Suzy's Case: A Novel (37 page)

“Easy does it,” Mick says, responding to the anxiousness in my voice, “she’s being held at Brooklyn House of Detention awaiting arraignment. Her attorney has suggested she may be a victim of battered wife syndrome, have suffered temporary insanity, and acted in self-defense.”

“Thanks, Mick, I got to hop, literally. Oh, Jesus,” I say, having momentarily lost sight of the target, “any headway on finding me a new expert? That’s why I thought you were calling in the first place. This has to be a priority now. Find me an expert!” I say in a firm and desperate manner.

“On this case? Forget it,” he responds in a tone of certainty. “No one’s gonna touch this thing. This is a major problem for you. I don’t think you’re getting it. This case is tainted with murder, so no one, and I mean no doctor in his right mind, is going to want to get involved once they find out who they’re replacing as the expert and why.”

“I don’t see the reasoning, one thing has nothing to do with the other,” I say, not believing my own words. “Dr. Laura had a crappy marriage, that’s all.”

“I’ll make more calls, but until this thing cools down I don’t know why any doctor would want to get involved. Give it six months, we’ll have a better chance then.”

“I don’t have six months, Mick. I have a motion to dismiss pending now. Find me an expert!” I bark, inappropriately, at a friend who is doing me a favor. “I gotta go.” I hang up. I am run-down. I’m not thinking straight. I’m in a state of disbelief. I need to pull it together before I crack.

I realize it’s time to get ready for my nine o’clock meeting with June, Winnie the Weasel, and her engineer to inspect the patch and lead wire. I turn the corner into the mudroom, place my cell down, and let the dogs in. I hobble back toward the kitchen with intentions of cleaning that poop. I’ll have to sit down on the floor next to it to clean it up
so as to take the pressure off my ankle, which is now throbbing with pain. I turn the corner into the kitchen and standing there over the poop, waiting to pounce, is Tyler. Uh-oh. And she’s up fifteen minutes before it’s time, too. Not good.

“Morning, honey,” I say timidly.

“Don’t ‘morning, honey’ me,” she rumbles. “Did you take the dogs out last night when you got home like I told you to?”

“Yes, honey.”

“I said don’t ‘honey’ me. Then why is there a big pile of dried-up shit on the floor? Otis never poops inside. You didn’t take the dogs out, did you?”

“No, I did take the dogs out.”

“Then why is there poop on the floor?” I look to Otis sitting there. He knows I’m taking one for him. He gets up and leaves the kitchen knowing he’s done bad. Thanks, buddy.

“I don’t know why,” I say, thinking I didn’t let them stay out long enough.

“Because you didn’t take them out like I asked, that’s why. And why didn’t you clean it up when you saw it this morning?” Choice A, I was just about to, or choice B. Neither will fly. I go with B.

“Because I didn’t see it, that’s why.”

“Bologna,” she screeches. “You saw it. It’s in the middle of the kitchen. You were just leaving it there for me to clean up.” She places her hands on her hips for emphasis. This is the last thing I need right now. “You look terrible,” she adds.

“I know. What I’d like for you to consider is that I’m lucky to be alive. You might even want to think again about your warm greeting. According to the morning news, the guy who drugged and kidnapped me last night was shot in the head by his wife. His wife is, or was, my medical expert, so I’m rather certain I just lost said expert in the face of a pending motion to dismiss. I’m sure it’s on all the news stations, so if you have any doubts, please go see for yourself.”

“Don’t you think you’re taking this lie a little too far?” she questions. “What I see for myself is poop on the floor that you left for me to clean up. Now stop with your stories. Save it for your jurors.”

I can’t deal with this now. Take the path of least resistance. “I’ll explain everything in detail to you later,” I say in surrender. “I got to get out of here and be in my office by nine. When this case is over I’ll guarantee you two more years of prepaid tennis lessons with any pro you want.”

“Really? Can I increase my lessons from two to four times per week?”

“Would you settle on three if—and only if—I can set June Williams free?”

“I met June in the hospital. Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

“Why would I?”

“Because she’s gorgeous,” my wife replies.

“So you only want me to tell you about my cases if the client involved is a babe?”

She ignores the question. “I’m reserving that extra day now. Just win your case.”

“I’ll try, I gotta get going.”

