Every Reasonable Doubt (29 page)

B
y my estimation, next to Dr. Riddick, Dr. Davis would be the most important witness to take the stand during the entire trial. And when the bailiff called his name the following morning, the entire courtroom seemed to be on pins and needles.

Dr. Davis strolled down the center aisle like a movie star walking the red carpet. He had traded his white coat for a navy blue gabardine suit straight off the pages of
GQ.
He had not been happy when Detective Smith served him with a subpoena, but I’d managed to calm him down after explaining how critical his testimony was to Tina’s defense and by promising that he would not have to hang around the courthouse waiting to be called to the stand.

Neddy quickly covered Dr. Davis’s educational background, which was quite impressive. Princeton undergrad, UCLA Medical School. He was board certified in both neurology and plastic surgery. Now everything made sense. I’d later learned that Dr. Davis’s office had two separate entrances—one for his neurology patients, and one for his plastic surgery candidates. Tummy tucks and breast enhancements were his specialties. Neddy wisely glossed over that aspect of his practice.

“Was Mr. Montgomery a patient of yours?” she asked.

“Yes, he was. I treated him for the last few months.”

Julie slowly rose from her chair. Someone must have fussed at her for losing it during Dr. Riddick’s testimony because she was the complete picture of composure. “I object, Your Honor. Dr. Davis cannot disclose information about Mr. Montgomery’s medical condition. Doing so would violate the doctor-patient privilege.”

I surmised that Julie had purposely avoided raising that objection earlier with the judge, keeping her last trump card close to the breast in hopes of derailing our aneurysm theory.

“Your Honor, Ms. Killabrew could’ve raised this issue at the time the court heard our motion. Since she failed to do so, she’s waived that right. In any event, if Ms. Killabrew had done her research she would know that since Mr. Montgomery is deceased, his wife can waive the doctor-patient privilege, and she chooses to do so. I refer the court to California Evidence Code Section 993.”

Judge Graciano was clearly annoyed with Julie. The judge had already made it clear that she intended to allow Dr. Davis’s testimony. “Overruled,” she said.

Julie self-deflated and sat back down.

Neddy turned back to her witness. “Dr. Davis, can you tell us the reason Mr. Montgomery came to see you?”

“He was experiencing some very severe migraines. He’d gone to several doctors and no one could help.”

“Were you able to determine what was causing his migraines?”

“Yes, I was.” Dr. Davis was being a perfect witness, allowing Neddy to lead him through his testimony, just as we had asked him to do.

“Please tell the jury what you discovered.”

“I ordered an MRI and determined that Mr. Montgomery had a brain aneurysm.”

“Was this the result of an injury?” Neddy asked, knowing that it wasn’t.

“No, we traced Mr. Montgomery’s aneurysm to a genetic abnormality. He had a grandfather on his maternal side and a paternal uncle who died of aneurysms. It’s very rare to have a history of aneurysms on both sides of the family.”

“How did you treat Mr. Montgomery for his condition?”

Dr. Davis briefly lowered his eyes and grimaced. “I wasn’t able to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I recommended surgery, but Mr. Montgomery kept putting it off. We scheduled the surgery two different times. Frankly, I think he was afraid. The surgery would’ve taken weeks of recovery. He also had some concerns about the scarring that would’ve remained after we made the incisions on his skull.”

“Did you advise Mr. Montgomery of the risk of delaying the surgery?”

“Absolutely. But he considered himself pretty invincible,” Dr. Davis said sadly. “His business was very important to him and he was reluctant to take the time off. I think he felt that because he’d lived with the condition as long as he had, a few more weeks couldn’t hurt.”

For the first time during the trial, Tina started to cry. I reached over and patted her hand.

“Can you tell the jury what you told Mr. Montgomery about his condition?” Neddy asked.

“I told him that without surgery his migraines would get worse and if the aneurysm ruptured, he could die. Instantly.”

“Dr. Davis, what were the odds that this would eventually happen?”

The doctor looked down at his hands, his face telegraphing that maybe he had not done everything in his power to force his client to get help. “What were the odds?” he said, repeating Neddy’s question. “There were no odds. If Mr. Montgomery didn’t get surgery to alleviate the pressure, the aneurysm was going to rupture and unless some miracle occurred, he would die.”

