The California Coven Project

by Bob Stickgold

  “No, I have not.”

  “Thank you.” She began pacing back and forth before the witness box. “Ms. McPhee has been charged here with illegally treating cancer patients and she has in fact testified under oath that she treated several cancer patients with an unidentified medication. Do you have any opinions as to the efficacy of that treatment?”

  “Objection!” The D.A. was on his feet in an instant and Linda suppressed a smile. “Your Honor,” the D.A. explained, “although Dr. Krueger may be an expert on cancer therapy, any opinion he might have about this alleged medication must be based on hearsay evidence and as such is inadmissible.”

  Linda staged a frown. “I withdraw the question,” she said, and the D.A., satisfied, returned to his seat.

  “Dr. Krueger,” Linda continued, “as a cancer researcher, is the evaluation of possible cancer therapies a part of your work?”

  “It is the entirety of my work. My job is to devise procedures for curing cancer, and then test them.”

  “Do you ever evaluate the efficacies of cancer cures devised by individuals other than yourself?”

  “Yes, I do. I spend a vast amount of my time reading the results of other researchers’ experiments, and evaluating their experiments and, hence, their ideas about how cancer works or how it can be cured.”

  “I see.” Linda stopped for a moment as if thinking. “Can you describe for the members of this jury the procedure by which you would evaluate a potential cure reported by a researcher?”

  “Well, in simple terms, I would first examine their claim as to the treatment’s effect. This would involve looking at how they chose the subjects for their experiments, how they define their control group, and the actual diference that they saw between the two. For example, someone might claim that a particular treatment could cure five percent of all people with lung cancer. First I would ask whether they looked at enough people to be sure that the five percent difference wasn’t just a coincidence. For example, if twenty people died in the control group, and nineteen in the experimental group, that would be a five-percent difference, but most likely that would just be due to chance rather than the efficacy of the treatment. But if two thousand died in the control group and nineteen hundred in the treated group, then I would be convinced that the difference was real.”

  “Is this approach that you take a standard one?” Linda asked, interrupting Krueger.

  “Oh, yes! We teach it to our students—everyone does it.” He seemed somewhat confused by the question.

  “Is this method, then, the standard, accepted, scientific approach to the analysis of such experiments?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and smiling, turned toward the D.A. With her eyes on the D.A. she continued, “Now, Doctor, perhaps I can rephrase the question which the District Attorney objected to previously: Have you read through and analyzed the results of the experiments of the California Coven, including those of the defendant Rebecca McPhee, and have you been able to scientifically evaluate the efficacy of their tests?”

  “I have,” Krueger replied, but a roar from the gallery drowned out his reply. The judge gaveled for silence, then turned to Krueger and asked him to repeat his response.

  “I have,” he repeated. Again the judge pounded for order.

  “Your Honor!” The District Attorney was on his feet. “Until such time as these alleged records are introduced as evidence both those records and any testimony based on those records remain hearsay evidence and inadmissible in this court!”

  While the D.A. protested, Linda returned to her table and picked up a cardboard file box. “Your Honor,” she said when the D.A. had finished, “I am prepared to enter those records as evidence in this trial. This box,” she lifted it onto the judge’s bench, “and the four similar boxes which sit under the defense table represent the original records of the California Coven Project a research program undertaken by the California Coven. They contain the detailed reports of the daily treatments of seventy-two cancer patients, and the results of those treatments.” She carried the remaining boxes to the judge’s bench, and then crossing to the District Attorney’s table, deposited a single large box. “This is a photostatic copy of those records.” She returned to Krueger. “Dr. Krueger, based on your scientific analysis of these records, what have you concluded about the efficacy of the treatment provided by members of the California Coven?”

