Clifford Irving's Legal Novels - 03 - THE SPRING -- a Legal Thriller (23 page)

Bond called Dr. Richard Shepard from Carbondale. He established Dr. Shepard’s credentials as a man who had practiced general medicine in the valley for twenty years after first having been attached to a prestigious hospital in Denver. He had white hair and a loud voice.

“Do you know the female defendant in this case?” Bond asked his witness.

“Objection,” Dennis said lazily. “We’re not on network television. This isn’t Los Angeles, this is Colorado. We’re all neighbors. Mr. Bond knows Mrs. Henderson’s name. He doesn’t have to keep demeaning and depersonalizing her by continually dubbing her ‘the defendant.’ Worse, ‘the female defendant.’ “

Ray Bond protested, “Your Honor, I have a perfect right to call her ‘the defendant.’ He
knows
that. And I called her ‘the female defendant’ to make it absolutely clear that I meant
her
and not the male defendant.”

“You do indeed have that right,” the judge said. “The defense’s objection is overruled.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Dennis said pleasantly.

Bond resumed: “Dr. Shepard, do you know a woman named Beatrice Henderson?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Is she in this courtroom?”

“Yes, she is.” Dr. Shepard pointed to Bibsy.

“For the record, the witness has identified the female defendant. And did the female defendant ever work with you, Dr. Shepard, in Valley View Hospital as a registered nurse?”

“Objection,” Dennis said. “He’s leading the witness.”

The judge looked at Dennis with an expression of mild surprise. Leading the witness was the sine qua non of cross-examination, but it was forbidden on direct examination. In this instance no harm had been done: the question was leading but it was innocent, and it would certainly come out, one way or the other, that Bibsy had worked as a registered nurse with Dr. Shepard at Valley View Hospital. But the judge was forced to say, “Objection sustained. Rephrase your question, please, Mr. Bond.”

The muscles in Bond’s jaw worked. “Doctor, when you were working at Valley View Hospital—”

“Objection,” Dennis said. “No predicate.”

Jab, even if you don’t connect. Muhammad Ali had said:
Float like a butterfly
,
sting like a bee.

“What do you mean, sir?” the judge inquired, a bit testily.

“It’s been established by the witness,” Dennis said, “that he practiced medicine in Carbondale. It’s not been established that Dr. Shepard ever worked at Valley View Hospital. So the prosecutor can’t say, at least not yet, ‘When you were working at Valley View Hospital.’ “

“Sustained,” Judge Florian muttered.

“Did
you ever work at Valley View Hospital, Doctor?” Ray Bond asked.

“Yes, of course,” Shepard said, sighing. “On and off for ten years, in the seventies and eighties.”

“And when you were at Valley View, did you work with the female defendant?”

“Yes, I did, from time to time.”

“She was a nurse, a registered nurse?”

Dennis raised a finger. “Objection. Leading the witness again.”

“Rephrase, Mr. Bond.”

Bond’s jaw muscles tightened. “Dr. Shepard, in what capacity did you know the defendant?”

“She was a registered nurse. She was also a state-registered midwife.”

“Did she on occasion assist you?”

“She did everything a nurse is supposed to do. She took care of patients. Yes, she assisted me.”

“When particularly, Doctor?”

“Particularly in a couple of years when we had flu epidemics. She was very helpful then. Worked very hard.”

“Did she give flu injections to patients?”

“Objection,” Dennis said. “Leading the witness again.”

Ray Bond ground his teeth. “Your Honor, may we approach the bench?”

The judge nodded, and both adversary lawyers as well as Scott Henderson stepped forward to the judge’s bench, where, in theory, if they kept their voices low, they could not be heard by the jury.

“Judge,” Bond whispered, “this is ridiculous. My questions are completely inoffensive. He’s trying to make me look bad in front of the jury.”

The judge raised a querying eyebrow at Dennis.

“His questions are leading,” Dennis said. “That’s not allowed. You know it, he knows it, and unfortunately for him, I know it too.”

“You remarked before,” Judge Florian said to Dennis, “that this is Colorado. We follow the rules of evidence, of course, but we like to get things done effectively and quickly, and in a friendly manner. Don’t you think you’re being a little picky and obstructive?”

