Crisis

by Robin Cook

  “I have a nagging suspicion this is going to be pure theater this afternoon,” Jack said as they worked their way into the same row they’d occupied that morning. Alexis had said she liked to be near the jurors to watch their expressions and gestures. At that moment, the jurors had yet to be brought in.

  “I’m afraid you are right,” Alexis said, taking her seat and putting her bag down on the floor in front of her.

  Jack sat down and adjusted himself as best he could on the unforgiving oak. His eyes wandered aimlessly around the courtroom, taking in the bookcase filled with law books behind the judge’s bench. Within the well was a blackboard on wheels in addition to the plaintiff’s and defendant’s tables, all of which stood on a speckled carpet. When Jack’s eyes moved all the way to the right to take in the court officer’s box, they overshot their mark. Once again he found himself confronting Franco’s beady-eyed stare. In contrast with the morning, and thanks to the sun’s current position, Jack could now see the man’s eyes within their deep sockets. They were like two gleaming black marbles. Jack felt the urge to wave again, but rationality prevailed. He’d had his fun that morning. Being overly provocative made no sense whatsoever.

  “Did you find Craig’s comments at lunch as surprising as I did?” Alexis questioned.

  Happy to break off with Franco, Jack swung around to face his sister. “I think astounding would be a better word. I don’t mean to be cynical, but it seems out of character. Do narcissists recognize themselves as such?”

  “Not usually, unless they are in therapy and motivated. Of course, I’m talking now about someone with a real, dysfunctional personality disorder, not just a personality trait, where most doctors fall.”

  Jack held his tongue on that issue. He wasn’t about to get into an argument with Alexis about which group Craig belonged in. Instead, he asked, “Is this the kind of insight that’s a temporary response to stress or a real change in self-knowledge?”

  “Time will tell,” Alexis said. “But I’ll be hopeful. It would be something very positive. In a real way, Craig is a victim of a system that pushed him to compete and excel, and the only way he knew when he was excelling was when he got praise from his teachers, like Dr. Brown. As he admitted, he became addicted to that kind of approbation. Then, when he finished his training, he was cut off like an addict being denied his drug of choice while simultaneously feeling disillusioned about the reality of the kind of medicine he was forced to practice.”

  “I think that happens to a lot of doctors. They need praise.”

  “It didn’t happen to you. How come?”

  “It did to a degree, back when I was an ophthalmologist. Randolph got Dr. Brown to admit that it’s due to the competitive way medical training is structured. But when I was a student, I wasn’t as monomaniacal as Craig. I had other interests than just medicine. I only got an A-minus in my third-year internal-medicine rotation.”

  Jack started when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He’d taken it off the ring mode. Frantically, he tried to get it out of his pocket. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, the phone always startled him.

  “Is something bothering you?” Alexis asked, eyeing his contortions. He’d slid his pelvis forward to straighten himself out.

  “The damn phone,” Jack explained. At last he was able to pull it free. He glanced at the LCD. It was a 617 area code, meaning Boston. Then he remembered the number. It was the funeral home.

  “I’ll be right back,” Jack said. He got up and quickly moved out of the row. Once again, he was conscious of Franco’s stare, but Jack did not return it. Instead, he headed out of the courtroom. Only then did he answer the call.

  Unfortunately, the reception was bad, so he disconnected. He quickly took the elevator down to the first floor and then out the door. He used his received-calls function to retrieve the number. A moment later, he had Harold on the phone, and Jack apologized for the poor connection earlier.

  “No problem,” Harold said. “I have good news. The paperwork is done, the permits have been granted, and everything is arranged.”

  “Terrific,” Jack said. “When? This afternoon?”

  “No! That would have been a miracle. It will be tomorrow, mid-morning. It’s the very best I could do. Both the vault truck and the backhoe are fully committed today.”

  Disappointed a miracle had not been forthcoming, Jack thanked the director and hung up. He stood for a few minutes, debating whether to call Laurie to let her know about the autopsy timing. Although he knew calling was appropriate, he was less than enthusiastic about doing it, since he had little doubt what her response would be. Then he had a cowardly idea. Instead of calling her landline at the office, where he’d probably get her, he had the idea of calling her cell phone and just leaving a message on her voicemail, since she rarely turned on her cell phone during the day. In that way, he’d avoid her immediate response and give her a chance to adjust before he phoned her that night. As the call went through, he was relieved to hear the recorded message.

  With that mildly unpleasant task out of the way, Jack returned to his seat next to Alexis. Jordan Stanhope was in the witness box, and Tony was at the podium, but no one was talking. Tony was busy with his papers.

  “What did I miss?” Jack whispered to Alexis.

  “Nothing. Jordan was just sworn, and he’s about to begin testifying.”

  “The autopsy is on for sometime tomorrow. The body is to be exhumed in the morning.”

  “That’s good,” Alexis said, but her reaction was not what Jack had expected.

  “You’re not sounding very enthusiastic.”

  “How can I be? As Craig said at lunch: ‘Tomorrow might be too late.’”

  Jack shrugged. He was doing the best he could.

