by Scott Turow
Then there is Innis’s theory, which Stern has more trouble working out, that Olga is actually the Big Bad Guy. In this version, the e-mail is part and parcel of Olga convincing Kiril to call Wendy Hoh at Global to trick her into changing the database.
Whatever the truth, the decision about calling Olga as a witness must be made carefully, and only after asking Kiril some questions in private that Stern has avoided up until now.
Kiril sends Donatella home by Uber, while the valet again delivers the gray Cadillac to the curb where Pafko and Stern await it. This time, before going through the cumbersome process of sitting down, Stern spends a moment staring at the car.
“What?” asks Kiril from behind the wheel.
“I am thinking about my Cadillac that was smashed up,” he answers, but says no more. On the drive to the office, Kiril spends most of the time on the phone, but he does not appear much affected by the fact that the government has introduced its most damaging piece of written evidence against him. It is a blessing in many ways to Kiril that he is in such a deep state of denial. For Stern, it has always been easy to imagine how terrifying it would be to have the massive forces of government pinioning you, inspecting, judging, prospecting for your secrets with a ruthlessness that must feel as if they are tearing through your flesh. Routinely, white-collar clients claim they would receive better treatment in a totalitarian state. This, of course, is in sharp contrast to the poor persons Stern has represented, who are all long accustomed to the random power of law enforcement to ransack their lives.
Yet whether his clients have been rich or poor, their rationalizations for their crimes have almost always been unfathomable to Stern. Yes, of course, a hungry man steals bread. But why would Kiril Pafko do something as shortsighted as cheat to win approval of a product he knew was bound to have lethal side effects? Could he really have hoped g-Livia would be less fatal just because the FDA had put its seal of approval on it? And yet Stern has learned over the decades that this kind of magical thinking is typical of criminal defendants, at least the ones who have found themselves seated in the pleated leather armchair in front of Stern’s desk that Kiril occupies now. In the end, all guilty clients have one thing in common: At the moment of completing the crime, each was convinced against all reason they would not get caught.
“Kiril,” Stern says once they are settled, “let me try to go through my small agenda quickly.”
The first subject, of course, is what went on at lunch today with Donatella. Being diplomatic, Stern says, “It is always better to be able to present a jury with an alternate hypothesis.”
But Pafko placidly shakes his head.
“I have sworn to Donatella there will be no more of that. Please be certain Marta understands.”
This instruction will make Lep’s cross-examination, which might come as early as next week, a good deal more difficult. But Stern doesn’t quarrel. The wisdom is enduring that if a man had a talent for making good decisions, he wouldn’t be on trial in federal court for serious felonies.
“Also, we need to begin considering the evidence to offer for the defense.”
“Certainly,” says Kiril, “I will testify.”
Stern’s client has stuck to this position every time the subject has come up. Marta finds it unsurprising that the first instinct of a man who has charmed his way through life is to attempt more of the same. But Kiril has no explanation for much of the evidence against him, except to shrug. Unblinding the dataset, which Agent Jenkins demonstrated this afternoon was accomplished on Kiril’s computer? He didn’t do it. The screenshot? He had no idea it was there. Lep’s testimony? No memory of anything like that. Kiril’s plan is to smile and shake his head in mystification.
The only potential corroboration on any of these critical points might come through Olga. The problem, of course, is the first question on cross-examination: ‘Ms. Fernandez, you and Dr. Pafko had an intimate relationship for some time, didn’t you?’ (That assumes the questioner is Moses. Feld would feign to be struggling to find a better word than ‘fucking.’)
When Stern has made somewhat delicate efforts to delve into the relationship with Olga, Kiril has brushed it aside. ‘All in the past,’ he has said.
‘The past, Kiril? Last year? Last night?’
Kiril laughed and fluttered his manicured hand. ‘Not to worry.’
If that really were true, there is a chance that Sonny might bar the prosecutors’ questions about the affair. Kiril is not on trial for being a philanderer, and a past romance might be regarded as having no present bearing on Olga’s testimony. Sonny has already reached that conclusion about Innis, although the rules are much different in Olga’s case, since the defense will put her credibility at issue by calling her to the stand.
