“Did you ever pronounce her brain dead?”
“Not in so many words. Not in her chart. Although in my own mind, I was deciding. But I was waiting to discuss with the family when the actions of Dr. Sewell suddenly intervened.”
“And what was your decision?”
“My decision was to give it another forty-eight hours. Don’t ask me why, but often when you give a patient another forty-eight hours a condition will suddenly resolve. It’s an old wives’ tale. Or old doctors’ tale or something. I don’t know. But it works sometimes.”
“So you weren’t saying yes or no to brain death when Dr. Sewell intervened? You were giving it two more days?”
“Yes. Two more days. Then I would pronounce if there was no change.”
“And of course, we’ll never know, now that he ended her life.”
The doctor grimaced. “I don’t know that I would put it quite that way.”
“Did he end her life?”
“Well, that’s the question isn’t it?”
“What is your answer, doctor?”
The doctor leaned back and slid the stethoscope around her neck. Thinking better of what she had been about to say, she said, simply, “I needed another forty-eight to say. That’s as far as I can go. I can’t give you more than that, Mr. Sanders. I’m sorry.”
“You can’t say she was brain dead or not.”
“Can’t or won’t. Probably the latter. You need certain findings from me for your law case. I’m sorry but medicine doesn’t work that way with such clear lines between this and that. You want science; I can only offer art. I’m sorry.”
“Well, thank you for coming.”
“I had to. You served me with a subpoena. My lawyer told me I had no choice but to appear.”
“Thank you for that.”
The doctor shrugged. She appeared ready to get up and leave until Thaddeus strode up to the lectern. He gave her his best smile and she relaxed back into the chair.
He began, “Dr. Glissandos, you’ve been getting pressure from Mr. Sanders to testify that Dr. Sewell ended the patient’s life, haven’t you?”
Dr. Glissandos looked from Sanders and then up to the judge. “Should I answer?” she said quietly to the judge. “Do I have to discuss what we said?”
“Please answer, Doctor,” said Judge Hoover.
“He has asked me many times whether I can testify that Dr. Sewell murdered my patient. Meaning ended her life illegally. Yes, at times he has pressed me on that point.”
“Is it too much to say he has pressured you?”
“I think ‘pressed’ better describes our interaction.”
Thaddeus thumbed through his notes. Then, “Doctor, on a scale of one to ten, what was the number you would give to indicate how likely it would have been for Mrs. Turkenov to regain consciousness?”
“Two.”
“That is all, thank you.”
Sanders leaped to his feet.
“But you could just as easily have said five, couldn’t you? I mean you needed two more days, so wouldn’t it be fairer to say there was a spread, something like two-to-five?”
She again looked at the judge imploringly. He turned away, nodding to indicate she should answer.
“I feel like we’re playing with words here,” she said. “That’s not my forte.”
“Sorry if you feel that way. But you could have said five or you could have said two. There was more likely spread between those numbers than an absolute number, yes?”
The doctor looked at Thaddeus and smiled. “See what I mean by being pressed? This is the kind of conversation we have had on several occasions now. I say one thing and the District Attorney tries to get me to fudge it into something else. I cannot do that.”
“Objection!” cried Sanders, his voice resembling the voice of some wounded animal. “Request that commentary be stricken and the jury told to disregard.”
Judge Hoover looked down his stubby nose at the physician. Then he lifted his eyes to the jury.
“The jury will disregard the doctor’s last comments. Doctor, please try to play by our rules here, simple as they may seem to you to be.”
“Sorry, Judge.”
“Doctor,” Sanders came back, “you have mentioned that there are such things are miracles. There could have been a miracle here in Ms. Turkenov’s case, correct?”
The doctor nodded. “That is why I gave it a two rather than a zero. In my heart, I knew it was a zero.”
The jury could see the reality cross Sanders’ face. There was nothing more to be gained with the witness. She might not be a word mechanic, but she had proved her mettle by avoiding his attempts to get her to say something not in line with her beliefs. He quietly folded the pages closed on his legal pad.
“Nothing further,” said Sanders.
“No more questions, Your Honor,” Thaddeus added.
The doctor was excused and she left the courtroom with the same determined gait—arms flailing the air and upper body thrust forward—with which she had arrived.
“That left a hole in the air,” Shep whispered to Thaddeus.
Thaddeus only smiled.
49
Anastasia Turkenov was a fourth-year student in medical school, she told the jury. She wasn’t a doctor—yet—she said. But she was very close.
Sanders had called her to testify. She would serve as the family’s representative before the jury. She had half-heartedly agreed. The family—being her brother, her uncle, and her husband—were of a different mind than her. But she would try to avoid revealing that, she had told Sanders early that next morning before testifying.