Neddy picked up a document from the defense table. “Did you review the autopsy report?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Is there anything in that report that would indicate that Mr. Montgomery’s aneurysm had indeed ruptured?”

“Yes, the excessive amount of blood in the intracranial region as noted on page three. That’s typically what you find in the case of a ruptured aneurysm.”

Julie was gripping the edge of the table again. It was killing her to see her case evaporate into nothing before her eyes.

“When you say ‘intracranial region,’ you mean the brain, correct?”

“I’m sorry, yes,” he said, flashing his dazzling Dentyne smile.

“In your medical opinion, would it have been possible for the aneurysm to have ruptured if Mr. Montgomery had already been dead from the stab wounds?”

Dr. Davis shook his handsome head. “No. If he’d already been dead, there wouldn’t have been enough pressure for the aneurysm to rupture because of the reduced blood flow to the brain that follows death.”

Neddy walked slowly back to her seat. “Your witness, counselor.”

Julie rose from her seat, but her feet seemed glued to the floor. She’d told the judge earlier that she would not need any additional prep time after all. I wondered now if she now regretted that decision.

“Mr. Davis—excuse me—Dr. Davis, were you aware of Mr. Montgomery’s educational background?” Julie’s tone was intentionally condescending.

“I know he had an M.B.A. from Wharton, because we talked about it once.

“So you would agree that Mr. Montgomery was pretty well educated, right?”

I looked at Neddy, who stared back at me. Neither one of us had any idea where Julie was headed.

“I would say so,” Dr. Davis said, as confused as we were about Julie’s line of questioning.

“And you claim you told him that without surgery he would die?”

“I don’t claim that. That’s actually what I did.” He seemed insulted that she was calling him a liar. Julie was purposely trying to ruffle his feathers and Dr. Davis didn’t like it. I prayed that he didn’t do anything to hurt his credibility with the jury.

“You really expect us to believe that a man as smart and successful as Mr. Montgomery would ignore your advice to have a surgery that would’ve saved his life? Exactly when did you supposedly deliver this news to him?”

He straightened up in his seat. This time, he didn’t let her question get to him. “About three weeks before he died,” he said calmly.

“Can you tell me the date?”

“I could if I had his medical records in front of me. I’m sure I made a notation in the file.”

Julie had a copy of Mr. Montgomery’s medical records, but there was no way she was going to hand the file to him. She stared skeptically at Dr. Davis, who politely stared back. She walked over to the prosecution table and opened a folder, then closed it.

“So, Dr. Davis, exactly how many of your patients have died because you failed to ensure they got the care they needed?”

“Objection!” Neddy said loudly. “Irrelevant, argumentative, badgering the witness.”

“I agree,” the judge said. “Sustained.”

Julie proceeded, seemingly unfazed by the judge’s ruling. “You never actually examined Mr. Montgomery’s brain, did you?”

“Yes, I did.”

Julie immediately realized her mistake. “Excuse me,” she said. “What I meant was, you never examined his brain after he died.”

“No, I did not.”

“So, you really don’t know for sure whether his aneurysm ruptured or not, do you?”

“No, but based on the autopsy—”

Julie jumped in and cut his answer short. “That was a yes or no question, Dr. Davis, and you answered it. Thank you.” She lingered near the far corner of the jury box. “Doctor, the autopsy report doesn’t specifically state that Mr. Montgomery experienced a ruptured aneurysm, does it?”

“No, but—”

“You’ve answered the question,” she said, raising her hand to silence him.

Neddy went nuts every time Julie refused to let Dr. Davis complete his answer. I did, too. We’d have a chance to rehabilitate him on redirect, but it would be better if he were allowed to complete his statements now.

Julie walked up so close to the witness box, I thought she was going to climb in. “You actually expect the jury to believe that the coroner was careless enough to overlook the fact that Mr. Montgomery had a ruptured aneurysm.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Dr. Davis said coolly. “The court system is full of cases of incompetence by the coroner. It happens more than it should.”