  The hall was silent. Krueger took a deep breath and then answered in a slow, measured voice. “Based on the records presented to me by Carol and Margaret Stone, there is no question in my mind but that the treatment which they have been testing is the greatest advance in the treatment of cancer, ever.” Pandemonium broke out, as reporters raced one another for the few telephones located in the lobby of the courthouse. Linda noticed people in the gallery hugging each other. It seemed at least some of them were not hostile.

  Finally, the gavel returned her attention to the judge. “One more outbreak like this, and I will order the sergeant-at-arms to clear the gallery!” He turned to Linda. “You may proceed, Counsel.”

  “Thank you. Your Honor.” Linda turned her attention to Krueger, who was fidgeting nervously in the witness box. This clearly wasn’t his style. “Dr. Krueger, could you tell us just how effective the treatment is?”

  Again, he paused before answering. “I can’t tell you exactly how effective it is. That will require not seventy-two tests, but thousands, if not tens of thousands of tests. But I can give you an idea of its effectiveness. Among the women who were tested, every single one was cured of her symptoms of cancer. Based on the sample, I would expect than no fewer than ninety percent of women with cancer can be at least temporarily cured by the Coven’s treatment. Whether the malignancies will return after six months or a year, or ten years, I can’t say; the Coven has not had time to perform follow-up studies. But at this point, their treatment is without a doubt the best available for women with cancer, and I personally would recommend to all my women patients that they subject themselves to this treatment as soon as possible.”

  Linda nodded and turned toward the judge. “No more questions at this time, Your Honor.”

  The judge nodded back and turned to the D.A. “Mr. Georges, I realize that this information is as new to you as it is to me. Are you prepared to begin your cross-examination?”

  Linda crossed her fingers and silently prayed. Would he take the gambit and start now, riding on the crest of Sue’s arrest over the weekend? Or would he put it off until he could read all the documents—but lose the chance to exploit Sue’s arrest?

  Georges paused, running the same calculations through his own mind, and then answered. “Your Honor, I will, of course, need time to study these documents carefully, but I would like to ask some questions of the witness now.” The judge assented.

  “Dr. Krueger,” Georges began, “you commented that, based on these records, at least ninety percent of all women suffering from cancer could expect some measure of relief from this treatment—is that correct?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Doctor, tell me, how effective is it for men?”

  A ripple of excitement ran through the hall but instantly halted. Krueger paused again, and then replied, “Based on the results presented in their records—and only eight of the seventy-two individuals treated were men—the treatment has no apparent beneficial effects on men.”

  “Might it, Doctor, have some deleterious effects on men? Might it actually kill the men?”

  Linda began to object, but then stopped. It could do more harm than good. She just hoped that Krueger was ready for the question.

  “Based on the data presented in these reports, I can find no evidence that the treatment has any effect whatsoever on men.”

  “Do the reports state that at least five of the men treated by this procedure, including two treated by the defendant Rebecca Mcphee, died within a short time after being treated?”

  “No.”

&nbs
p; “Does that omission surprise you, Doctor?”

  Krueger shook his head. “No. In a perfect study it would have been there. The Coven’s record-keeping is far less than ideal, but they had nowhere near the personnel that would be required to do the study properly, Given the limitations that they worked under, it isn’t surprising at all that they didn’t follow up their failures.”

  Georges was set back by the reasonableness of Krueger’s defense. The man would be harder to shake than he had thought.

  “But you would agree that the way the reports were prepared could have, either intentionally or unintentionally, hidden the fact that the treatment was lethal to men.”

  “That is correct—”

  Georges cut him off before he could continue. “And Doctor, do you have any sense of when they first realized that the treatment was of no value to men?”

  “Yes.” Krueger opened up a folder and scanned through it, “It was around the end of February.”

  “Almost two months ago,” Georges said.

  “Yes, a month and a half to two months ago. Something like that.”

  “And yet they continued to treat men?”

  “Only a few,” Krueger replied. “I don’t think they were sure as early as the end of February. I understand they tested several shortly thereafter, to firm up their data, but then they stopped.”

