Beyond Suspicion (2 page)

The courtroom was silent. It was the pivotal moment in the trial, Jack’s cross-examination of the plaintiff’s star witness. The jury looked on attentively-whites, blacks, Hispanics, a cross section of Miami. Jack often thought that anyone who wondered if an ethnically diverse community could possibly work together should serve on a jury. The case of
Viatical Solutions, Inc. v. Jessie Merrill
was like dozens of other trials underway in Miami at that very moment-no media, no protestors, no circus ringmaster. Not once in the course of the trial had he been forced to drop a book to the floor or cough his lungs out to wake the jurors. It was quietly reassuring to know that the administration of justice in Florida wasn’t always the joke people saw on television.

Reassuring for Jack, anyway. Staring out from the witness stand, Dr. Felix Herna looked anything but calm. Jack’s opposing counsel seemed to sense the doctor’s anxiety. Parker Aimes was a savvy enough plaintiffs’ attorney to sprint to his feet and do something about it.

“Judge, could we have a five-minute break, please?”

“We just got back from lunch,” he said, snarling.

“I know, but-”

“But nothing,” the judge said, peering out over the top of his wire-rimmed reading glasses. “Counselor, I just checked my horoscope, and it says there’s loads of leisure time in my near future. So, Mr. Swyteck, if you please.”

With the judge talking astrology, Jack was beginning to rethink his reavowed faith in the justice system. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

All eyes of the jurors followed him as he approached the witness. He planted himself firmly, using his height and body language to convey a trial lawyer’s greatest tool: control.

“Dr. Herna, you’ll agree with me that ALS is a serious disease, won’t you?”

The witness shifted in his seat, as if distrustful of even the most innocuous question. “Of course.”

“It attacks the nervous system, breaks down the tissues, kills the motor neurons?”

“That’s correct.”

“Victims eventually lose the ability to control their legs?”

“Yes.”

“Their hands and arms as well?”

“Yes.”

“Their abdominal muscles?”

“That’s correct, yes. It destroys the neurons that control the body’s voluntary muscles. Muscles controlled by conscious thought.”

“Speech becomes unclear? Eating and swallowing becomes difficult?”

“Yes.”

“Breathing may become impossible?”

“It does affect the tongue and pharyngeal muscles. Eventually, all victims must choose between prolonging their life on a ventilator or asphyxiation.”

“Suffocation,” said Jack. “Not a very pleasant way to die.”

“Death is rarely pleasant, Mr. Swyteck.”

“Unless you’re a viatical investor.”

“Objection.”

“Sustained.”

A juror nodded with agreement. Jack moved on, knowing he’d tweaked the opposition. “Is it fair to say that once ALS starts, there’s no way to stop it?”

“Miracles may happen, but the basic assumption in the medical community is that the disease is fatal, its progression relentless. Fifty percent of people die within two years. Eighty percent within five.”

“Sounds like an ideal scenario for a viatical settlement.”

“Objection.”

“I’ll rephrase it. True or false, Doctor: The basic assumption of viatical investors is that the patient will die soon.”

He looked at Jack as if the question were ridiculous. “Of course that’s true. That’s how they make their money.”

“You’d agree, then, that a proper diagnosis is a key component of the investment decision?”

“True again.”

“That’s why the investors hired you, isn’t it? They relied on
you
to confirm that Ms. Merrill had ALS.”

“They hired me to review her doctor’s diagnosis.”

“How many times did you physically examine her?”

“None.”

“How many times did you meet with her?

“None.”

“How many times did you speak with her?

“None,” he said, his tone defensive. “You’re making this sound worse than it really was. The reviewing physician in a viatical settlement rarely if ever reexamines the patient. It was my job to review Ms. Merrill’s medical history as presented to me by her treating physician. I then made a determination as to whether the diagnosis was based on sound medical judgment.”

“So, you were fully aware that Dr. Marsh’s diagnosis was ‘clinically possible ALS.’”

“Yes.”

“
Possible
ALS,” Jack repeated, making sure the judge and jury caught it. “Which means that it could possibly have been something else.”

“Her symptoms, though minor, were entirely consistent with the early stages of the disease.”

“But the very diagnosis-possible ALS-made it clear that it could’ve been something other than ALS. And you knew that.”

“You have to understand that there’s no magic bullet, no single test to determine whether a patient has ALS. The diagnosis is in many ways a process of elimination. A series of tests are run over a period of months to rule out other possible illnesses. In the early stages, a seemingly healthy woman like Jessie Merrill could have ALS and have no idea that anything’s seriously wrong with her body, apart from the fact that maybe her foot falls asleep, or she fumbles with her car keys, or is having difficulty swallowing.”