“What happened to your ankle boot?”

“Got destroyed during my kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping,” she repeats in a sarcastic tone, “please,” as in “Give me a break.”

“Really, I got to go get ready.”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Clean the poop up first.”

I arrive at my office at ten after nine. Sitting in my reception area is Winnie the Weasel and her expert engineer. I don’t recognize the expert, which means he’s not on the circuit and may actually give an honest evaluation, although I doubt it.

“You look terrible,” she says as I approach.

“Thanks. We have a consensus on the issue. Good morning to you, too. We’ll get started once I settle myself and all are present and accounted for.”

I move past them, doing the best I can to pretend I’m not hobbling. “Morning, Lily,” I say as I pass her.

“You look horrible.”

“Is that better or worse than
terrible
?”

“What?”

“Never mind,” I say, in an effort to conserve energy.

“Did you see the news?”

“Yes, I saw the news. We’ll discuss it later. Come into my office with a steno pad, please. I have to dictate something to you.”

“Are we going down that road again?”

“It’s one sentence. Just come in.”

“Give me a minute. I got my sitter on hold.” I have a witty smart-ass reply in mind but just don’t have the strength to voice it. I make it down the hall and into my office, one faltering step at a time. I have my eyes closed because it somehow helps me bear the pain. I drag my head up, level my chin, and open my eyes to see June sitting in my desk chair. Nearby, Suzy with Dog on her lap. Dog gives a little yap.

“I know, Dog. I look terrible. Good morning, June,” I say, then turn to her daughter. “Good morning, Suzy.”

“Not sch-weet, not sch-weet, no Vegas, not sch-weet,” Suzy says. June hushes her, but Suzy continues with her “not sch-weets” until June hands her the light-up plastic globe.

“What’s happening to you? Where’s your ankle boot? You need to be more together than that to lawyer for Suzy and me. Come on now.”

“June, a lot went down last night. By any chance did you see the morning news?”

“Had no time, with getting Suzy ready and coming here and all. Why? What’s in the news that concerns us?”

“June, we got a boatload to discuss, but not right now. The Weasel’s out there with her expert forensic engineer to look at the wire and patch, which I assume you’ve brought with you, correct?”

“Correct. But you’re not hearing me. I like to be well informed, so out with it. Now!”

“After their inspection, I’ll bring you up to snuff. Right now I need a moment to put something into the works. Just sit tight.”

By the look on her face I can tell she’s not happy. Suzy senses it, too. “Not sch-weet, not sch-weet, no Vegas,” she resumes saying. June hushes her into stillness, as I note for the second time now that Suzy can say the words
not
and
no
in proper context to
sch-weet
and
Vegas
to voice her displeasure.

I hit my intercom. “Lily, where are you?”

“Right here,” Lily replies as she walks through the door. “Oh, hi, June. I didn’t know you were here. When did you come in?”

I speak before June can. “Lily, how could you not know June and Suzy and Dog were here? They have to walk right past you.”

“Well, they didn’t!”

June joins in. “She’s right. We didn’t.”

“I don’t get it. Can someone please explain?”

“Me, Suzy, and Dog got here before Lily, so we let ourselves in and came into your office to make ourselves comfortable.”

“Let yourselves in? How did you let yourselves in past a double-locked door?”

“I unlocked it.”

“Who gave you the keys?”

“Um, no one.”

“Then how’d you get in?”

“If you must know,” she says, as if offended, “I picked the locks with one of the Fidge’s lock-picking sets. The kind the police and fire department have. What’s the problem? I didn’t think you’d mind. You’re my lawyer.”

“Picked them? June, I’m too tired to deal with this right now. Just resist breaking in and entering the next time you get here early, okay?”

I switch my focus back to Lily. “Take this down.”

“Slow,” Lily cautions, “and it wouldn’t hurt to say please.”

“I’m in a slow mode. Don’t worry. Ready? Uh, please.”

“Ready,” Lily replies, flashing her steno pad and pencil.

“Put the lawsuit caption of the Suzy Williams case on this document and title it ‘Exchange of Nonparty Witness.’ The body of the document should read as follows and I’ll go slowly: ‘Dear Sirs: In response to defendants’ continuing demand for the names of witnesses, please be advised that the plaintiff intends to call Dr. Laura Smith at the time of trial as a nonparty witness to give testimony on behalf of and in support of the plaintiff, Suzy Williams. Very truly yours,’ etc., etc., etc.”

