“Yes.”
“Mrs. Nye, was it Mr. Croghan who approached you and convinced you that you should go after Lee Nye’s money?”
“I object, Your Honor!” Croghan yelled as he jumped to his feet once again. “What Ms. Kellogg is suggesting is ludicrous! Besides which, all communications between my client and me are privileged communications.”
“That they are. Sustained,” Ingle said. “Careful, Ms. Kellogg. No soliciting of privileged communications.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Mrs. Nye, do you believe Lee to be your husband?”
“No. Roy was my husband.”
“Then why did you try to get alimony out of Lee?”
“Mr. Croghan said I was entitled to it.”
“Did you think you were entitled to it?”
She shifted in her seat uneasily. “I’ve worked all these years, fed and clothed and taken care of myself and the children, and even Roy when he came around.”
Damian could tell that Fedora was trying to convince herself as she once more fidgeted in her chair before going on. “It didn’t seem wrong to want a little something for myself. And it is Roy’s body that made that money, after all. Those are his hands that built up that company he now owns.”
“You mean that Lee now owns.”
“Yes. I...it’s confusing, this dual-personality thing. I don’t really understand it that well. Roy’s gone, I know that. But Mr. Croghan says that since Lee was inside Roy all those years, I was married to Lee, too.”
“Mrs. Nye, what happened to that suit you filed against Lee Nye?”
“It was dismissed.”
“Why?”
“The judge said that the moneys were earned after the divorce and were therefore not community property.”
“So, after failing to latch on to Lee’s newly made wealth, Mr. Croghan got a bit more creative and decided to use you to drum up this ridiculous suit against Dr. Steele?”
“I object!” Croghan yelled, jumping up and down and pounding on the table.
“Sustained,” Ingle ruled. “Try to keep them above the belt, Ms. Kellogg. And Mr. Croghan, no more pounding,” he admonished without any real enthusiasm. Kay could tell he was obviously enjoying the fight too much to give anything but lip service to its rules.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Kay said with a respectful head bow in his direction. She then turned toward the witness stand and smiled.
“Mrs. Nye, I believe I now understand the... ah...pressures that have been placed upon you to bring this suit.”
“Your Honor!” Croghan shouted.
“I have no further questions for this witness,” Kay said before he could get his objection out. She twirled around and strolled confidently back to the defense table.
Her face was glowing, her eyes alight with victory—as well they should be.
Damian understood now that Kay’s enviable litigation record was attributable not only to her infallible legal logic, but also to the way she used her diminutive stature and soft voice to disarm.
She’d broken down Fedora’s testimony without once attacking her and alienating the sympathetic jury. And with her last deft thrust, she had clearly implied that Fedora was but a pitiful pawn in the manipulative hands of her greedy attorney.
She was quite a lawyer. And quite a woman. And his promise to be a gentleman was getting to be more of a struggle than he had ever imagined.
“You’re excused, Mrs. Nye,” Ingle said. “Your next witness, Mr. Croghan.”
“I call Carla Greene to the stand.”
Damian watched Kay stiffen, all signs of her fresh victory visibly draining from her face. They exchanged quick glances. The name obviously meant nothing to either of them.
Damian snatched the proposed witness list Croghan had supplied. Kay slipped into the chair beside him. Together they started down the list as the bailiff left the courtroom to summon the witness.
Carla Greene was listed on the bottom of the second page. So Croghan had supplied the name of the witness as he was required to do. There were no grounds upon which to raise an objection.
Who was Carla Greene? And what would she testify to?
Both Damian and Kay anxiously turned toward the back of the courtroom, waiting for the mystery witness to appear.
Chapter Ten
“Mrs. Greene, please state your credentials for this court,” Croghan said.
The sturdy-looking, no-nonsense, middle-aged woman with the short gray hair and large silver glasses leaned back comfortably in the witness chair. Her crisp, clear voice carried to the far reaches of the courtroom.