  “I know this is difficult for you,” Tony called out in an empathetic voice, so everyone in the courtroom could hear. “I will try to make this as short and painless as possible, but the jury needs to hear your testimony.”

  Jordan nodded appreciatively. Instead of the erect posture he had been maintaining at the plaintiff’s table, he now had his shoulders hunched over, and instead of his previously neutral facial expression, he now had the corners of his mouth turned down in a look of despondency and despair. He was dressed in a black silk suit, white shirt, and black tie. Peeking from his breast pocket was a barely visible black pocket square.

  “I suppose you miss your wife,” Tony said. “She was a wonderful, passionate, cultured woman who loved life, wasn’t she?”

  “Good grief!” Jack moaned in a whisper to Alexis. “Having visited the man, this is going to make me sick. And I’m surprised at Randolph. I’m not a lawyer, but that’s certainly a leading question. Why doesn’t he object?”

  “He told me that the testimony of the widow or widower is always the most problematic for the defense. He says that the best strategy is to get them off the stand as soon as possible, which means giving the plaintiff attorney rather free rein.”

  Jack nodded. The pain of losing a family member was an emotion that resonated with everyone as a fundamental human experience.

  Jordan proceeded to wax cloyingly sentimental about Patience: how wonderful she was, how storybook their life together was, and how much he loved her. Tony asked additional leading questions whenever Jordan faltered.

  As this stage of Jordan’s testimony tediously proceeded, Jack turned his head and searched the spectator gallery. He saw Franco, but the man was watching the witness, which was a minor relief. Jack hoped bygones would remain bygones. He was looking for someone else, and he found her in the back row. It was Charlene. The woman looked quite fetching in her black mourning outfit. Jack shook his head. There were times when he truly couldn’t believe the degeneracy of which humans were capable. Even if just for appearances, she shouldn’t have been there.

  As the eulogy dragged on, Jack began to get progressively antsy. There was no need for him to listen to the drivel the phony Jordan was offering. He glanced at the back
of Craig’s head. Craig was motionless, as if in a trance. Jack tried to imagine what it would be like if he were ensnared in such a nightmare. Jack hazarded a quick glance in Alexis’s direction. She was concentrating intensely with her eyes slightly narrowed. He wished the best for her and was sorry there wasn’t more he could do.

  Just when Jack had decided he could not listen to another word of Jordan’s testimony, Tony switched gears.

  “Now let’s talk about September eighth, 2005,” Tony said. “I guess your wife wasn’t feeling so well that day. Could you tell us in your own words what happened?”

  Jordan cleared his throat. He pulled his shoulders back and sat up straight. “It was mid-morning when I was first aware she was not feeling well. She called to me to come into her bedroom. I found her in great distress.”

  “What was she complaining about?”

  “Pain in her abdomen, gas, and congestion. She said she was coughing more than usual. She said she’d not slept all night, and she couldn’t take it any longer. She told me to call Dr. Bowman. She said she wanted him to come right over. She said she would not be able to go to the office.”

  “Were there any other symptoms?”

  “She said she had a headache, and she felt hot.”

  “So that was it, as far as the symptoms were concerned: abdominal pain, gas, coughing, headache, and feeling hot.”

  “Essentially, yes. I mean, she always had a lot of complaints, but those were the main ones.”

  “Poor woman,” Tony said. “And it was hard on you, too, I presume.”

  “We did our best to cope,” Jordan said stiffly.

  “Now, you called the doctor, and he did come over.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Dr. Bowman examined her and recommended that she take the medication he’d already prescribed for her digestive system. He also recommended she get out of bed and cut down on her smoking. He also told her he thought she was more anxious than usual and suggested she try a small dose of an antidepressant medication, which she was to take at bedtime. He said he thought it was worth trying.”

  “Was Patience satisfied with these recommendations?”

  “No. She wanted an antibiotic, but Dr. Bowman refused. He said she didn’t need one.”

  “Did she follow the doctor’s recommendations?”

  “I don’t know what medications she took, but she did eventually get out of bed. I thought she was doing quite a bit better. Then around five, she said she was going back to bed.”

  “Did she complain of anything at that point?”

  “Not really. I mean, she always had a few complaints, which is why she was going back to bed.”

  “What happened next?”

  “She suddenly called me sometime around seven to come to her bedroom. She wanted me to call the doctor again because she felt terribly.”

  “Did she have the same complaints as that morning?”

  “No, they were completely different.”

  “What were they now?” Tony asked.

  “She had chest pain that she’d had for an hour.”

  “Which was different from the abdominal pain she had in the morning?”

  “Completely different.”

  “What else?”

  “She was weak, and she said she had vomited a little. She could barely sit up, and she said she was numb and had a feeling as if she were floating. And she said she was having difficulty breathing. She was very ill.”

  “It sounds like a very serious circumstance. It must have been frightening.”

  “I felt very upset and worried.”

  “So,” Tony intoned for dramatic effect, “you called the doctor, and what did you say?”

  “I told him Patience was very sick, and she should go to the hospital.”

  “And how did Dr. Bowman respond to your urgent request to go to the hospital immediately?”