“I have tried not to pry, Kiril. But this is critical. Is your relationship with Olga—the intimate part of that—is it truly over?”
He smiles. “Well, certainly that is what I have told Donatella.” Seeing Stern’s face fall, Kiril adds, “Sorry to jest, Sandy. Yes. I think she is a remarkable young woman, but we have had nothing to do with each other in that way for a couple of years now. She called a halt to it, if you must know.”
“I do not need those details,” says Stern, who wants to know as little as possible that will embarrass him around Donatella. “But with your wife in the courtroom, the jury will not take well at all to evidence of your unfaithfulness.” Stern explains that it must be completely accurate if he tells the judge that Olga and Kiril are no longer lovers. “I am in quite a bit of hot water with the judge already. If I tell her something like this that turns out to be untrue, she could even remove me as your lawyer.”
“Not to worry, Sandy,” says Kiril again, which still falls short of the absolute reassurance Stern would like.
But even disregarding Kiril’s coyness, there is the more fundamental problem, which Marta raises often: Olga is not the kind of witness who is likely to make a good impression on the jurors, particularly the women. Force and ambition radiate from Olga with solar intensity. She would be frightening if you were in her way. She speaks English at the speed of her native Puerto Rican Spanish and is full of tense kinetic strength, even on the rare occasions she is sitting still.
There is, on the other hand, much to be said in Olga’s behalf. For one thing, if IQ were measured in street smarts, she would be Einstein, which makes her very good at her job. She was born into utter poverty in a remote village in Puerto Rico and has fought like a lynx every day since to gain ground. She is thrice divorced, with three daughters whom she has raised with the assistance of her mother.
Stern, in fact, feels some kinship with Olga. He was a young man struggling to find a foothold in this huge, complex country, fumbling with English. His feeling memory of those years is a cyclone of anxiety and striving. He knows what Olga must have experienced, moving to the mainland with an accent and ambition so powerful that it kept her up at night. He understands, too, how hunger for security can drive acquisitive passion.
But Olga received none of the tempering Stern did through his upper-class education at Easton College. Her degree was earned at night in New York—indeed, after Innis’s points about Olga’s résumé, Stern suspects the BA listed may never have been awarded. Somehow, though, she was hired in Kindle County to become a pharmaceutical salesperson and moved here. And in that world—famous back then for the underhanded tactics reps used to win doctors’ loyalty—she learned, as the saying went, to use what she had. Is Olga beautiful? Not really. She is, in the Yiddish Stern was raised speaking, a little zaftig—hefty. She is short, not even Stern’s height in her heels, brownish and freckled in a land that always favored the fair, and round-faced with a broad nose and small intense eyes. Incongruously, her hair has been straightened, puffed out, and dyed blond.
But Stern has never heard anyone call Olga unattractive. She is one of those people who broadcasts almost the same sexual allure and willingness that would be created if she walked into the r
oom naked. Her clothes, in fact, are always a tight squeeze; she probably reinforces buttons and zippers to get the desired effect. Even in the office, her blouses are opened far enough to display some décolletage. Stern judges not. Would he have walked around with his fly open, if it helped him get cases instead of earning him laughter? Probably. Yet it is hard to imagine jurors like Mrs. Murtaugh or the CPA responding well to her. With Kiril’s reassurance that his intimate times with Olga are over, Marta and Stern will have to decide whether it is worth the considerable risks of calling Olga to the stand, assuming the judge can be persuaded to restrict cross to omit the details of their personal relationship.
“One last thing,” Stern says. “Kiril, you recall that I had a traffic accident when I was returning last March from PT. You remember.”
“Of course. I was afraid, Sandy, you would never recover.”
“And did I tell you that my clearest memory of the car that struck me was the PT medallion in the rear window?”
Kiril laughs. “Tell me? Me and every other person who came to visit, Sandy. For several days, it seemed to be the only thought in your head. But you said that the neurologist and the police eventually convinced you that memory was an illusion.”