“No sir, I do not,” Dennis said. “The charge of murder is not a casual one. If I let the prosecutor lead his witnesses in minor matters, it will establish a precedent. I can’t allow that.”

The judge’s faced turned from its usual sallow color to slightly pink. “May I remind you that this is my courtroom?
I
do the allowing here.”

“I’ll rephrase,” Dennis said. “The court can’t allow it. Should not, and must not, allow it. Leading the witness is against the rules of evidence. I intend to hold the prosecutor and the court to the highest standards of ethics and procedure.”

“And so you should,” the judge snapped. “But there’s a proper way. Mr. Henderson will tell you that. You may have done it the other way in New York, but that’s not
our
way here.”

“The court’s way will have to change,” Dennis said, “when I’m counsel for the defense.”

Judge Florian bared his teeth—then became aware of what he had done. “We’ll take a ten-minute break,” he said.

In a corner of the hallway Dennis wiped a little sweat from his forehead. He said to Mickey Karp, “What do you think?”

“You’re making enemies.”

“Do you think the jury will see that too?”

“The judge can pull the rug out from under you.”

“At his peril.”

“Ray’s going to fight you as hard as he ever fought anybody in his life.”

“I’m counting on it,” Dennis said.

After the break, Dr. Shepard testified that Nurse Beatrice Henderson had given flu shots to hundreds of patients over a period of years, that on other occasions she had administered intravenous injections, and that she was highly skilled at her work.

“Do you know what Versed is, Doctor?”

“It’s a sedative.”

“Do you know what Pentothal is?”

“An anesthetic.”

“And potassium chloride? What is that?”

“A chemical generally used to correct an imbalance of potassium in a patient.”

“In what dosage is it generally administered?”

“Relatively small. Two or three cubic centimeters.”

“Why is it not given in larger doses?”

“In large doses it becomes a deadly poison.”

“Would the defendant, as a skilled nurse, be able to administer those three items—the sedative, the anesthetic, and that poison—to a person? Does she have the necessary skills to give those three injections?”

“She could easily do that,” Dr. Shepard said.

“Pass the witness,” Ray Bond concluded.

Dennis stood but stayed where he was at the defense table, with Bibsy on one side and Scott and Mickey Karp on the other. Only in the movies and in TV courtroom scenes, for the benefit of camera angles and melodrama, did lawyers move close to the witness chair and invade that sacrosanct territory. In real trials it required permission from the judge, and the permission was given only for a valid reason, such as the examination of a document.

“Dr. Shepard,” Dennis began, “have you personally ever given a patient an injection of potassium chloride?”

“Yes, but not recently.”

“I didn’t ask you when you gave it, Doctor. Please try to answer just what I ask you. Can you do that?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Have you ever administered what you would call a large and deadly dose of potassium chloride to a patient?”

“Of course not,” Dr. Shepard said, frowning.

“Why not?”

“Because I told you, it’s a deadly poison. It kills you.”

“Did you ever see Nurse Beatrice Henderson administer such a lethal dose of potassium chloride to a patient?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen such a lethal dose of potassium chloride administered to a human being by
anyone?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“But you know how it would be done, don’t you?”

“Well, it’s an intravenous injection—goes into a vein—and you just inject it the way you inject any large dose of anything intravenously.”

“But you’ve never seen it done.”

“No.”

“So your knowledge of how it’s done is only theoretical, isn’t it, Doctor?”

“Objection,” Ray Bond snapped. “He’s badgering this witness.”

“Your Honor,” Dennis said, “I’m trying to get at the truth and to find out what the witness means.”

“Objection sustained,” the judge said. “You don’t have to answer the question, Doctor. Rephrase, Mr. Conway.”

“That won’t be necessary, Your Honor. Thank you.” Dennis turned back to the doctor. “Sir, considering that you yourself have never administered a lethal dose of potassium chloride to a patient, and by your own admission you’ve never seen it done by anyone else—you cannot say, beyond doubt, that Beatrice Henderson is now capable of administering such an injection, can you?”

“Well…”

“I repeat, Doctor—beyond doubt.”

“Well, not beyond
any
doubt. But she was a nurse. She knew how to give injections. It’s not so difficult. It’s not like an operation or anything.”

