"What about just subpoenaing old Doc Olstein himself and getting to the bottom of this in a hurry?"
"No, let's take it one step at a time," Tod disagreed. "I want to see what's in those records first. Get going. I'll call you on your cell phone at the lunch break to see what's up."
Wayne disappeared out the door and ran down the stairs. As he left the building, he saw Victoria Burton going through the metal detector. He tried to ignore her.
"Hey, Wayne," she said. "You're going the wrong way. Has Ruby put things off for the morning?"
"No, Victoria. Tod forgot something back at the office and I'm going back to pick it up. See you later."
Puzzling, thought Victoria. Tod wouldn't be sending Wayne back to the office. That would have been Marilyn's job. Either that or he would have called someone to bring the forgotten item to them. She filed the puzzle away in her mind, took her briefcase and purse from the x-ray belt and waited for the elevator to take her to the courtroom.
Wayne got to his car, placed the cell phone in its cradle, and drove to the old Harris County courthouse. He double parked in his usual courthouse parking lot and left the keys with the attendant. For some reason it seemed that every lawyer in town had to file something or have a subpoena issued. He fidgeted in line for half an hour before getting to the counter where a gum popping eighteen-year-old girl asked what she could do for him. He explained his mission and she began completing the form. The process bogged down when she got to the part that asked for the address of this witness. He didn't know anything other than that the doctor lived and worked in San Augustine.
It was too late to call Dr. Moyo who by now would be in the courtroom. Further, he didn't want to go back to his car where he could make a long distance call. When the clerk refused to issue the subpoena without an address, Wayne did what any good lawyer would do. He made one up. Fumbling in his shirt pocket he pulled out a crumpled laundry receipt, saying, "Oh, here it is.
He's at four-fifty-eight Oak, San Augustine, Texas, 77999."
As Wayne grabbed the subpoena and left the clerk's office, he was relieved that the media weren't around. When he arrived at the parking lot, he paid the attendant, got into his car and made his way to the downtown entrance to U.S. 59, the main highway through East Texas.
***
There was anticipation at the courthouse. In the jury room, the jurors speculated about Tod's first witness. Alfred Totman got it right when he predicted that it would be an obstetrician. However, Joshua Ferrell won the Johnny Bob pot when he predicted the lawyer would wear his red suspenders. The reporters and spectators also were buzzing as they awaited the command from the bailiff. They, too, were debating Tod's first move. Others were talking about the strengths and weaknesses of Johnny Bob's case.
One of the few spectators who remained silent was Mr. Buschbahm. He respected Tod's ability and hoped that he could pull a big white rabbit out of a hat and carry the day. He always rooted for the home team, and in this case Tod and Jan headed that team. As he eyed those assembled below him, he saw Dr. Moyo hurrying down the stairs, then noticed that Wayne was not in the courtroom.
The bailiff gave the order and Judge O'Reilly walked briskly to her bench. Once again she surveyed the scene and smiled at the camera. Jan noticed that her hair had taken on a different shade of red some time during the past two weeks. Turning to Tod and Jan, Judge O'Reilly asked, "Are you ready to proceed with your case?"
Tod answered, "Yes, Your Honor. We'll be calling Dr. David Patterson as our first witness."
By now, the jurors and spectators were accustomed to the procedure. Everyone looked to the top of the auditorium where a bailiff opened one of the doors and the man or woman of the hour entered. David Patterson seemed to belong on the back of a horse on a ranch in West Texas. In fact, raising quarter horses was his passion when he wasn't delivering babies. In his fifties, he was a lean and muscular six feet. His hair was already white and his face was lined with wrinkles. It was the sparkle in his emerald green eyes and deep tan that gave him away as a man who was much younger than his years. As he entered the auditorium, he smiled at those assembled and then took the stairs two at a time. Without waiting for direction, he skipped the last step and planted both feet on the floor of auditorium and said, "Good Morning, Judge O'Reilly."
"Good morning to you, Dr. Patterson. If you'll raise your right hand to be sworn, I'll do the honors and then you can take a seat."
