The Trial of Dr. Kate
Page 23
When the deputy on duty, Len Wright, let her into the room where she always visited Kate, Shenandoah found Jake and the two sisters sitting at the table with yellow legal pads in front of them.
“Have a seat, Shenandoah. We’re just going over some details of the trial,” Jake said.
Kate looked up and smiled. “It’s nice of you to help. I really appreciate your support.”
“I agree,” Rebecca added.
“I’m happy to do what I can. I went up to Static to see if I could find anyone who saw Kate’s car there the day Lillian died. Didn’t have any luck. I still think the whole thing’s flimsy. I think Lillie must have done it herself.”
Kate nodded. “The problem is my blackout. I can’t remember. My drinking is bound to come up. In my mind, I didn’t do it, but I can’t prove it. The fact that the drug was Seconal makes me think that Lillie took her own life. If I wanted to kill someone by injecting a drug, I’d have used sodium pentothal.”
Jake said, “I’ve somehow got to convince the jury that Lillian did it herself. She was depressed, wasn’t she?”
“Yes. She asked me to do it, for God’s sake.”
Shenandoah said, “I think that has to come out during testimony. Jake, how’re you going to deal with Kate’s drinking problem?”
There was a commotion in the hallway outside the room, and Deputy Wright burst through the door. “Dr. Kate, come quick! Art Jamison and his wife came looking for you. She’s bleeding real bad—looks like she might bleed to death!”
Kate jumped up and followed the deputy out the door. Jake, Shenandoah, and Rebecca followed. The five of them ran down the stairs, taking two and three at a time.
They found Mrs. Jamison, an obese, pregnant colored woman, lying on the marble floor in a pool of expanding blood. She had a terrified expression on her face, and her dress from the waist down was crimson. Her husband knelt beside her, holding her hand.
Kate rushed to the woman’s side and checked for a pulse. “When did she start to bleed, Art?”
“I reckon around twenty minutes ago. What’s happening, Dr. Kate?”
The doctor turned to the onlookers and said, “You men turn your backs for a minute. Rebecca, help me.”
Kate lifted Mrs. Jamison’s dress and saw the source of the bleeding. Glancing at Rebecca, she said, “I’ve told Rose Ann she needs prenatal care, but she never listens to me. I think her afterbirth is blocking the womb. It’s called a placenta previa. I’ve got to do a C-section, now.” Turning back to Shenandoah, she asked, “Is your car here?”
“Yes.”
“Deputy Wright, you’ll have to come to the clinic. I’ve got to operate on Mrs. Jamison. It’s an emergency.”
The deputy looked as if he had seen a ghost. “I don’t know what the sheriff will say, Doc. Jesus, I don’t know what to do.”
“You can’t let her die. Just lead the way in your patrol car.”
Shenandoah could see that indecision was eating at the man. Finally, Kate said, “Damn it, Len, don’t just stand there like an idiot—move. We’ve got to work fast if I’m going to save this woman and her baby. Art, you and Jake lift Rose Ann gently and carry her to Shenandoah’s car. I’ll ride in the backseat with her. Rebecca, call Nurse Little and Jazz. Tell them we’re on our way and to get the operating room ready. I’ll need a unit of universal donor blood, O negative.”
The two men managed to get Rose Ann to Shenandoah’s car and place her on the backseat. Kate stroked the woman’s sweating brow as they drove to the Round Rock Medical Clinic. The deputy led the way with his red lights flashing. When they pulled up in front of the clinic, Nurse Little was on the steps waiting for them.
The two men carried the bleeding woman up the steps. Nurse Little led them to the operating room.
“Lay her on the table. Shenandoah, will you help me?” Kate asked.
“Yes.”
“Art, you wait outside with Deputy Wright and Jake. We’ll take good care of Rose Ann and the baby,” Kate said.
Nurse Little and Jazz went to work with remarkable efficiency. Mrs. Jamison was sobbing and gasping for breath. Jazz placed a gauze-covered metal cone over the woman’s face and started to drip chloroform onto it. Nurse Little placed a needle in Rose Ann’s right arm and attached a plastic tube that had been inserted into a bottle of blood.