“Do you have reason to believe that she knew how to give
lethal
injections?”

The doctor stared at him. “I don’t know how to answer that question,” he said.

“Try yes or no,” Dennis said.

“Would you repeat it?”

“Do you know for a fact that Beatrice Henderson, a retired nurse and midwife, knew how to administer lethal injections?”

“Not exactly, the way you put it,” the doctor said. “I just assume she would.”

“Is that an answer,” Dennis asked, “leaning toward yes, or is it an answer leaning toward no? Which, Dr. Shepard?”

“If you insist, it’s leaning toward yes. She knew.”

“But with a little push, a little tap perhaps, it could lean toward no?”

“Objection!”

“Sustained.”

“No further questions.” Dennis sat down.

Chapter 20
Bubo Virginianus

MORRIS GREEN WAS a first-rate cardiologist who had moved with his family from Miami to Aspen. Under questioning by Ray Bond he testified that Bibsy Henderson was his patient, and that for the sake of her blocked coronary arteries and history of variant angina he had prescribed a daily regimen of Ismo, Cardizem, enteric aspirin, and magnesium with vitamin B6.

“And did you also recommend that she carry nitroglycerin with her at all times?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Do you have the defendant’s case file here with you in court?”

“I do.”

“Referring to that file, Dr. Green, can you tell the jury when you last wrote a prescription for Mrs. Henderson for nitroglycerin?”

“On June 17,1994. About ten months ago.”

Bond then elicited from Dr. Green a concise explanation of the tendency of nitroglycerin pills to disintegrate over a period of time, and thus the need for renewed prescriptions every twelve to eighteen months.

Dennis asked no questions.

Next came a registered pharmacist, Margaret Easter, from the City Market pharmacy in Carbondale. She produced a computer-generated printout of her pharmacy’s records and testified that Beatrice Henderson had filled her nitroglycerin prescriptions at City Market for more than five years, and the last such batch of pills had been given to her on June 17,1994.

“That’s ten months ago, more or less?”

“Yes sir.”

Never one to neglect what he perceived as an opportunity to strike two blows where one would do, Ray Bond queried Ms. Easter about the disintegration time of nitroglycerin pills—particularly the brand called Nitrostat. She repeated what Dr. Green had said.

This time Dennis took the opportunity to cross-examine.

“Ms. Easter, am I correct that Nitrostat is sold by Parke-Davis, a pharmaceutical supply division of the Warner-Lambert Company?” Margaret Easter turned a little pink. “I think so, but I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

“Would it refresh your memory if I showed you a bottle of the pills?” Dennis held one up in his hand: a tiny bottle an inch and a half long and about half an inch in diameter.

“No, you don’t have to do that,” Easter said. “You’re right.”

“And the pills are manufactured in Morris Plains, New Jersey, isn’t that correct?”

“I believe so.”

“And sold in pharmacies throughout the United States?”

“Yes.”

“In Florida, and New York, and California, and Texas, and Alaska, as well as in Colorado, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’m sure that’s true.”

“And all those states have different climates, don’t they?”

She thought a moment. “I think they do, yes.”

“Well, does Colorado have the same climate as Texas?”

“No, certainly not.”

“But Parke-Davis sells the same bottle of Nitrostat in Houston as it does in Carbondale, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does. Yes, certainly.”

“Have you ever been to Houston?”

“I was born and brought up there,” Easter said, as Dennis knew she would.

“What’s the climate like?”

“Generally hot and humid.”

“Your Honor, I object,” Ray Bond said. “What’s the relevancy of this? Are we here in this courtroom to discuss the weather, or are we here to discuss murder?”

“Get to the point, Mr. Conway,” the judge instructed.

“I will, Your Honor, and thank you. Ms. Easter, when the manufacturer, and Dr. Green, and you, tell us that these nitroglycerin pills will disintegrate into powder in a year to eighteen months, are you all taking into account the different climates where the pill will be used and stored?”

“Objection,” Ray Bond snapped. “Calls for a conclusion on the part of the witness.”

“Withdraw the question,” Dennis said swiftly. “Ms. Easter, in your opinion as a registered, certified, experienced pharmacist, isn’t it a fact that pills disintegrate considerably faster than normal in a hot, humid climate?”

“I’d say that’s true.”