Could I Have This Dance? (52 page)

Franklin scratched his chin. “People with this disease have intelligence problems?”

“A serious decline.” She hesitated. “Mr. Peters, there is no way I’m showing symptoms—”

“But that’s the second way Ramsey might try to use this to his advantage. If he can introduce the idea that you are already showing subtle signs of this disease, he can make them think that you knowingly put this child at risk by assuming her care. He can make them wonder whether you made a mistake because of this disease.”

“That’s ridiculous. I hadn’t even diagnosed my father with HD at the time I cared for Sierra Jones. I would never knowingly put my patients at risk.”

Franklin tilted his head suddenly and his eyes brightened. He held up a finger. Claire imagined seeing a lightbulb going on above his head. “What did you say? You diagnosed your father with HD?”

“Well, basically, yes.”

Her attorney opened up a yellow legal pad and began scribbling notes. He looked at his watch. “Okay. I want you to tell me everything. There’s
got to be a way for us to turn the tables on Ramsey here.” He tapped his pen against the table. “I’ll probably want to ask you some more questions in front of Ramsey. That’s a bit unusual for a deposition, since you’re my client, but I think it might be beneficial in this case for Ramsey to see what he’s getting into. It might discourage him from his present tactics.” The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, showing the first hint of a smile. “And maybe, just maybe, it will help the Jones to understand you better too.”

Emmit Grabowski was a hulk of a man, a suit-and-tie hospital administrator who’d bought a Harley during a midlife crisis and smoked Cuban cigars when his wife was sipping banana fruit smoothies at their private health spa. He tugged at his silk tie and grabbed Peter Ondrachek by the elbow, ushering him into his office during the recess. “Where’s Ramsey going with this?”

“I haven’t the foggiest. And I suspect Franklin is clueless as well, and he’s probably giving that intern the once-over for keeping secrets.”

“I don’t like it.” Emmit imitated Ramsey Plank’s plastic grin. “Every time that weasel smiles, I just know he’s up to something.”

The hospital attorney nodded. “But don’t be too quick to despair. Ramsey may have uncovered something worth listening to. If the intern really has deceived the university, it may give us a way to save face.”

“What, use the girl as a scapegoat?”

Peter smiled. “It’s too early to tell, but we need to listen carefully to what Ramsey says. We’ll have to stand with our intern unless Ramsey makes the jury believe she’s a real danger to patients.”

“Then what?”

“Emmit, we have to think about the university. That’s what I’m paid to do. It might be necessary, however unpleasant, to sacrifice the intern in order for the university to save face.”

Emmit shook his head. “I won’t enjoy letting her go.” He rubbed his hand through his silver hair. “It doesn’t help that she’s so pretty.”

“Really.” The attorney lifted the corner of his mouth. “I’d like her to be my doctor.”

“Not me,” Emmit scowled. “Give me some ugly old man for a physician. Just let Dr. McCall check me for hernias, and I’d probably have a heart attack right then and there.”

“You’d die happy and you know it.”

The CEO chuckled. “Come on, Franklin,” he spoke to no one in the room. “Let’s finish this recess before I admit something I’ll regret.”

When they returned from the recess, Ramsey stood and looked intently at Claire. “Could you tell me if there is any test available for Huntington’s disease?”

“Yes.”

He chuckled. “Would you tell me?”

“There is a genetic test to determine who will develop the disease.”

“Have you taken such a test?”

“No.”

“Don’t you think it would be prudent to be tested? Certainly you would want to protect your patients should your brain begin to deteriorate.”

Claire risked a glance at Mr. Jones. His gaze was pure steel. With his jaw clenched, he sat forward with his eyes locked on Claire. She cleared her throat and answered the question. “Perhaps, but it is a personal choice I’ve made not to be tested for now. I am not showing any symptoms of the disease, and I am not a risk to my patients.”

“How do you know? Have you been examined by a specialist to determine this?”

“No.” Claire made no elaborations.

“So it is a personal choice?”

“Yes.”

“But shouldn’t you take a test which has the chance to put to rest our doubts about whether this disease could be affecting your performance even now?”

“No.”