“I have an undergraduate degree in psychology and a master’s degree in clinical sociology. For the past twenty years, I’ve been employed by the county as a social worker, the last ten years as a substance-abuse specialist.”
“Mrs. Greene, did you ever have occasion to interview and evaluate a man named Roy Nye?”
“Yes.”
“Would you explain those circumstances?”
“Mr. Nye was arrested and brought in because his violent behavior had resulted in a barroom brawl in which several patrons were injured. The bartender told officers that the man had been visibly shaking when he walked into the bar, drank two beers in rapid succession and then just erupted into an uncontrollable rage. I interviewed Roy Nye in order to assess the nature of his substance abuse.”
“By substance abuse, you mean alcohol?”
“Yes.”
“And what were your findings based on your twenty years of experience in these types of cases?”
“That Roy Nye was both physiologically addicted and allergic to alcohol.”
“Describe to this court what you mean by physiologically addicted.”
“He had to drink. It was a craving too strong for his body to resist. If he didn’t drink, he went through extremely painful withdrawal symptoms.”
“And now describe for this court what you mean by his being allergic to alcohol.”
“Even though he had to drink, his body was allergic to alcohol. The manifestation of that allergic reaction was violence. When alcohol was in his system, he would lash out uncontrollably. He didn’t know what he was doing. It was purely his body’s allergic reaction to the alcohol.”
“So is it your expert opinion that because of Roy Nye’s addiction and allergic reaction to alcohol that he was not accountable for his actions?”
Mrs. Greene nodded her head of short gray hair in decided emphasis. “I am certain of it. Roy Nye did not know what he was doing when he was drunk. He totally lost control.”
“Did Roy Nye deserve to die because of his problem?”
“Absolutely not! Roy Nye deserved to be understood and helped.”
“Could Roy Nye have been helped, Mrs. Greene?”
“If Roy had been properly diagnosed and admitted to a hospital for treatment, he could have been detoxed, educated about his problem, overcome it and be leading a normal life today.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Greene, for your expert testimony. I have no further questions.”
Croghan positively beamed as he sent Kay a triumphant grin. “Your witness, Ms. Kellogg.”
Damian knew that Mrs. Greene’s testimony had been damaging. But without preparation, what could Kay possibly do to counteract it?
* * *
KAY STOOD UP and slowly approached Mrs. Greene. It was always difficult to take on a witness unprepared. And Croghan knew what he was doing when he’d put this one on the stand.
Everything Kay had done to point out Roy Nye’s drunken abusiveness in her cross-examination of Fedora Nye meant nothing under this woman’s claim that he was being controlled by his allergic addiction to alcohol. She knew that the jury mustn’t be allowed to think of Roy as a victim.
She would have to begin her cross-examination with a few old standbys and hope to hit pay dirt.
“Mrs. Greene, are you being paid by the plaintiff to appear in court today?”
“No,” she answered with a satisfied
smirk. “No one could ever buy my testimony.”
She had been ready for that question. Too ready. Croghan must have coached her. Kay quickly moved on. “Do you often testify on the cases you’ve handled?”
“Only three times in my career and only in family court. This is my first time as a superior-court witness.”
Hard for Kay to imagine. The woman’s assurance made her come across like a veteran. She was precise in her answers, solid in her opinions and sure of herself.
Too sure of herself, perhaps? Yes, maybe that’s where Kay could find her edge.
“Mrs. Greene, you said you’ve been a caseworker for how long now?”
“Twenty years as of last February fourth.”
“And when did you see Roy Nye and make your evaluation regarding his condition?”
“Several years ago.”
Ah. The woman’s first imprecise answer. This was a path to follow. Kay stepped perceptibly closer and leaned the top portion of her body forward as though straining to hear.
“How many years ago was it exactly, Mrs. Greene?”
A hesitation, brief, but telling. “Fourteen.”
“Fourteen years ago?” Kay repeated, deliberately letting her voice rise in surprise as she rocked back on her heels.
