“We’re on the record,” said Thaddeus.
“Ready,” said the court reporter.”
“Morgana?”
“Keith Haley is appearing today pursuant to your subpoena. Your witness, Mister Murfee.”
Thaddeus launched in. “Before we took our break yesterday you had told us that you were the CEO of Hudd Hospital Chicago at or near the time of Chase Staples’ birth, isn’t that correct?”
Keith Haley hesitated, looking to his attorney Morgana for direction. He was a pink-skinned heavyweight, thick jowls, gray hair combed straight back from a widow’s peak, bifocals perched on his flesh nose, his face tilting up and down as he went from reading his notes to looking back at Thaddeus.
“Correct. He was born during my tenure as CEO.”
Thaddeus nodded and reviewed his yellow pad. He had probably a page and half of questions for the CEO. He felt confident in his preparation and pushed ahead.
“And your position as CEO required that you enforce official hospital policy, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Tell us what hospital policies were in effect the night of Chase Staples’ birth, with particular regard to Caesarean sections.”
“You mean policies that affect this case?”
“I mean all policies, sir.”
“Hudd Family Hospital Chicago, like all Level I hospitals, had in effect a policy requiring a completed Caesarean section within thirty minutes of a staff member’s page. This is called Decision to Incision.”
Thaddeus smiled. He was going to close the noose around the guy’s neck. “Exactly. Now tell me. Was that policy complied with or violated as a result of Chase Staples’ birth?”
“Complied with. In all respects.”
“Let’s take those respects one at a time. With regard to the nurse’s notes, what do those tell us about the thirty-minute decision to incision policy?”
“Well, the page went out from the delivery room at six thirty-five o’clock in the evening, Dr. Payne was on the premises and the C-section was completed at six fifty-seven p.m. Well within the thirty-minute window.”
“Mr. Haley, are those nurses’ notes marked Plaintiffs’ Exhibit Seven the only set of nurses’ records from that birth?”
“What are you asking?”
“I am asking, sir, have you ever seen another set of nurses’ notes from that same night, same delivery?”
“Never.”
“Are those nurses’ notes true and accurate?”
“Well, they’re certified. That’s this stamp right here in the corner.”
Thaddeus felt his neck bristle. The guy was lying and Thaddeus knew it. That, or the guy had been terribly misled by his staff. “Do you know this for a fact? I’m asking, sir, did you personally review the hospital’s records and determine for yourself that these notes are original and accurate?”
“I did not. No hospital administrator would ever do that.”
“So you don’t know if Exhibit Seven is a true and accurate copy of the actual nurses’ notes in the hospital files at all, do you?”
“You’re asking the same thing again. I did not personally check them, no.”
“You realize you’re under oath today?”
“I do.”
“And you’re standing by the authenticity of the notes?”
“I am.”
“Nothing further. Thank you, sir.”
* * *
Thaddeus and Albert Hightower put their heads together. They made their trial plans. The first item on the agenda was whether they would take the depositions of Gerry Springer and Nurse Nancy, who had been on duty during Chase’s struggles to be born.
Records were examined and re-examined. As near as the attorneys could tell, neither doctor nor nurse had made entries in the delivery room records. Nancy was a student nurse at the time and it would have been unusual for a student to make entries into the nursing notes during a troubled delivery. Same for Gerry Springer, as he was a brand new physician who wasn’t writing orders during the delivery. In the end it was decided that neither would be deposed and neither would be called at trial to testify.
42
Chase Staples clutched spasmodically at empty air as he flopped upon the examining table at Hudd Hospital ER. On either side of the exam table, Latoya and John Staples tried to touch and comfort their child as the ER staff and doctor worked feverishly to get drugs into the baby’s system to control the seizure.
His name was Nathan Tonopah and he was a first-year intern. He said, “OK, Mr. Chase, you’ve got Dilantin onboard. Come on now, baby.”
Latoya clutched her heart and rolled her eyes skyward. “Sweet Jesus, help this baby!”
John asked, as if from a distance, “How long will it take?”
“He should stop seizing in thirty to sixty seconds. Here we go, he’s relaxing now as we speak. There we go.”
Chase was seen to relax and fall back against the table as if the levitating force had dissipated. The mother gently laid her head on the baby’s chest and whispered to him. “We’re right here, baby. Sssh-sssh, mommy and daddy are right here with you.”
The doctor asked, “Is Chase getting in-home medical care of any nature?”
John responded, “No, we’re waiting for Medicaid to help with that.”
“What’s the holdup, anything I can help with?”
Latoya sadly shook her head. “Case manager tells us they’re underfunded anymore. It’s the economy, she says, there’s just no money to help this baby.”
The doctor shook his head. “Jesus.”
“Yes.”
“Is there any insurance for him?”
John spoke up. “They busted our collective bargaining agreement down at the bus line where I work. We lost our insurance coverage two weeks ago.”
“Have you tried the federal program?”
“We’re in the process. But none of them we found so far have in-home full-time care for Chase. Not like we need.”
“Well, who else have you tried?”
“There’s no one else.”