Within a few minutes, the patient was asleep. Nurse Little took her blood pressure and pulse and reported, “One hundred over sixty, and she’s got a rapid heart rate.”
While this took place, Kate scrubbed Rose Ann’s abdomen with an antiseptic solution. “Go scrub your hands, Shenandoah. I’ll be there in a minute.”
After donning surgical caps and masks and washing their hands with antiseptic soap for ten minutes, Shenandoah and Kate dressed in sterile gowns and pulled on rubber gloves. Kate placed sterile towels around the area of the abdomen where she would make her incision. Then they covered the patient with sterile sheets.
“I hope you’re not squeamish,” Kate said, looking at Shenandoah as she pulled her scalpel vertically down Rose Ann’s swollen abdomen, separating the skin and exposing a thick layer of yellow fat.
There was little bleeding in the fatty tissue. Once Kate arrived at the abdominal muscles, she started clamping and cutting the arteries and veins.
“This is called a hemostat,” Kate said, handing Shenandoah an object that looked like a pair of scissors. “Hold it while I tie off the vessels.”
Once the swollen uterus came into view, Kate made an incision in the wall. Amniotic fluid burst out, soaking the sterile sheets. Handing a vacuum apparatus to Shenandoah, she said, “Suck out the fluid while I get the baby. It looks like the afterbirth is completely covering the opening of the womb.”
Shenandoah did her best to follow the order while Kate lifted the baby from the open uterus. Turning the little girl upside down, she slapped her across the buttocks, and suddenly the room filled with crying.
“That’s music to my ears,” Kate said.
She handed the baby to Nurse Little, who removed fluid from the baby’s mouth. Kate reached into the uterus and removed the placenta. Then she cut and tied the umbilical cord. The uterine wall continued to bleed, so she held pressure there for a few minutes with a gauze pad. Then Kate and Shenandoah closed the wound and applied a bulky bandage.
“Thanks, Shenandoah,” Kate said at last. “You were a real help.”
Shenandoah’s mouth was so dry that she could barely talk. “Jesus, that was incredible. How frequent is this?”
“Maybe five in a thousand. More common in colored women and women over thirty. Let’s go tell Art that his wife and baby are okay.”
They found Deputy Wright and Arthur Jamison in the waiting room. The deputy was reading a Popular Mechanics magazine while Mr. Jamison paced back and forth.
“Everything is fine, Art. You’ve got a baby girl.”
“Thanks, Dr. Kate. I been worried plumb to death.”
“We can go back to the jail now, Deputy. I hope Jasper doesn’t give you any trouble over this. We had no choice.”
The deputy placed his magazine on the table. “I hope you’re right, Doc. Jasper ain’t too kindly toward colored folks.”
Shenandoah didn’t get back to Hattie Mae’s house until eleven that night. As tired as she was, she couldn’t sleep. Her mind was whirling with thoughts of Kate. How did she keep such a schedule, patients in the clinic, then driving all over the county at night? Had Trudy told the truth about the Dexedrine tablets? How many people know about Kate’s drinking?
The next morning she didn’t stop at the jail because she felt sure Kate was exhausted. When she slipped into her seat at the courthouse, she saw that the two reporters from Knoxville and Chattanooga were waiting for her. Roger Williams from the Herald asked, “What happened yesterday? Joe and I couldn’t make it.”
“Mr. Flatt presented his case—had the coroner and Sheriff Kingman on the stand. This morning he’s got someone named Maxwell Christopher
, Mr. Johnson, and Mrs. Johnson’s sister.”
“What do you think so far?” Joe from the Times asked.
“I don’t know. Mr. Flatt is thorough; I’ll say that for him.”
Joe started to make a comment, but the bailiff called out, “Hear ye, hear ye.”
