"What do you have in mind, Mitchell?" LaDue asked. "How're you going to handle the cross?"
Reece looked up and started to answer but then Burdick's secretary walked into the doorway. "Mr. Reece, your secretary said you've just got an important call. You can take it in the conference room there."
"Thank you," he said to her. Then glanced at his watch. "I'll be busy for the rest of the morning, gentlemen. I'll see you in court."
CHAPTER TWELVE
If she hadn't been initiated, Taylor Lockwood would never have known she was watching a trial.
She saw a bored judge rocking back in his chair, distracted lawyers. She saw clerks walking around casually, no one really concentrating on what was going on. She saw dazed jurors and few spectators--a half dozen or so, retirees, she guessed, like the unshaven men who take trains out to Belmont or Aqueduct racetracks in the morning, just for a place to spend their slow days.
She'd found Reece in the hall at the firm earlier and wanted to update him on what she'd learned--the fingerprints and the erased files. But he was jogging from the library to his office, two huge Redweld folders under his arms. He paused briefly to tell her that he'd been called in to handle an emergency cross-examination and that he could see her at the courthouse on Centre Street later, around noon.
Taylor had decided to sit in on this portion of the trial and catch him in the hall afterward. Maybe they could have lunch.
She now looked around the courtroom in which Marlow v. St. Agnes Hospital and Health Care Center was being tried and located the plaintiff. Mr. Marlow sat in a wheelchair, pale and unmoving. Unshaven, his hair disheveled. His wife was nearby, with her hand resting on his arm. Taylor's father, a trial lawyer himself, had instilled enough cynicism in his daughter to make her believe that, while undoubtedly the man had suffered a serious injury, the wheelchair might just be a prop and there was no need for him to be looking as destroyed as he did here.
The door opened, and in walked a man she recognized from the firm. It took her a moment to place the name. Randy Simms--either the III or the IV. She recalled that he was a protege of Wendall Clayton. He sat in the back row, by himself, putting away a cellular phone. He put his hands in his lap and sat perfectly still, perfectly upright.
She scanned the rest of the visitors and was surprised to find Donald Burdick himself in the gallery. He too glanced at Randy Simms, a faint frown on the old partner's face.
Finally, papers were sorted out and the judge pulled off his glasses. In a gruff voice he told the plaintiff's counsel that he could present his witness.
The lawyer rose and called to the stand a handsome, gray-haired man in his mid-fifties. He gazed pleasantly out at the jury. Under questioning from the plaintiff's counsel, he began his testimony.
Taylor Lockwood worked primarily for corporate lawyers at Hubbard, White & Willis but she knew the basics of personal injury law. This man's testimony was clearly devastating to St. Agnes.
Dr. William Morse's credentials were impeccable and, unlike many expert witnesses, who testify based only on what they've read in reports long after the accident, he was actually present at the hospital when the alleged malpractice occurred. The jury members took in his comments and looked at each other with lifted eyebrows, obviously impressed with the man's demeanor and by what he was saying.
"Let's reiterate what happened here," the plaintiff's lawyer said. "In March of last year a doctor at St. Agnes treated a patient--Mr. Marlow there in the wheelchair, the plaintiff in this case--who was suffering from arthritis and adrenal insufficiency with seventy milligrams of cortisone acetate in conjunction with one hundred milligrams of indomethacin."
"That's correct," Morse said.
"Did you observe him do this?"
"I saw the injection and then looked at the chart afterward and told him immediately the mistake he'd make."
"And why was that a mistake?"
"Mr. Marlow had a preexisting ulcerous condition. Everyone knows that such a patient should absolutely not be treated with the drugs he was administered."
"I'd object, sir," Reece said politely. "The witness can't speak for, quote, everyone."
Dr. Morse corrected, "The medical literature is quite clear that such a patient should not be treated with those particular drugs."
The plaintiff's lawyer continued, "What was this doctor's reaction when you told him that?"