“You’re not suggesting that your investors plunked down a million and a half dollars based solely on the fact that Ms. Merrill was dropping her car keys.”

“No.”

“In fact, your investors rejected the investment proposal at first, didn’t they?”

“An investment based on a diagnosis of clinically possible ALS was deemed too risky.”

“They decided to invest only
after
you spoke with Dr. Marsh, correct?”

“I did speak with him.”

“Would you share with the court Dr. Marsh’s exact words, please?”

The judge looked up, his interest sufficiently piqued. Dr. Herna shifted his weight again, obviously reluctant.

“Let me say at the outset that Dr. Marsh is one of the most respected neurologists in Florida. I knew that his diagnosis of clinically possible ALS was based upon strict adherence to the diagnostic criteria established by the World Federation of Neurology. But I also knew that he was an experienced physician who had seen more cases of ALS than just about any other doctor in Miami. So I asked him to put the strict criteria aside. I asked him to talk to me straight but off the record: Did he think Jessie Merrill had ALS?”

“I’ll ask the question again: What did Dr. Marsh tell you?”

Herna looked at his lawyer, then at Jack. He lowered his eyes and said, “He told me that if he were a betting man, he’d bet on ALS.”

“As it turns out, Ms. Merrill didn’t have ALS, did she?”

“Obviously not. Dr. Marsh was dead wrong.”

“Excuse me, doctor. He wasn’t wrong. Dr. Marsh’s diagnosis was clinically
possible
ALS. You knew that he was still monitoring the patient, still conducting tests.”

“I also know what he told me. He told me to bet on ALS.”

“Only after you pushed him to speculate prematurely.”

“As a colleague with the utmost respect for the man, I asked for his honest opinion.”

“You urged him to
guess
. You pushed for an answer because Ms. Merrill was a tempting investment opportunity.”

“That’s not true.”

“You were afraid that if you waited for a conclusive diagnosis, she’d be snatched up by another group of viatical investors.”

“All I know is that Dr. Marsh said he’d bet on ALS. That was good enough for me.”

Jack moved closer, tightening his figurative grip. “It wasn’t Ms. Merrill who made the wrong diagnosis, was it?”

“No.”

“As far as she knew, a horrible death was just two or three years away.”

“I don’t know what she was thinking.”

“Yes, you do,” Jack said sharply. “When you reviewed her medical file and coughed up a million and a half dollars to buy her life insurance policy, you became her second opinion. You convinced her that she was going to die.”

Dr. Herna fell stone silent, as if suddenly he realized the grief he’d caused her-as if finally he understood Jack’s animosity.

Jack continued, “Ms. Merrill never told you she had a confirmed case of ALS, did she?”

“No.”

“She never guaranteed you that she’d die in two years.”

“No.”

“All she did was give you her medical records.”

“That’s all I saw.”

“And you made a professional judgment as to whether she was going to live or die.”

“I did.”

“And you bet on death.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“You bet on ALS.”

“Yes.”

“And you lost.”

The witness didn’t answer.

“Doctor, you and your investors rolled the dice and lost. Isn’t that what really happened here?”

He hesitated, then answered. “It didn’t turn out the way we thought it would.”

“Great reason to file a lawsuit.”

“Objection.”

“Sustained.”

Jack didn’t push it, but his sarcasm had telegraphed to the jury the question he most wanted answered:
Don’t you think this woman’s been through enough without you suing her, asshole?

“Are you finished, Mr. Swyteck?” asked Judge Garcia.

“Yes, Your Honor. I think that wraps things up.” He turned away from the witness and headed back to his chair. He could see the gratitude in Jessie’s eyes, but far more palpable was the dagger in his back that was Dr. Herna’s angry glare.

Jessie leaned toward her lawyer and whispered, “Nice work.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, fixing on the word she’d chosen. “I was entirely too
nice.
”

•

Jack and Jessie were seated side by side on the courthouse steps, casting cookie crumbs to pigeons as they awaited notification that the jury had reached a verdict.

“What do you think they’ll do?” she asked.

Jack paused. The tiers of granite outside the Miami-Dade courthouse were the judicial equivalent of the Oracle of Delphi, where lawyers were called upon daily to hazard a wild-ass guess about a process that was ultimately unpredictable. Jack would have liked to tell her there was nothing to worry about, that in twenty minutes they’d be cruising toward Miami Beach, the top down on his beloved Mustang convertible, the CD player totally cranked with an obnoxiously loud version of the old hit song from the rock band Queen, “We Are the Champions.”

But his career had brought too many surprises to be that unequivocal.

“I have a good feeling,” he said. “But with a jury you never know.”