Judge Grant’s eyes appeared red and swollen as he brought down his gavel. Shenandoah glanced at Kate to see if she looked as tired as Shenandoah felt. To her surprise, Kate appeared refreshed, almost energized.
Thelonious stood at the prosecutor’s table and addressed the judge. “The state calls Dr. Maxwell Christopher.”
A round man in his late sixties with a mop of white hair strolled down the aisle with the aid of a silver-tipped cane. He took the stand, and the bailiff swore him in. The prosecutor said, “State your name and occupation.”
“My name is Maxwell Christopher. I’m retired from the history department at Tennessee Tech.”
“You live on Mulberry Street next to Mr. Army Johnson. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know Dr. Katherine Marlow, and are you familiar with the automobile she drives?”
“The answer is yes on both counts.”
“On the morning of March 23, 1952, were you at your home on Mulberry Street?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Did you notice Dr. Marlow’s car parked at the curb in front of the Johnsons’ house?”
“I slept late that morning because of a head cold. When I went to collect my morning paper around nine o’clock, I noticed Dr. Marlow’s automobile. I didn’t think anything about it because the doctor often made house calls there.”
“You’re positive that the automobile belonged to Dr. Marlow?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you, Dr. Christopher. No further questions, Your Honor.”
Jake Watson got out of his chair and walked slowly to stand in front of the witness. He said, “Good morning, Dr. Christopher.”
“Good morning.”
“I notice that you’re wearing glasses. Do you wear them all the time?”
“Yes.”
“Even when you’re home alone?”
“Yes.”
“First thing in the morning when you get out of bed?”
“I’m not blind. Sometimes I don’t put them on until I’m out of the bathroom.”
“Were you wearing them when you went to get your paper on the morning of March 23, 1952?”
“I seldom go out of the house without my glasses.”
“But are you one hundred percent sure you had them on that particular morning?”
The professor rolled his eyes and said, “I’m sure I had them on.”
“Would you describe Dr. Marlow’s car?”
“It’s a Ford station wagon. A 1941 model if I’m not mistaken.”
“And the color?”
“Blue. I think it’s a light blue.”
“You’re positive.”
“Yes.”
“Does it have black tires or white sidewalls?”
“White sidewalls.”
“Actually, sir, it’s a faded silver, not blue, and the tires are black.” Jake looked at the judge. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
Thelonious, his face scarlet, stood and walked toward the witness chair. He looked at Judge Grant and said, “The state calls Mr. Army Johnson.”
Deputy Masterson made the mistake of touching Army’s arm as he came through the door, and Army shook him off so violently that the deputy almost fell. Army stormed down the aisle with fire in his eyes.
He took the stand and stared at Thelonious. The bailiff swore him in and stepped quickly out of the way.
Thelonious walked up to the rail separating him from the witness chair. “State your name and occupation.”
“Army Johnson. I run a garage.”
“Mr. Johnson, when was the last time you saw your wife alive?”
“March 23, 1952, as I was going to work.”
“Did the two of you have breakfast together?”
“We always ate breakfast together.”
Thelonious slipped his pince-nez out of the breast pocket and used them to point at Army. “Mr. Johnson,” he said, “it’s my job to get to the truth, and I will. Now, there are a few things I need to know about your relationship with your wife. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yeah.”
“How long were you married?”
“Long enough.”
“In years, Mr. Johnson.”
“Twelve.”
“Would you say yours was a happy marriage?”
Army glared at the prosecutor and, after a pregnant pause, said, “Yes.”
Thelonious walked to the jury box and turned back to face Army. He placed the pince-nez on his nose and, looking at a legal pad, said, “Tell me about your relationship with Katherine Marlow.”
Army’s face flushed, and he said in a hoarse whisper, “That’s none of your damned business.”
Thelonious simply looked at Judge Grant.
“Answer the question, Mr. Johnson, or stand in contempt,” the judge said.
“Kate Marlow and I’ve been friends since grade school. That is the extent of our relationship.”
“Have you ever been lovers?”
Army looked at the judge and then at Thelonious. “No.”
