Conscious Bias

by Alexi Venice

“It was just luck. I’m glad I had the opportunity.”

  Dr. Khouri looked between them, not following.

  “I’ll fill you in on our way back to our offices,” Al said to Dr. Khouri. “Talk to you later, Monica.”

  She hesitated, her pulse quickening and her throat drying up. “Um...”

  “Yes?” Al asked.

  Dr. Khouri looked at her expectantly.

  “Oh nothing. It can wait,” she said.

  “Okay. Bye then,” Al said.

  “Bye.” Monica turned and walked out the door toward the parking ramp. Shit. Is there ever going to be a good time to come out to Al?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next morning

  Monica awoke with a vague annoyance that she had to attend Trevor McKnight’s entire murder trial, where her legal skills would be required only on the day her physicians testified. She understood Al’s logic in wanting a hospital representative there, and he was paying her handsomely for her time, but she didn’t think it was necessary for her to sit with the Seifs for the duration. That was Mike Warner’s job. She had so much on her plate right now. She sighed and threw back the covers. The smell of coffee from her automatic machine lured her to the kitchen.

  She frothed some half-n-half in her cup and poured the delicious dark brew through the pillow of froth. After stirring in some sugar, she leaned against the counter and looked out the window over the kitchen sink. The sky was rippled with dark clouds, representative of her mood.

  While preparing for work, she promised herself she would tell Al Bowman she was gay at the next opportunity. He had to hear it from her first. She drew her hair back in a smooth bun after using the flat iron, then saw a Facebook message pop up on her iPhone. She clicked it open and discovered it was from Shelby. Monica’s first message from Shelby! Monica had accepted Shelby’s friend request the night prior but was surprised to receive a private message so soon.

  Shelby wrote: Hey Sleepyhead! Class started. Where are you? Do I have to come over there and drag you out of bed?

  Tangible proof of her physical attraction, Monica’s heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. She was torn between her responsibilities for work and a ferocious desire to be with Shelby. God, she missed her, and only a few hours had passed. She replied: Sorry. I have to attend the McKnight murder trial this week because my doctors are testifying. Miss you.

  She lay her phone back on the counter next to her flat iron. By the time she finished brushing her teeth, another message had arrived from Shelby. Miss you too. Good luck.

  Lightning bolts shot up Monica’s spine, prickling her libido. Is Shelby being endearing or romantic? We have chemistry, right?

  With a supreme effort of will, Monica forced herself to set aside further romantic thoughts, selecting a conservative pinstriped suit that had a slimming effect across her hips. She quickly tidied up her kitchen, pouring the remainder of her coffee in a Thermos, grabbed her laptop and overcoat, and left for court.

  She entered the strained atmosphere of a courtroom overflowing with the jury pool, the media, and several spectators, including students from the university. The air sizzled with dramatic uncertainty. In support of the prosecution, the Seifs sat directly behind Dominique Bisset and her cadre of legal assistants. Monica slid into a small opening a few rows behind the Seif family, unable to meet Al’s request that she actually sit in the same row with them, because they took up an entire row.

  The Seifs couldn’t have looked more foreign, surrounded by average-looking, casually dressed people whose collective wealth didn’t amount to the Seif family’s annual tipping budget. By sheer luck of geology, the passage of millennia had transformed their country’s swampland into oil deposits; and by the random luck of birthright, the Seif family—whose ancestors were desert nomads—into the world’s elite. Under the current circumstances, however, their wealth was neither revered nor respected. If anything, their good fortune was a cause for resentment in the confines of the Midwest courtroom.

  While they looked sophisticated and elegant in their expensive suits and dresses, their appearances were diminished by their sad expressions, creating a visual dissonance. The men were stoic, but Ameerah and Basmah periodically dabbed at their eyes, their beautiful olive skin blotchy from tears.

