by A. Turk
Laura was impressed by Davis’s confrontation with Douglas. She hated the little weasel, who was part of the conspiracy that cost her job and livelihood. She was now a stay-at-home mom.
Once they got their coffee, Davis explained what happened at the deposition of Ms. Johnston, the custodian of records.
“She’s lying through her teeth. I know for a fact that the pathology lab keeps those slides in chronological order. I’ve seen where they’re stored, in a refrigerator in the lab. Each year has its own metal case with the year noted with masking tape on the front.”
“Would you testify to that?”
“Without hesitation.”
Davis explained that Morty rattled the defense counsel’s cage at Ms. Johnston’s deposition. The hospital’s claim that it destroyed the slides placed the hospital in a difficult position. Maintaining the slides was required by JCAHO, which accredited the hospital. The last thing the hospital wanted was a JCAHO investigation and a possible loss of its accreditation.
Davis continued, “Judge Boxer is likely to instruct the jury that the slides were destroyed to cover up the hospital’s knowledge of unnecessary surgeries. That isn’t as good as having the slides, which would have proved that English had removed healthy gallbladders, but at least it’s something that the jury could rely on to hang the bastards.
“Doc, Morty and I need a favor. Can you spend the night here at the hospital? Morty was supposed to take two depositions here in the morning, and I don’t want to postpone them if at all possible. I can stop by around seven to check in and relieve you before noon. I’ll spend the rest of the day with him and, if necessary, tomorrow night as well.”
Laura didn’t hesitate to agree. She loved the old man too. More than once she talked to Maggie about him and his record as a legal legend and a wonderful human being.
At ten o’clock Laura left Morty’s room to stretch her legs. She got into the elevator and went to the basement. The only two departments on that level were the morgue and the pathology lab. At this hour the lab was empty, and only a single tech staffed the morgue. The hallway lights were off to save energy. Laura walked past the morgue. A television was tuned to a Seinfeld rerun. She ducked down as she slipped by the morgue’s half glass door. She knew the episode; it was the one where Elaine’s horrible dancing ability was disclosed at an office party.
At the pathology lab, Laura was surprised to find the door open, yet another JCAHO violation. She made a beeline for the refrigerator and crouched as she opened it. There were the pathology slides, which Ms. Johnston testified had been destroyed. She could carry only two years’ worth of slides, so she selected 1991 and 1992. When she left the lab, she debated whether to lock the door but elected to leave things as she found them.
The next morning Laura jumped to her feet when Davis entered Morty’s room. She was excited and pulled him into the bathroom to keep from waking Morty.
“What’s up? And why are we talking in the bathroom?”
“Look what I’ve got.”
Laura reached into her bag and pulled out the two metal boxes.
In a very low voice, almost a whisper, Davis asked, “How the hell did you get these?”
“I went down to the lab last night and there they were, right where I said they’d be. Johnston lied yesterday, Ben, and now you can prove it.”
“But you committed a felony to get them. You’ve stolen hospital property.”
“But she lied—”
“That doesn’t matter. You stole. Give me a dollar!”
Laura looked at Davis with a puzzled expression.
“Give me a dollar!”
After she did, Davis smiled and said, “You’ve just retained me as your attorney in connection with your theft of hospital property. If I reported you, I’d be violating my oath to you and attorney-client privilege.”
Laura smiled back. “I’ve been trying to get you to represent me, and all I had to do was commit a crime. Don’t you find that ironic?”
Laura had not thought through how Davis would actually use the slides. She was just excited that he had them.
Davis explained how he would introduce the slides into evidence even though they were stolen. He was convinced that under the Tennessee Rules of Evidence, Judge Boxer would allow him to impeach the hospital custodian of records after she testified in open court that the slides had been destroyed. The judge would not be overly concerned with how Davis got the slides after Davis proved the hospital’s dishonesty in his court.
Laura figured that her motives were pure, although her methods might have been criminal. She thought, Sometimes the ends justify the means.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE WEDDING
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1993
Following Morty’s heart attack, Davis insisted that the old man recuperate at the Davis home with Liza nursing him back to health. Dr. Caldwell, Liza’s father, even made house calls to monitor his condition. Fortunately no permanent damage was done to his heart. Sammie moved back into the ninth-floor loft, and within six weeks, Morty was ready to go back to work. He still lived with the Davises, however.
Just like Sammie, Morty was part of the family, and when the family boarded a plane for New York in September so they could attend the wedding of Sammie’s father, Morty was right there with them.
The out-of-town trip was also an opportunity to have a few days away from the cases and have fun. They would be staying at the home of Davis’s parents, Larry and Shelly Davis of Woodbury, Long Island, New York. Davis always enjoyed being with his parents, and Sammie loved seeing her grandparents. The Davises’ son and granddaughter had a close relationship with them, despite being separated by the distance from New York to Nashville.
Davis was the best man for his brother, and Sammie was the maid of honor. Davis’s children also took part, with Caroline as junior bridesmaid and Jake as ring bearer. The bride’s parents came from modest means, so Larry graciously offered to pay for the reception.