"He said that I was not on the staff, I was a visiting physician and, in effect, I should mind my own business."
"Objection," Reece called again. "Hearsay."
The plaintiff's lawyer said, "I'll rephrase. Sir, after you called attention to what you perceived as a dangerous condition, did anyone take any steps to correct it?"
"No."
"What happened then?"
"I told a nurse to monitor the patient carefully and that I thought he might have serious adverse reactions. Then I went to see the chief of staff."
"That would be Harold Simpson?"
"Yessir."
"And what was his reaction?"
"Dr. Simpson was not available. I was told he was playing golf."
"Objection. Hearsay."
"He was not available," the witness corrected.
"What happened then?"
"I returned to Mr. Marlow's ward to see how he was doing but he was unconscious, comatose. The nurse I'd left to monitor his condition was gone. We stabilized his condition. But he remained comatose."
"Would it have been possible, when you called attention to the drugs that had been improperly prescribed, to administer an antidote--"
"Objection," Reece called. "He's suggesting that we poisoned the plaintiff."
"You did," Dr. Morse snapped.
"Your honor?" Reece asked.
"A more neutral term, counselor," the judge said to the plaintiff's lawyer.
"Yessir. Dr. Morse, would it have been possible to administer other drugs to counteract the damaging effects of the drugs that the St. Agnes staff doctor administered?"
"Absolutely. But it would have to be done immediately."
"And what happened then?"
"That was my last day at the hospital. I returned to California the next day and as soon as I arrived I called the hospital to check on the status of the patient. I was told that he'd come out of the coma but had suffered irreparable brain damage. I left messages for the chief of staff, the head of the procedures committee and the head of the department of internal medicine. No one ever called me back."
"No further questions."
A murmur from the peanut gallery at the deadly testimony. Taylor concurred with the apparent reaction. She thought, Okay, we just lost the case.
The judge rocked back in his chair and said, "Mr. Reece, cross-examination?"
Mitchell Reece stood and--in smooth motions--buttoned his jacket, straightened his paisley tie.
"Thank you, your honor. First of all"--he turned to the jury--"I'd like to introduce myself. I'm Mitch Reece. I work for Hubbard, White & Willis, along with my friend and colleague, Fred LaDue, who I think you know. And he's been gracious enough to let me visit with you for a few hours today." He smiled, creating a camaraderie with six men and women bored numb from days of medical testimony.
Hunkered down behind two octogenarian trial buffs, Taylor watched him pace back and forth slowly.
Reece said, "Now, sir, you know I'm getting paid for asking you questions."
The witness blinked. "I--"
Reece laughed. "It's not a question. I'm just telling you that I'm getting paid to be here, and I assume you're getting paid to testify. But I don't think it's fair to ask you how much you're getting, if I'm not prepared to tell you how much I'm getting. And I'm not. Lawyers're overpaid anyway." Laughter filled the room. "So we'll just let it go at the fact that we're both professionals. Are we all together on that?"
"Yessir."
"Good.
The plaintiff's lawyers grew wary at this. One of the first ways cross-examining lawye
rs attack experts is to make them sound like mercenaries.
"Now, Doctor," Reece said, "let me ask you, how often do you testify at medical malpractice cases like this one?"
"Rarely."
"How rare would that be?"
The witness lifted his hand. "I've probably testified three or four times in my life. Only when I feel a terrible injustice has been done and--"
Reece held up his hand and, still smiling, said, "Maybe if we could just stick to answering my questions, please."
"The jury will disregard the witness's last sentence," the judge mumbled.
"So it's safe to say that you spend most of your time practicing medicine. Not testifying against other doctors."
"That's right."
"That's so refreshing, Doctor. I mean that. It's clear you care about your patients."
"Helping patients is the most important thing in the world to me."
"I applaud that, sir. And I welcome your appearance here--I mean that. Because these are very tricky technical matters that my friends on the jury and I have to wrestle with, and cooperative witnesses like you can make the issues clearer."