  Across the aisle from the Seifs sat the McKnight clan. Rather than sad, they wore expressions of fear and anxiety. Mrs. McKnight, especially, looked like a sixth grader had applied her makeup. The eye shadow was so smudged and unblended that, even from a distance, Monica could make out the brush strokes. Mrs. The parents were flanked by young adults who Monica assumed were Trevor’s siblings and their significant others. The young men wore the white-man uniform of Oxford blue shirts and khaki pants. The young women wore sweaters and slacks. While the children occasionally stole glances at the Seif family, the parents stared steadfastly ahead.

  The all-white jury was selected efficiently and quickly because the 60-person pool from which it derived was so homogenous that Dominique didn’t waste her time trying to sift and sort through any confounding bias. More men than women, the jurors’ ages ranged from 18 to 65. McKnight would be judged by people who knew his family and most likely respected his parents. Without hesitation or question, he would receive the benefit of the doubt, and Jeffrey Halliday was poised to capitalize on that legal axiom.

  After instructing the jury that the lawyers’ opening statements weren’t actual evidence, but a preview of what the testimony and evidence would be, Judge O’Brien invited DA Bisset to give her statement first. Accustomed to working in the courtroom on a daily basis, Dominique handled herself with confidence and ease. She took the podium, made eye contact with each juror, breathed in deeply and began.

  “Ladies and Gentleman of the jury, Abdul Seif, a foreign exchange student studying accounting at our local university, had been here for only one month when he was murdered. He was punched in the face by Trevor McKnight. From the force of the punch, Abdul fell to the ground, cracked his skull, developed brain swelling and died. Abdul was the beloved son of Khalid and Basmah Seif, from Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, who are here today.”

  Dominique swung her arm in a wide gesture, encompassing the Seif family in the front row. “Abdul’s siblings, Mohamad and Ameerah, are sitting with their parents. You will hear from Mr. Seif that he was excited for his son to attend an American university to learn more about Western financial practices and our culture. They were nervous, as all parents are, about their son being so far away, but they had visited America previously and trusted our country to be safe. In fact, they had been to New York City for business on multiple occasions but didn’t want Abdul to go to school there because they thought it was too dangerous. Instead, they wanted him to live in a smaller town where they wouldn’t have to worry, because they believed the community’s values…”

  Jeffrey Halliday bolted from his chair. “Objection, Your Honor.”

  The judge nodded. “Counsel, please approach the bench.”

  Dominique and Halliday walked to the Judge’s bench, which was chest-high. The lawyers leaned over to hear Judge O’Brien’s whispers. The judge’s goal was to have a short discussion that the jury couldn’t hear, so he covered the microphone with his hand.

  “Mr. Halliday, what are you objecting to?” Judge O’Brien asked.

  “DA Bisset is attempting to create some community duty that would potentially include the jurors to look out for the welfare of Abdul. It’s argumentative and prejudicial,” Jeffrey said.

  The judge looked at Dominique.

  “I’m merely providing background information about Abdul and his family, so the jury will get to know him. He was living in our community.”

  “I’m going to sustain the objection for now,” Judge O’Brien said. “Let’s stick to the facts of the case during opening. No arguments.”

  “Very well, Your Honor,” Dominique said. She turned from the bench and projected a confident face, giving the impression to the jury that their confa
b with the judge went in her favor.

  She resumed her opening. “The evidence in this case will show that Trevor McKnight, the defendant seated at counsel table, there, ruthlessly punched Abdul Seif in the face, breaking his nose and sending him to the sidewalk. The punch knocked Abdul back with such force that he broke the back of his skull—here.” She pointed to the back of her own skull.

  “McKnight knew he knocked Abdul unconscious, actually bragging about it to his friends, the police officer who questioned him in the hospital, and his father, who spoke to him in jail.”

  Dominique used a calm, businesslike voice, careful to avoid disdain, letting the facts speak for themselves. “McKnight left Abdul on the sidewalk outside The Night Owl Bar, unconscious and cold, and went back inside to party with his friends. After a time, Abdul rallied, sat up, swayed a bit, then lay back down on the sidewalk, losing consciousness.”

