Jessie nudged Elliot and he shot up from his chair. “Your Honor, the Commonwealth is willing to stipulate to Dr. Brandywine’s expertise in the field of psychiatry.”
“Good,” he said, as if speaking to a child. “That just about makes my day. Mr. Goldhammer, if you wouldn’t mind skipping past the BS....”
“Certainly, Your Honor.” Goldhammer cleared his throat, checked some notes on his table, then approached the witness. “Doctor, you testified that you are currently a medical director at a hospital, correct?”
“Yes. At Wooded Hill Hospital.”
“And what kind of hospital is Wooded Hill? Do they treat heart problems, chronic pain, cancer?”
“It’s a psychiatric hospital.”
“Ah.” Goldhammer nodded as if this information were a great revelation. “So what types of afflictions do the patients there suffer from?”
“Mental and emotional conditions.”
Goldhammer turned to Jessie and Elliot with a baleful look. Jessie ignored him and hoped Elliot was smart enough to do the same. On her legal pad, she took notes she doubted would ever be of use to her. The act of writing helped her to maintain a poker face in front of the judge.
“Are you familiar with a man named Jack Ackerman, Doctor?”
“Mr. Ackerman was a client of the Hospital.”
“A client? I’m sorry, how is that different than a patient?”
Brandywine hesitated, his face pained. “I suppose it’s just a matter of semantics.”
“I’m not sure I understand. Would it be accurate to say that Mr. Ackerman was a patient at Wooded Hill Hospital?”
“Yes.”
“When was this?”
Brandywine thought for a moment, then said, “He began his stay at the beginning of July of last year. He stayed until New Year’s Day of this year.”
“In what capacity did you know Mr. Ackerman?”
“I was his therapist.”
“During that time, how often did you interact with Mr. Ackerman?”
Jessie flipped to a clean sheet and wrote a message, then showed it to Elliot. It said: Doc didn’t see trial. Emphasize on cross. Elliot nodded.
“Four, sometimes five days a week, for hour-long sessions.”
“Would you say that you got to know him reasonably well?”
“I’d like to think so, yes.” The doctor leaned back, getting more comfortable. “Wooded Hill prides itself on the relationships it forges between its doctors and clients.”
“I’m sure it’s wonderful.” Goldhammer let his condescending tone hang in the air for a moment, then said, “By clients you mean patients, of course. Mental patients.”
Brandywine squirmed again.
“In your expert opinion, Doctor, based on your six months of interaction with Mr. Ackerman, what mental disease does Mr. Ackerman suffer from?”
Jessie whispered, “Object.”
Elliot turned to her with a quizzical expression and she elbowed him hard in the arm. He jumped from his chair, fumbled with the pen in his hand. “Uh, Your Honor, I object to this line of questioning.”
Spatt looked at Elliot and a tight grin cracked his face. Jessie held her breath. The old bastard smelled fresh blood.
“Mr. Ackerman’s, um, mental condition during the time he was at the hospital is irrelevant. The Ramsey trial took place in June of last year. That’s a month before the witness met Mr. Ackerman.”
Spatt’s hatchet-face turned to Goldhammer. His white eyebrows rose.
Goldhammer spread his arms in a gesture of reasonableness. “Your Honor, I believe Dr. Brandywine’s testimony will demonstrate that Mr. Ackerman’s work life prior to his commitment at the hospital, including Ramsey’s trial, is what precipitated his need to be in the hospital. For that reason, the opinions formed by Dr. Brandywine during Mr. Ackerman’s treatment will shed light on the issue of whether Mr. Ackerman’s mental instability already existed at the time of the trial.”
Judge Spatt returned his gaze to Elliot. “Your objection is overruled, Mr. Williams. In future, try not to waste the court’s time with meritless objections.”
On the legal pad, Jessie wrote: Ignore him. He’s an A-hole. Then quickly scribbled ink over it until it was unreadable.
Brandywine shifted in his chair. “What was the question?”
Judge Spatt looked at Edna and asked the court reporter to read it back.
Edna read, “In your expert opinion, based on your six months of interaction with Mr. Ackerman, what mental disease does Mr. Ackerman suffer from?”