  “He wanted me to describe her symptoms.”

  “And you did? You told him what you told us today?”

  “Almost word for word.”

  “And what was Dr. Bowman’s response? Did he tell you to call an ambulance and say he’d meet you at the hospital?”

  “No. He kept asking me more questions, such that I had to go back to Patience and ask her.”

  “Let me make sure I understand. You told him your wife was in this terrible condition, and he had you going back to her multiple times to ask specific details. Is that what you are saying?”

  “That’s precisely what I am saying.”

  “During this question-and-answer period, while valuable time was passing, did you again mention your belief she should go directly to the hospital without delay?”

  “Yes, I did. I was terrified.”

  “And you should have been terrified, since your wife was dying before your eyes.”

  “Objection,” Randolph said. “Argumentative and prejudicial, and move to strike.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Davidson said. He looked at the jury. “You will disregard that last statement by Mr. Fasano, and it should play no part in your consideration of this case.” He then switched his attention to Tony. “I warn you, counsel, I will not tolerate any more comments like that.”

  “I apologize to the court,” Tony said. “My emotions overcame my better judgment. It won’t happen again.”

  Alexis leaned toward Jack. “Tony Fasano scares me. He is slick. He knew what he was doing.”

  Jack nodded in agreement. It was like watching a street fighter in a no-holds-barred brawl.

  Tony Fasano went to the plaintiff’s table for a drink. Out of the view of the judge, Jack caught him give a wink to his associate, Renee Relf.

  Back at the podium, Tony returned to the narrative. “During your telephone conversation with Dr. Bowman while your wife was gravely ill, did he mention the word heart attack?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Did he say she was having a heart attack?”

  “Yes. He said that was what he was thinking.”

  Jack noticed Craig lean over and whisper something to Randolph. Randolph nodded.

  “Now,” Tony continued. “When Dr. Bowman arrived at your house and saw Patience, he acted differently than he had on the phone. Is that correct?”

  “Objection,” Randolph said. “Leading.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Davidson said.

  “Mr. Stanhope, would you tell us what happened when Dr. Bowman arrived at your home the night of September eighth of this past year.”

  “He was shocked at Patience’s condition and told me to call an ambulance immediately.”

  “Had Patience’s condition changed dramatically between your telephone conversation with Dr. Bowman and his arrival?”

  “No, it had not.”

  “Did Dr. Bowman say anything to you at that point that you found inappropriate?”

  “Yes. He blamed me for not having described Patience’s condition adequately.”

  “Did that surprise you?”

  “Of course it surprised me. I had told him how bad she was, and I had urged more than once that she should be taken directly to the hospital.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Stanhope. I appreciate your testimony about this tragic event. I have one more question: When Dr. Bowman arrived that fateful night, what was he wearing? Can you remember?”

  “Objection,” Randolph said. “Immaterial.”

  Judge Davidson twirled his pen and looked at Tony. “Is this relevant or mere embellishment?”

  “Very relevant, Your Honor,” Tony said, “as will be clear with testimony from the very next plaintiff witness.”

  “Objection overruled,” Judge Davidson said. “Witness may answer the question.”

  “Dr. Bowman arrived in a tuxedo with a young woman in a low-cut dress.”

  Some of the jurors exchanged glances with their immediate neighbors, as if wondering what he or she was thinking.

  “Did you recognize the young woman?”
>
  “Yes, I had seen her at Dr. Bowman’s office, and he said she was his secretary.”

  “Did their formal attire strike you as odd or significant?”

  “Both,” Jordan said. “It was odd because it suggested they were en route to a social function, and I knew Dr. Bowman was married, and significant because I wondered if their attire had anything to do with Dr. Bowman’s decision to come to the house rather than meet us at the hospital.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Stanhope,” Tony said, gathering his papers. “No more questions.”

  “Mr. Bingham,” Judge Davidson said, nodding in Randolph’s direction.

  Randolph hesitated for a moment. It was clear he was in deep thought. Even when he stood up and approached the podium, he seemed to be moving by reflex rather than by conscious intention. The courtroom was hushed in attentive expectancy.

  “Mr. Stanhope,” Randolph began. “I will ask you only a few questions. All of us at the defense table, including Dr. Bowman, are saddened by your loss and can appreciate how difficult it is for you to revisit that fateful evening, so I will be brief. Let us go back to the telephone conversation you had with Dr. Bowman. Do you recall telling Dr. Bowman that it was your recollection that Patience had never complained of chest pain before?”

  “I’m not certain. I was very upset.”

  “And yet with Mr. Fasano, your memory of the same telephone conversation seemed impressively complete.”

  “I might have said she’d never had chest pain. I’m just not sure.”

  “I should remind you that in your deposition, you did so state. Should I read it to you?”

  “No. If it is there, then it is true. And now that you remind me, I believe I did say she’d never had chest pain. It was eight months ago, and I was under duress. The deposition was much closer to the event.”

  “I can appreciate that, Mr. Stanhope. But I’d like you to search your memory for Dr. Bowman’s response. Do you recall what he said?”