The witness laughed. "I have had a bit of experience."
"Let's talk about that, sir. Now, you practice internal medicine, correct?"
"That's correct."
"You're board-certified in internal medicine?"
"I am."
"And you have occasion to administer various drugs?"
"Oh, yessir."
"Would you say you have great experience administering them?"
"I would say so, sure."
"Those ways of administering them would include sublingual--that's under the tongue, right?"
"That's right."
Reece continued, "And rectally as well as administering injected medicines, like the sort that the plaintiff received."
"That's true."
"I don't want you to think I'm up to anything here, sir. You've testified that my client did something wrong in administering certain medicines and all I want to do is make it clear that your observations about what my client did are valid because of your expertise. We're all together on that?"
"All together, yessir."
"Good."
Taylor could see that the jury had brightened up. Something was happening. Reece was being nice to the witness. Shouldn't they be screaming at each other? The jury was confused and because of that they'd started paying attention.
She noticed something else: Though she hadn't seen him change his appearance, Reece's jacket, at some point, had become unbuttoned and in lifting his hand to straighten his hair he'd mussed it. He looked boyish. She thought of him suddenly as a young Southern lawyer--a hero in a John Grisham book.
The witness too had relaxed. He was less stiff, less cautious.
Taylor, though, thought that Reece had gone too far with the good-old-boy approach. The witness was looking good in the eyes of the jury; the credibility of his testimony was improving. By now, she reflected, her father would've cut the balls off this doctor and had him cowering on the stand.
Reece said, "Now, let me quote from the record as best I can." He squinted and recited, " 'In March of last year a doctor from St. Agnes treated a patient--Mr. Marlow there in the wheelchair, the plaintiff--who has arthritis and adrenal insufficiency with seventy milligrams of cortisone acetate in conjunction with one hundred milligrams of indomethacin.' "
"That's right."
"And you testified that you wouldn't have done that."
"Correct."
"Because of his preexisting ulcerous condition."
"Yes."
"But I've looked through his charts. There's no record of his having an ulcer."
The witness said, "I don't know what happened with the charts. But he told the doctors he had an ulcer. I was there. I heard the exchange."
"He was in the emergency room," Reece said. "Generally a busy place, a lot of doctors trying to cope with all kinds of problems. I've been in them myself--cut my thumb bad last year...." Reece winced and smiled at the jury. "I'm a real klutz," he told them. Then back to the doctor: "So will you agree that it's possible that the person Mr. Marlow told about his ulcer wasn't the person who administered the drugs?"
"That doesn't--"
Reece smiled. "Please, sir."
"It's possible. But--"
"Please. Just the question."
Taylor saw that Reece was preventing the witness from reminding the jury that it didn't matter who knew before the injection because Dr. Morse had brought it to the staff's attention just after the injection, when there was still time to correct it, but the staff had ignored him.
"It's possible."
Reece let this sit for a moment. "Now, Dr. Morse, there's been a lot of talk in this trial about what is and is not an accepted level of medical treatment, right?"
Morse paused before answering, as if trying to figure out where Reece was going. He looked at his own lawyer then answered, "Some, I suppose."
"I'm thinking that if, as you say, you wouldn't've treated the patient with these medications then I assume you feel that St. Agnes's treatment was below the standards of proper medical care?"
"Certainly."
Reece walked to a whiteboard in the corner of the courtroom, near the jury, and drew a thick line horizontally across it. "Doctor, let's say this is the standard-of-care line, all right?"
"Sure."
Reece drew a thin dotted line an inch below it. "Would you say that the level of care St. Agnes provided in administering those drugs was this far below the standard level of care? Just a little bit below?"
Morse looked at his lawyer and was greeted with a shrug.
"No. It wasn't just a little bit below. They almost killed the man."
"Well." Reece drew another line, farther down. "This far?"
"I don't know."
Another line. "This far below?"
Dr. Morse said in a solemn voice, "It was very far below."