Stern describes Pinky’s investigation, ignoring Kiril’s grin when his grandaughter’s name first comes up. As Sandy continues, Pafko’s worn face loses its customary look of good cheer. His thick eyebrows are drawn downward in obvious concern, when Stern concludes, “She wants the sign-out records from the motor pool.”
“I apologize, Sandy, but what is the bearing on my defense?”
“I am indulging Pinky, Kiril. You understand.”
He shakes his head. “Not really.”
Pafko is one of those clients who has given his lawyers carte blanche with every avenue of defense, although it is easy to display largesse when the corporation is paying all expenses.
“Well, I suppose, Kiril, taking this to the logical extreme, if someone from PT were trying to get rid of your lawyer, that could be quite relevant.”
Pafko draws back. “Is that truly what you think happened, Sandy?”
“No, in candor, Kiril, I think that is entirely far-fetched.”
“Then I see no point in pursuing it.”
The two men eye each other. Stern, as happens rarely, can think of nothing to say. Wise or not, the client has the right to his secrets. And Kiril has a point anyway, that his defense team doesn’t need to go off on a frolic and detour while he is basically on trial for his life.
Kiril stands, once more looking cheerful, and goes to the closed door of the office. With his hand on the knob, he turns back.
“It is an amusing thought, though, Sandy.”
“What is?”
“Someone out there doesn’t want you to know I am innocent.”
17. The Night
Wednesday is one of the sessions full of perfunctory testimony that every trial inevitably includes. Dr. Hera Peraklites, who was the chair of the Data Monitoring Committee for the g-Livia trial, the outside safety experts, testifies that if she had seen Pafko Computer-A, the unaltered database, she would have insisted PT inform the FDA. Dr. Peraklites is an owlish presence on the stand—stout, bespectacled, middle-aged, and a bit full of herself. She basically retracts her direct during Marta’s cross, admitting she would feel no obligation to inform the FDA if she were convinced there had been no sudden deaths but simply a computer error.
The rest of Wednesday bogs down with protracted argument about the exhibit already shown to Dr. Robb, Global-A. It is a forensic reconstruction of how the image found on Kiril’s computer would have looked on September 16, 2016, after Wendy Hoh had corrected the g-Livia trial database, purportedly at Kiril’s request. Marta has been exercised about this exhibit since before trial, because Global International has no records of what its database showed on that date, as opposed to September 30, 2016, when the study concluded. No one—not Wendy Hoh, not Kiril, nor any employees of PT or Global—ever saw this table on September 16. As such, Marta regards the exhibit as a fictitious corroboration of Wendy Hoh.
Marta is correct, as far as her father is concerned, but she’s also being stubbornly legalistic, as his daughter is sometimes apt to be. The clinical trial study that went to the FDA in October makes no mention of the sudden deaths, and that is Kiril’s real problem and the heart of the crime for which he’s been indicted. As far as Stern is concerned, Global-A is a favor to the defense, since it gives them something to attack and question in argument. He is not unhappy when Sonny ultimately overrules Marta’s objection, although it seems as if Sonny finally understands Marta’s point, too late. As happens to judges, she cornered herself with her earlier ruling allowing the jury to see the exhibit when Robb was testifying. If she were to reverse herself now, the judge would be admitting an error that the defense would hammer on appeal.
Around three thirty, the prosecutors announce that their next witness, Dr. Wendy Hoh, had trouble with her connection in Chicago. Just the mention of Dr. Hoh’s name is the most dramatic thing to happen all day, and Stern can feel attention rise throughout the courtroom. But everyone will have to wait until tomorrow morning to hear from her. Sonny recesses early.
Back in the office, Pinky, who saw Kiril in the office yesterday, comes to Stern to find out when they will get the records for the sign-outs from late March for PT’s Malibu fleet.
“That will not happen, Pinky. Kiril does not approve.”
She responds with a dramatic “Wha-a-a-t?”
