“Please explain to the jury what you mean.”
He looked to the jury. “The district attorney’s office has to file charges officially against a defendant within seventy-two hours of them being booked into jail. A lot of the time, because of the caseload and other factors, they can’t do it in time. So the defendant is released until charges can be filed.”
“So what else did Ms. Madrid tell you?”
“She informed me that this was a complex case and that euthanasia was a—I think she called it a hot-button issue or something like that. It would take her screening team at least a few weeks to fully investigate and decide whether charges should be brought. I told her that it was clear he injected her with the morphine, but she said she wanted to speak with her boss before deciding anything. It was then that the decision was made that we would not take Ted Montgomery into custody until the DA’s office was ready to file.”
“So you let him go?”
“Yes, that’s correct. We allowed him to go home with his children. Well, we were going to. When I went to speak to him and let him know, he was already gone. I didn’t go after him because of my conversation with the screening team.”
“So he ran?”
“Objection,” Brigham said.
“Overruled.”
“So he ran?” Debra asked again.
“Yes, he wasn’t there when I went back to tell him we were letting him go.” He cleared his throat. “When charges were eventually filed and a warrant issued, he had fled the home and was in hiding for about four days before turning himself in.”
“Detective, in your testimony and on the recording, Ted stated that his wife had asked him to end her life. Did you find any witnesses to corroborate this?”
“No, we couldn’t find any other witnesses that had actually heard her say that. To be fair, he had informed me before I started recording that he was the only one in the room with her during those conversations. There is a video taken by one of his children where she seems to be pleading with him which I’m sure you’ll play for the jury, but it’s unclear what she’s asking for. Other than that, no, there is no evidence that Mrs. Montgomery had asked that he end her life.”
“Did he ever say that he was remorseful about what happened?”
“No, he did not. He seemed shaken up by it, but he didn’t express remorse, no.”
“Thank you, Detective. No further questions.”
35
Brigham held the detective’s gaze as he rose and went to the lectern. He held the disc in his hand, and his eyes drifted down to it before he asked, “You ever been disciplined for misconduct, Detective Sean?”
“No.”
“Not once?”
“Not ever, no.”
“You ever taken bribes?”
“Objection,” Debra said, shooting to her feet. “Relevance.”
Brigham said, “I’m getting to that, Your Honor.”
“Get to it quickly then, Mr. Theodore,” she said.
Brigham looked to the detective again. “Please answer the question. Ever taken any bribes?”
“Of course not.”
“Ever done cocaine while on duty?”
The detective froze. His eyes were fixed on Brigham for what seemed like a long time while he didn’t speak. “No,” he finally said, quieter this time.
“I’m sorry, was that a no?”
“No, I have never done cocaine.”
Brigham ran his hand along the edge of the disc. This was tricky either way. Whatever he chose could blow up in his face. But he thought that the primary thing to get in was Timothy’s testimony. If it bought credibility with the judge by not sandbagging the prosecutor with this disc, he had to risk it. He placed the disc on the defense table.
“Just curious,” he said. “Clerk, could you please start the recording again that Ms. Flynn just played? Right toward the end.”
Ted’s voice came back over the sound system a moment later. He mumbled a few things and then wept. He wept a long time, and then the recording ended.
“Was that Mr. Montgomery’s voice, Detective?”
“Yes, it was.”
“He was crying, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“A portion of his interview that the government didn’t want the jury to hear, isn’t that right?”
“Objection!” Debra shouted as she rose.
“Withdrawn,” Brigham said, not wanting to argue a point he knew he would lose. “How’d Ted seem to you?”
“Seem to me?”
“Yeah, you said he appeared shaken up. How so?”
“He was trembling, his hands were trembling, and he had this stare like he was looking past us.”
“Would you say he looked like he was in shock?”
The detective nodded. “Yes, that would describe it accurately.”
“You stated you’ve done hundreds of homicide investigations. People who take another person’s life, do they appear in shock and then cry afterward?”
“Well, sometimes.”
“What times would those be? When they feel remorse?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“So it’s fair to say Ted felt bad about what he’d done?”
“Yes.”
“It was a painful thing for him to do.”
“Yes, I would imagine so.”
“You think it’s fair to say he didn’t want to do it?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that’s fair. If he didn’t want to do it, he wouldn’t have.”
“Really? Your wife ever screamed in pain for you to kill her, Detective?”
“Objection, relevance.”
Brigham turned to the judge. “He’s making assumptions about my client’s state of mind. It’s relevant if he’s ever been through this situation.”
“I’ll allow it,” the judge said.
“Detective, your wife ever diagnosed with cancer?”
“No.”
“She ever scream in pain for you to end her life?”
“No.”
