Doctors (93 page)

Seth covered his forehead as if in pain. A few rows behind, Barney placed his hand reassuringly on Judy’s tightly clenched fist.

Bennett interrupted, “Objection, Your Honor. This is summation and should rightfully be kept until the end of the trial.”

Novak nodded. “Sustained.” And turning to Walters he ordered, “Go on to your next question, Mr. Prosecutor.”

Walters turned back to the FBI official and asked, “Would you tell us what you did after you heard the defendant’s offer—promise—to kill the captain?”

“Sure. We had two agents in the cellar to monitor the microphone, so as soon as we heard something incriminating, we could get right the hell up there.”

He then added apologetically to the jury, “Excuse the profanity, but we were trying to save a life.” And then turning back to Walters, he concluded, “I’m sorry to say the actual murder is also on the tape.”

With another flourish, the attorney general once again pushed the button, and Seth was heard to say, “Captain Campos, can you hear me? It’s Dr. Lazarus. I’m here to help you end your pain. I’m here to help you sleep forever. If you agree, I’ll give you just a small injection that will put an end to everything.”

Walters stopped the machine, and then asked his witness, “How did you and your men react to this?”

“We moved as fast as we could. But I’m afraid Dr. Lazarus acted too quick for us, and by the time we arrived at the scene he had already killed Captain Campos.”

“Objection,” Bennett called out. “The prosecution’s terminology presumes guilt.”

To which Judge Novak replied, “Sustained, Dr. Landsmann. I instruct the jury to ignore Agent Sullivan’s last statements.”

Unruffled, Walters courteously concluded, “Agent Sullivan, I commend you on your action in this case.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The FBI man began to push himself out of the witness chair, but then recalled that he had to be cross-examined.

“Agent Sullivan,” Bennett began, “I would like you to interpret the last portion of the tape, and explain to us what you assumed happened.”

“I do not assume, Mr. Landsmann,” Sullivan responded with annoyance. “I
know.
I am a professional officer of the law.”

“Excuse me, sir. You were not present. All the firsthand evidence we possess is your tape. Incidentally, did you edit it in any way?”

“I most certainly did not,” the FBI man replied indignantly.

“Then may I ask you, sir, what the response of Captain Campos was to Dr. Lazarus’s offer to give him an injection?”

Sullivan thought for a minute.

“Well, there doesn’t seem to have been any. Maybe the guy was too drugged.”

“Or maybe Captain Campos was already dead. Is that a possibility?” Bennett suggested.

“For God’s sake, anything is
possible
,” the agent replied with irritation. “I mean, you heard Lazarus say in his own words that he was there to help the captain die. What difference does it make?”

“I would think it made a great deal of difference. The defendant has already asserted in his pretrial deposition that he would never have continued his action if he had not received the rational consent of the patient. Do you agree?”

“Mr. Landsmann, I’ve been in this business a long time. And when a policeman walks in and finds a dead body and somebody standing above it with a smoking gun, it’s pretty clear what has happened, wouldn’t you think?”

“It’s pretty clear what
you
think, Agent Sullivan.” Bennett walked back to his seat and picked up a thin blue-bound document. “Agent Sullivan, have you read the autopsy report on Captain Campos that was stipulated into the evidence?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you recall that it concluded that death was the result of a massive dose of cocaine hydrochloride?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did the FBI find a syringe or any other implement with which cocaine might have been administered that bore the defendant’s fingerprints?”

Sullivan hesitated a moment. “That doesn’t mean a thing. We found a full hypodermic on him with enough morphine to kill a horse.”

“You have not answered my question, sir. We are not denying that Dr. Lazarus had a syringe of morphine—and I am certain the jury noted that you yourself indicated it was still completely full—but by what means do you surmise Dr. Lazarus introduced cocaine into the deceased’s bloodstream? And how do you explain that no implement has been found?”

“He must have gotten rid of it.”

“That is merely speculation on your part, is it not?”

Sullivan reluctantly nodded. “You might say.”

Bennett looked at the jury as he casually dismissed the witness. “No further questions.”

