Suzy's Case: A Novel Page 10

  This defense was based on the fact that Connie Cortez was not at the scene when the police arrived. Her name did not appear on the police report, no ambulance was called or came to the scene, and she did not seek emergency room treatment.

  I was not happy about being involved in a case against the daughter of a prestigious federal court judge where the only issue for the jury to determine was whether or not my client was committing insurance fraud. But such is life when you get involved with an HIC.

  My key witness to rebut these allegations was one Maddy Hernandez, the Cortez family babysitter. Maddy testified that on the date of the accident, Connie Cortez showed up at her home as she usually did to drop off her nine-year-old daughter, Melissa. On this day, however, Connie had a large bump and bloody cut in the hairline of her forehead and told Maddy she’d just been in a car accident a half block away.

  The jury obviously believed Connie Cortez and Maddy, which is why I’m here today on the damages part of the trial.

  Last week I put on my neurologist to prove the claim that Connie struck her head as a result of the impact, sustaining a subdural hematoma and brain contusion in the area of her frontal lobe, which resulted in a complete loss of her senses of smell and taste. My neurologist interpreted the brain MRI and circled an area of blackness on the film representing the contusion.

  My ass is getting numb from the pressure of the hard bench so I get up and begin my precross, pacing down the long courthouse hall. I see Maddy walking toward me, carrying a brown paper lunch bag. “Hola, Maddy,” I say. “¿Qué tal? I don’t need you here anymore. The jury believed us, and we won that part of the case last week.”

  “Oh, I know. Qué bueno. But I want to watch. It’s very exciting.”

  As I’m about to respond I see Connie Cortez coming toward me with her daughter in tow. I wait until she pulls up. “Look who we have here as a spectator today, Connie, Maddy.”

  “I know. She insisted on coming,” Connie replies. “She’ll sit in the back with my daughter and won’t interfere. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Let me mull it over for a second.”

  I hear the courtroom door unlock from the inside and the heavy wooden structure opens with a distinctive high-pitched metal-on-metal squeak. The court officer assigned to Judge Dixon’s room sticks his head out. “Hey, youse guys, we’re open for business,” he says with a Brooklyn brogue. “Mr. Wyler, someone called here for you this morning.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “She wouldn’t say.” Then he disappears back behind the squeaky door.

  I turn to my Latin trio. “Maddy, I don’t think it’s a good idea if you come inside since you told the jurors you were only Connie’s babysitter and not really her friend. If the jury sees you here today, when there’s no legal reason for you to be here, they might infer the testimony you gave last week was really motivated by friendship. If they make that inference they may second-guess their verdict on liability and compromise their verdict on damages, giving Connie less money than they otherwise would have given her, and I don’t want that to happen. I know it may sound strange to you, but you never know what a jury is thinking. So it’s better if you stay out here with Connie’s daughter.”

  “Oh, I get chu,” Maddy responds. “I stay outside.”

  Inside the courtroom, I sit at the end of the trial table closest to the jury box and Connie sits in the first row of seats closest to the jury. Ten minutes later, the defense counsel arrives with his people. He takes his place at the far side of the trial table, away from the jury box, his expert radiologist takes a seat right behind him in the first row of seats, and the moneyman from the insurance company who’s been monitoring the trial sits in the back row, far side.

  “What’s up?” I say to defense counsel in a calm, cheery voice.

  “Nothing, Wyler,” defense counsel snorts. “This doctor’s going to sink your case.”

  “Okay,” I respond, unimpressed. “You got a couple of poppy seeds stuck in your teeth and a gob of cream cheese on your tie. You mind if I ask your expert a question?”

  Defense counsel takes his finger out of his mouth. “Is it about this case in any way, shape, or form, Wyler?”

  “Not at all. And please, call me Tug.”

  “Go ahead then, but I’ll be listening.”

  “Thanks, and there’s still a big seed caught between your two front teeth.” He gives me a smirk. He has no idea what’s coming.

  I turn back to the radiologist. “Good morning, Doctor. I hope your trip here was a pleasant one.”

