Defense Attorney: Objection and move to strike that last statement. The witness can’t speak to what Mrs. Lewinsky was thinking.
The Court: Sustained. The jury should disregard the witness’s last remark. Mr. Young, do you have further questions for this witness?
Prosecutor: Not at this time, Your Honor.
The Court: Any questions from the Defense?
Defense Attorney: Just a few, Your Honor.
The Court: You may proceed.
Defense Attorney: Ms. Tyler, you testified that you’ve known the defendant for twenty-three years, is that correct?
Cathy Tyler: That’s right.
Defense Attorney: When is the last time you spoke with Mr. Lewinsky?
Prosecutor: Objection. Immaterial.
The Court: I’ll allow it. Proceed, Counselor.
Defense Attorney: I’ll ask you again. When is the last time you spoke with Mr. Lewinsky?
Cathy Tyler: I don’t know. It’s been awhile.
Defense Attorney: Within the last year?
Cathy Tyler: No.
Defense Attorney: The last five years?
Cathy Tyler: No, but what—
Defense Attorney: Isn’t it true that the last time you spoke with Mr. Lewinsky was March 5, 2001? Over ten years ago, just three days after Jeffrey’s funeral?
Cathy Tyler: That could be right. I didn’t keep up with it.
Defense Attorney: You’ve had no contact with the defendant for over a decade, is that correct?
Cathy Tyler: I suppose it is.
Defense Attorney: And yet, you feel you know him?
Prosecution: Objection. Argumentative.
The Court: Sustained. You’ve made your point, Counselor. Move on.
Defense Attorney: Ms. Tyler, isn’t it also true that on that day, March 5, 2001, you had an argument with Anna, and at her insistence, Mr. Lewinsky ordered you to leave their home?
Cathy Tyler: Yeah, but that was a misunderstanding. She was upset; she wasn’t herself, or she’d never have done that. She—
Defense Attorney: Were you angry with him at that time?
Cathy Tyler: Well sure. Wouldn’t you be? I was only trying to help my sister.
Defense Attorney: Isn’t it true you’ve been angry with him ever since?
Cathy Tyler: I don’t know if you could say I’ve been angry. I don’t like him, that’s for sure. He has no business trying to raise my sister’s child.
Defense Attorney: Do you dislike him enough to embark on a campaign against him?
Prosecution: Objection. Inflammatory.
The Court: Sustained.
Defense Attorney: No further questions, Your Honor.
Chapter 23: June 4, 2012—The Arraignment
True to his word, Brian returned to the jail early the next morning, just after roll call. I hadn’t slept, of course, my mind intent on wandering through dark and dangerous territories. Brian didn’t look as if he’d fared much better. His appearance frightened me, and my thoughts immediately went to Peter. “How is he?” I asked, before the guard had even removed my cuffs. “How’s Peter?”
Brian nodded his thanks to the guard and took a seat across from me, rubbing at the same scar that had held his attention the previous day. “Not well, Phil. There was some ligament damage to his wrist from the break, and his sternum was fractured. There’s a lot of bruising, major contusions, but no myocardial rupture, thank God. He made it through surgery, but he hasn’t regained consciousness.”
“I can’t lose another son,” I said, but what I meant was, I can’t survive the loss of another son.
Brian resumed, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Phil, even if he survives, the lack of oxygen—”
“But he was breathing,” I interrupted him. “He was breathing when they took him from me.”
“There’s a witness who’s come forward.”
“I don’t care about witnesses right now. I need—”
“She told police she saw you striking Peter.”
“What? I never—”
“She says she saw you hitting Peter in the chest.”
“No!” I jumped up and behind the glass, the guard moved forward.
“Sit down,” Brian hissed, holding up a hand to the guard. “Trust me, showing anger right now will not help you.”
“But Brian,” I said, sitting, leaning towards him, “I swear to you, I did not hit Peter. He was…he couldn’t….” I stopped, willing myself to calm down. “When I got him, he wasn’t breathing. His heart…I couldn’t detect a heartbeat. I gave him CPR, Brian, and it worked. He was breathing when they took him from me.”
In the resultant silence I could hear the ticking of Brian’s watch. Outside the room, I heard footsteps, and I imagined people going about their day, making phone calls, running errands, coordinating dinner plans. For an instant the world shifted and I envisioned a chasm, dark and yawning, just out of view under the ground upon which those people walked. They had no idea it was there, waiting for them to slip, but I did, because I’d already fallen into it.
“Cathy wants to petition for custody.”
I stared at Brian, unsure I’d heard him correctly. “Of Peter? You can’t be serious.”
“Unfortunately, I am.”
“First off, custody isn’t up for grabs. I’m his father, and I plan on it staying that way. Second, she’s crazy, Brian. You know she is. She doesn’t care about Peter. Hell, she didn’t even care about Anna. And you can’t have forgotten how she was after Jeffrey died. She upset Anna so much I had to order her to leave.”