“You are under oath, Mr. Johnson. Do you wish to reconsider?”
“No means no.”
“In the years that Katherine Marlow took care of your wife’s medical needs, do you feel she received adequate care?”
“Yes. Lillie had MS and colon cancer, for God’s sake. Dr. Kate did the best she could. The best anyone could do under the circumstances.”
“Even given the fact that your wife continued to worsen under her care?”
“Yes.”
Thelonious turned to address the jury and said, “Mr. Johnson, your very actions today make you a hostile witness. It’s obvious to me, and I’m sure to this jury, that you have personal feelings for the defendant that go far beyond a simple friendship.”
“Objection! Pure conjecture, Your Honor,” Jake stated.
“Sustained. The jury will disregard the prosecutor’s statement. Do you have anything further to ask this witness, Mr. Flatt?”
“No.”
The judge looked at the defense table, and Jake stood. He walked to the witness chair and said, “I only have a few questions, Mr. Johnson. What time did you leave your home on the twenty-third of March?”
“I always leave at seven.”
“What was your wife’s mental state that morning?”
“Lillie had been depressed for months. Her MS was getting worse, and she just got more and more despondent.”
“Did you know your wife had terminal cancer?”
“Not at that time.”
“She didn’t share that information with you?”
“No.”
“Her sister?”
“No.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
Thelonious stood immediately and said in a loud voice, “The state calls Trudy Underwood.”
Army passed Trudy as she strolled down the aisle, but their eyes never met. She wore a pair of black slacks and a white blouse that fit loosely, hiding her voluptuous figure. She wore no makeup.
As soon as she took the oath, Thelonious eased over to the witness stand. “Please state your name for the court reporter.”
“Trudy Underwood.”
“What was your relationship to the deceased, Lillian Johnson?”
“She was my older sister.”
“Do you have other sisters or brothers?”
“No.”
“You lived with your sister and her husband. Is that correct?”
“Yes, our parents have been dead for three years. They were killed in a car wreck.”
“So when you lost your sister, you essentially lost your family.”
“Yes.”
&nbs
p; “You were close to your sister?”
“My best friend.”
“She shared her feelings with you, told you things that were on her mind, bothered her?”
“We were very close.”
“Did she share with you her suspicions about her husband and Katherine Marlow?”
Trudy glanced toward the defense table, and Shenandoah thought he caught a flicker of anger in her eyes. She swallowed hard and looked back at Thelonious. “Lillie was sure that Army and Kate were having an affair.”
“Was she upset by this?”
“Very.”
“What gave her the impression that her husband and Katherine Marlow were having an affair?”
“She knew that Army went to the clinic all the time. That he did things for Kate, brought her stuff from Nashville or sometimes Knoxville. They saw a lot of each other.”
“On the day of your sister’s murder, had she been visited by Katherine Marlow?”
“Objection, Your Honor!” Jake yelled as he leaped from his chair. “The state has not proved that the deceased was, in fact murdered.”
“Sustained.”
“On the day your sister met her untimely death,” Thelonious began again, “had she been visited by Katherine Marlow?”
“Before I went to work, she told me that Dr. Kate was coming that morning.”
“Was she going to confront Dr. Marlow?”
“Yes, she was real nervous about it.”
“You normally go home for lunch. That correct?”
“Mr. Bradshaw gives me an hour for lunch, and I always ate with Lillie.”
Placing the pince-nez on his nose, the prosecutor strolled to the jury box, looked each juror in the eye, then said, “Miss Underwood, explain what you found when you went home for lunch on March 23, 1952. Take your time. I know this is difficult for you.”
Trudy shifted in the chair, pulled her shoulders back and, staring out over the heads of the spectators, spoke in a monotone. “When I came in through the kitchen, I saw that Lillie hadn’t made our lunch. I thought something was wrong because she was always very prompt. I called her, but she didn’t answer. When I went into her bedroom, I found her slumped in her wheelchair. I thought she might be asleep because she did that sometimes—you know, sitting up.”