  “Good morning,” the doctor replies. “My trip here was pleasant. Thank you for asking.”

  “Not at all. Being in court can be stressful in and of itself, and the last thing you want to have to start your day is a messy commute.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “Doctor, on my way here this morning I was reading some medical literature on an unrelated matter and I came across a term I’m unfamiliar with. Do you think you could give me a medical definition for the word if I told it to you?”

  “Maybe. What’s the word?”

  “The word is orchiectomy.”

  The doctor smiles knowingly. “Yes, that word pertains to an operation where the surgeon takes off one or both of a man’s testicles.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” I turn back around seemingly satisfied with his superior store of knowledge.

  Defense counsel spends two hours on his direct examination of the radiologist. In sum and substance, the radiologist testifies that the MRI does show evidence of a brain lesion in the frontal lobe, but that the cause, or etiology, of it is remote in time. That, in his expert opinion, Connie Cortez must have sustained some form of head trauma when she was a little girl by falling off the bed or some other traumatic event of the sort that happens to infants and young children. He stated with a reasonable degree of medical certainty that this lesion is in no way from the accident that gave rise to this lawsuit.

  Defense counsel sits down and Judge Dixon looks at me wearily. “Counselor, do you need a break before your cross-examination?” That’s the question judges ask when they think you need time to recover after a witness kills your case. Dixon has just heard testimony that, in the absence of my cross-examination, seems destined to send me and Connie Cortez packing sin dinero.

  “Judge,” I state for all to hear, “if this witness or a member of the jury needs a break, then let’s break. Otherwise, I’m ready to cross-examine the doctor.”

  Judge Dixon inquires, “Does anybody need a break?” All heads shake in the negative, and he looks back at me. “He’s your witness, Mr. Wyler.”

  As I begin to stand up I hear that distinctive high-pitched squeak and jerk my head toward the source, as do the judge, the jury, the court officer, the court clerk, the insurance guy, and the defense counsel. The big wooden door slowly opens and in walks June Williams. Surprise, surprise. She takes care to close the door quietly behind her. We make brief look-away eye contact just before she sits down.

  Judge Dixon addresses June. “Excuse me, miss, do you have any connection with this lawsuit?”

  “No, sir,” June answers. “I’m just a student of the law and would like to observe this trial if that’s okay with Your Honor.” She looks the part in a dark blue pantsuit with a gray pinstripe.

  “You’re more than welcome to stay, then. Civil trials are a matter of public record.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  “If you have any questions after this is over, I would be more than happy to answer them in my chambers.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. I’ll let you know.”

  Judge Dixon addresses me. “He’s your witness, counselor.”

  I get up. “Your Honor, would you mind if I questioned by standing in front of this table?”

  “Stand wherever you want, Mr. Wyler.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” I move around the trial table. I look at the radiologist, we lock eyes, I smirk, he nervousl
y wipes his forehead. My cross begins appearing on my laptop’s screen in real time because it’s plugged into the court reporter’s steno machine. As I do my thing, my questions and his answers would read like this:

  Q: Good morning, Doctor.

  A: Good morning.

  Q: We met a little earlier, did we not, before you took the witness stand?

  A: Yes, we did. Right here in this courtroom.

  Q: You were nice enough to answer a question I had regarding a certain medical definition unrelated to this case.

  A: Yes, I was.

  Q: I’d like to thank you for being kind enough to help me out, given that you are coming into this courtroom today against the interests of my client.

  A: Not a problem at all.

  Q: Now, I think you and I are going to agree on everything here. Would that be okay with you?

  A: That would be fine with me.

  Q: Then let’s start agreeing, shall we?

  A: Fine.

  Q: If I understand your testimony properly, it is your position that there is, in fact, a brain lesion on that MRI, correct?

  A: Correct.

  Q: No issue for these jurors, then—we all agree Connie has a brain lesion, correct?

  A: Correct.

  Q: The location of that brain lesion is in the inferior frontal lobe, correct?

  A: Correct.