He savored the last bit of cream from the better half of an Oreo, then tossed the rest of the cookie to the steps below. A chorus of gray wings fluttered as hungry pigeons scurried after the treat. In seconds it was in a hundred pieces. The victors flew off into the warm, crystal-blue skies that marked February in Miami.

Jessie said, “Either way, I guess this is it.”

“We might have an appeal, if we lose.”

“I was speaking more on a personal level.” She laid her hand on his forearm and said, “You did a really great thing for me, taking my case. But in a few minutes it will all be over. And then, I guess, I’ll never see you again.”

“That’s actually a good thing. In my experience, reuniting with an old client usually means they’ve been sued or indicted all over again.”

“I’ve had my fill of that, thank you.”

“I know you have.”

Jack glanced toward the hot-dog vendor on the crowded sidewalk along Flagler Street, then back at Jessie. She hadn’t taken her eyes off him, and her hand was still resting on his forearm.
A little too touchy-feely today.
He rose and buried his hands in his pockets.

“Jack, there’s something I want to tell you.”

The conversation seemed to be drifting beyond the attorney-client relationship, and he didn’t want to go there. He was her lawyer, nothing more, never mind the past. “Before you say anything, there’s something I should tell you.”

“Really?”

He sat on the step beside her. “I noticed that Dr. Marsh was back in the courtroom today. He’s obviously concerned.”

His abrupt return to law-talk seemed to confuse her. “Concerned about me, you mean?”

“I’d say his exact concern is whether you plan to sue him. We haven’t talked much about this, but you probably do have a case against him.”

“Sue him? For what?”

“Malpractice, of course. He eventually got your diagnosis right, but he should have targeted lead poisoning as the cause of your neurological problems much earlier than he did. Especially after you told him about the renovations to your condo. The dust that comes with sanding off old, lead-based paint in houses built before 1978 is a pretty common source of lead poisoning.”

“But he’s the top expert in Miami.”

“He’s still capable of making mistakes. He is human, after all.”

She looked off to the middle distance. “That’s the perfect word for him. He was
so
human. He took such special care of me.”

“How do you mean?”

“Some doctors are ice-cold, no bedside manner at all. Dr. Marsh was very sympathetic, very compassionate. It’s not that common for someone under the age of forty to get ALS, and he took a genuine interest in me.”

“In what way?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” she said, giving him a playful kick in the shin.

“I’m not thinking anything.”

“I’ll give you a perfect example. One of the most important tests I had was the EMG. That’s the one where they hook you up to the electrodes to see if there’s any nerve damage.”

“I know. I saw the report.”

“Yeah, but
all
you saw was the report. The actual test can be pretty scary, especially when you’re worried that you might have something as awful as Lou Gehrig’s disease. Most neurologists have a technician do the test. But Dr. Marsh knew how freaked out I was about this. I didn’t want some technician to conduct the test, and then I’d have to wait another week for the doctor to interpret the results, and then wait another two weeks for a follow-up appointment where the results would finally be explained to me. So he ran the test himself, immediately. There aren’t a lot of doctors who would do that for their patients in this world of mismanaged care.”

“You’re right about that.”

“I could give you a dozen other examples. He’s a great doctor and a real gentleman. I don’t need to sue Dr. Marsh. A million and a half dollars is plenty for me.”

Jack couldn’t disagree. It was one more pleasant reminder that she was no longer the self-centered twentysomething-year-old of another decade. And neither was he.

“You’re making the right decision.”

“I’ve made a few good ones in my lifetime,” she said, her smile fading. “And a few bad ones, too.”

He was at a loss for the right response, preferred to let it go. But she followed up. “Have you ever wondered what would have happened if we hadn’t broken up?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Let’s not talk about that.”

“Why not? Isn’t that just a teensy-weensy part of the reason you took my case?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Stop calling me a liar.”

“Stop lying.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Just answer one question for me. I want you to be completely honest. And if you are, I’ll totally drop this, okay?”

“All right. One.”

“Six months we’ve been working this case together. Are you surprised nothing happened between us?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Why do you think nothing happened?”

“Because I’m married.”

She flashed a thin smile, nodding knowingly. “Interesting answer.”

“What’s so interesting about it? That’s the answer.”

“Yes, but you could have said something a little different, like ‘Because I love my wife.’ Instead, you said, ‘Because I’m married.’”

“It comes down to the same thing.”

“No. One comes from the heart. The other is just a matter of playing by the rules.”

Jack didn’t answer. Jessie had always been a smart girl, but that was perhaps the most perceptive thing he’d ever heard her say.

The digital pager vibrated on his belt. He checked it eagerly, then looked at Jessie and said, “Jury’s back.”

She didn’t move, still waiting for him to say something. Jack just gathered himself up and said, “Can’t keep the judge waiting.”

Without another word, she rose and followed him up the courthouse steps.