Of course, Julie knew that. That was the reason she wasn’t recalling the coroner to rebut Dr. Riddick’s testimony. The word we heard was that the medical experts the prosecution retained to examine our theory actually agreed with it.

Julie headed back to the prosecution table and took a sip of water, then abruptly turned around to face the doctor.

“Dr. Davis, isn’t it possible that Mr. Montgomery experienced a ruptured aneurysm and suffered a fatal stab wound at exactly the same moment?”

Dr. Davis stopped to think about her question. Every muscle in my body tensed.

“Yes,” he said, pursing his lips. “It’s possible.”

She raised a finger in the air. “So you can’t really say with one hundred percent certainty that Mr. Montgomery died from a ruptured aneurysm and not the stab wounds, can you?”

“With one hundred percent certainty? No. But between the two—”

Julie raised her hand again, refusing to let him finish. “That’s fine, Dr. Davis. You’ve answered the question.”

Neddy pounced out of her chair. “Objection! Counsel has repeatedly refused to allow Dr. Davis to finish his answers, Your Honor. The witness should be allowed to fully complete his response.”

The judge turned to the doctor. “Dr. Davis, were you finished responding to that last question?”

“No, I wasn’t,” he said. This time, the doctor shifted in his seat and directed his comments directly to the jury. “What I was going to say was, while it’s possible that the aneurysm and a fatal stab wound could’ve happened at the exact same moment, it’s highly unlikely that Mr. Montgomery suffered a fatal stab wound first and
then
suffered the rupture of his aneurysm. If he had already died from the stabbing, there wouldn’t have been pressure in the brain to cause the aneurysm to burst. So assuming it ruptured, and based on the amount of bleeding noted in the autopsy report, it almost certainly did, the ruptured aneurysm is more than likely what killed him, not the stab wounds.”

Julie sneered at Dr. Davis. She opened her mouth to speak, then dropped her hands to her sides and marched back to the prosecution table.

The look of defeat on her face seemed etched in stone. “I have no further questions of this witness.”

T
he next morning, and all weekend long, the local TV and radio news reports echoed the same theme spread across page one of the L.A. Times: Dramatic Testimony Turns Tide in Montgomery Murder Case.

I was feeling great about the trial, but lousy about my personal life. It had been a long, tough weekend without Jefferson. As I pulled into the parking lot behind the Criminal Courts building on Monday morning, I grabbed my briefcase and was about to jump out of my Land Cruiser when my cell phone rang.

I flipped it open and saw Jefferson’s cell number appear. My heart stopped. We hadn’t spoken since our disastrous lunch the weekend before. It had been hard not calling him, but I’d received strict instructions from Special that doing so would be a mistake and I was sticking to the plan—for now.

I pressed the talk button. “Hi, Jefferson,” I said, even before he had a chance to greet me.

“How’re you?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” I lied. “And you?”

“I’m hanging in there,” he said, coughing. “I see from the newspapers that you guys are kickin’ butt at trial.”

I wondered if he had a cold. He never took care of himself when he got sick. I gathered from the muffled sound of the radio in the background that he was in his truck. “Yeah, it’s going pretty well,” I said.

“Well, congratulations.” There was no sarcasm in his voice, but no overwhelming sincerity either.

“Thank you.”

I didn’t know what to say next. I wondered if he felt as awkward as I did.
How in the hell did we get to this?

“Well, I—I uh, I didn’t really want anything, in particular,” he said. “I just thought about calling you because I saw the newspaper story.”

Jefferson, please come home!
“Well, uh, okay. Thanks for calling.”

It took every ounce of strength I could muster to hang up the phone. I sat there for a few minutes wondering if I should have told him exactly how much I missed him. No. He was the one who walked out on me and I wanted him to come back home without my having to beg him to. I composed myself, then raced upstairs to meet Neddy and David before the start of today’s court session.

The prosecution was unable to regroup after Neddy’s double-doctor whammy. Julie’s cross-examination of Dr. Davis did nothing to disprove our theory that Max was already dead when he was attacked in his hotel room bathtub. Even if the jury bought Julie’s attempt to show that the ruptured aneurysm and a fatal stab wound could have happened at precisely the same moment, that would still raise an issue of reasonable doubt as to the cause of death. We rested our case after calling one additional character witness. The prosecution had no rebuttal witnesses, so the judge scheduled jury instructions for the following morning and closing arguments the day after.

