Higher Law Boxset, Volume 3

by Sheldon Siegel

  Harper spoke from his seat. “No objection.”

  Nady handed the file to Goldstein. “You’ve reviewed this document?”

  “I have.” He moved his glasses to the top of his head. “Mr. King had several ongoing health issues. In particular, he had high blood pressure and high cholesterol, which were treated with medication.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He had an arrhythmia.” He glanced at the jury. “In layman’s terms, an irregular heartbeat.”

  “How irregular?”

  “Very.”

  Nady turned to the judge. “We would like to introduce an electrocardiogram into evidence.”

  Harper nodded. “No objection.”

  Nady pressed a button on her laptop, and an EKG appeared on the TV. “Dr. Goldstein, are you familiar with this EKG?”

  “Yes. It shows a normal heartbeat for a healthy and active seventy-four-year-old man.”

  “You know the patient?”

  “Yes. Me.”

  Juror #2’s icy demeanor showed the hint of a smile.

  Harper stood up. “I fail to see the relevance.”

  Nady spoke in a reassuring tone. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

  Judge McDaniel nodded. “Please proceed, Ms. Nikonova.”

  Nady lobbed another easy one to Dr. G. “Can you explain why this is a heathy heart?”

  “Of course.” Goldstein got out of the box and walked over to the TV. “A normal EKG shows what is known as a ‘sinus rhythm.’ To the untrained eye, it looks like a series of bumps, but each depicts an action in the heart. More important, the bumps are very consistent.”

  He explained that “P waves” represent the time when the atria—the upper chambers—squeeze blood through the heart. “Next come the ‘QRS complex,’ where the ventricles—the lower chambers—contract. This distributes blood throughout the body. Next is the so-called ‘T wave,’ which is the moment when the heart relaxes before starting to squeeze again.”

  The jurors were focused on the cheerful little man with the wiggly jowls.

  Goldstein used a gold Cross pen as a pointer. “The high point is the ‘R wave.’ Notice that the waves are consistent.” He flashed a reassuring smile to the jury. “This is the EKG of a normal, healthy heart.” He waited a beat before adding, “I’m glad it’s mine.”

  So am I.

  Nady introduced a second EKG and put it up on the screen next to Goldstein’s. “You’ve reviewed this EKG as well?”

  “Yes. It’s the most recent EKG in the decedent’s medical record.” This time he used his glasses to gesture. “This is a pattern known as an ‘A-fib with RVR,’ or rapid ventricular response. It means that Mr. King’s heart was beating much faster than normal—from one-hundred twenty-five to one-hundred forty beats per minute. That’s bad. The normal heart rate for a man of his age is between sixty and one hundred beats per minute.” He smiled proudly. “For reference, mine is sixty-eight.”

  Impressive.

  Goldstein kept talking. “Such a fast rate can weaken the heart and lead to failure—often without warning. The decedent’s irregular beat was also inconsistent—it changed from time to time, unlike that of a healthy person.”

  Like you.

  “How serious was this condition?” Nady asked.

  “Very. Mr. King and his doctors had discussed various possible treatment options, including medication and, perhaps, a cardioversion, which is an electric shock administered to the heart, causing it to stop briefly. A moment later, the heart’s activity restarts. Ideally, it will be in the normal sinus rhythm. It’s a common practice where the side effects tend to be minimal.”

  “Did Mr. King elect to pursue such a treatment?”

  “He did not.”

  “How would this irregular heartbeat have impacted his health?”

  “He was a walking time bomb. He was at substantial risk of heart failure at any moment.”

  “Would he have been more susceptible to heart failure if he had been a heroin user?”

  “Absolutely. Heroin slows the heart rate precipitously and causes drowsiness. In some cases, it causes your heart to stop.”

  “Is that what happened to Mr. King?”

  “In my best medical judgment, it is more likely that his heart condition caused his heart to stop beating.”

  Nady’s somber expression hadn’t changed. “Are you being paid for your services today?”

  It was better to raise this during direct than let Harper bring it up on cross.

  Goldstein nodded. “Five thousand dollars.”

  “By whom?”

  “The Public Defender’s Office has a fund to handle such matters.”

  I’d put the arm on a few of my well-heeled pals to fund this program.

  “No further questions.”

  “Cross-exam, Mr. Harper?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” He spoke from his chair. “Dr. Goldstein, would you agree that taking a massive amount of pure heroin would likely exacerbate an existing heart condition?”

  “Yes.”

  “Enough to kill someone?”

  “Possibly.”

  “No further questions.”

  Judge McDaniel glanced at her computer. “I need to attend to some administrative matters this afternoon, so I am going to recess until ten o’clock on Monday morning.”

  56

  “IT ISN’T ENOUGH”

  Rosie’s post-mortem combined succinctness with unvarnished realism. “It isn’t enough.”

  “It might get us to reasonable doubt,” I said.

  “Not necessarily—especially if Judge McDaniel gives a manslaughter instruction.”

  “Harper hasn’t asked for it.”

  “He may change his mind. Even if he doesn’t, Betsy could still act unilaterally.”

  “It would be better than a murder conviction. I still think it was the right call to put Goldstein on the stand.”