“Now you’ve discussed your mother’s physical dilemma with your other family members, isn’t that correct?” Sanders asked. He was going slowly with the witness, inviting her to tell things from her perspective, not trying to put words in her mouth. His tone had changed since yesterday when he had tried to force Dr. Glissandos into supporting his theory of criminal responsibility. It had changed because Detective Hemenway had dressed him down after court, telling him that he had come across as pushy and mean. As if he was out to nail someone for personal reasons.
“I discussed my mother with my brother, my uncle, my husband, and her other siblings, yes.”
“At any point during her hospital stay was it decided to withdraw life support?”
“Did I decide that you mean?”
“I mean did the family come together as one mind, deciding to withdraw life support or not?”
“No. We hadn’t reached that point.”
“Had there been a discussion?”
“Of course. We were waiting for Dr. Glissando’s lead. So far she hadn’t made a recommendation to withdraw life support. So we hadn’t voted.”
“Voted?”
The medical student sighed. “We had gotten to the point where we were voting on things.”
Sanders rattled his papers. The jury could tell from his furrowed forehead that he and the witness hadn’t discussed any kind of voting on things. He quickly sidestepped, attempting to lead the jury elsewhere.
“As a fourth-year medical student, were you personally prepared to withdraw life support?”
“No. I’m not a neurologist and don’t know that much about the art of neurology, as Dr. Glissando put it.”
“In sum total, then, the decision was basically still up in the air?”
“Yes.”
Sanders turned the witness over to Thaddeus, who took his place at the lectern and gave the witness a friendly smile.
“Back to the vote,” he began. “Tell us more about the vote.”
Out the corner of his eye, Thaddeus could see the air go out of Sanders. Thaddeus hadn’t been led astray. Sanders, underestimating the community IQ of the jury, would have been disappointed to learn the jury hadn’t been led astray either. Everyone in the courtroom wanted to hear about the vote.
“We voted on things because my husband and brother and uncle weren’t agreeing on things.
”
“Now you’re talking about your brother, Albert, your husband Jack Millerton, and your uncle, Roy Underwood?”
“Yes.”
“And those three gentlemen are the conservators of your mother’s estate and person, am I correct?”
“Yes. They were appointed by the judge.”
“So they were in charge of your mother’s money?”
“Correct.”
“Did you have any say-so about your mother’s money?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Were you ever consulted by the threesome?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Did you ever interject your opinion?”
“Yes, I did.”
“When would that have been?”
She looked at Sanders, who sat with head bowed, making notes as she spoke.
“There came a time when the three men wanted to pay themselves. I objected.”
“Did they pay themselves?”
“Yes.”
“How much. Uncle Roy got five; Albert got five; my husband got seventy-five.”
“Five hundred?”
“Five thousand.”
Thaddeus’ head jerked up. “Hold it. You’re saying your Uncle Roy has been paid five thousand dollars from your mother’s money?”
“Yes, I am saying that.”
“And your brother Albert received five thousand dollars of your mother’s money?”
“Yes.”
“And your own husband received seventy-five hundred dollars from your mother?”
“Yes.”
“All told, they’ve taken over seventeen thousand dollars from her?”
Anastasia took a deep breath and nodded. He face was tight and her mouth white around the edges.
“Yes, that’s what’s happened.”
“Please tell the jury what the money was taken for.”
“I don’t know, exactly. They talked to the conservators’ lawyer, Mr. Wang. It was agreed they would all be paid for services they rendered.”
“What services were those?”
“Well, my husband went over bank statements.”
“Your husband the CPA?”
“Correct.”
“So he reviewed bank statements. Were these voluminous?”
“I don’t know what you mean by that.”
“Well, did they fill the giant size briefcase CPA’s are fond of? That many checks?”
“No. More like a shoebox full.”
“And he charged your mother over seven thousand dollars for going through those?”
“Umm. Yes.”
“But of course the court allowed this? There was a court order that authorized these payments?”
“No.”
Thaddeus was sincerely stunned. He closed his mouth into a grim line and allowed the jury to assimilate what they had just heard.
“So I understand,” he slowly came back, “Judge Raul Mendoza hasn’t signed an order authorizing payment of any of your mother’s money?”
“Not that I know. I’m sure he hasn’t.”
“Have you told this to the District Attorney, Mr. Sanders there?”
“I haven’t, no.”
“Did you receive money too?”
“No. I’m angry about it.”
“Who have you told?”
“Detective Constance knows.”
“That would be Detective Hemenway’s partner, the officer who’s in Ohio with a sick family member?”
“Yes. He found out.”
“What did he say about it when he found out?”
“We were sitting in an office here at the courthouse. He advised the guys they had the right to remain silent and they shouldn’t say anymore.”
“Because they were in trouble.”
“Because they were in trouble.”
Thaddeus nodded.
“Ms. Millerton, did your mother have a last will and testament?”
“She did.”
“And who did that will leave her money to?”
“To a nursing scholarship at NAU.”
“And to you and your family?”
“Nothing. She was fed up with us. Not with me, but with Roy and Albert.”
