Suzy's Case: A Novel (29 page)

“An uneducated, untrained, and inexperienced temporary nurse who’s only qualified to cook jerk chicken.” June supplies the answer unhesitatingly. “She mixed up the cables. She didn’t actually insert the prong into a wall outlet, but rather into an extension cord that was plugged into a wall outlet rather than the cable for the machine.”

“Okay,” Dr. Laura says. “Then it’s possible, but before I could commit to such a theory, I’d have to be relatively certain that your electrical expert is right. I must also point out Suzy’s acute arrest is also consistent with a sickle cell crisis, unrelated to being electrocuted. It would be hard to distinguish between the two as the causative agent.”

“I’ll get you our electrical expert’s affidavit,” I offer. “If you agree with it, will you support our position on this for now? I need to submit a medical affidavit to the court to prevent the case from being dismissed at this point. If you change your mind later and wish to withdraw from the case, I’ll understand, but for now I just want to avoid the dismissal. Are you open to that?”

Before Dr. Laura can respond, the door unexpectedly flies open.
The momentum and its weight cause her husband to lose hold of his grip, with the door slamming into the doorstop.

“Don’t answer that question, Laura!” he exclaims.

I look at June. “So much for confidentiality.” I turn my attention to the intruder. “Mr. Smith, since you’re in breech of our oral contract, I would like my three hundred eighty-eight dollars and forty-seven cents back, please.”

“I just happened to hear what you were talking about as I was walking by. It’s not like I was eavesdropping or anything.”

“Of course you weren’t. Who would’ve thought that?”

But all of a sudden he changes gear. “Listen, maybe I can be of some help here,” Smith suggests. “Can I see that wire and patch, please?”

“Sure,” I say as I hand it to him, knowing, if need be, I can kick his fat little ass to get it back.

He inspects it. “I know a lot of people in the electrical industry. I used to work for an electrical contractor and engineer before Laura and I met. I’ll have this wire examined by one of my confidants at your cost. If they confirm what you’re saying, then Laura will come forward on your behalf. But I’m not going to let her sign a statement under oath, based on the findings of an electrical expert retained by a plaintiff’s lawyer.”

“Are you questioning my veracity?”

“I’d like this to be looked at by a person with integrity and credibility before Laura changes her position and signs an affidavit, that’s all.”

“Fine. You designate whom you want to look at this and I’ll bring it there personally. But, I might add, our expert does have integrity and credibility. And just make sure your guy’s prepared to perform an impedance test and make sure he has an immunohistological chemical known as CD Orange 45 available, to test the electrode patch for Suzy’s charred flesh. When he’s done, we’ll be in business.”

“Oh no. I’ll take it there myself. I see how you operate. I don’t want my engineer to be intimidated by your presence, similar to what happened here.”

“Mr. Smith, stop fulfilling your own prophecies. No one put
pressure on Dr. Laura. In fact, she didn’t even commit to changing her opinion. As for your taking possession of this wire and patch, that’s not going to happen. I’ve placed a statement on a judicial record indicating I’d keep it in my possession and that’s what I intend to do.”

I get up and take a commanding step toward him. By the look on his face he senses my urgency. As I take my second step, he offers back the wire and patch, palm up. My third step would’ve been up in his pint-sized grill and he knew it.

“I don’t know what’s going on here, Mr. Smith,” I say firmly, “but it’s very unprofessional. I’ll send you a copy of my electrical expert’s affidavit, and after reading it, along with his impeccable qualifications, you can decide if you want your wife to be a part of this case. You’ll have it within the next day or so. I’ll expect an answer immediately.” I turn to Dr. Laura. “By agreeing to be an expert to evaluate this case, you have a duty to June over here and her brain-damaged daughter, Suzy, to carry out your highly compensated obligation in a reasonable and fair manner. Can I count on you to do that?”