  “You may think otherwise if the jury convicts for manslaughter.”

  I would. “At the moment, they won’t have the opportunity.”

  Rosie’s office was stuffy at four-thirty on Friday afternoon. Rosie, Nady, and I were sitting at the round table that doubled as her meeting area and campaign headquarters. The next election was still two years away, but fundraising never stopped.

  I looked over at Nady. “Are we set on exhibits for Monday?”

  “Yes. Who are you going to call first?”

  “Jennifer Castle, the communications director.”

  Rosie gave me a sideways look. “Why are you calling the corporate shill?”

  “To confirm that King had been accused of improper sexual advances multiple times.”

  “You think she’ll admit it?”

  “If I play my cards well enough.”

  “How does that prove that Lexy didn’t kill him?”

  “It doesn’t. It shows that he was a bad guy who was disliked by everybody.”

  “Are you planning to call Chloe?”

  “No. The jury will think we’re trying to exploit the grieving widow.”

  “How are you going to discredit Castle?”

  “Nick the Dick.”

  She grinned. “It won’t get you an acquittal, but it will be entertaining. Who else?”

  “Christina Chu. And everybody who went upstairs at King’s house: Steele. Patel. Moore. Sanchez. The ‘Guy from Rye.’ Ben-Shalom.”

  “You’re planning to accuse them of murder?”

  “We’re going to give the jury some options. We’re going to put King, Y5K, and everybody on trial.”

  “It may be the best that you can do.”

  Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but a realistic summation of where we are.

  Rosie stroked her chin. “Can you put somebody on the stand to break up the parade of deplorables and keep the jury’s attention?”

  “Kaela Joy for sure. Probably Pete. And we can always recall Nick if things get dull.”

  Nady grinned. “Can I handle hi
s exam?”

  “I called dibs.”

  Rosie turned serious. “Have you given any more thought to putting Lexy on the stand?”

  “Too risky,” I said. “Physically, she’s okay. Mentally, it changes by the hour.”

  “Too bad. This is one of the rare instances where it might be helpful.”

  “I haven’t ruled it out entirely. We’ll see how things go.”

  * * *

  Friday turned into Saturday, and then into Sunday. Nady and I spent the weekend doing trial prep. I took time off to walk the steps with Zvi and go to Tommy’s basketball game. As always, I went to mass on Sunday morning. I’ve never been sure whether it’s appropriate to ask for divine assistance when I’m preparing for a murder trial, but I figured that it couldn’t hurt.

  At seven o’clock on Sunday night, the aroma of Sylvia’s chicken fajitas wafted through Rosie’s house. Rosie and I were in the kitchen doing the dishes. Sylvia was in her customary spot in front of the TV and watching 60 Minutes, her hands occupied with her knitting. Tommy was in his room—allegedly doing homework.

  Sylvia looked up. “I’m surprised that you aren’t still at the office, Michael.”

  “I was there all afternoon with Nady.”

  “Rosita speaks very highly of her.”

  “With good reason.”

  Sylvia looked over at her daughter. “Maybe she can help you, too.”

  “She already does, Mama. So does Rolanda.” She quickly added, “And Mike, of course.”

  Of course.

  Sylvia’s lightning-fast fingers never stopped. “I wasn’t trying to be negative, Rosita.”

  Well, maybe a little. I’d been observing their dynamics for a quarter of a century, and there was rarely a clear winner. The discourse was always civil, but pointed. Neither was shy about expressing an opinion. Both insisted on having the final word. Most important, I knew to keep my mouth shut.

  Sylvia wasn’t finished. “Grace will be starting a new job in a few months. Tommy will be heading off to college in a couple of years. You’re going to miss out.”

  “I’m doing the best that I can, Mama.”

  “How much longer are you planning to do this?”

  “One more term.”

  Sylvia wasn’t satisfied, but she left it there.

  My iPhone vibrated, and I was grateful for the interruption. Pete’s name appeared on the display. I excused myself and walked onto the front porch, where a cool breeze whipped through the oak tree in the middle of the lawn.

  As always, his tone was terse. “You still planning to start the defense tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “You might want to slow-walk things. I may have something in the next couple of days.” He cleared his throat. “What do you think of Brian Holton?”

  “Except for the fact that he runs Mature Relations, he seems like a straight shooter.”

  “You think he might be willing to help us?”

  “Maybe. What can we offer him?”

  “An opportunity to thumb his nose at the Silicon Valley establishment and the venture capitalists who snubbed him.”

  “He might be interested. You aren’t planning to do anything illegal, are you?”

  “Absolutely not, Mick. That would be wrong.”

  Good to hear.

  He cleared his throat. “Mind if I get in touch with him directly?”

  It might be better that way. “Fine with me.”

  57

  “THAT’S CONFIDENTIAL”

  “Please state your name for the record,” I said.

  “Jennifer Castle.”

  At the office, you were “Jen.” In court, you’re “Jennifer.” “Your occupation?”

  “Senior Vice President of Corporate Messaging at Y5K Technologies.”

  She had ditched the Steve Jobs jeans and black top for a Hillary Clinton pantsuit and a cream-colored blouse. It’s better to dress like a grown-up in court.