“So you can’t rightly say he just wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t want to, can you? Because you’ve never been in his shoes.”
The detective thought a moment. “No, I guess I can’t.”
Brigham had about an hour of planned cross left, discussing clues to Ted’s mental state and diminished capacity. As that wasn’t the defense anymore, he skipped them to the very last few questions.
“Detective, you stated his children were there, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And we heard him say on the recording that he’d brought his children in to be with their mother, right?”
“Yes, he did say that.”
“That sound like the actions of a murderer to you? Bring in the kids to watch?”
“You’d be surprised at the actions of murderers. If they had any sense, they wouldn’t kill anybody.”
“You ever kill anybody?”
“Objection,” Debra said, on her feet again. “I don’t see the relevance of this line of questioning. The detective is not on trial.”
“He just testified as to what people who kill other people are like. I’d like to know if he has experience in that.”
“Sustained,” the judge said.
Brigham moved on. “Did you talk to the kids?”
“Yes, they were interviewed before they left. The two younger ones were interviewed by a child-crimes detective and I interviewed Monica.”
“Did they say anything about my client enjoying what he did?”
“No, I don’t believe so. Monica said she wasn’t there for the injection. She came after.”
“So no one actually saw Ted Montgomery hook up his wife’s IV with morphine, did they?”
“No, but as has been stated, he told us several times that it was him.”
“Thank you, Detective, that’s all I had.”
The judge said, “Anything further, Ms. Flynn?”
“Detective, you stated the defe
ndant fled into hiding when he found out a warrant had been issued for his arrest.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Do innocent people run and hide in your exper—”
“Objection,” Brigham bellowed, with more anger than he expected.
“Goes to consciousness of guilt, Your Honor.”
“I’ll allow it.”
Debra continued, “In your experience, do innocent people run and hide?”
“No. Someone innocent usually comes forward and tries to prove to us they’re innocent.”
“Thank you, Detective. That’s all I had.”
The judge looked to Brigham. “Re-cross, Mr. Theodore?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Okay, do the parties agree that this witness may be excused?”
“Your Honor,” Debra said, “we’d like to keep the detective in case of impeachment purposes against the defendant.”
“Okay, Detective, please make sure that you are near the court at all times. If you wish to retake your place as case manager you may do so, but if not, just be within half an hour of the courtroom.”
The judge turned to Debra and said, “Next witness, Ms. Flynn.”
Detective Sean sat down next to her as Debra rose and said, “State calls Dr. Sydnie Ryan to the stand.”
A tall, gaunt man in a suit made his way to the witness stand, and the clerk swore him in. He took his place, his back perfectly straight and a stone-cold expression on his face.
“Please state and spell your name for the record, Doctor.”
“Dr. Sydnie Nathan Ryan. S Y…”
It wasn’t lost on Brigham that he had included the title “Doctor” when asked to state his name—something he’d seen from medical experts in every specialty.
“And where do you work, sir?”
“The University of Utah Huntsman Cancer Institute. I’m an oncologist.”
“And were you working on November second of last year?”
“I was.”
“Did you cross paths with the defendant that day?”
“I did.”
“Please explain.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “I had been Mrs. Montgomery’s treating physician. She’d been under my care for a number of months, even before she was hospitalized. I knew the defendant through my interactions with her. He would come to her treatments and consultations, things like that.”
“What was Mrs. Montgomery diagnosed with?”
“Stage three pancreatic cancer. It had moved into stage four by the time I saw her.”
“And what does that mean, stage four?”
“Modern medicine breaks cancer diagnosis down into five stages, numbered zero through four. Stage zero is what we call ‘in situ’ cancer, where a cell develops into a localized tumor. This is usually non–life threatening, as the cancer doesn’t spread. Then we have stage one, where the cancer cells have the ability to invade surrounding tissue. Stages two and three are a regional spread, where the cancer is distributed throughout the body and possibly caught in a lymph node, and possibly develops into more tumors. But the cancer cells are still localized to a great degree.
“What you asked about, stage four, is where the cancer cells have entered the bloodstream. At this point, they are spread throughout the body. We do have chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery available, but pancreatic cancer is something else entirely.”
“How so, Doctor?”
“It’s the deadliest form of cancer known and is nearly 100 percent fatal. The problem is that it’s difficult to detect, so early intervention is rarely an option.”
“After her diagnosis, how did Mrs. Montgomery’s treatment go?”
“She responded well to the chemotherapy at first, but the cancer had spread too quickly for too long. We gave her and her husband a prognosis that she wouldn’t survive another six months.”
“That seems bleak. Was there no hope at all?”
“There’s always hope, and I have heard of pancreatic cancer patients going into remission, but it’s rare. I like to be honest with my patients about that.”
“When you told Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery your prognosis, what was their reaction?”