  “Other people had the presence of mind to call an ambulance,” she said. “Abdul was taken emergently to Community Memorial Hospital, where he was treated for a severe head trauma. Despite modern medicine and fast intervention, Abdul died three days later. The evidence will show that the force of the punch and fall to the concrete caused his brain to bleed, then swell beyond control, killing him.”

  Dominique paused for effect, studying each one of the juror’s faces.

  “The evidence will further show that Abdul was talking to a few girls who McKnight wanted to talk to, so McKnight approached Abdul in the bar and told him to go back to his own country. When Abdul returned to the bar, McKnight grabbed Abdul and took him outside where he sucker-punched him before Abdul knew what was happening. That punch is what killed Abdul.”

  “After you’ve heard all the testimony and seen the evidence in this case, I will ask you to return a guilty verdict against Trevor McKnight. Thank you.”

  Dominique calmly returned to her chair, giving Halliday a sidelong glance that it was his turn.

  “Counsel for Defendant?” Judge O’Brien asked.

  Flicking back his hair, Jeffrey Halliday took center stage. His posture straight, almost arching with bravado, he opted to stand to the side of the podium, draping his arm across the top. So far, he struck Monica as a little smarmy, but one man’s smarmy could be another’s savoir faire. Word on the street was that juries seemed to like him, and he got results.

  “My client, Trevor McKnight, might not be the smartest guy in the room, and you may not even like him for the language he used while talking to a police officer in the ED, but that doesn’t mean he’s guilty of murder or being a bigot, or biased, or whatever label you want to try to slap on him.

  “You’ll hear directly from Trevor about the events that Saturday night, and exactly what his intentions were. Here’s what happened. After studying all day, Trevor went out with his friends, not looking for any trouble, when he saw a very drunk Abdul Seif pestering some girls from one of Trevor’s classes. Trevor wanted to make sure the girls were okay, so he went over to them and told Seif to back off. Did Trevor say some ignorant things? Sure, but he was drinking, and he didn’t know how to filter his comments. He was trying to get Seif’s attention. Trevor isn’t very sophisticated, that’s for sure, but let’s not assume he was motivated by race, religion or national origin.”

  “He was motivated by gallantry. When Trevor told Seif to back off from the girls, Seif protested, and Trevor pushed him. Seif didn’t fall down with that push. Instead, he lunged at Trevor, trying to tackle him to the floor of the bar. Trevor dodged, so Seif flew by him, all the way back to the bar, where he had consumed several beers and shots.”

  “Trevor followed Seif to the bar and politely requested him to take their argument outside. When Seif swore at Trevor, he gently urged Seif outside the bar. You’ll see the video. As soon as they stepped outside, Seif threw a punch at Trevor. At that point, Trevor’s instincts took over and he punched Seif in self-defense, hitting him in the face. Sure, Seif landed on the concrete, but he sat up again then fell back on his own accord.”

  The jurors listened intently. Monica was struck by the facts from the defense’s perspective. Trevor never mentioned Abdul throwing the first punch when Trevor told his story to the police officer in the ED.

  “The evidence in this case will show that Abdul Seif was so drunk he could barely walk. The physician testimony you hear will be that Mr. Seif could have cracked his skull by falling on his own. By falling down drunk on his own,” Halliday repeated for emphasis.

  “The evidence also will show that Mr. Seif had a good chance of survival if the proper medical care had been given to him. Unfortunately, the doctors at Community Memorial Hospital were slow and inept, failing to give Mr. Seif a key medication, failing to insert an intracranial pressure monitor in his skull, and failing to do surgery sooner. If not for their negligence, Mr. Seif would be alive today.”

  Splat. There it is for the TV cameras to broadcast, Monica thought. The fight is on. A studious glance at the jury told her that they were soaking up every word Halliday spewed.

  “In closing, I ask you to pay attention to the evidence and testimony in this case. The judge will instruct you on the law before you deliberate, and DA Bisset and I will have an opportunity to address you again at that time. Remember that you’re sworn to apply the law to the evidence, not issue a verdict based on your personal feelings about my client. Thank you.” Halliday strode back to his counsel table and took his chair, not making eye contact with Dominique.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Most of the day at court was burned from picking a jury, delivering opening statements, and the jurors going out for an hour-and-a-half lunch. After Dominique called one police officer to testify about information he had gathered and witnesses he had interviewed at The Night Owl, the judge informed the lawyers that a juror couldn’t arrange for after-school daycare, so court was adjourned a little early.