  Q: Structures in that area of the frontal lobe translate taste and smell, correct?

  A: Correct.

  Q: A lesion like the one we see on the MRI can be responsible for the loss of the sense of smell, correct?

  A: Yes it can, but sometimes there can be no problems.

  Q: Be patient, Doctor, we’ll get to that.

  A: Okay.

  Q: When there’s a loss of sense of smell, everything tastes like cardboard, correct?

  A: Correct.

  Q: The joys of eating are gone, correct?

  A: Correct.

  Q: Now, it’s your position that this brain lesion is not from the accident of four years ago, but rather from some head trauma Connie must have sustained as an infant, correct?

  A: Correct.

  Q: Can we agree it would be improper for this jury to give Connie money for injuries that are unrelated to this accident?

  A: Well, I’m not a lawyer, but it’s common sense that she should only get money for injuries that are causally related to this accident.

  Q: I couldn’t agree with you more, Doctor. So far you and I have agreed on everything, correct?

  A: Correct.

  Q: Doctor, let’s assume you are right that this brain lesion occurred when Connie was a child, okay?

  A: Okay.

  Q: Doctor, you of course have heard the terms asymptomatic and quiescent as they relate to brain lesions just like the one you see on Connie’s brain MRI?

  A: Yes, of course I have.

  Q: Tell the jurors what this means, in your own words, Doctor.

  A: Someone can have a head trauma, develop a brain lesion like the one we see in Connie’s films, but never have any signs, symptoms, or complaints related to its presence.

  Q: In other words, Doctor, someone can have a brain lesion in the exact location we see in Connie’s films and never have even one single complaint or even know it’s there, correct?

  A: Correct.

  Q: Now, Doctor, can we also agree that the presence of an asymptomatic and quiescent brain lesion predisposes a person to sustaining a greater injury from a subsequent trauma than a person with a healthy brain?

  A: That’s true, too.

  Q: Doctor, have you seen any medical records inclusive of doctors’ office records or hospital records that in any way indicated that Connie Cortez had no sense of smell or taste prior to this accident?

  A: No, I have not.

  Q: So, Doctor, let’s see if we can put this all together for the jurors from your perspective, shall we?

  A: Okay.

  Q: Can we agree that from your perspective Connie Cortez, prior to the accident, had a frontal brain lesion that was asymptomatic and quiescent, predisposed her to injury, and she had full sense of smell and full sense of taste, agreed?

  A: Agreed.

  Q: Since this is your opinion, you must also be of the opinion that the trauma from this accident must’ve aggravated this quiet condition and been a substantial factor in causing Connie’s brain lesion to become symptomatic and causing her to lose her senses of smell and taste, agreed?

  A: Agreed.

  Q: No further questions, Doctor.

  As I walk back to my chair I pretend-cough. Not just any kind of cough, but the fake cough-cough clearly signaling a secret message. As I do so, I say under my breath, but loud enough to be heard by defense counsel, “Orchiectomy, cough-cough; orchiectomy, cough-cough.” His face turns beet red. I look up at the doctor before sitting down and can tell he just realized he was the unwitting patient of a courtroom nut-ectomy.

  Before my duff hits the chair, I hear bang, bang, bang. I look up to see Judge Dixon smashing his gavel on the top of his bench. “Both counsel, in the back to my chambers. Doctor, you wait here. Officer, take the jury into the jury room.” These orders set everyone into motion—that is, everyone except for June, whom the insurance guy just passed on his way out to the hall to report the new developments to the higher-up money guys at his office.

  We get into the back and Judge Dixon immediately takes off his judicial robes and hangs them up. He’s wearing suspenders, button-style. He sits down at his desk, with defense counsel and me seated across from him. He looks at defense counsel. “Go get that insurance guy in here now,” he orders. My adversary hops to it. Dixon and I just look at each other as we sit there. It’s improper for us to have an ex parte conversation, but I know he’s itching to say something to me. He appears angry.