“So if your mother died, the money went to the nursing scholarship. But if she were alive, then the three men could keep billing her estate.”
“Yes. That’s how it was.”
“So your family had a financial interest in keeping your mother alive?”
“You could say that.”
“Did that fact influence the family’s decision to keep her on life support?”
“Not me.”
“What about the conservators? Were they influenced?”
“You’d have to ask them.”
“I’m asking you. I’m asking you what you saw and observed.”
“I saw them influenced by my mother’s money, yes.”
“So much so that they wanted her alive, yes?”
“Yes.”
“That is all, Your Honor. Thank you, Ms. Millerton.”
Sanders immediately tried to rehabilitate.
“But there was also the question of whether she might still make a recovery, isn’t that true?” he asked.
“Yes, there was that question.”
“So in a way you agreed with the conservators’ position, except maybe for different reasons? Would that be fair to say?”
Anastasia looked away.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes, we want the truth.”
“I was so mad at my husband for taking my mother’s money that I went to see a divorce lawyer.”
“I see. But putting your feelings about your husband aside, there was still the chance your mother might recover?”
“There’s always a chance in medicine, I suppose. Like Dr. Glissando said, it’s an art, not a science.”
Sanders backed away from the lectern and took his seat. Then, remembering himself, told the judge he had no further questions.
The witness was excused and the courtroom remained silent.
Thaddeus whispered to Shep, “The cat is definitely out of the bag, Colorado.”
Shep’s eyes met Thaddeus’ eyes.
The cat was definitely on the prowl.
* * *
District Attorney Sanders buttonholed Thaddeus and Shep as they were making their way down the front steps of the courthouse.
“Guys!” he called. “Hang on one sec!”
They turned and set down their briefcases.
“Here it comes,” Shep said out of the side of his mouth.
Sanders caught up to them.
“Some family, eh?” he said. He moved nearer the two defense attorneys, his bullish form making two of them.
“Different,” Thaddeus said. “Interesting bunch you’ve got yourself there, Counselor.”
“Definitely jumped the fence today,” Shep said, unable to hide a smile.
“You old cattle rustler,” Sanders said to Shep, placing his hand fondly on the lawyer’s shoulder. Shep moved away.
“So what gives?” Thaddeus said. “You’re here to tell us you’re dismissing the charges?”
“Ha! Don’t you wish! Actually, I’m throwing your guy a lifeline. Second degree, fifteen years minimum.”
Thaddeus reached down and lifted his briefcase. “Get serious, Sanders. This is the case where you were going to shove my client’s book up my ass, remember?”
“I was pissed he got bail. So what? Law is fluid, Thaddeus, you know that. So that’s my offer. Aren’t you going to respond?”
“I’m going to relay it to my client,” Thaddeus said, “which I’m required to do. And I’m going to insist he tell you to go to hell.”
Sanders shook his head wildly. “You’re missing it, Murfee. The jury’s ready to convict right now.”
“Sure,” said Shep, “and cow pies taste yummy. Don’t kid yourself, Gary, you’ve got a dog of a case and he’s about to take a whiz up your leg.”<
br />
Sanders moved back a full step.
“You guys are starting to piss me off.”
“Easy, big fellow,” said Thaddeus. “We don’t need any drama out here.”
“Murfee—”
“I know, I know. The book up my ass and all that. Got it, big guy. Shall we move on, Shep?”
“We shall,” said Shep, who lifted his briefcase and continued down the steps.
“You’re a good guy, Gary,” said Thaddeus. “But this case needs to be dismissed. Justice cries out.”
“Your ass.”
“There you go again, fixated on my ass.”
“See you in court, Murfee.”
“Got that. Okay.”
50
The District Attorney and the lead detective finally made contact that night at nine. Herb Constance was still in Ohio but was fine with Sanders calling him even though he was on personal leave. He knew the job back home went on 24/7.
“Herb,” said Sanders, who was at home in his recliner, wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt and house shoes. He had a stiff bourbon on the table beside him, half-drained off. He was feeling no pain. “Herb, when were you going to tell me about the three musketeers taking money out of Ms. Turkenov’s account without a court order?”
Constance was sitting in the guest room at his mother’s house. Just returned from the hospital, he was pulling off his shoes when he picked up the cell.
“I sent you a memo,” the detective said in his dull voice. He was tired, his mother was very ill, and the D.A. was not one of his favorite people.
“You should have come to me personally. Memos get lost. You know better, Connie.”
“Maybe I do. Is that why you called me?”
“I’m trying to figure out how to make this murder one charge stick. I’ve got premeditation and bad act, but I don’t think I’ve got a living victim.”
“Come again?”
“It’s turning out she might have been brain dead when the doctor unplugged her.”
“That’s bullshit. She was sure as hell alive. Her heart was beating and she was breathing.”
The Near Death Experience (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 10) Page 24