The wedding took place in a predominantly Italian wedding hall as a compromise between the Catholic bride’s family and the Jewish groom’s family with both a rabbi and a priest presiding. The three hundred guests enjoyed a sit-down dinner of roast beef or salmon. The festivities lasted until the early morning, with the bride and groom leaving about 1:00 a.m.
Following a few hours of sleep and a breakfast of bagels and lox, Davis asked his father if he could speak with him privately.
His father agreed, and when they sat down in comfortable leather chairs in the den, Davis said, “Dad, there’s no easy way to say this. I’m overextended.”
“What happened?”
“I made a couple of bad decisions. I told you I had taken on those ten malpractice cases on contingency. My co-counsel, Brad Littleton, refuses to put up his share of the expenses. I also miscalculated my cash flow. These cases have taken up so much more of my time than I envisioned. I’ve pissed off some clients because I can’t spend more time on their cases, and my practice has dwindled because of it.”
His father, who owned three dry cleaners in Woodbury and two adjoining towns, understood how a businessman could get overextended. His father had done the very same thing when he opened his third location to give George a livelihood.
“How much have you sunk in these cases?”
“I’ve already spent more than $200,000, and I owe another $25,000. I must have spent well over a thousand hours of my time.”
“How much has Littleton given you?”
“Not a penny.” Davis shook his head. “He was supposed to put up a third. I’ve made demands, but he claims he doesn’t have it.”
Larry thought a moment. “Let him go to his father.”
“I don’t think that’s an option. I could notify the clients, but I don’t want to get into a public dispute. The hospital and the other defendants would probably find out. It’s a very small town, and the defendants have spies everywhere.”
“What does Morty think?” L
arry knew that Morty had always given the younger Davis good, solid advice.
“Morty warned me not to involve the clients in my dispute with Littleton.”
Davis told his father about the plaintiffs’ cases but never shared specifics. He spoke nonstop for an hour, and his father listened with little comment. Larry now understood his son’s passion and commitment to the cases.
“Son, this is the worst time. I just paid for your brother’s wedding. Business hasn’t been good, and I’d like to retire.”
“I know, Dad. I just need a loan. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“When will these cases turn into money?”
“I wish I knew. The first one is scheduled to go to trial next year. But if I win big, I suspect the defendants will appeal. An appeal would take at least eighteen months, probably more like two years.”
“How will you survive? How much will you have to put into the other cases? How will you keep your practice alive for the next three years?”
“Those are all good questions. For a start, I’m going to sit down with Liza, and we’ll have to decide how to cut expenses. There is a real possibility that she’ll have to go back into nursing. She could earn almost $50,000 a year working at Saint Thomas or one of the other hospitals.”
Larry interrupted, “That decision will change your lives and the lives of your children.”
“Both kids are in school, Dad. Liza’s folks will help after school if we need them.”
“Can Morty help?”
“He already has. He’s put in more than a thousand hours of his time for a one-dollar retainer. He’s agreed to abate my rent for a year and is paying Bella’s salary.”
The elder Davis shook his head. “You’re digging yourself quite a hole, Ben. But I just spent $50,000 on this wedding. It’s only fair that I loan you the same amount.”
“Dad, I can’t tell you how much that will help. I’ll pay my bills and use the rest to fund the lawsuits for the next few months. I promise I’ll pay you back.”
“I know you’re no quitter. Just keep pushing forward and work it hard. I have absolute confidence in you, son.”
“I won’t let you or my clients down, Dad. These people deserve to recover. They deserve justice.”
Larry gave his son a hug and kissed his cheek, making Davis feel better. Larry crossed the room to his desk, pulled out his checkbook, and wrote the check. Then he reached under his desk and pulled out a wrapped box. “Your brother wanted me to give you this for serving as his best man. He meant to give it to you last night, but I forgot to bring it. He called me this morning to remind me about it.”
Davis ripped open the box and removed a calfskin briefcase with his initials, BAD, embossed on it. With a feeling of relief, though it might have been only temporary, he put his father’s check in his handsome new briefcase.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MESSAGE RECEIVED
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 1993
Four days after his brother’s wedding, Davis opened his eyes and saw his bloody briefcase lying next to him on the carpet of his office. No matter what one used as a measuring stick, it had been a lousy morning. The encounter lasted only ten minutes, but when his attackers left, Davis had a broken nose, cut lips, and a dislocated shoulder, and he was pretty certain he had at least two fractured ribs. He was in a lot of pain.
His office was a wreck. The assailants had taken everything off Bella’s desk and had thrown it around the room. They had dumped eight file cabinet drawers all over the lobby. He was covered in paper. He could see glass from the broken lamp strewn about the floor. He lay still on the carpet and gritted his teeth against the pain, trying to decide what to do next.
He was convinced that it was no robbery. The goons weren’t looking for a document. Plainview wanted to send a message, a brutal one at that.
Davis tried to get up slowly. The pain, particularly from his shoulder, was unbearable. He worked his way to his knees and scooted the few feet to Bella’s desk. He grabbed the phone and dialed home.
Liza answered on the third ring; she had been asleep.