Sullivan scowled at Bennett and left the stand.

Before calling his next witness, Attorney General Walters picked up a large law book, opened it to a page he had bookmarked, and addressed the jury with an undisguisedly smug grin.

“I respectfully ask Judge Novak to instruct the jury on this state’s penal code regarding the ‘law of impossibility.’ ” He then handed the tome to Novak, who put on his reading glasses and complied with the prosecutor’s request.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I instruct you as follows: ‘It is recognized that a person can be guilty of attempt to murder an intended victim who is
already
dead, providing there is evidence from which it can be found that at the time of the attempt the defendant believed the victim to be alive.’ ”

Walters beamed at the jury. “I would say that is pretty unequivocal and relates directly—”

“Objection!” Sylbert rose. “The prosecution should not be permitted to comment on the law.”

“Sustained,” Novak ruled.

Walters merely gave a histrionic shrug of defeat that seemed to say to the jury, We all know he’s guilty, we’re just going through the motions.

Walters continued. “Since my colleagues on the defense have spoken of depositions, I would call the attention of all to the grand jury testimony of Hector Campos, who is on record as having attempted to kill his brother—in circumstances later adjudged as temporary insanity. Moreover, the deceased’s brother admits having asked Dr. Lazarus to perform—and again I use this word with incredulity—a ‘mercy killing.’ So we have yet another piece of evidence that the defendant acted with intent.”

He paused for an instant and announced, “The prosecution would now like to call Dr. Courtney Holmes.”

Several of the doctors in the room, including one of the defense lawyers, watched awe-struck as their former Med School dean marched straight-backed to the witness stand, was sworn in, and waited for interrogation.

They listened as Holmes reeled off his impeccable credentials. He had been professor of Medicine at Harvard for thirty-five years, twelve of which he had spent as dean. And now, though an emeritus professor, he served on a number of national boards and congressional advisory councils.

Yet although Walters justified the witness’s appearance by having him cite several of his publications that dealt with medical
ethics, the defense could not imagine what light Holmes could possibly cast on the case before them.

“Dean Holmes, are you acquainted with the defendant?”

“I recall him as a brilliant student of the class of ’62. I believe he graduated Number One.”

“Is it not true,” Walters inquired, “that in February of 1959, and again a year thereafter, there was a series of unexplained murders at the Medical School?”

Bennett was instantly on his feet.

“Objection, Your Honor. The prosecution is implying by omission that human beings were killed, when in fact—”

Walters interrupted him and addressed Bennett directly—and sarcastically.

“Ah, so you know about these murders, too, Counselor?”

Judge Novak banged his gavel. “Gentlemen, this is not a college debate. Will both Counsel approach the bench.”

The two attorneys complied. Novak addressed them in whispers.

“What the hell are you trying to prove, Walters?”

“Your Honor, I am merely attempting to establish that the defendant has committed prior ‘bad acts,’ in order to show a consistent long-standing pattern of behavior.”

“That’s pretty vague,” Bennett protested. “The defense objects.”

The judge sighed. “I’ll allow him to continue and then determine the admissibility of the evidence. You may proceed, Mr. Walters.”

Bennett surrendered and returned to his seat, glancing dourly at Mark Sylbert.

Walters continued to interrogate the witness.

“Will you please describe these murders, Dean Holmes?”

The distinguished witness replied slowly. “Well, these were mysterious deaths of laboratory animals—dogs, to be specific—that occurred once in 1959 and again in 1960.”

“And was the accused not a member of one of the surgery classes that was performing experiments on these animals?”

Bennett burst out.

“Objection—what do the deaths of those dogs have to do with the case of Dr. Lazarus?”

“I’m still withholding judgment, Dr. Landsmann, and I will rule when I have heard a little more.”

“Dean Holmes, would you describe what happened to these dogs on the two occasions as ‘mercy killings’?”

“I would say that was stretching it a bit.”

“Let me rephrase my question, sir,” said Walters, trying to hide a growing frustration with his own witness. “Would you say these killings were—from the victims’ point of view—an alleviation of their pain?”

“Well, I suppose so.”