Doctor Tonopah rubbed Chase’s belly. All was calm. “You did the right thing bringing him here tonight. I’m going to write a script for Dilantin that should help control future problems. But this baby is still going to need regular in-home nursing and medical care. He’s gaining weight every day and these lab values will be changing. Dosage will need constant adjustment.”
“We know that. We just don’t know how.”
“Do you have a lawyer working on his case?”
“We do. Thaddeus Murfee.”
“He’s very good. You might want to give him a call and see if there’s any kind of insurance help he can get at this stage of the case.”
“I’ve asked him all that until he’s sick of hearing from me. But I’ll call him tonight.”
“Yes, at least tell him what’s going on now with the seizure development.”
“I will certainly call him.”
43
It was late afternoon and the ski crowd was thinning on Aspen Mountain. Clouds were low in the valleys and fresh snow was floating down. As the shadows disappeared to dim light, A.W. and Morgana gave a quick look, nodded, and set off on a downhill race. Morgana fell behind and obviously was allowing A.W. to win. By the time she reached the bottom of the run, A.W. had wandered off to find after-ski drinks. As she was stepping out of her skis the cell phone in her pocket buzzed. It was Thaddeus Murfee.
“Hello?” she said.
“Morgana, Thad. We’ve got problems on the Staples baby case.”
“Go on.”
“Chase Staples seized tonight. Grand Mal seizures. Bottom line, the ER doc wants him to have in-home care as follow-up. Problem is Mom and Dad don’t have insurance for that. They don’t have any insurance. I need to get their case settled and get some money for this child. Is your client ready to talk sense?”
“I—I don’t know what to say. Hudd Family isn’t in any kind of position to se
ttle. Where’s the liability that I can recommend settlement? What did our doctor and hospital do wrong?”
“Look, it’s a jury question whether Dr. Payne arrived in time for emergency C-section. You’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of losing that. Surely to God that means something to Olde Heartless Insurance Company?”
She poked her pole around the snow, thinking. “That’s your assessment. We’ve got records to prove the treatment was well within the standard of care.”
“Look, lady, I’m not going to argue the case with you. Can you at least ask your client if they have any motivation to settle? You do have a duty to ask your client now that I’ve opened the issue for discussion.”
“You’re right. I’ll ask my client. I’ll recommend against, but at least I’ll ask.”
“We’ll take ten million, not a dime less.”
“Right, and it’s snowing in Phoenix.”
“Ask, please.”
“Goodbye, Thaddeus.”
* * *
She sat fidgeting at the table next to the stone fireplace at Aspen Mountain Lodge. It was time for a little après-ski, as A.W had suggested, and Morgana was toying with her Diet Coke and Caroline was sipping brandy as A.W and his wife worked on their second martinis. Morgana felt nervous and knew her skin was glistening but didn’t know if the damp was from the proximity to the fireplace or a result of the very negative feelings she was having over her complicity in the Chase Staples cover-up. Alternatively she felt nauseous and loss of appetite followed by a craving for something sweet. Caroline had assured her that none of it was a return of the cancer, which had been in remission for seven months. Her health had been good, she knew, and so the sadness and sense of loss she felt was definitely about her role in the case. Maybe she could bring it to a head and get the damn thing settled, she told herself. And there was no time like the present to make a stab at it.
She caught the eye of A.W. “I had a call from Thaddeus Murfee. The Staples baby is in a bad way.”
He was suddenly in business mode. “Ladies,” he said to his wife and Caroline, “could you give us ten minutes here? Go off to the gift shop and look around?”
Caroline said, “Sure, we can do that. C’mon, Marilyn, we’ll look for ski-wear for pregnant ladies.”
The two lawyers leaned in across the table.
“What did young Mister Murfee have to say? Twenty million or thirty?”
She ignored him. “This baby is having seizures. We should try to help.”
He tasted the martini and nodded with approval. “Realistically, though, are the seizures our problem?”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged, indicating that he felt like he had clean hands in the matter. “Is the baby’s lawyer using his client’s health problem to win a settlement in a loser case?”
“We’ve got some exposure here. Settlement wouldn’t be all that unreasonable.”
“No. I’ve studied the deposition summaries, I’ve seen the medical records, there’s no need to settle. Besides, it would be premature to settle now. We don’t even know that the baby will be alive at the time of trial.”
“Christ, how can you say that?” She hated herself more by the second. Was this really her life now? Gambling on the hope that Chase Staples might die before his trial? I mean what the hell, her mind screamed. What have you gotten yourself into?
“I can say that because I am a businessman. We’re in the business of saving our client money.”
“This is my case and I say we recommend eight million to settle. We’ve got phony records and a very appealing child against us.”
He’d had just enough to drink to allow a smirk. “You’ve got phony records. I don’t.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
The smirk remained on his face, terrible and completely turning her off to the man who she had once thought was a great mentor. She’d been allowed a peek inside her law firm and all she could see was evil inside. “It means you told Judge Moody the records were true and accurate. It wasn’t me.”
She flopped her chin against her chest. “That’s it. I can’t do this anymore. I want to be taken off this case. I’ve lost the stomach for it.”