Ramsey tapped his fingers on the table. “A private choice? One you’ve chosen not to share with your superiors?”

“Yes. And one that has no bearing on my current performance,” Claire added with her eyes glued to Ramsey’s.

With that, the attorney declined to ask Claire any further questions. He seemed content to have raised the issues, and confirmed his suspicions that Claire’s secret family life might work to his advantage.

“If you don’t mind,” Franklin said, “I would like to ask Dr. McCall a few questions of my own, for the record and for clarification.” He looked at Ramsey, who nodded professionally.

“Dr. McCall, could you explain Huntington’s disease to us?”

Claire nodded and gave a detailed answer.

“It’s a rare disease?”

“Yes.”

“And yet it was you who made the diagnosis of Huntington’s disease in your own father, was it not? And you made this diagnosis of this rare
disease during your internship as a relatively fresh young physician. I’d say that shows remarkable diagnostic skill for an intern.”

“Thank you.”

“And when did you become aware of this disease in your father?”

“After I began my internship.”

“And therefore after you filled out those insurance forms that Mr. Plank showed you earlier today.”

“Correct. I filled out all of the forms completely and honestly, with no intended deception.”

“And you’ve made a personal choice not to be tested. Can you elaborate?”

“Huntington’s is a horrible disease, and I’m not ready to accept knowing I would get a disease that has no known cure. I’d rather not know. It’s a personal choice.”

“Help us understand, Dr. McCall. The test would reveal only the presence or absence of a gene which could cause a disease in later life, is that right?”

Claire nodded.

“Answer verbally for the record.”

“Yes.”

“So, since the disease cannot be cured, the test, in effect, would have no ability to change destiny, is that right?”

“The test changes nothing. It only tells me whether I will later get the disease.”

“So you’ve made a personal choice. But of course, if you had signs of the disease, you’d get tested to avoid any concerns about your ability to care for patients?”

“Of course.”

“Dr. McCall, I know you are a humble woman, but would you please tell me about your recent board preparation exam which is given to residents in training to ready them for the American Board of Surgery exam?”

“Sure. I scored in the ninety-second percentile of all surgery residents in the country.”

“All surgery residents? Certainly you mean among interns.”

“I mean among all surgery residents, even chief residents in their last year of training.” Claire smiled. She had been coached well. “Would you like to see a copy of my test scores?”

“That won’t be necessary.” He paused and looked at Mr. Plank and the plaintiffs, before gazing back at Claire. “Tell me, Dr. McCall, is there any way a person with Huntington’s disease could pull off an exceptional score like that?”

“Absolutely not.”

Franklin nodded and looked at Ramsey. “I have no further questions.” He leaned over and whispered to Claire, “That should keep him from harping on your family history at trial.”

Next, it was Franklin’s turn to examine Celia and Roger Jones. When he suggested that he needed to ask a few questions, Mr. Jones shifted in his seat. “We aren’t on trial here,” Jones barked.

“But there are important issues that need some clarification,” Mr. Peters responded, looking at Mr. Plank.

Mr. Jones huffed and shook his head. Ramsey leaned toward him and whispered. Claire could see Mr. Jones opening and shutting his fist as if he were ready to enter a boxing ring. Finally, she heard him respond, “Okay, okay, but make sure you realize I don’t like this.”

Mr. Peters was gentle and apologetic. He spoke to Celia first. “Mrs. Jones, I know this must be very painful for you to talk about, and I’m sorry to have to bring it up, but I need to ask you a few questions.”

Celia looked down and nodded.

“Mrs. Jones, you have heard the previous testimony of the expert witnesses involved in defending Dr. McCall and Lafayette University Hospital. You understand that the extensive liver trauma suffered by your little girl is associated with a high chance of dying.”

Mrs. Jones stared at the table.

“Mrs. Jones, you do understand that, do you not?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“And you understand, again from expert testimony, that the complication of air being pulled into a central intravenous line is rarely a fatal event.”

“But it can be fatal, you know that too, Mr. Peters.”