Dr. Laura has tears gathering in her eyes, and I have no idea why. I certainly didn’t say anything to induce them. I turn my attention back to her husband without giving Dr. Laura a chance to answer, in hopes of preventing her from breaking down completely. “Mr. Smith,” I continue, “time is not on my side here. If you want out, let me know now and I’ll scramble around for another expert. So what’s it going to be? Do you want to read what my electrical expert has to say, or are you and Dr. Laura bowing out?”

“You’re right,” he concedes. “I’ve been a little overbearing. I don’t want you to take this case away from us if you feel there’s more we need to see to make a proper and educated decision. Please send us the affidavit from your electrical expert and give Laura the chance to evaluate it. There will be no further charges on the matter, either.”

“That’s more like it. Thank you. Come on, June.”

June stands up and looks directly at Dr. Laura. “You’re such a nice woman. How did you end up with a creep like him?” This causes Dr. Laura’s floodgates to open. June steps over and gives her a comforting
embrace much the same way Fred comforted her. Dr. Laura is weeping heavily on June’s shoulders. “There, there. Everything’s okay.” I’ve got to learn how to do that.

Dr. Laura welcomes the embrace as if she’d been in bad need of a hug. After a moment, she gathers herself. “I’m okay now,” she says.

“June’s just emotional about this whole thing,” I tell Smith. “I’m sure you can understand. Please accept her apologies. She didn’t mean it when she called you a creep.”

“I understand,” he responds graciously.

“Thanks.” As I walk by him, I whisper some advice. “Go comfort your wife.” He nods. Then, when June and I reach the door, I stop and turn around. I see Smith holding his wife. It’s an odd visual, since she has to bend down into an awkward position to accept his comfort. “One last thing,” I say, “this should’ve never happened—Suzy being electrocuted, that is. We intend to sue the manufacturer of the cardiac-monitoring machine for putting a dangerous apparatus on the market. Our engineer said this type of foreseeable misuse should’ve been considered and the machine should have been designed in such a way so as to have prevented someone from plugging the prong of the lead wire into a source of live current such as the female receptor of a common extension cord. The prong should have been designed so that it could only fit into the housing for the cable leading into the cardiac monitor itself.”

This manages to open Dr. Laura’s floodgates again. Her husband whispers something in her ear, then releases her with a pat on her back. He looks at us. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.” We leave Dr. Laura’s office and start our journey down the hall as Smith apologizes for his wife’s emotionality.

“We can’t have a breakdown like that occur in court,” I caution, “no matter how sympathetic she is to what happened to Suzy Williams.”

“I assure you it won’t happen. She’s a great witness. I’ve seen her on the stand.” We walk the remainder of the hall in silence until we reach the elevator, then he asks a question. “How does suing the manufacturer of the cardiac monitor work? Do you have to bring a whole other lawsuit?”

“No,” I answer. “I intend to add them as a party to this lawsuit since the claim arose out of the same operative facts. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious as to how it works, that’s all.”

“How do you feel about that? Are you going to have any problems with my suing the manufacturer for any reason? If you are, I want to know about it before we go any further.”

“If it happened the way you say, and if your engineer says it could’ve been prevented but wasn’t because of a design flaw, then I’m fine with it, since they would bear some responsibility.”

“Good answer,” I tell him. I push the down button. “I have a question for you, Mr. Smith. How did your wife get involved in this case as an expert?”

He makes a quizzical face. “I’m not really sure. I’d have to look it up. I had signed my wife up to be a member of a medical-legal review company and it’s possible that was the connection, but I really can’t say for sure.”

“I see. Oh,” I add, “I really need a copy of your wife’s curriculum vitae so I can put down her qualifications in her affidavit should she agree with my engineer.”

“I’ll get that to you and you get to me my eleven dollars and fifty-three cents. Good-bye.”

As we walk toward the car, I reprimand June for insulting the man in front his wife, our would-be expert. “We don’t choose the people we fall in love with. Most of us don’t know what’s good for us in the love department. That’s why we choose what’s familiar or someone we perceive as giving us a sense of security, even if everything else about them is wrong.”