Dr. Patterson took the witness stand and, again without being prompted smiled to the jury box and said, "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen."
"Good morning, Doctor," thirteen jurors replied.
This guy is something else, Johnny Bob thought. He hasn't been asked one question and already has the jurors eating out of his hand. Probably every one of the women on the jury, and maybe even the judge, will be switching gynecologists as soon as this thing is over.
Tod began. "Dr. Patterson, would you tell the jury about your profession, education, training and current employment?"
"My name's David Patterson. I'm an obstetrician and gynecologist. I grew up in Houston. Went to the University of Texas in Austin on a baseball scholarship and played shortstop when I wasn't studying. I really hoped that I would be a major league baseball player, but discovered that while my skills were good enough for college ball, they weren't going to take me to the major leagues. I decided I better look for another career and stayed an extra year in Austin, taking more science courses. With that additional year I was able to get into medical school at Texas Tech. After graduating, I did my residency at the U.C.L.A. affiliated hospitals in Los Angeles. Three years in California was enough and I was ready to come back home. I accepted an appointment as an assistant professor at the University of Texas Medical School. That was twenty years ago. Now, I'm a full professor. I also see private patients along with my teaching."
"Doctor, there's a medical textbook, called Patterson on Obstetrics. Is that you?"
"Mr. Duncan, sorry, but I can't take that much credit. My uncle wrote the first edition of that book over fifty years ago. However, I am pleased to say that I am one of the five editors of that text. We update it and put out a new edition every few years. I hope the editorial board selected me as one of the editors because of my abilities, not because of my name."
"Doctor Patterson, I've asked you to review the medical records in this case, haven't I?"
"You have, Mr. Duncan."
"Based on that review, Doctor, was Dr. Moyo's care of Lucy Brady negligent?"
"No, sir. It was not. If I may explain, first of all, Dr. Moyo is extremely well trained in our field. What you have to understand is that medicine is not perfect. There are risks and complications in any procedure that are out of the control of even the best of doctors. What happened to Lucy Brady could have happened no matter who performed the procedure."
"But, what about how sick Lucy got, Doctor? Doesn't that tell us that Dr. Moyo must have done something wrong?"
"Of course not. You can't say in medicine that just because there's a bad result that the doctor did something wrong. If the jury has seen the consent form that she signed, then they know that it contains at least twenty known risks, including severe bleeding, infection and even the possibility of death."
Tod pulled the consent form from the stack of exhibits and took his time in going over the known risks and complications, asking the doctor to explain how each of them could occur without negligence. By the time he got through the list, the judge called for the morning break. Tod and Dr. Moyo disappeared down the hallway to their room as if to go over the expert's testimony. As soon as they closed the door, Tod flipped open his cell phone and punched in Wayne's number. As soon as he heard his phone ring, Wayne knew who it was.
"Subpoena service hot line. We serve subpoenas in the daytime and deliver pizzas at night. How can I help you?"
"Okay, Wayne, cut out the comedy," Tod replied. "Where are you?"
"Got tied up in the hassle at the courth
ouse, Tod. I'm just barely out of Houston, passing through lovely downtown New Caney."
"You got the subpoena, though?"
"Sure. No sweat. I did have to invent an address for Dr. Olstein before the clerk would issue it. If Dr. Moyo's there, ask him if he got Olstein's address."
After a short conference, Tod returned to the phone, "He says that it's 914 Bayou Street. Ask directions when you get there. I'll give you a call at the lunch break."
As the proceedings resumed after the break, Tod got Dr. Patterson to explain the importance of antibiotics in preventing infection. He confirmed that the problem that Lucy had in throwing up the antibiotic on the night of the abortion played a very significant role in her subsequent illness.
"Doctor, in studying the voluminous records from Lucy's stay at Hermann Hospital, can you tell the jury whether, in your opinion, Lucy will be able to conceive and bear children in the future?"
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have read every page of those records. While Lucy had a stormy time at Hermann and even came close to death, she made it. Her ovaries are intact. Her uterus appears to be in at least average condition. She, by the way, was quite fortunate that the doctors did not have to do a hysterectomy. I can see no medical reason why she can't get pregnant and have children."