“Shock, I guess. Ruby—ah, Mrs. Montgomery—began to cry. Her husband, the defendant, simply held her. I left them alone for a bit. When I came back, they had a few more questions, and then we began discussing treatment options.”
“When did you make the decision to admit her?”
“About three months after the diagnosis, she had deteriorated to such a degree that we no longer felt home care was a viable option. We asked that she be admitted to the Institute so that she could have round-the-clock care.”
“How did the defendant react to that?”
“He seemed upset by it. He kept asking if it was necessary. He wanted her home with the family. I informed him that he didn’t have the resources to care for her anymore.”
Debra paused and scanned her notes. “Doctor, were you at any point considering ending Ruby Montgomery’s life?”
“No, of course not. It doesn’t happen that often, but cases of remission and even full recovery are out there. If there’s even a sliver of hope, I would never recommend anything as permanent as a managed death.”
“So this was done against your recommendation?”
“Expressly against my recommendation. I never would’ve approved something like this. The fact is that there is a possibility Mrs. Montgomery could’ve survived. Now we’ll never know for sure.”
“Thank you, Doctor. That’s all I had.”
Brigham rose. “You mentioned ‘managed death.’ That’s a term doctors use when they end the life of a patient at the patient’s request, isn’t it?”
“Well, I wouldn’t quite put it in those terms, but yes, that’s the essence. The treating physician administers medication, particularly pain medication, to such a degree that the risk of death increases substantially. It’s an outdated practice and banned in almost every state.”
“Almost, but not quite. It’s legal in Washington, Oregon, Montana, and Vermont. Correct?”
“Yes. It is legal there. But again, we’re talking about managed death under a treating physician. We don’t want to set the precedent that any member of a patient’s family can make the decision to end the patient’s life.”
“See, now I’m confused, because there’s these things called do-not-resuscitate orders. What are those, Doctor?”
“They’re orders given by the patient or their family to not take measures to revive a patient who has gone into a vegetative state or coma before cardiac arrest.”
“So the family can decide whether a DNR order can be signed?”
“Yes.”
“So a family can make decisions about ending the life of their loved ones.”
“In that context with a DNR, yes. But not just willy-nilly.”
“Willy-nilly?” Brigham said, his voice raised. “Are you saying Ted, a man who sat by his wife’s bed for months listening to her scream herself hoarse, decided ‘willy-nilly’ to end her life?”
“No, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“That’s exactly what you meant. You and the detective are so quick to judge him. Have you sat by your wife’s bed while she begged for you to take her life?”
“Objection,” Debra said.
Brigham stepped closer to the witness. “I bet you wouldn’t be using terms like ‘willy-nilly’ to describe your own wife dying of what you described as ‘the most painful cancer there is.’”
“Objection, Your Honor. He is badgering the witness. Not to mention—”
“Badgering a witness that sits up there and says things like ‘willy-nilly’ to describe the most painful decision my client’s ever had to make.”
The judge held up a hand. “Enough, both of you. Mr. Theodore, please stick to what’s relevant, and let’s stay away from conjecture and what the doctor would do in various circumstances.”
Brigha
m paced the space between the attorney tables and the judge’s bench, the anger rising in his guts. The sense of self-righteousness from the detective and doctor was too much. Neither of them could picture himself in that situation, hearing the person he loved begging to die.
“So a DNR says it’s okay for a family to decide when not to revive a patient, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And there’s no question that the family can decide that.”
“No. It only becomes the family’s right if the patient is unconscious or otherwise unable to decide.”
“What if the patient doesn’t want to be resuscitated and the family agrees? That’s gotta be just fine, right? Since both the patient and family agree?”
“Certainly.”
“So under that scenario, it’s just fine, but because my client didn’t sign a piece of paper, it’s murder? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Not reviving and taking affirmative action to end someone’s life are two completely separate things.”
“You ever let someone die who could’ve been revived?”
“Objection, relevance.”
Brigham said, “He just said it’s different. Let’s hear if he actually has done it and so knows the difference.”
“Overruled.”
“Thank you, Judge,” Brigham said. “Now, Doctor, have you ever let someone die who you could’ve saved?”
“Of course I have. Every oncologist has. We follow the directions of the patient and the patient’s family in those circumstances.”
“Did Ruby Montgomery ever ask for you to kill her?”
“Not in a serious manner. She was overwhelmed with pain and would say things hinting about that.”
“Hinting? What do you mean hinting?”
“She would say she wanted it all to be over with, but then the next day, when the pain subsided, she would want to fight. It’s common in patients near death to make such proclamations.”
“Did she come to you and talk to you seriously about ending her life?”
Mercy (A Neon Lawyer Novel Book 2) Page 16