Goldhammer waited for the answer he already knew.
“In my opinion, Mr. Ackerman was suffering from a condition known as brief reactive psychosis.”
In the quiet courtroom, Jessie heard the distinct sound of Judge Spatt’s sharp intake of breath.
“Now, Dr. Brandywine, would a case of brief reactive psychosis be conducive to good lawyering?”
“Probably not.”
Goldhammer smiled, inviting the judge to smile along with him. Spatt declined, but his body language—neck thrust forward, face pensive—suggested to Jessie that the testimony was achieving its desired effect.
“Why?”
“Well.” Brandywine looked to Jessie as if she could rescue him from this inquisition. Instead of returning his stare, she concentrated on the legal pad in front of her, adding a couple more lines over her crossed-out appraisal of Judge Spatt. “For one thing, the condition might make concentration difficult.”
“What about hallucinations, delusions?”
“Those symptoms have also been associated with the condition, yes.”
“Wow. Poor concentration, hallucinations, delusions. Sounds pretty serious to me.” Goldhammer looked at the judge, then back to the doctor. “Would those symptoms necessarily be apparent in a trial transcript?”
“Not necessarily.”
“I didn’t think so. No further questions.”
It was now the Commonwealth’s turn. Jessie wrote: Good luck.
Elliot rose for the first cross-examination of his career. His chest faced the judge and the witness, but for a moment his eyes refused to leave his own legal pad, where he had organized his copious notes with bullet points. When he managed to wrench himself free of this crutch and approach the witness stand, Jessie released her pent-up breath, but under the table, her fingers were crossed so tightly they ached. Brandywine’s testimony had made an impact on Judge Spatt. Elliot needed to undermine it. Fast.
“Um, Dr. Brandywine—how are you this morning, by the way? Are you thirsty? Would you like a glass of water?”
Oh Christ.
Jessie snuck a peek across the aisle. Goldhammer was smiling like a wolf, but Ramsey watched calmly, his expression neutral. No surprise there. Ramsey had maintained a sober aspect throughout his trial and appellate proceedings. The only time Jessie had ever seen a smile on his face was in a photograph taken a few weeks before his arrest, in which he’d posed with three friends from the fire department.
“I’m fine.” Brandywine smiled awkwardly. “Thank you.”
“Okay then.” Elliot forced an awkward smile of his own. “You told the Court that it is your opinion that Jack Ackerman suffered from a condition you called brief reactive psychosis.”
“That’s right.”
Elliot glanced at Jessie, then turned to the witness stand and said, “Dr. Brandywine, did you have occasion to observe any part of Frank Ramsey’s trial?”
“No. I read about it in the papers, of course—”
“Right. But you didn’t see it yourself?”
“No.”
“In fact, you never saw Jack Ackerman before you met him at Wooded Hill Hospital, a month after the trial had ended?”
“That’s correct.”
“So you can’t tell us for sure, one way or the other, if Jack Ackerman suffered from his condition during Frank Ramsey’s trial?”
Brandywine thought about the question, then shook his head. “No.”<
br />
“For all you know, he was fine during the trial?”
“Well.” Again Brandywine took a moment to think about what he was being asked. “I believe that work-related stress—”
“A yes or no answer, please.”
Jessie smiled, glad to see her nervousness had been mostly unfounded. Elliot was doing well.
“Yes,” Brandywine conceded. “It’s possible Mr. Ackerman was fine during the trial.”
Judge Spatt leaned back in his chair, apparently expecting Elliot to end his cross-examination. He’d done as much as he could to neutralize Brandywine’s testimony. One of the key cross-examination skills was knowing when to stop.
But Elliot didn’t.
“Since it’s your opinion that Jack Ackerman might have suffered from the condition at the time of the trial, let’s explore that.”
The judge looked annoyed, then interested. He leaned forward again. Jessie recognized the glint in his eye—he expected Elliot to stumble and he was looking forward to it. Goldhammer stopped taking notes and studied Elliot with interest. Jessie considered standing up, interjecting, but then thought better of it. This was Elliot’s case. She was only here to assist. Besides, maybe he knew what he was doing.