***
Wayne arrived in San Augustine a little after noon. He stopped at a service station and asked the attendant how to get to Bayou Street.
"Who you looking for on Bayou Street?" the attendant questioned the tall stranger dressed in a dark suit and yellow tie, certainly not standard attire in San Augustine.
"Looking for Doc Olstein's office. You know him?"
"Sure, son, everyone in town does. He's been practicing here near fifty years. Go up here two blocks and take a right. That's Bayou. He'll be down on the left about four blocks. He's got a house there. His clinic is on the first floor and he lives above it." Looking at his watch, the man continued, "You won't find anybody there now. Doc closes for two hours, sometimes three at lunchtime. He'll either be upstairs asleep or he's gone over to Toledo Bend Lake to see if the bass are biting. His nurse, Cary Ann, goes home for lunch."
Wayne thanked him and followed the directions to Dr. Olstein's office. What he found was an old frame house, two stories, with a wide veranda on three sides. Giant oak trees filled the yard. Their limbs overhung the house, the sidewalk and formed a canopy over the street where they met similar trees from the house across the way. The street in front of the house was deserted, a pretty clear sign that the clinic was closed. Wayne got out of his car, walked up the sidewalk and mounted the stairs to the front door. A small sign on the door read "Wallace Olstein, M.D." Wayne rang the doorbell and waited. No one appeared. He knocked loudly and no one came.
Responding to a rumble in his stomach, Wayne got in his car and started driving. Like every other small town in Texas, this one must have a Dairy Queen. He just had to find it. A hamburger and fries would suit him just fine. Then, the phone rang.
"Hey, boss, I'm looking for a Dairy Queen. You want me to bring you anything?"
"All right. Tell me why you're looking for a Dairy Queen and not serving our subpoena."
"No choice, Tod. I got here at lunchtime. Our favorite San Augustine doctor's office is closed till two o'clock. I'm stuck."
"Dammit. I want that record. All right. We're on a lunch break here. Grab your sandwich to go and get back over there. I want you camped on that guy's steps when someone gets back."
"You got it, boss. I'll even leave off the onions so I won't offend anyone around here."
Wayne found the Dairy Queen and in twenty minutes he sat on the steps of the old house, hamburger in one hand and large Coke in the other. It wasn't long before he discovered that there was life on Bayou Street. Probably attracted by the smell of Wayne's lunch, an old black Labrador Retriever moseyed around the corner of the porch and camped on the sidewalk three feet in front of the steps where Wayne sat. He didn't bark. He merely sat and stared at Wayne, occasionally smacking his lips. Wayne slowly ate his hamburger and stared back for about a minute, then succumbed.
"Okay, I'll share my fries with you, but forget about getting any of my hamburger." Wayne was positive that he saw the old dog smile. He pulled the bag of French fries out of the sack and stuck a long one in front of his snout. The dog took it very gently between his lips and gulped. Next please. One at a time, Wayne started feeding him the fries as he finished his hamburger. Down to the last bite, he decided the old dog deserved it more than he did. They shared the remainder of the fries until Wayne said, "Sorry, old fellow. All gone."
The dog remained seated for another five minutes and then disappeared around the corner of the house. "Enjoyed lunch," Wayne hollered after him. "Drop in any time."
Wayne hadn't seen the last of the dog. When he returned, the dog had a Frisbee in his mouth and dropped it at the feet of his new friend.
"Okay, Bowser, I figured you'd be ready for a nap after lunch. If you want to play, you've just found one of the best Frisbee-tossers in the whole great state of Texas. Let's just see how good you are."
Wayne launched the Frisbee among the trees and the dog took off, looking as if he had dropped at least ten years from his age as he tracked the Frisbee's flight and leaped nearly four feet off the ground to catch it. Wayne was impressed. Thirty minutes later he said, "Okay, you win. You wore me out."