  Monica was relieved to be freed from the courthouse, so she could work on other matters, including helping Jim with the logistics of their new law firm. She greeted the Seif family in the hallway and waited with them while Mike arranged for their Suburbans to pick them up at the rear exit of the courthouse, away from the gauntlet of media.

  The click click of Dominique’s pumps on the tile forewarned the group of her arrival. Monica turned to see Dominique’s determined face and absent-minded adjustment of her lapel with her left hand. “I’m sure it was a painful day for you, having to listen to opening statements and police testimony.”

  Mohamad translated for his family then spoke. “It was painful, but we’re taking comfort in the fact that you’re prosecuting McKnight.”

  “Thank you. For tomorrow, I plan on calling the physicians to testify, then I’ll call you, Mr. Seif. Are you still comfortable testifying?”

  Mohamad began translating, but his father waved him off. “Yes, as long as you prepare me for the questions. When can we meet?”

  “How about tonight after dinner? I can come to your hotel at 7 p.m. if that works,” Dominique said.

  Khalid’s eyes quickly darted to Mohamad. Mohamad cleared his throat. “Ah…In our culture, it would be inappropriate for a woman to visit a man’s hotel room.”

  “I’ll be accompanying DA Bisset,” Mike chimed in.

  Mohamad shuffled his feet. “That helps, but coming to the room is still an issue, even though it’s a suite and the rest of us will be there. Is there a conference room at the hotel we can reserve?”

  “Of course,” Mike said. “I’ll take care of it. Assume we’re on for 7 p.m. unless you hear otherwise from me.”

  “Perfect,” Dominique said then turned to Monica. “I’ll call the doctors first when court starts at 8:30. Will you arrange to have them here?”

  “Yes. Do you want to join me in prepping them this afternoon?” Monica asked.

  “No,” Dominique said, surprising Monica. “I have other testimony I need to prepare for. Just walk them through their care and pay especially close attention to H
alliday’s contentions that they should have given Abdul Mannitol, placed an intracranial pressure monitor, and done surgery sooner. Got it?”

  “Yes. I made a note.”

  “Thanks.” Dominique turned back to the Seifs. “Have a nice dinner. I’ll see you later tonight.”

  “Very well,” Mohamad said. They watched Dominique return to the main corridor where the media swarmed her.

  The Suburbans arrived, and Monica wished the family well. She quickly texted Drs. Khouri and Rice and made plans to meet them at the hospital in 20 minutes. She, too, returned to the main corridor of the courthouse, so she could exit out the front door where her pickup was parked in the lot.

  As Monica trotted down the courthouse steps, Tiffany Rose, the reporter for WQOD news, rushed up to Monica and stuck a microphone in her face.

  “Attorney Monica Spade, do you have a minute?” Tiffany asked.

  Monica noticed the camera was on. “What can I do for you?”

  “You represent Community Memorial Hospital, right?”

  “Yes.” Monica held her position on the top step, a majestic column in the background, and the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow on her face. Her image struck a rare combination of beauty and knowledge.

  “Will Abdul Seif’s physicians testify?” Tiffany asked.

  “Yes,” Monica said.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “What are their names and specialties?”

  “Dr. Khouri specializes in emergency medicine and Dr. Rice is a neurosurgeon.”

  “What is the hospital’s reaction to Jeffrey Halliday’s accusation that the doctors failed to give Abdul Seif the correct medication?”

  “I’ll defer to the physician testimony, but I can assure you that the team administered all appropriate care.”

  “What about the allegation that they should have inserted an intracranial pressure monitor?”

  “I’m sure the neurosurgeon, Dr. Danielle Rice, will explain why that wasn’t indicated, and indeed would have been a dangerous and risky thing to do,” Monica said.