“Would brief reactive psychosis necessarily impair a person’s ability to practice law?” Elliot asked.
“Not necessarily, no.”
“A lawyer with that condition could put on a competent, even a zealous defense?”
“I don’t think so.”
“And—” Elliot faltered. Watching his face, she could almost read his thoughts. He’d made a classic cross-examination mistake, and he knew it. He’d given the witness an opening to offer more testimony for the other side. “You mean ... are you telling me that you can’t imagine a situation in which a lawyer suffering from brief reactive psychosis could successfully represent a client?”
Jessie willed him to shut up. Cut their losses. Sit the hell down.
Brandywine’s eyes looked past Elliot, past Jessie, and into the gallery. She didn’t need to turn to know exactly where his gaze was directed. The only person sitting back there who Dr. Brandywine would look at was Jack Ackerman.
When she saw the apology expressed in the doctor’s eyes, she knew their case was about to be sunk. “Brief reactive psychosis is a very serious condition,” Brandywine said. “I know I wouldn’t want to be represented by a lawyer suffering from it.”
“That, that’s not what I asked.” Elliot sputtered, sounding as if he were barely able to get the words past his lips. “That—”
Jessie could take no more. She stood up, drawing the attention of the judge, Goldhammer, Ramsey, everyone. “Your Honor, the Commonwealth has no more questions for this witness.”
Elliot wheeled around to face her, but said nothing.
“Oh, Ms. Black, I didn’t notice you there.” Judge Spatt leered at her. “You’re Mr. Williams’s babysitter, I presume?” He turned to the mortified young prosecutor and added, “Looks like it’s bedtime for you, counselor.”
Elliot looked from the judge to Jessie, unable to respond. Ignoring him, Judge Spatt asked Goldhammer if he’d like to redirect.
“Yes, your Honor.” Goldhammer rose, stepped past Elliot. “Dr. Brandywine, what is the clinical definition of brief reactive psychosis?”
“A sudden display of psychotic behavior, prompted by a stressful event.”
“A sudden display of psychotic behavior.” Goldhammer spread his hands. “In that case, I agree with you, Doctor. I wouldn’t want to be represented by a lawyer suffering from that either.”
10
Before Goldhammer could call his next witness, a door at the back of the courtroom opened and a man entered. He strode down the aisle to the bar separating the lawyers from the gallery and leaned over it, careful to keep out of reach of Ramsey. He was young—a paralegal fresh out of college, Jessie guessed—and moved with a frat boy’s swagger. Goldhammer twisted in his seat to exchange whispers with him.
“You have a lot of nerve.” Elliot, still fuming, apparently hadn’t noticed the newcomer. The flush in his cheeks had not dissipated since he’d taken his seat after being chided by the judge.
“I understand you’re upset.” She turned away, strained to hear the conversation across the aisle. She picked up a few words, but out of context, they meant nothing.
“You understand?” Elliot’s voice, though barely louder than a whisper, obliterated the words between Goldhammer and his underling. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
“Being mocked in open court isn’t fun, but it happens, especially in Judge Spatt’s courtroom. If I invited it by speaking for you, I apologize. You were floundering. I had to act and I didn’t see another way.”
“I wasn’t floundering. If you had allowed me to finish—”
“You would only have caused more damage to our case.” She saw his blush deepen and realized she was making things worse. She had never been good in situations like this. She was not a mentor. She was a loner, and had been for as long as she could remember. “Look, Elliot, I’m sure you’re going to be a great lawyer someday—”
“Someday?” His voice began to rise. In addition to destroying any chance she had to eavesdrop on Goldhammer, it risked drawing Judge Spatt’s attention—never a good thing.
“Please lower your voice.”
“I graduated from law school, you know. I passed the bar. I’m not a kid.”
She turned in her chair. “Look, Elliot, even the best lawyers sometimes step in their own traps during cross. When that happens, all you can do is back off. No matter how many times you asked, Brandywine wasn’t going to give you an answer you wanted.”
His jaw set. “We’ll never know.”