I never learned precisely what Cathy had said to Anna to upset her so. I only remember Anna’s raised voice, pleading with Cathy to stop. I ran up the stairs towards our bedroom to find Anna seated in the middle of our bed, hands over her ears, sobbing. Cathy stood over her, fists on her hips, brows drawn into a frown as she turned to me. “I’m only telling her the truth, Phillip,” she said. “She just doesn’t want to hear it.”
“Make her stop!” said Anna, rocking to and fro on the bed. “Just make her stop.”
“Get out,” I said to Cathy, pointing towards the door and crawling onto the bed to take Anna in my arms. “I don’t know what you’ve done to her, but get out, and don’t come back.”
“Fine,” she retorted. “I’m going. But Anna, you’re only fooling yourself if you think this wasn’t a blessing in disguise. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life caring for an invalid.”
“Out,” I said again, before turning my attention to Anna.
“First off,” Brian held up a finger, mocking my tone and pulling me back to the present, “the way things stand right now, custody is very much up for grabs. You need to face that fact, Phillip, as awful as it is. Second, who else is there? Cathy will likely be the logical choice for the court. Your parents are gone, and Anna’s are too old and in poor health. That leaves Cathy.
“The court would always rather place a child with family than with strangers. Provided, of course, the family member is capable, and although you and I know Cathy’s a nutcase, she has no criminal record and no documented history of psychological problems, at least not as an adult. To them, she’ll look like a grieving aunt stepping in to raise her murdered sister’s child.”
A sunny autumn morning, the taste of coffee, and Anna. I was suddenly assaulted by a memory of a younger Anna, curls blowing in the wind, sun reflecting off her glasses. I nearly doubled over from the force of my grief. Whatever I had, Cathy wanted, I remembered her saying. And the thing is, it’s not as if she really cared about any of it. Whether it was a blouse, a pair of shoes, or a person, she only wanted what I had so I wouldn’t have it.
For the first time, I wondered if I could face what awaited me. Always before, throughout our marriage, Anna and I had faced things together, no matter how difficult the situation. Our losses had been shared. Now I was alone, and I wasn’t sure I had either the strength or the desire to go on. I had already lost Anna, and now Brian was telling me I’d
lose Peter, too. There was nothing left. I meant what I’d said: I couldn’t bear the loss of another son.
“If you have any chance at all, Phillip, you’ll have to be honest with me.”
“What do you mean, Brian? I’m always honest with you.”
“I mean, if we’re going to get you out of here, you’ve got to tell me everything. You can’t protect Anna.” He sat back in the chair, studying me. “I think I know where this is going, Phillip, as much as I don’t want to. I was up all night thinking about it. Don’t get me wrong; you have your faults. You can be too rigid, too uptight, even a little self-centered. But you’re not a murderer. Which reminds me, Anna’s,” he paused and cleared his throat, “Anna’s remains will be tested for evidence of cyanide poisoning.”
“Cyanide? Why?”
“Because cyanide was found in a locked safe in your office.”
“Brian, I work in a lab. We’ve done some recent testing with hydroxocobalamin.”
“Which is?”
“An antidote of sorts. A natural form of B-12 used in the treatment of cyanide poisoning. Remember last year, the story about the Texas rancher whose cows all died from cyanide poisoning? It was all over the news. Apparently the hybrid grass the cows were fed was the culprit. Lots of plants contain cyanide, but it’s usually locked up by the sugars in the plant. The theory is that the drought Texas has been under stressed the grass and caused the sugars to break down, releasing the cyanide.”
“So?”
“So we applied for a grant to study the effectiveness of hydroxocobalamin versus that of epinephrine in treating cyanide poisoning in animals.” I blew out a breath, frustrated. “This is crazy. Why are we even talking about this?”
“We’re talking about it because given that several witnesses have spoken out to say they saw you kill your wife by pushing her off an observation tower, the presence of cyanide in your office raises some questions. If he’d push her off a tower, the question might be, would he also poison her?”
“Brian.” I closed my eyes in an attempt to calm down. “I did not poison my wife. You know how much I loved Anna. My work is all documented, and anything in my office was stored according to procedure.”
“Okay. That’ll help. The D.A.’s office has been having a field day since the discovery, but it sounds as if we’ve got that covered.”
“You’re saying you’ll be my attorney.”
Brian nodded. “I need to consult on a couple of things, make sure I’m not violating any ethical standards. I’ve got a few calls in already. I may have to assemble a team, let someone else take the lead. Ordinarily I’d tell a client on trial for murder to stop talking, but in your case, I don’t think I can help you if you don’t tell me everything.”
“I know I have to tell you everything, Brian. That’s what I’ve been trying to do. I’d give my life before I’d betray Anna, but I won’t give Peter’s.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” said Brian, standing and signaling for the guard. “Come on, Phil. We have an arraignment to go to.”
“You’re going with me?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
I stood, too, and held my wrists out for the cuffs, the words if we’re going to get you out of here ringing in my ears.
Chapter 24: February 23, 2001
Jeffrey had been taken from the room. Neither of us had even been allowed to touch him before he was whisked away. Anna was as near hysterical as I’ve ever seen her; as Jeffrey was wheeled away by a mob of medical personnel she began to sob inconsolably, blaming herself for whatever had gone wrong. I held her and spoke to her, trying to soothe her pain, both physical and mental. Dr. Gillespie ordered something to be added to her IV drip to calm her, and when our families were brought in, Mrs. Tyler climbed onto the bed on Anna’s other side and held her. My mother stood behind me, her hand on my shoulder.