The night before our closing, I was sitting on the carpeted floor of Neddy’s office, listening to her rehearse, and it wasn’t going well. She stood in front of me, pretending to address the jury. But she couldn’t seem to remember what she wanted to say and there was no real emotion in her voice. As I looked up at her, this was the first time I’d noticed the wear and tear the trial had taken on her. We had all been working eighteen-to-twenty hour days, but as the lead attorney, Neddy had taken the brunt of it. Her raccoon eyes were flanked by a mass of fuzzy, lifeless half-curls, her stylish haircut all but gone. The way her slacks hung off of her hips made me wonder how much weight she had lost.

“Damn,” she said, tossing the white index card on her desk. “I keep forgetting the next transition point.” Neddy liked to memorize her entire argument, but had written down the points she planned to cover in outline form on the card, just in case she forgot something.

“Let’s just take a break,” I suggested.

She plopped down behind her desk just as the telephone rang.

Neddy picked it up on the second ring. The strange look on her face made me nervous.

“Vernetta’s here with me,” she said into the telephone. “I’m going to put you on speakerphone.”

It was Sandy, Julie’s little mouthpiece. She wasted time with a few pleasantries before getting to her point. This was only the second time I’d heard Sandy speak. Julie hadn’t allowed her to examine a single witness.

“Ready for closing arguments?” she asked.

“That’s the only reason we’re still here plugging away,” Neddy said.

“How’s your client doing?”

“She’s hanging in there,” Neddy said cautiously. “And how’s your co-counsel?”

“She’s fine.”

Neddy flashed me a bewildered look. This could not be good news. The last time Sandy made contact, it was to spring a witness on us. What the hell could the prosecution pull on us at this late date?

Neddy waited, her silence indicating that the next words would have to be Sandy’s.

“Let me get to the point,” Sandy said finally. “We think the jury could go either way. Is your client interested in taking a deal?”

Neddy grabbed a legal tablet, quickly scribbled on it, and held it up for me to read.
We got ‘em!

“I’m listening,” Neddy said, smiling.

“We’re offering manslaughter, two to five.”

Neddy chuckled softly. “I’ll talk to my client and get back to you,” she said. “But I’m a little curious. What evidence suddenly takes us from murder one to manslaughter?”

“Well…” Sandy stumbled a bit. “If our theory is correct and your client stabbed her husband because she was enraged at finding him in that hotel room waiting for another woman, heat of passion provides a mitigating factor.”

“Okay… “ Neddy said, not convinced.

“This is a great offer,” Sandy continued. “Mrs. Montgomery probably wouldn’t serve more than a couple of years.”

“Yeah,” Neddy said “but for a crime she didn’t commit.”

“Well, we’ll need to know your answer right away,” Sandy pushed.

“Like I said, I’ll get back to you after I talk to my client,” Neddy repeated. “But I can tell you now, I doubt she’ll accept your offer.”

Sandy apologized for the intrusion then hung up.

Neddy hit a button, cutting off the speakerphone. “They’re running scared! That bitch Julie was too arrogant to make the call herself. Manslaughter? No way.”

I had a different take. It was still my belief that Tina stabbed her husband, aneurysm aside. I wasn’t ready to dismiss the prosecution’s offer out of hand. “What if the verdict goes against us?”

“It won’t,” she said. “Of course, we have an obligation to present the deal to Tina, but you know she won’t take it.”

“Should we be encouraging her to?”

“No,” Neddy said. I really think the jury buys our theory that Max died of an aneurysm.”

“But we can’t be certain of that.”

Neddy stood up and leaned against the wall behind her desk. “Julie did an excellent job of helping us show what an asshole Max Montgomery was. Tina didn’t come out as untainted as I would’ve liked, but she’s still a victim here, too. The jury needs someone to feel sorry for. And I’m banking on them empathizing with Tina, not Max. With that and our aneurysm theory, there’s enough reasonable doubt for the entire jury to vote not guilty.”