He nodded quietly. “I know. But there is a critical question at stake here. In order to find my client guilty of malpractice, we have to prove that my client’s actions deviated from the standard of care, and that if a deviation occurred, that deviation resulted in harm to her patient, your daughter, Sierra.” He paused. “It is a horrible experience to lose a loved one. I can’t imagine your sorrow. But it is also a horrible experience to be accused of causing such a horror. And there is a way to have determined for certain whether your daughter died from liver trauma directly, or whether the disconnection of the IV could have contributed. An autopsy could have been performed.” He lifted his hand toward Claire. “And then we’d know for sure. But as it is, the question remains unanswered.” He turned to Celia Jones. “Is it true that Dr. Overby approached you to request an autopsy examination of your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“And is it true that you declined such an examination?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us why?”

Celia pushed her fist to her mouth and steadied her voice. “Sierra had been through too much. The autopsy wouldn’t bring back my baby,” she sobbed.

“It was a personal choice, was it not?”

“Yes.”

“And the outcome would have no power to change destiny. It wouldn’t bring Sierra back.”

Celia nodded. “I couldn’t put her through it.”

“I understand your feelings. But Dr. Overby explained that an autopsy could have answered the questions of exactly why Sierra died, did he not?”

“Yes.”

“And you understood the reason the autopsy was requested?”

Celia nodded. “Of course. But I didn’t want anyone carving on my baby girl.”

“And yet, because an autopsy was denied, we will never know for sure why Sierra died, and the whole basis for this suit rests on the assumption that my client’s actions were responsible for her death.” With that statement hanging in the air, Franklin Peters sat down and opened his briefcase.

“I’d like to ask a few questions of Mr. Jones,” Franklin added. “In the week following your daughter’s death, you returned to the emergency room at Lafayette University Hospital to find Dr. McCall, is that right?”

Roger Jones clenched his teeth and looked at Ramsey Plank. Plank nodded. Roger spoke. “Yeah, I wanted to talk to her.”

“I have witnesses who described the incident to me, and I want to see if I understand correctly. On that day, did you indeed claim that Dr. McCall had killed your baby?”

“I may have said that. I was angry. I just lost my daughter.”

Franklin lifted a paper as if to read from it. “And you also were heard to make the statements, ‘Someone’s going to pay,’ and ‘I’ll see to it that you go back to Virginia where you belong.’ Is that accurate?”

Ramsey’s eyes widened with alarm. Obviously he hadn’t been told of the encounter. He stood up. “Come on, Franklin, my clients are not on trial here.”

“You’re exactly right,
Ramsey,”
he responded, emphasizing his first name just as Ramsey had done. “But this deposition will help us to understand that perhaps the client’s anger and desire for vengeance, and not my client’s actions, are the real reasons for this suit.”

“Ridiculous,” Ramsey snorted.

“Please answer the question, Mr. Jones. Did you make the statements to Dr. McCall?”

“Yes. And I’m sorry,” he added, looking toward Claire.

“And have you had any contact with my client since that time?”

Roger Jones shifted in his seat. “No.”

“Mr. Jones, someone has been threatening my client, calling her on the telephone, saying she killed a baby.”

“News gets around, I guess.”

“Mr. Jones, have you made any phone calls to my client?”

“No.”

Franklin paced a bit, then sat down and sorted his papers, clearing his voice once or twice. Claire figured he wanted to ask more questions and probably doubted Mr. Jones’s word but didn’t want to appear to be badgering him, even if they weren’t in front of a jury.

Mr. Jones stood up and pointed a finger at Franklin’s chest. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’re going to try to hide the truth. This doctor didn’t have the training to be watching my baby, and her mistake cost Sierra her life!”

Ramsey scrambled to his feet to restrain Mr. Jones. But with Celia holding one elbow and Ramsey reaching for the other, Roger continued. “Go ahead with your fancy legal defense. God will see that the truth comes out!”

Claire sunk in her chair.
God?
Coming from Roger Jones, the reference to God stunned her.
I thought God was on
my
side.

She felt the blood drain from her face.
You are on my side, aren’t you, God?

Franklin Peters didn’t back down, but returned Jones’s challenge with a voice steady and calm. “I certainly hope so, Mr. Jones. I certainly hope so.”

Chapter Thirty-Six