“Nonparty witness?” Lily questions. “I thought she was your expert witness. For that matter, she’s not going to be any kind of witness, since she’ll be in jail for killing her husband.”

“What!” June exclaims, startling Suzy into a litany of “not sch-weets.” “What are you talking about, killing her husband?”

“It’s on all the news,” Lily tells her.

“June,” I say, “Dr. Laura committed mariticide last night. I was there, kind of.”

“You were there? Kind of?” Lily asks.

I look at her. “I’ll tell you all about it, both of you, just not right this second.” They both look at me in exactly the same demanding way. “The bottom line is, she and her husband didn’t want this case to go forward for some reason. Reason enough to kill, although I would’ve expected Smith to have been the killer, not Dr. Laura. I don’t know why yet, but right now that doesn’t matter. All I can assume is they were somehow aligned or connected with the hospital, which I’ll remind you is only three blocks away from the Smith Pavilion. If my assumption is right and I get the Weasel to think Dr. Laura’s a turncoat on murderers’ row with nothing left to lose, it may change things. But this is just based on deductive reasoning. However, when we go into the conference room, just keep quiet about it. You got that?”

June wants more. “Can you explain something to—?”

I cut her off. “Not now. We have a hand to play, so let’s go play it.”

“Okay. I’m with you.”

“Do the Exchange of Nonparty Witness for Dr. Laura,” I instruct Lily, “and put together in final form my Affirmation in Opposition
and cross-motion amending the claim to add the electrocution and punitive damages. Make sure to attach Fred Sanford’s affidavit and be certain to redact the name of Dr. Laura from the medical affidavit in support and in my affirmation, wherever it appears.”

“Can you do that?” June asks. “Hand over papers without names?”

“In the state of New York the defendants are not entitled to know the name of the plaintiff’s expert in a medical malpractice case by provision of 3101(d) of the Civil Practice Law and Rules, nor do we get the name of their expert.”

I turn back to Lily. “This is important. Five minutes after we go into the conference room, bring in the Exchange of Nonparty Witness and my opposition/motion papers and hand them to Winnie McGillicuddy. Ask her to sign our copy, acknowledging personal service of the documents. You got that?”

Lily gives me a furrowed brow. “What do you think? I’m a dummy? I got it.”

“Sorry. Okay, ladies, it’s time to initiate the plan.”

June wheels Suzy and Dog into the conference room. There are no windows so there’ll be no jockeying for water-view positions. However, I do have a seating plan for the Weasel and her expert.

“June, stay here,” I direct, then continue around to the far side of the oval table to the two guest chairs, side by side. I pull out the closest chair, sit in it, then reach underneath, fishing for the adjustment handle. I pull the handle up and hear the sound of a pneumatic device release the air pressure as the chair lowers itself until it bottoms out. I move to the next chair and do the same thing. Next, I bend down, unscrewing and removing the two handles so the chairs can’t be readjusted back up.

“Why’d you do that?” June wants to know.

“To set the tone of things.” I move back around to our side. “Sit and rise, please.” We giggle as our own seats move, this time upward. “June, go sit over in one of those lowriders, I want to see our height differential.” She complies. I look across and down at her. “Hmm. We need more elevation.”

I hobble back around and flip one of the guest chairs over. I grab a
black plastic wheel and give it a hard tug, causing it to disengage and come off. I pull all the other wheels off, giving our side two inches more of height. I flip the chairs back over. “Okay, that’s taken care of. Good guys high, bad guys low. We’ll let them sit first. And, June, please, put all eight of these wheels in a spot where they can see them from their seated position.”

June smiles. “Good idea.” I go down the hall to get our guests.

“Ms. McGillicuddy, would you and your expert follow me please to the conference room?” They get up. “First door on the right, please,” I say as I limp behind them.

The Weasel turns in and I hear Suzy. “Not sch-weet! Not sch-weet!” I enter on the fifth “not sch-weet” to see June taking out the light globe. She hands it to Suzy and presses the magic button and things begin to spin as the light flickers, giving Suzy comfort and us silence.