated you?”
“I’m studying to be a medical lab technician or nursing assistant. I’ve got to know the lingo.”
“Did Dr. Bowman ever say anything else to you about his feelings toward Patience Stanhope?”
“Oh, yeah!” Leona said with a fake laugh for emphasis.
“Could you explain to the jury when this occurred?”
“It was on the evening he was served with the lawsuit. We were at Sports Club/LA.”
“And what exactly did he say?”
“It’s what he didn’t say. I mean, he ran off at the mouth like you wouldn’t believe.”