Reece drew another two lines then stopped writing. He asked, "Once you get below a certain level of the standard of care ... well, how'd you describe that?"
Another uncertain look at his lawyer then the witness answered, "I'd say ... I'd guess I'd say it was malpractice."
"You'd characterize St. Agnes's treatment of Mr. Marlow," Reece said in a sympathetic voice, "as malpractice."
"Well, yes, I would."
A murmur of surprise from several people in the courtroom. Not only was Reece befriending the witness but his cross-examination was having the effect of making the witness repeat over and over again that the hospital had made a mistake. He had even gotten the witness to characterize the staff's behavior as malpractice--a legal conclusion that no defense lawyer in the world would have accepted from a plaintiff's witness. Yet it had been Reece himself who elicited this opinion.
What was going on here? Taylor glanced at Burdick and saw him sitting forward, clearly troubled.
A dozen rows behind him Clayton's representative, Randy Simms, sat immobile though with a slight smile on his face.
The judge looked at Reece, opposing counsel looked at Reece.
"I appreciate your candor, Doctor. Malpractice, malpractice." Reece walked back to the table slowly, letting the word sink into the jury's consciousness. He stopped and then added brightly, "Oh, Doctor, if you don't mind, I just have a few matters of clarification."
"Not at all."
Reece said, "Doctor, where are you licensed to practice?"
"As I said before, California, New Jersey and New York."
"No other state?"
"No."
Reece turned to look into Morse's eyes. "How about any other country?"
"Country?"
"Yessir," Reece said. "I'm just curious if you've ever been licensed to practice in any other country."
A hesitation. Then a smile. "No."
"Have you ever practiced medicine in another country?"
"I just said I wasn't licen
sed."
"I caught that, sir. But what I just asked was 'practiced,' Doctor, not licensed. Have you ever practiced medicine anywhere outside of the United States?"
The man swallowed, a look of horror in his eyes. "I've done some volunteer work...."
"Outside of the country."
"Yes, that's right."
"And would you be so kind as to tell us which country, if that isn't too much trouble, Doctor?"
"Mexico."
"Mexico," Reece repeated. "What were you doing in Mexico?"
"I was getting a divorce. I liked the country and I decided to stay for a while--"
"This was when?"
"Eight years ago."
"And you practiced medicine in Mexico?"
Morse was looking at his fingertips. "Yes, for a while. Before I moved back to California. I set up a practice in Los Angeles. I found Los Angeles to be--"
Reece waved his hand. "I'm much more interested in Mexico than Los Angeles, Doctor. Now, why did you leave Mexico?"
Dr. Morse took a sip of water, his hands trembling. The plaintiff's lawyers looked at each other. Even the poor plaintiff seemed to have sat up higher in his wheelchair and was frowning.
"The divorce was final.... I wanted to move back to the States."
"Is that the only reason?"
The witness lost his composure for a moment as a time-lapse bloom of anger spread on his face. Finally he controlled it. "Yes."
Reece said, "Did you run into some kind of trouble down in Mexico?"
"Trouble, like the food?" He tried to laugh. It didn't work and he cleared his throat again and swallowed.
"Doctor, what is Ketaject?"
Pause. Morse rubbed his eyes. He muttered something.
"Louder, please," Reece asked, his own voice calm and utterly in control of himself, the witness, the universe.
The doctor repeated: "It's the brand name of a drug whose generic name I don't recall."
"Could it be the brand name for ketamine hydrochloride?"
The witness whispered, "Yes."
"And what does that do?"
Morse breathed deeply several times. "It is a general anesthetic." His eyes were joined to Reece's by a current full of fear and hate.
"And what is a general anesthetic, Doctor?"
"You know. Everybody knows."
"Tell us anyway, please."
"It's a solution or gas that renders a patient unconscious."
"Doctor, when you were in Mexico, did you have a patient, a Miss Adelita Corrones, a seventeen-year-old resident of Nogales?"