  “Except that just this last weekend, on April 8th, well after they, if I may quote you, had ‘firmed up their data.’ they were still using this treatment on men, a treatment that they knew didn’t work!”

  “Objection!” Linda was on her feet, “There has been a charge made by local police to that effect, but that is by no means substantiated, and certainly has not been decided by a court!”

  Turning to the judge, Georges persisted, “But we do have a sworn affidavit from a police officer who saw her administer the ‘potion’—that’s what Miss Tiemann called it, a ‘potion’—to the man, and we have the sworn testimony of both the man who was treated and his wife!”

  “That is hearsay evidence until presented to this court in person,” Linda countered, “and is not admissible!”

  The whispering in the gallery rose in volume and threatened to overwhelm the argument before the bench. Suddenly a woman had pushed past a guard and was storming toward the front of the gallery. In a moment she had been grabbed by a guard, but not before she had reached the gallery rail and shouted for all to hear, “That’s not important, none of that is. What’s important is that the man Sue was arrested for treating, and three other men treated last week, have been cured!” She swung defiantly toward the District Attorney. “We can cure women and men now! We can cure everyone who has cancer!”

  Krueger stared, openmoutbed, at the young woman who now held the attention of the entire court. It was Carol.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “HOLD that woman, there’s a warrant out for her!” In seconds policemen were rushing down the aisle to where the guard held Carol. Photographers were swarming about, trying for the ideal picture, and the judge was fuming, pounding his gavel to no avail. In the mêlée, Beckie could hear someone shouting, but all she could make out was “. . . without a license . . . conspiracy to . . . flight to avoid . . .”

  Suddenly, Beckie spotted Maggie walking quietly toward the police and Carol. She elbowed her way into the center of the struggling knot, then disappeared from Beckie’s view. She turned to Linda, who was craning her neck to see better. “Maggie’s there, too. She just joined Carol. We have to talk to them!”

  “Maggie?” Linda asked. “Where? I didn’t see her.”

  “She just walked into the circle of police. I can’t see her now, but she’s right in the middle of it.”

  Linda finally turned to her. “You’re right. We do have to talk to them.” She turned and walked up to the bench. “Your Honor, I request a recess until after lunch.” The D.A. nodded in helpless agreement, and the gavel descended again.

  “Court recessed until 1:30!”

  Beckie had leaped from her seat before the words were out of the judges mouth, and turned impatiently toward Linda. “Come on, we don’t have much time!” They pushed their way through the crowd out into the lobby where Carol and Maggie had been taken. There was no sign of either them or the officers who had removed them. While Beckie searched frantically, Linda quietly walked to the information booth, tucked away in a corner of the lobby.

  “ ’Morning, Tommy.” She smiled at the spry man in his sixties sitting behind the desk. “Busy morning?”

  Tommy returned her smile. “Morning, Linda. It sure is. We haven’t had this many people lined up for the gallery since that double homicide last July. But it’s a real polite crowd today, not so much riffraff.”

  “Did you see them whisk two women out awhile ago?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yep. Saw them all go bustling down to Booking.” He tilted his head. “It was funny,” he added, “kind of backward, with the officers all jumpy and the ladies smiling and real calm-looking.”

  Linda started back to Beckie and waved a good-bye to the man. “Times are changing, Tommy,” she called back.

  “Not if I can help it, Miss Coles!”

  By now Beckie was standing helplessly in the middle of the lobby. “Come on,” Linda said, grabbing her by the arm, “they’ve been taken down to Booking. We should be able to catch them there if we hurry.” Linda led her down one hall after another, and then down into the basement. Farther down the hall Beckie could see a crowd outside of a closed door.

  “Damn!” Linda muttered. She stopped and turned to Beckie. “Keep your mouth shut, and pretend you’re my assistant, okay?” Beckie nodded uncertainly as Linda plunged into the crowd. They seemed mostly to be reporters, Beckie noted, standing around like scavengers waiting for scraps to be thrown from behind the closed door. Beckie stopped abruptly as Linda halted before the door. A guard was blocking her way. “Sorry, Miss Coles, Mr. Georges says no one allowed in.”