“Morgana, do you know how we got out to this beautiful resort in these Colorado mountains? Do you know how many people can’t afford to come here? In case you’ve forgotten, we’re here because clients like Hudd Family Healthcare pay us huge sums of money to defend them.”
“I don’t need to hear this. This place is as empty as my soul right now.”
“They paid for our airfare, paid for this incredible hotel and our suites with Jacuzzis, paid for our lift tickets, paid for our poles, our boots, our drinks we’re drinking right now, the crap our wives are plunking down plastic to buy in the gift shop this very minute. All of it—thanks to our client.”
“Balance that against a baby that’s fighting for its life. What side do we fall on, A.W., are we only about money?”
“Short answer? Yes.”
* * *
Thaddeus felt the pressure.
It wasn’t an altogether uncomfortable feeling, more like the feeling of needing to punch your opponent in the boxing ring but the first bell hasn’t yet rung. That dancing around, throwing-air-punches-moment in the mind of the trial lawyer that comes after the jury has been selected and it’s time for opening statements.
Judge Moody had presided over jury selection at the Daley Center courts building. Thaddeus was somewhat satisfied with the jury, eight women and four men, chosen because they reported they knew nothing about the case, had no family members with brain damage, had no lawyers or doctors in the family, and hadn’t made similar claims against hospitals or doctors on account of some medical procedure gone wrong.
In other words, the jury was of one mind.
More or less.
Thaddeus had to smile, however. It was the stuff that was hidden away—that was the good stuff. And it never came out during jury selection; it always came out after the trial, when it was too late to do anything about it. Stuff like kids who were mentally challenged or stuff like a seething hatred for people who filed cases and came to courts looking for money, or a general dislike of lawyers who helped injured people—that was the hidden stuff. You just never knew for sure whom you had allowed to slip through during the jury selection process, and he knew that. He was no novice at picking juries, having been at the helm of seventeen major medical malpractice trials by the time Chase’s case came on for trial.
Joining Thaddeus at counsel table were Christine Susmann and Latoya Staples. Christine had actually done all the heavy lifting while working up the case. She was every bit as anxious as Thaddeus to get the fight underway. She was always the ex-soldier, always preparing, preparing, preparing, for the moment when the battle would rage and she would be called on. And, as always, she was ready. It was the Army training that always took over for her and impelled her toward engaging the enemy and winning. Thaddeus believed Christine had caught all the issues and addressed them, those for and those against. She was the brightest trial assistant anyone could ever hope to have at counsel table. For that, he was eternally grateful to her that she stuck by him. She had even uprooted her family when it came time to move the law firm from Orbit to Chicago. She was loyal, above all else. She was also highly paid, now earning in the low- to mid-six-figures.
Seated at defense table were Morgana, A.W., and Phillip Payne, M.D. The Hudd CEO would be joining them as the hospital representative in the afternoon session. For now, his presence had been waived by the defense.
Behind the bar sat Sandy Green and a higher-up in risk management, a silver-haired woman named Rosemary Washington. Their role was to keep a lid on things by way of settling the case PDQ if it looked like a runaway-jury situation. Such situations developed in trials where a judge’s rulings on evidentiary issues were taking a decidedly plaintiff-oriented bent. Long story short, if the plaintiff was winning on objections, it was a clear telegrap
h from judge to jury exactly who the judge favored. Sandy and Rosemary knew only too well that juries in such cases would most often take their lead from the judge and unconsciously begin siding with the plaintiff too, just because. Such cases called for quick, dirty settlements, usually for way too much money, early in the case. Which was every defense lawyer’s nightmare. No one, especially the two lawyers from Jones Marentz, wanted such a nasty result on their balance sheet. Better to have settled up front before trial than settle during the plaintiff’s case when the price tag would be much, much higher.
Having issued his instructions to the jurors and made sure everyone was comfortable and equipped with a steno notebook, Judge Moody turned his attention to Thaddeus and his case. It was time to move into the witnesses.
“Please call your first witness, Mister Murfee.”
Out of habit.Thaddeus stood. “Thank you, Your Honor. Plaintiff calls Doctor Phillip Payne as an adverse witness.”
Whispers broke out across the gallery. The jurors sat up, alert and ready to take notes. It was unusual for the plaintiff to open by calling the defendant doctor as its first witness. But that was exactly what was happening.
Dr. Payne didn’t have far to walk, from the next table to the witness stand. Phillip Payne was a tall man, all of 6-3, who walked with a baboon slouch. His posture said he had been beaten by the world and bent over for good measure. Which, to an extent, was true. His blue eyes were chronically watery and sad, his heavy jowls road-mapped with spider veins, his dark hair receding dramatically back from the widow’s peak where a small tuft of hair still claimed the day, hanging on until it would finally be forced to surrender to the encroaching bald front too. He stoically proceeded to the front of the courtroom and took the witness chair, maintaining eye contact with no one. He didn’t even give the jury a nod or a smile.
Chase, the Bad Baby: A Legal and Medical Thriller (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 4) Page 14