“Yes.”
“How can you remember a case from so long ago?”
“I have an excellent memory for all my cases.”
“Do you have any notes or official records from your evaluation of Roy Nye?”
“They were thrown out long ago. Our records weren’t on computer then and there was no place to store all that paperwork. But it doesn’t matter. I remember the incident clearly.”
“Even though it was fourteen years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Greene, when you saw Roy Nye and made your evaluation of him fourteen years ago, you had only been a caseworker for six years, not twenty, isn’t that correct?”
Her lips began to tighten. “Yes.”
“And you weren’t a specialist in substance abuse at that time, is that correct?”
“I frequently evaluated such cases.”
“But you were not a substance-abuse specialist at the time you evaluated Roy Nye, were you?”
“No.”
“How many times did you see Roy Nye before coming to your conclusions about his problems?”
“Once.”
“Once?”
A flash of defiance crossed Mrs. Greene’s face. “Once was all I needed.”
“And how long did your evaluation take?”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Only thirty minutes?”
Mrs. Greene’s chin raised defiantly. “When you know what you’re doing, you only need thirty minutes.”
“Was Roy Nye under the influence of alcohol when you saw him this one time for thirty minutes?”
“Yes.”
“Was he legally intoxicated?”
“He showed all the signs. And he shouldn’t have. That’s what made his condition so obvious. The bartender reported that he had only served him two beers, yet Roy Nye manifested all the symptoms of extreme alcohol intoxication.”
“And those symptoms were...?”
“Diminished physical coordination. Slurred speech. Uncontrolled physical violence that required his being restrained.”
“You consider uncontrolled physical violence a manifestation of alcohol intoxication?”
Mrs. Greene’s tone took on the derisory air of a master addressing an apprentice. “In Roy Nye’s case, it was the manifestation of his allergic response to the alcohol. He’d only had two beers, remember.”
“You mean, Mrs. Greene, that he’d only had two beers that you know of.”
“I’m sure he’d only had two beers.”
“How can you be so sure? Was a blood-alcohol test done on him?”
“No, but the bartender said—”
“That he had only served him two beers, yes, I heard. But how do you know that the bartender was telling the truth? A man he’d served liquor to had just ended up violently assaulting other customers. That bartender may have been trying to protect himself against liability by saying he’d only served Roy two beers. Or Roy may have had several dozen drinks somewhere else before he walked into that bar. Isn’t that true, Mrs. Greene?”
“I don’t believe—”
“I didn’t ask you what you believe. I asked you if Roy Nye could have had a lot more than two beers to drink when you saw him intoxicated? Yes or no, Mrs. Greene?”
The answer hissed through her teeth. “Yes.”
“So you interpreted Roy’s drunken behavior to be alcohol addiction and allergy to alcohol based on seeing him once for thirty minutes in a drunken state in which you thought he’d only had two beers?”
“I saw him, Ms. Kellogg,” Mrs. Greene said defiantly. “You didn’t.”
“Mrs. Greene, please answer the question. Did you interpret Roy Nye’s drunken behavior to be alcohol addiction and allergy to alcohol based on seeing him only once in a drunken state in which you thought he’d only had two beers?”
Mrs. Greene’s lips folded until they were as thin as playing cards. She dealt her answer through them. “Yes. But in my twenty years of experience, I’ve acquired the judgment—”
“But you only had six years of experience when you diagnosed Roy Nye. And that was fourteen years ago. For thirty minutes. Mrs. Greene, isn’t it true that you could be wrong about Roy Nye’s being addicted to and allergic to alcohol?”
Mrs. Greene folded her arms across her chest. “I stand by my evaluation.”
“You said earlier that if Roy Nye had been properly diagnosed and admitted to a hospital to be treated, he could have overcome his addiction and be leading a normal life today, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you see to Roy’s admission to a hospital and the administration of this proper treatment?”
“We were...are...not authorized to make such arrangements.”