Bowser seemed to understand as he mounted the steps and curled up in the shade of the porch and promptly fell asleep. Wayne looked at his watch and saw that it was approaching two o'clock. So just where was Cary Ann, anyway? As if on cue, an old Ford Taurus turned into the gravel driveway, driven by a heavyset woman in her late forties. As she got out of her car, she saw Wayne starting to get up from his seat on the steps.
"You here to see Dr. Olstein? I don't remember that he had an appointment at two this afternoon. He's over at the lake fishing. Probably won't be back till later on."
"No, ma'am. I'm not really looking for Doc Olstein. Name's Wayne Littlejohn. I'm from Houston and I've got a subpoena for you." As he spoke, he handed her the piece of paper.
"Subpoena for what?" the woman asked with irritation in her voice as she took it and mounted the stairs to the front door.
"If you're Cary Ann, I suspect you're the one I'm looking for. We just need some medical records on one of Dr. Olstein's patients."
As she unlocked the door, Cary Ann turned and said, "Well, you look here, Mr. Wayne whatever your last name is. Like most clinics, we're accustomed to providing medical records in lawsuits. Folks around here always give us a little notice so I can find the records and have Dr. Olstein look at them before we turn them over. You just call back in the morning and I'll give you a time when you can come back next week and get these records."
Frustrated, Wayne raised his voice, "I'm afraid you don't understand, ma'am. We're in trial in Houston on a case right now. That subpoena actually requires you to bring those records to Houston tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. You can either do that or you can just turn them over to me now. If you don't want to give them to me, I'll see you in Houston in the morning or have a sheriff up here for you in the afternoon. Your choice."
Cary Ann frowned at the young man in front of her and finally responded. "Well, you don't have to get so huffy about it. Come on in. I'll see what I can find. What's this patient's name, anyway?"
Relieved, Wayne replied, "Brady, Lucy Baines Brady. My guess is that she's been here in the last few months, no more than six."
Cary Ann looked at the subpoena to confirm the name and then walked into the next room where there were rows of metal shelves crammed with patient records. It looked as if Dr. Olstein had the first record on the first patient that he ever saw.
"Let's see, Brady, Brady, Brady," Cary Ann said to herself. "Got some Bradys here, but no Lucy Baines Brady. You sure you got the right doctor? There are some others here in town."
Wayne was dismayed as well as dumfounded. "Cary Ann, I
'm sure this is the right place. Maybe her record is on the doctor's desk or maybe misfiled."
"Not misfiled. I can tell you that. I do all the filing and I don't put files in the wrong place. I'll go look on the doctor's desk."
The nurse returned almost immediately. "Nope, not there. Sorry."
Wayne resorted to pleading. "Look, Cary Ann, if I don't go back to Houston with that chart, I'll get fired. Isn't there any place else to look?"
Cary Ann eyed Wayne, weighing something in her mind. "Well, there are certain procedures that Dr. Olstein does where he keeps the files locked up in a cabinet in his office. I suppose that I could look there. Let me find the key."
She rummaged around in her top desk drawer and retrieved a small key, then disappeared into the doctor's office. She returned in less than a minute with a smile on her face. "Found it. I'll make a copy of the chart. It'll cost you a quarter a page."
Wayne couldn't hide his excitement. "Cary Ann, if you said it was a hundred dollars a page, I'd write you out a check."
"Don't tempt me, young man," she replied. "Twenty-five cents is just fine."
Cary Ann went to the back of the house to a copy machine. Wayne followed her to make sure that she copied every page and paid her two dollars and seventy-five cents. Thanking Cary Ann, he rushed out the door, leaped the five porch steps and landed on the sidewalk, waking up Bowser who barked a goodbye.
As soon as he got to the car, he opened the file and began to read. His eyes grew big and a smile erupted on his face. "Well, I'll be a son of a bitch. Wait till Tod sees this."
CHAPTER 75
"Doctor Patterson, I'm J. Robert Tisdale from up at Palestine," Johnny Bob began in his best country boy manner. "You know about clinics and their procedures, don't you?"
So Help Me God Page 45