She glanced back at Goldhammer. The paralegal had taken a seat in the gallery. The defense attorney rose to address the judge.
Spatt regarded him with a mixture of skepticism and disgust. “Something troubling you, Counselor?”
“Your Honor, there’s been a new development in the case. We request the Court’s permission to call a witness who was not identified in our petition.”
Jessie was on her feet in an instant, realizing too late that she’d once again usurped Elliot’s role. She felt his glare at the edge of her vision but ignored it, focusing all of her attention on Goldhammer and Spatt. “That’s not fair. The Commonwealth was given zero notice of this witness.”
“Fair?” Goldhammer smirked. He stepped out from behind his table, approaching the judge with outstretched hands. “My client is facing death because of the ineffective representation of a mentally unbalanced lawyer, and Ms. Black is complaining about the fairness of an unexpected witness?”
“Your Honor, Mr. Goldhammer is clearly attempting to blur the issues.”
Judge Spatt’s eyes narrowed. “Ms. Black, in my experience, when lawyers tell me how clear something is, it’s usually as murky as a fouled toilet bowl.”
She tried not to allow that image to form in her mind. “But—”
Spatt leaned forward. “You know what’s clear, Ms. Black? What’s clear is that allowing this witness is within my discretion. The rules of evidence at a hearing are not as strict as those at a trial.”
“I agree, Your Honor, but—”
“You agree? Good. Call your witness, Mr. Goldhammer.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Goldhammer watched the judge warily, apparently not confident that Spatt wouldn’t lash out at him next. When no further invective issued from the bench, he said, “Petitioner calls Mr. Seth Caylor to the stand.”
The door at the side of the courtroom—the one through which Ramsey had been escorted—opened. A sheriff’s deputy brought another jumpsuit-clad man into the room.
“Who’s he?” Caught up in events, Elliot had momentarily forgotten his anger. He stared at the new arrival with open bewilderment.
Jessie scanned the gallery until she found Jack. The expression on his face was grim.
“Shit.”
“What?” Elliot said. “Who is he?”
“Guessing by Jack’s reaction, someone we don’t want up there.”
The deputy seated Caylor on the witness stand. As he was sworn in, Jessie wracked her brain for a strategy. The best she could conceive was to beg Judge Spatt to give them the afternoon to prepare. Somehow, she doubted he would grant the request.
Goldhammer strutted closer to the witness stand. “Mr. Caylor, what do you do for a living?”
Caylor stared at the lawyer as if he’d lost his mind. “I’m in prison.”
“Oh. How long have you been there?”
“Almost eighteen months now.”
“You received a trial, I assume.”
Caylor shrugged. “Nah, I pleaded guilty. Made a deal with the DA.”
“Really? To what offense did you plead?”
Caylor looked confused.
“What was your crime?” Goldhammer said.
“Felony murder.”
“What’s that?”
Judge Spatt grunted. “I think everyone here is familiar with the concept, Mr. Goldhammer. If you want to teach criminal law, do it in a law school.”
“I apologize, Your Honor.” Goldhammer returned his attention to Caylor. “Why don’t you just tell us what happened? Why were you arrested?”
Caylor cast a wary glance at Jessie and Elliot, as if they might hear his story and prosecute him a second time.
“It’s all right,” Goldhammer said. “No one’s on trial here, Mr. Caylor.”
Tell that to Jack Ackerman.
“We robbed a bar. Me and two other guys. One of them, Bobby, had a shotgun. He wasn’t supposed to use it. The plan was to walk in, wave the shotgun around, make the bartender empty the register. But one of the guys drinking at the bar, this big black guy, tried to knock the shotgun out of Bobby’s hand. The shotgun went off, killed the guy. We all three of us got arrested for his murder.”
Goldhammer nodded slowly. “Did you have any criminal record prior to this incident?” He rubbed his chin as if he were evaluating all of the facts of the case, preparing a defense.
Jessie stood up, knowing as she did so that it would be hopeless to try to justify her behavior as falling within the supporting role she’d been assigned, but what was the point of holding back now? In for a penny, or whatever the phrase was. “Your Honor, how is this relevant?”
Burnout Page 6