“I guess you’re right,” admits June. “Look at me. My father, even though he loved and cared for me after my mother died, was a badass who got murdered, and I married a man who ended up being a dangerous felon.”

I switch from the love topic. “Dr. Laura was a little too emotional for me.”

“I like the fact she feels for what my baby has been through. She’s a compassionate woman. That’s probably why she works with children.
But there’s something about her that’s familiar that I can’t put my finger on.”

I open the passenger door for her. “Let’s go. Get in.”

“I can get home on my own from here. I want to walk a little and take some time to myself.”

“You sure?” I ask, knowing we’re not too close to her home.

“Certain.”

Without saying a word I shut the door and June starts to walk off. But not with the confident, determined gait I’m used to seeing. She’s kind of wandering in a pensive mode, off on a tangent, deep in thought. Maybe June’s rethinking what she herself just said about our expert—that Dr. Laura “feels” for what Suzy has been through. Maybe she’s thinking about Dr. Laura’s tears and having to give
her
comfort, not the other way around.

I know I am.

L
ily’s packing up to leave when I arrive back at my office. I note the time aloud. “It’s four-thirty.”

“Thanks for the time. Will I need an umbrella?”

“Very funny.”

“You know the deal. Babysitter issues. Got to leave a little early.”

“Fine. Did you do those things I emailed you about earlier?”

“What things?”

“Lily, tell me you’re kidding,” I say testily.

“I am. Did it. On your desk for review. Bye.”

I know after all these years her work needs no review, but I look at it anyway. It’s perfect like always, which is one of the reasons why I put up with her attitude. I also put up with it because it keeps things spicy around here. Besides, she’s the sexiest woman on Park Avenue South and I love to look at her. At least I admit it.

When I handled my first HIC case, Henry was intimately involved in the matter all along the way. I guess he wanted to make sure he’d chosen the right guy to take over his injured criminals. Since then we’ve rarely had contact. He simply expects me to do what I do best and to send him a check for 50 percent of the attorney’s fee. When I do call him, it’s mostly to find out information that should be contained in a file but isn’t and that he may remember.

I had Lily go through Suzy’s files to see how contact was first made with Dr. Laura Smith. She left me a Post-it, the gist of which is that the
file’s silent on the issue and to go through it myself next time. I need to call Henry to see if he remembers, because I find it odd that a doctor would agree to review a medical malpractice case against a hospital three blocks from her office.

I dial Henry’s cell. He picks up on the third ring. “Benson here,” he answers casually. He’s the poster boy for men over sixty who haven’t lost their cool. I’m certain he and Fred Sanford would hit it off big.

“Henry, it’s me.”

“Me who?” I attempt a response but am cut off. “Oh, that me. Make it quick. I’m eating a piece of pumpkin pie at the diner on 125th Street. Go ahead. I’m listening. Do we have an offer on one of my cases? Remember, I have the last say on the money.”

“Henry, I know you have the last say, and no, I don’t have an offer on any of your cases. Won’t the big fee from the nine fifty I told you about on Cornbread Connie be enough to hold you over?”

“Cornbread? I’m eating pumpkin pie, not cornbread.”

“Never mind. Look, I’m calling to discuss the Suzy Williams case.”

“Give me a few facts to refresh my recollection.”

“Henry, you’re pulling my leg, right? This is the case of the little girl with sickle cell disease you handed me the other day. Your verbal was that there is no case, remember?”

“Recollection refreshed when you said the word
sickle
. Are you getting us out gracefully yet? I don’t want any more complaints against me with the Office of Professional Conduct.”

I give a long pause before answering, the kind of pause you give someone on the other end of the phone line where you want to trick them into thinking the connection’s been broken. A few seconds in I hear Henry’s voice. “Hello, hello. You there?”