“Not authorized? Mrs. Greene, do you have a medical degree?”
“No.”
“Is the reason you are not authorized to make such arrangements because alcohol addiction and allergy to alcohol are diagnoses that only proper medical personnel, using proper medical tests, can accurately assess?”
“I have never needed any such medical tests. All I’ve ever needed—”
“Is thirty minutes in a room with a drunken, violent man and too many self-serving assumptions,” Kay interrupted.
“Your Honor, I object!” Croghan yelled. “Argumentative!”
“Withdrawn,” Kay said, pivoting away from Mrs. Greene and heading back to the defense table. “I have no further questions for this expert witness.”
* * *
DAMIAN SIGNALED across the restaurant to Kay so she could join him and Jerry Tummel at their table in the corner. She nodded and started forward.
Jerry gave a low whistle beside Damian.
“Very nice. Just the kind that makes you want to get out the old sword and slay a dragon or two.”
Damian chuckled. “Believe me, Jerry, this one is pretty good at slaying her own dragons.”
“Yeah. I caught the early news before coming over. The broadcast mentioned how well she’s sliced up Croghan’s witnesses so far. You sleeping with her yet?”
“Get your mind out of your pants, Jerry.”
“So she turned you down, eh? Well, good for her. About time you met a lady with some class.”
Damian snickered. “Too bad I can’t find a friend with any.”
Kay walked up just then, not giving Jerry time for a retort. Both men rose and Damian made the introductions before holding out a chair for Kay. When they were all seated again, the waiter walked over with a glass of milk and set it before her.
She looked over at Damian, tipped the glass in salute, took a drink and smiled. Damian felt the returning smile draw back his lips. He also felt Jerry’s curious e
yes swinging back and forth between Kay and him.
Jerry leaned across the table toward Kay.
“I caught some coverage of the case on television just before I left. Did you hear that their four newscasters are split down the middle on who’s ahead after the first day in court?”
“I’m more concerned with what the jury thinks after the last day in court.”
Jerry tipped his drink in her direction. “Well, lovely lady, if I were sitting in the jury box, you’d get my vote if for no other reason than you are such a lovely lady.”
Damian noted Kay’s returning smile was pleasant but offered no invitation. “I know you’re very busy, Dr. Tummel, and I appreciate—”
“Call me Jerry. Please.”
“Okay, Jerry. I just wanted you to know that I appreciate your willingness to testify.”
“Well, old Damian here and I have been buddies since we were kids. He’s gotten me out of more scrapes than I’d like to admit. About time I returned the favor.”
“You were childhood chums? And both of you ended up as psychologists. That’s...unusual, isn’t it?”
Jerry laughed. “Not when you meet in a psychologist’s office.”
“You met in a psychologist’s office?” Kay repeated, clearly inviting a further explanation.
“Yeah, we were both only about five, too. Pretty bad to be screwed up so early.”
“You really needed a psychologist at five years old?”
Jerry grinned at her. “My uncle was the psychologist. My mother still claims she only sent me to him so he could take me out to lunch for my birthday.”
“Wasn’t it your birthday?”
“Oh, sure. That week. But what about the next fifty-two weeks when she kept insisting on dropping me off in front of his building instead of the movie theater?”
Damian could tell Kay didn’t know whether Jerry was just being a tease or whether there was an underlying seriousness to his words. She seemed even more confused when Jerry punctuated his comments with the sneezy bark that passed as his laugh.
“I suppose it was your uncle’s being a psychologist that got you thinking about becoming one?” she ventured after a moment, clearly still fishing.
Jerry shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way, Kay. Nobody decides to become a psychologist. You just decide you’re a screwed-up kid who needs to take some courses to try to get yourself unscrewed. The courses don’t help a whole lot. But eventually you get old enough and rack up enough of them to qualify for a degree. So you grab the degree, give up trying to unscrew yourself and spend your adult life honestly telling other screwups that you know how they feel.”
Beauty vs. the Beast Page 17