“I was a bit surprised, Pinky, but in thinking about it, I understand. He doesn’t want his legal team distracted in the middle of a trial that will determine the course of the rest of his life.”
“Bullshit,” she says. “What’s he hiding?”
“Really, Pinky. Do you think Kiril had anything to do with running me off the road? What sense does that make? There are simpler ways to get rid of your lawyer—such as firing him.”
Even Pinky can’t argue that point. Instead, she comes at him from another angle.
“But I mean, can he really tell us not to get the records? He’s not even CEO anymore.”
“He is our client, Pinky. His wishes are quite literally our command.”
While she broods unhappily, Stern offers a related thought. “In fact, Pinky, I was struck by something else yesterday. Kiril still drives his old Cadillac from time to time.”
“Does it look like yours?”
“Not identical, but close enough to be mistaken.” Kiril’s car is a year older and a slightly different shade. When Stern bought his car, he was amused to find that GM produced the CTS in three tones of gray, not to mention silver. Stern’s color was called ‘Moonstone.’ Kiril and Donatella’s car is just a bit lighter.
Marta wanders in at that moment to discuss Wendy Hoh’s cross-examination. Because of his daughter’s impatience with Pinky, Stern has told Marta nothing about the Malibus, and she reacts with typical annoyance when they fill her in.
“Good God. You’re wasting time with this in the middle of trial?”
Pinky appears on the verge of one of her frequent dustups with her aunt, but she sees the look in her grandfather’s eyes and reluctantly retreats. Over the years, Stern has made many friends at the bar, and done many favors as a result, but he is not sure that after the doors close here anyone is enough indebted to Stern to become Pinky’s employer—at least not for long. He has spoken about it with Rick, Helen’s son, to whom they have already started referring some of their cases. Payback, and a somewhat tenuous family connection, will probably give Pinky a landing spot, but it is questionable whether she can keep the job in the long run. At his desk, he withstands the ember of hurt and worry ignited by Pinky, which so often blisters his heart.
Instead, he decides to take advantage of the shortened trial day and go home. He is again weary, and feels himself deep into a moment of retreat, when the stress and anxiety of trial seem to have briefly exhausted his ability to c
are about anything.
He has his soup and by six thirty is in his pajamas. He has a hard time reading for pleasure while he is in the midst of trial, since his mind always seems to wander back to the courtroom. Instead, he turns on the TV. It is a dead season in sports, before any interesting basketball and hockey, and there is no football worth watching on a Wednesday night, although the violence of the game is slowly erasing its appeal to Stern. And he has given up on the news. Everything about Trump, from what the man does to the strident, saturation coverage he inspires on the various channels, upsets Stern.
Instead, he decides to sleep, more out of preference than exhaustion. The longer Stern lives, the more mysterious the night becomes to him, and yet the more he looks forward to it. When he removes his hearing aids, the ensuing silence has a softness, and the world he withdraws to is only his. He has a tactile memory of the long embrace of his slumber beside Helen, the touching and parting and coming back together—his hand on her hip as he descended and rose against the borders of consciousness. Vitality drains away so slowly that there is really no noticing, and yet he feels certain he has experienced no dimming of the fundamental sensation of being alive. He wonders often, Was I really experiencing more as a child, as a young man? Or was it merely that my legs and arms worked better?
In his dreams, he still runs like a deer.
18. Wendy Hoh
Thursday gets off to another slow start because Sonny has an emergency grand jury matter, which keeps her in chambers with several lawyers, including Moses, for nearly an hour. But by 10:00 a.m., the prosecutors have called their climactic witness on the fraud counts, Dr. Wendy Hoh. Dr. Hoh is not an MD. She is instead a statistician who serves as chief integrity officer at Global International Testing Corp. She lives in Taiwan, an operational hub for Global International, and has agreed to come to the US for the Pafko trial—although she didn’t have much choice if she wanted to keep her job. For Global—and Dr. Hoh—it’s imperative that they pin all blame for the altered database on Kiril, in hopes of avoiding lasting damage to their reputation for scientific integrity.