“Listen, sweetheart. Don’t interrupt. Just listen,” he said, his breath coming in short bursts and blood still running from his nose and lips.
“I need to get up anyway—”
“Stop! Let me talk. Take the kids and get out of the house now! Don’t dress. Just put on coats. Don’t stop to pick up anything. Go to your sister’s. I’ve been beaten up. I’m calling 911.”
Before they hung up, Liza told him that she received a phone call thirty minutes earlier from an unidentified caller. “He asked to speak with you, but I told him that you were already at the office. The call lasted no more than ten seconds.”
Davis told Liza that he loved her, and in as commanding a voice as he could muster under the circumstances, he ordered her to leave. Her sister Barbara lived only five minutes away.
After he hung up, Davis called Littleton. Littleton was in bed when he received the call, but Davis’s sobering story got him on his feet quickly.
“Do you think they’re going to come after me next?”
Davis could hear the fear in Littleton’s voice as he squeaked out the question.
“Listen, Bradley, just call 911, and I’ll do the same.”
Davis pushed the line on the phone and then dialed 911. Despite his severe pain, he described in detail what happened and gave his office address. He specifically told the dispatcher that he wanted to go to Saint Thomas Hospital.
After the phone call, Davis lay down, pain searing through his body. His shoulder was the most pressing injury. He knew that it would need to be yanked back into the socket, and he both dreaded and hoped for it to be done so that he could have some relief.
ust then, Bella opened the door and walked in. She took one look at her boss’s face and began to scream hysterically. The horrific scream pierced the silence that had fallen over the office.
The paramedics arrived to hear that terrifying sound. They quickly determined that the wailing woman was not injured and turned their attention to Davis. Davis began to cry; he didn’t care what the paramedics thought.
They put him on a gurney and took him down the elevator to the lobby. Bella went with him. She didn’t take the time to leave a note for Sammie or Morty. One look at the office, and they would know that neither she nor Davis was there. She would call them from the hospital.
The ride from downtown Nashville to Saint Thomas took less than ten minutes, but the blaring sirens and the throbbing of his shoulder made the trip seem endless. When they arrived at the emergency room, Liza and her father, John Caldwell, were waiting. John, a heart surgeon, quickly determined that Davis’s left shoulder was dislocated. John paged his nephew, Dr. Robert Caldwell, an orthopedic surgeon, to the ER. John ordered an X-ray, which revealed cracked ribs but no internal bleeding.
Unfortunately, Davis’s left shoulder went unattended. He had been at the hospital for more than forty minutes, and the shoulder had not been realigned. He hadn’t received a painkiller either.
Trying to ignore the pain from the cuts on his lips, Davis managed to plead with his father-in-law: “John, why hasn’t something been done about my shoulder? It hurts like hell. Please do something.”
“I want it done right. Robert should be here any minute. Just hold on a few minutes longer, Ben. I would prefer that it be done by family.”
Davis was furious. Dozens of doctors and nurses in the ER could fix my shoulder, but John, in some twisted sense of loyalty, wants it done by family. He turned to John and Liza. “You’re both family. One of you set my fucking shoulder. I beg you.”
Reluctantly, his father-in-law pulled his shoulder back into place. The severe pain went away almost immediately and was replaced by a dull throb. Dr. Robert Caldwell arrived about two minutes after the shoulder was set.
Davis remained in the hospital overnight for observation. His ribs were taped, his swollen lips had a couple of stitches, and his s
houlder was immobilized. He had a plastic surgery consult for the gash on his left cheek but decided it wouldn’t leave much of a scar. After all, he wasn’t some twenty-year-old model; a small scar on his face just added a little character.
That night, Liza the nurse arranged for the kids to stay with her parents so she could spend the night with her hospitalized husband.
“Are you awake, you stubborn son of a bitch?”
Davis was enjoying the morphine. It seemed to make his troubles go away. “Why do you put up with me?” he asked.
“Right now, that’s a pretty good question. Maybe it’s because you’re durable.”
“I’m so sorry. I know this has gotten out of hand, but there’s nothing I can do.” His speech sounded a bit odd because of the stitches in his lips.
“That’s bullshit, Ben. You can quit. It won’t be easy, but you back down and file a motion to withdraw from all of these fucking Plainview cases.”
“I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be the right thing.”
Liza resigned herself to the reality of the situation. She knew not to push him. She’d love him, support him, and bury him if need be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE SECRET DIES ON BROADWAY
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1993
Sammie and Bella were just sitting around the office worrying about Davis. They had seen him at the hospital and could do nothing, so Morty sent them back to the office to worry there and answer calls.
The next day, Davis went home; he had his own private nurse. Sammie and Bella fielded the inquiries from the curious and concerned well-wishers. The story was all over the news and was the talk of the town. The Nashville Bar was like its own telegraph system, with lawyers calling lawyers and judges, judges telling court officers, the courtroom officer whispering to clerks, and clerks passing it on to more lawyers. It didn’t take long to become common knowledge: it was a good story about a lawyer getting the shit kicked out of him, even though Davis was a respected member of the Bar.