  I moved from the lectern to the front of the box. “You knew Jeff King?”

  “Yes.” She turned slightly to face the jury. “I reported directly to him.”

  We’re impressed. “Was he a good boss?”

  “Yes. Demanding, but very smart and easy to work for.”

  Right. “Did the company ever receive any complaints from employees about Mr. King?”

  Harper was on his feet. “Objection. Relevance.”

  I figured this was coming. “Your Honor, the decedent’s character is relevant. He treated people poorly—including many who were at his house on the night that he died.”

  “Overruled.”

  “Thank you.” I repeated the question.

  Castle responded with a smirk. “Our personnel records are confidential.”

  Nice try. “Your Honor, the decedent’s right to privacy terminated upon his death.”

  Castle spoke up before the judge could rule. “Privacy extends to other employees.”

  “I do not expect Ms. Castle to reveal names.”

  Judge McDaniel had heard enough. “Please answer the question, Ms. Castle.”

  The smirk disappeared. “Yes.”

  “How many employees complained?” I asked.

  “I don’t recall.”

  I find that hard to believe. “Can you give us a ballpark number?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  Not good enough. “Five? Ten? Twenty? Fifty?”

  “Objection, Your Honor. Asked and answered.”

  “Asked,” I said, “but not answered.”

  Judge McDaniel showed a hint of impatience. “Please answer the question to the best of your ability, Ms. Castle.”

  “I’d say about a dozen.”

  Was that so hard? “Did any of those cases go to trial?”

  Harper tried again. “Objection. Relevance.”

  “Overruled.”

  Castle shook her head. “They settled out of court.”

  “Could you please tell us the nature of the claims?”

  “That’s confidential.”

  Judge McDaniel turned to her. “Please answer, Ms. Castle.”

  “Inappropriate comments,” she said.

  “Touching?” I asked.

  “Unsubstantiated.”

  “Y5K entered into multiple confidential settlement agreements relating to these inappropriate sexual advances, didn’t it?”

  “Alleged,” she said. “And I didn’t say anything about sexual advances.”

  Is there any other kind? “Can you please describe the nature of the inappropriate touching if it did not involve sexual advances?”

  “Mr. King liked to hug people. Some people misinterpreted his intentions.”

  “Perhaps they found it offensive that he grabbed them without permission.”

  “Objection.”

  “Withdrawn. It’s your testimony that Y5K paid multiple settlements for misinterpretation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you aware that the Medical Examiner determined that the decedent had taken heroin on the night that he died?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he addicted?”

  “Objection. Assumes facts outside this witness’s expertise.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Did the decedent ever take time off for treatment for substance abuse?”

  “He never took time off.”

  I shot a look at the jury, then I turned back to Castle. “Did Mr. King ever hit on you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did he ever make inappropriate advances to you?”

  “Objection, Your Honor. Relevance.”

  “Your Honor, Ms. Castle testified that Mr. King was a serial sexual harasser. We should be allowed to inquire as to whether she was the victim of any such behavior.”

  “Overruled. Please answer the question, Ms. Castle.”

  King’s enabler-in-chief squared her shoulders. “No, he did not.”

  “Are you subject to a confidentiality agreement regarding a settlement?
”

  “No.”

  “Did Mr. King ever go to a strip club?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did he ever go to a strip club?”

  She fidgeted. “We received reports that some of our people entertained our customers at such establishments in Asia.”

  “Including Mr. King?”

  More fidgeting. “Yes.”

  “Did the board of directors do anything about it?”

  “They adopted a policy not to reimburse expenses incurred at such establishments.”

  You don’t want to utter the word “strip club,” do you? “Did they ban such activities?”

  “They discouraged them.”

  “Did they discuss this policy with Mr. King?”

  “Yes. He was instructed not to take customers to such places.”

  Or get caught. “Did he abide by that directive?”

  “As far as I know.”

  We’ll see. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  Harper declined cross.

  “Please call your next witness, Mr. Daley.”

  “The defense calls Christina Chu.”

  * * *

  “You attended the party at Mr. King’s house on December twenty-third of last year?”

  Chu was sitting in the box, hands folded in her lap. “Yes, Mr. Daley.”

  “You had known Mr. King for a long time?”

  She sported a conservative gray pantsuit with a beige blouse making her look more like a Wall Street executive than a Silicon Valley VC. “About ten years.”

  “And you recommended an investment in Y5K to Mr. Patel, didn’t you?”

  “Correct.”

  I was at the lectern. “You invited other women to the party?”

  “Yes. They were business associates.”

  I pressed a button on my laptop and the TV came to life. I ran video from a security camera mounted outside the front door that Harper had shown to place Lexy at the scene. Chu identified each of the women as they entered the house.

  I stopped the video. “How did you select them?”

  “Jeff asked me to invite people who were successful and smart.”

  And young and pretty. “They all accepted your invitation?”

  “It was an excellent opportunity to network.”

  I looked at the frozen video. “They were all wearing short black cocktail dresses, weren’t they?”

  Chu hesitated. “Yes.”

  “That’s quite a coincidence.”