I was having a difficult time understanding all that had happened; I struggled to understand what Dr. Gillespie was saying. “Jeffrey is in good hands,” he said. “They’ll do all they can for him.”
“But what happened?” my father asked from where he stood across the room. “Where is he?”
“There were some complications,” answered Dr. Gillespie. “The baby changed position just as he entered the birth canal, nothing too serious, but it made both mom and baby work a little harder than would normally be expected. Still, there were no initial signs of fetal distress. His heart rate remained strong until just after he crowned. At that point, it dropped, and I made the decision to use forceps to hasten the birthing process. He had some difficulty breathing on his own, and he’s being given oxygen. More concerning, though, is that he presented with right side hemiplegia.”
“What does that mean?” asked Mr. Tyler. “Plain English, please.”
“It means he may have had a stroke at some point during the delivery.”
I heard my mother gasp from behind me, as Anna buried her face against Mrs. Tyler’s neck.
“They will do all they can to stabilize Jeffrey. Dr. Wilmington is the very best; we’re lucky to have him here tonight.”
“Will he be okay?” my mother asked, tightening her grip on my shoulder.
Dr. Gillespie hesitated just a second too long before answering. “It’s too early at this point to know the extent of the complications.”
As the doctor grasped for the correct response, Anna reached for me, pulling me down beside her. “Go with the baby,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“I can’t leave you.” I couldn’t imagine leaving Anna in the state she was in.
“You have to be there for him, because I can’t.” she said. “He needs one of us to be there.” Before I could respond, Dr. Gillespie interrupted.
“You can’t go with him, Phil. Not right now. Let the specialists do their jobs, and then we’ll see.”
“We can’t go see him?” my mother asked, and Dr. Gillespie shook his head.
“Jeffrey is a very sick baby,” he said, “in a critical state. We have to get him stabilized. Once we’ve done that, we’ll talk about visitation.”
What I remember next is pain, shooting through my hand and up my arm. I remember the strangely satisfying explosion of noise as my fist hit the wall. I wanted to demolish the wall, the room, the hospital, and the man who was delivering this news to me, and to Anna. I drew back my arm to hit the wall again, and suddenly I was surrounded by strong arms. They held me still; I couldn’t move. I struggled against the imprisonment, but I couldn’t break free of those arms.
“I’ve got you, son,” my father said against my ear. “I’ve got you.”
Chapter 25: December 21, 2012—Trial Transcript
Court Clerk: State your full name for the record, please.
Dr. Taylor: Christopher Lucas Taylor.
Court Clerk: Spell your middle name, please.
Dr. Taylor: L-u-c-a-s.
The Court: Your witness, Mr. Young.
Prosecutor: Thank you, Your Honor. Dr. Taylor, tell the Court your credentials, please.
Dr. Taylor: I’m a hematologist. I obtained my medical degree from Vanderbilt University School of Medicine in 1979. I completed my residency at the East Tennessee Comprehensive Hemophilia Center at the University of Tennessee in ’82 before returning to Vanderbilt to complete my fellowship studies—subspecialty in coagulation—in 1985. I continued on staff at University of Tennessee’s Hemophilia Center until 1998 when I accepted a position at St. Jude Research Hospital in Memphis as a hemostasis and thrombosis specialist. I also consult and maintain a small private practice in Memphis.
Prosecutor: Thank you, Dr. Taylor. It was in that capacity—your private consultation work as a hemostasis and thrombosis specialist—that you first met Anna Lewinsky, is that correct?
Dr. Taylor: Yes. I was called to do an emergency consult on a neonate, Mrs. Lewinsky’s son, on February 24, 2001. The infant presented at birth with right hemiplegia caused by a suspected cerebrovascular event somewhere wit
hin the distribution of the left middle cerebral artery. As the doctors worked to stabilize him, he began to experience recurrent focal motor seizures.
Prosecutor: Can you explain, for those of us without a medical background, what, exactly, that means?
Dr. Taylor: Certainly. It means that upon birth, the baby exhibited signs of paralysis on his right side, indicating some trauma to the left hemisphere of the brain. Shortly thereafter, he began to experience a series of back-to-back seizures. Both conditions could indicate ischemic cerebral infarction, or stroke, caused by a blockage, such as a blood clot.
Prosecutor: Was the baby examined for evidence of a stroke?
Dr. Taylor: He was.
Prosecutor: What was the outcome of that testing?
Dr. Taylor: As was suspected, Diffusion-Weighted MRI, or Magnetic Resonance Imaging, detected a large lesion in the territory of the left middle cerebral artery. In other words, the baby had suffered a stroke within the left hemisphere.
Prosecutor: I am now showing you what’s been marked as State’s Exhibit ‘D’ for Identification. Do you recognize this report?
Dr. Taylor: Yes, I do.
Prosecutor: What is this report?
Blessed Are the Wholly Broken Page 9