  While we wait I can’t help but notice a long bundle of hair jutting out of Judge Dixon’s nose. I can’t believe I never noticed it before now. Why wouldn’t he clip that? It’s, like, an inch out from the rim of his right nostril and clumped together.

  “What are you staring at, counselor?” Judge Dixon asks curtly.

  “Oh, nothing, judge. Not really focused on anything in particular.”

  “I see.” He begins to twirl his nasal hair between his thumb and finger. I get it now.

  Moments later, my adversary returns with Money Man.

  “Sit down,” Judge Dixon commands. I look over at Money and see he’s got a smidgen of sauerkraut on his suit lapel. It seems these defense guys are sloppy eaters, but more important, it means the hot dog vendor in front of the courthouse is an early riser. Seeing the stain triggers my hunger for a dirty-water dog, which I intend to get just after I settle this case.

  Judge Dixon looks at me. “You plan that?” he asks.

  “I had an outline with two points on it.”

  “That wouldn’t have happened if I had prepared the witness. You’re a lucky man I took to the bench.”

  “I feel lucky about that, Your Honor.”

  Judge Dixon turns to defense counsel and Money. “You know he can’t lose now, right?”

  “Well—” defense counsel sputters.

  “No ‘well’ about it. He can’t lose. His doctor said the accident caused a new brain lesion resulting in the loss of the senses of smell and taste, and your doctor says the accident caused an aggravation of an old asymptomatic brain lesion resulting in the loss of the senses of smell and taste. Game over. The accident caused the loss of the senses of smell and taste. Now that you’ve played, it’s time to pay. I have no alternative but to instruct the jury in my damage charge that they must accept as a matter of law that the accident caused the injury.”

  We spend the next thirty minutes negotiating a settlement in Judge Dixon’s chambers for nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars. For most of that time I am considering whether I’ll order a dog or one of those fat spicy sausages when I get out of there. I decide if it is going to be a dog I’ll get it with
mustard and kraut. If it’s a sausage I’ll get it with mustard and smothered with onions. The judge brings back the court reporter, I bring back Connie Cortez, and we put the settlement on the record.

  Afterward, Connie and I walk into the courtroom from the judge’s chambers. The only person still there is June, right where we left her. She stands up. “So? What happened back there?”

  I look at Connie. “Connie Cortez, this is June Williams. What you two have in common is that both of you came to me from Henry Benson.” They shake hands. “Connie, it’s your settlement, so if you want to discuss it with June that’s fine with me but it’s not my place.”

  Connie turns to June and begins jumping up and down in excitement. “Dios mío, Dios mío. I getting so much money.” They hug like they’ve known each other forever. Connie goes on to tell her how much and what she intends to do with all her money. This can’t be good.

  On our way out of the courtroom I turn to June. “How did you find me?”

  “Yesterday there was a piece of paper with the heading ‘Verdict Sheet’ sitting on the edge of your desk, so I looked at who the judge was. I called the court this morning to verify and here I am.”

  “I see.” That was resourceful.

  I hold open the big, squeaky door for us all and we make our way out. Sitting on a bench ten feet away from the courtroom door is Maddy with Melissa. Connie runs over and hugs her daughter and Maddy. They start shrieking in rapid-fire Spanish, just like Ricky Ricardo when he’s excited with Lucy. This reminds me of Winnie McGillicuddy’s pending motion to dismiss Suzy’s case. I understand enough to know Connie told them about the big money and that she intends to buy a condo in San Juan overlooking the water. I love water views, too. June and I sit down on the bench and wait for them to finish their celebration.

  “Thank you so much,” Connie says to me, finally.

  “Just doing my job, Connie. You deserve the money. Not being able to smell or taste anything is a horrendous injury. I’m glad we settled it because talking about all the foods you can no longer enjoy made me hungry.”

  “Oh, you hungry, abogado?” Maddy asks. “I got something.” She reaches into her little sack and takes out a perfectly square golden piece of cornbread with real corn kernels baked right in. They stick out from the sides, causing my mouth to water. “Here, abogado. You eat this. I bake it myself last night.”