  “Hi, Don. I’m Maggie Stone’s lawyer—it’s okay.” She moved as if to go on in, but the guard didn’t move.

  “Just a minute, Miss Coles, I’ll have to check.” He opened the door and slid through quickly as the crowd pushed forward for a look. An instant later the door was closed again.

  “Now we keep our fingers crossed. If he has to check with Georges . . .”

  The door opened a foot and the guard appeared. “Come on in, Miss Coles, it seems to be okay.” Linda slid through the opening, dragging Beckie behind her. The guard opened his mouth as if to complain, but Linda casually injected, “Don, have you met Beckie before?” She moved to let Beckie stand beside her. “We’ve been working together for the last few months.” He closed his mouth again, unsure, and Linda pushed farther into the room. “Ah! there they are!” Linda spotted Maggie and Carol being fingerprinted off in the corner.

  She turned to Don and smiled. “Thanks a lots Don. And do keep those reporters out. Tell them my clients have no comments for the press.” She turned to Beckie “Now let’s go talk with our clients!”

  Carol spotted them as they crossed the room. “Beckie!” A look of delight spread quickly across her lace. Maggie, in the middle of being fingerprinted, turned quickly, waited for the officer to finish, then pulled free. Beckie gave her a big hug.

  A detective, wearing a quiet sports coat, looked at Beckie. “You’re not her lawyer. You’re the McPhee Woman.”

  “I’m her lawyer,” Linda interrupted. “I’m Linda Coles, and Ms. McPhee is functioning as an assistant to me in this case.” But the detective continued to frown.

  “Is this woman your lawyer?” he asked Maggie.

  She nodded. “Yes, she is. Definitely. And that other woman is working with her.”

  The detective shook his head. “Okay, okay. I can tell when I’m being outflanked.” He looked at his watch. “You can have ten minutes now, and then we’re going to finish the booking without any interruptions!” He turned and walked heavily from the room.


  Maggie looked uncertainly at Linda, and Linda smiled and nodded. “It’s okay now. The next ten minutes are ours.” Maggie and Beckie threw their arms around each other. A moment later, Carol joined in, and they all began talking at once, it was several minutes before they remembered Linda’s presence.

  “You’re Linda Coles?” Maggie asked, wiping tears from her eyes. Linda nodded. “Well, I just don’t know how to thank you for getting Beckie in here.” She turned back to Beckie “We’ve been reading about you, and watching all the news shows every night, and we’ve missed you so much!” She gave her another hug.

  “And there we were, almost afraid to come out of the house where we were staying,” Carol joined in, “and not able to talk with anyone we knew, and we didn’t get to see any of our friends the whole time, and there we were sitting and hiding while you’re out there, I mean, right out there in front of the whole city, and the whole world, standing up for the Coven, and we felt so helpless and useless!” She stopped, confused, and everyone else laughed happily.

  “But now you’re both here,” Beckie said, “and all three of us are going to go out there for the Coven—but what were you saying in court?” She turned to Carol. “Does it really work on men now?” Maggie and Carol smiled.

  “But how? Why didn’t it work before? What did you do differently?”

  Maggie and Carol smiled at each other. “Well,” Maggie began slowly, and then turned toward the door. The detective had just returned. Maggie turned to Linda. “Look, we have so much to talk about—”

  “I know,” Linda interrupted. “But we’d best let them finish now. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes to half an hour, depending on how much they drag their feet, but we’ll all get to talk again afterward. For the time being, I recommend that you just cooperate with them—but tell them nothing about what you’ve done since you left Santa Cruz, and nothing at all that relates to the Coven, or people in it. I doubt that they’ll hassle you too much anyhow.” She spoke quickly as the detective came over.