I wasn’t so sure, but Neddy was the one who had years of experience defending criminals, not me. “Okay,” I said, deferring to her judgment. “Let’s get back to the closing.”

Neddy yawned loudly. “I’m so tired. I just hope I can make it through tomorrow.”

“You will,” I said. “Let’s pick up from your summary of Bryson’s testimony.”

Neddy walked back in front of the desk to face our imaginary jury. She studied the index card for a few seconds, then laid it down on the desk. She started to open her mouth, then stopped.

“What is it?” I said.

“I have an idea,” she said, her eyes brightening. “And I hope you’re with me on it.” She smiled in a way that told me I might have a slight issue with whatever she was about to say.

“I want you to give the closing argument tomorrow.”

“What! Why? No.” I was suddenly on my feet, facing her. “I think you’ll do fine.”

“Yeah, but you’ll do better,” she said. I heard nothing but praise about your opening and closing arguments in the Hayes trial. I really want you to do it. I’m
so
tired.” She sat down on the edge of the desk.

“It’ll seem weird if I do the closing. You did the opening and David and I only examined a few of the witnesses. The jury identifies with you as the lead counsel.”

“Exactly. And now they’ll get to hear from another African-American woman who’s going to bat for her client. It might seem weird if David did the closing, but not you. I think some jurors root for attorneys who look like you and me because they don’t see us in the courtroom all that often. We’re the underdog. People like rooting for the underdog.”

“What’s that got to do with me giving the closing? You got quite a bit of melanin in your skin, too, you know.”

Neddy laughed. “Yes, I know that. But I think the jury resonates with you. I noticed that whenever you questioned a witness. And it’s not like you don’t know the case. You’ve practically memorized my closing already. All you need to do is add a few of your own touches and you’re done.”

A wave of excitement washed over me. Part of me would kill to do the closing argument in a case of this magnitude. But another part didn’t want my summation to be linked to the verdict in a case I felt so conflicted about—guilty, innocent, or hung.

“And besides,” Neddy continued, “being able to say you delivered the closing argument in a case this big won’t exactly look bad on your resumé. After we recess tomorrow, your closing argument will be replayed on every TV station in town. Everybody knows you’re already a shoo-in for partnership. This’ll cinch it.”

I thought about everything Neddy was saying. I also thought about the fact that she was giving me an incredible opportunity. “Thank you,” I said softly.

She winked. “Not at all.”

“No, really. I know you’re tired. But you’re not
that
tired. I really appreciate what you’re doing.” I reached out and hugged her.

“Okay, okay,” she said, hugging me back. “You don’t have to get all mushy on me.” We both sat down at a table across from her desk.

“Let me ask you something,” I said, taking the index card she was handing to me. “Why’d you decide to get off partnership track?”

“I like practicing law, but I hate the business side of it. All the administrative and political bull that comes along with being a partner would drive me nuts. First, you only get to eat what you kill. If you don’t have enough of your own clients, you’ll eventually be asked to leave the firm. Then, no matter how many clients you have, there’s still tremendous pressure to bring in more. So if you’re not a rainmaker, you won’t last long. Then there’s the competitiveness. You think you and David don’t get along? That’s nothing compared to the jealousy between some of our esteemed partners. You’ll never see Joseph Porter at one of O’Reilly’s little dinner parties because they despise each other.”

I had already heard that rumor.

“And no matter how well the firm does, it’s never enough. The higher they climb, the higher they want to climb. Last year, the firm had a record year financially. This year’s goal is to beat that number by ten percent. Next year’ll be the same thing. Which means you have to bill more hours or find bigger and richer clients. It never ends. You better be damn sure you really want to join that dysfunctional little cult.”

I hadn’t thought about any of the things Neddy was telling me. I’d only focused on the achievement of making partner. If it happened, I would be the first black woman to be anointed with that title in the firm’s history.

“Thanks for the advice,” I said. “You’ve really been a good friend, Neddy. Win or lose, I’m glad O’Reilly assigned us to this case.”

“Win or lose?” Neddy exclaimed. “Girl, we’re not losing! I can’t wait until you stand up to deliver your closing tomorrow morning. Julie’ll be so surprised she’ll probably gag.”

I grinned. “Now,
that
I’d like to see.”