Walters turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, I put it to you that, albeit by association, Dr. Lazarus was a student when both bizarre incidents unique in the history of the Harvard Medical School occurred, namely, the so-called mercy killing of—how many dogs was it, Dean Holmes?”

“I can’t recall.”

Walters glanced at his notes. “Would it refresh your recollection if I told you there were nine killings in the first instance and six in the second? Was this mystery ever unraveled?”

Dean Holmes replied tonelessly, “No, it was not.”

“And did this ever occur again in any subsequent year?”

“No, sir, it did not.”

Walters turned to Bennett. “Your witness.”

Bennett suddenly felt a curious diffidence. Although he had already confronted many formidable witnesses, he was now about to question one of his most respected teachers. It took enormous psychological effort to remind himself that he was no longer a pupil.

“Dean Holmes, sir, have you ever published your views on euthanasia or given specific lectures on the topic?”

“Yes, for example, in
Proceedings of the First International Conference on Medical Ethics
, and from time to time, in more abbreviated form, to members of the press.”

“Well, sir, could you tell me specifically if you have publicly espoused or even now maintain any strong views either for or against what is commonly called ‘mercy killing’?”

There was a sudden breathless hush. Holmes replied with quiet dignity. “When there is no hope of life and the suffering is beyond our ability to relieve, I have known situations in which doctors—even my own teachers, I should add—have ‘hastened’ the death of the patient.”

All through the room, voices and tempers were raised. The judge gaveled furiously for order.

“Are you familiar with the ethical debate on this matter, Dean Holmes?”

“I believe so.”

“As an expert, do you believe it is proper to consider the views of religious groups?”

“Yes.”

“Are you perhaps aware of Pope Pius XII’s view on this question?”

“I am.”

“Will you tell the court what the Pontiff believed?”

“Well, I do know that in 1958 His Holiness was asked directly whether he thought a suffering patient should be given morphine or other painkillers that would ease his agony even if it would endanger his life.”

“And he answered—?”

“Yes. I can give you the source. This view is also supported by the
Vatican Declaration on Euthanasia.
”

“Are you saying—in so many words—that the Pope believed in mercy killing?”

“Objection! Objection!” Walters bellowed. “The witness should not be allowed to speculate on what the Pope
might
have meant.”

“Sustained,” Novak ruled. “Unless Dr. Landsmann can produce it in print, the jury is instructed to ignore the words ‘mercy killing’ in association with the Pope’s recorded opinion. Please proceed, Dr. Landsmann.”

Bennett was sweating now. The surprising statement of a Pontiff not known for having any liberal views was one of his smoking guns. But his arsenal was not yet depleted.

“One final question, Dean Holmes. Theory aside—would you yourself ever ‘help’ a patient to die?”

There was a pause. The crowd strained to hear the distinguished physician’s reply.

It was in a subdued tone: “I might.”

Bennett’s “No further questions” was lost in the loud murmurings of the audience that needed several strokes of the judge’s gavel to subdue.

Walters rose.

“If Your Honor is going to admit that last line of questioning, then I would like to ask Dean Holmes if he is familiar with the declarations on this matter by Dr. Edwin London, Surgeon General of the United States?”

“I am. I can’t remember the exact words, but …”

Walters reached for a document and declared:

“I am happy to refresh your memory. Dr. London is on record as having said, ‘Only God can decide when life has no
value. Once we embrace this ethic that man has the right to decide on who of his fellow men lives or dies, we are on the road to the concentration camps.’ ” He then looked at the judge and said, “No further questions.”

The judge turned to Bennett. “Dr. Landsmann?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Any more witnesses, Mr. Walters?”

“No, sir. I would merely respectfully remind the jury that we have already submitted into evidence the autopsy report and that they have heard read to them the pretrial testimony of unavailable witnesses. The prosecution rests its case.”

“All right. We’ll recess for lunch and reconvene at two
P.M.
”

By one-forty-five every seat was filled.

Bennett rose to begin his defense. He intended to barrage the jury with examples of cases in which so-called ‘mercy killers’ had been found innocent.