Until the Final Verdict (23 page)

“D
OCTOR, BEFORE LUNCH YOU AGREED
that the defendant knew CPR wouldn't save Doctor Simmons because of conversations you had with her. In what context did those conversations occur?”

“District Attorney Benton's death.”

“And Doctor Robert Simmons' alleged involvement in that death?”

“Yes.”

“Did you explain to the defendant how much digitalis it takes to kill someone almost instantly?”

“Yes.”

“Did you explain to the defendant
how
to administer digitalis?”

“Yes.”

“So, you agree with me that the defendant knew
exactly how to administer a fatal digitalis overdose without Doctor Simmons' knowledge, and make it look like he died of a heart attack?”

“Yes but—”

“You answered the question, Doctor. The morgue is in the basement of County General Hospital, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Does the defendant ever visit you there, either for professional or personal reasons?”

“Yes.”

“For both reasons, at various times?”

“Yes.”

“Frequently?”

“Excuse me?”

“Does the defendant visit you at the morgue frequently?”

“Define ‘frequently.' ”

“On average, more often than once a year?”

“Yes.”

“More than once a month?”

“Yes.”

“Once a week?”

“On average, I'd say more often than that.”

“Several times a week on average, then, correct?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“When the defendant visits the morgue, is she restricted to a particular area?”

“Of course not.”

“Sometimes the defendant goes into your private office?”

“Yes.”

“The defendant is familiar with the operation of your facility, right?”

“Yes.”

“She knows where you store things?”

“Probably.”

“Do you store drugs in your office at the morgue?”

“Sometimes.”

“When?”

“When drugs are involved in a death, I acquire a quantity of the suspected compound for testing purposes.”

“Do you lock those drugs up in a safe?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“There's no one to bother them. I don't get a lot of visitors.”

“But didn't you say the defendant frequently visited the morgue, sometimes for personal purposes?”

Nelson glanced quickly at Kathryn. “Yes.”

On a scrap of paper, Kathryn scribbled, “I know where he's going—I'm screwed!” and slid it over to Griffith, who read it and nodded.

“After ex-DA Benton was murdered, did you obtain a quantity of digitalis for testing?”

“Yes.”

“Did the defendant know you had obtained the digitalis?”

“Yes.”

“How did she know?”

“I told her.”

“Was it a large quantity?”

“Yes.”

“Enough to kill Doctor Simmons if someone administered it to him?”

“Yes.”

“Doctor, do you still have the supply of digitalis you acquired for testing purposes after ex-DA Benton was murdered, that you told the defendant was in your office?”

For the first time, Nelson broke eye contact and looked down. “No.”

“Did you dispose of it?”

“No.”

“What happened to it?”

“It disappeared from my office.”

“When?”

“I don't know exactly.”

“No further questions.”

J
UDGE
K
EEFE TURNED
to the defense table. “It's four-thirty. Maybe we should break for the day so you can cross-examine Doctor Nelson first thing tomorrow morning.”

“One moment.” Griffith leaned toward Kathryn. “It'll do more harm than good to cross-examine Nelson. I'm going to waive cross but reserve the right to call him as a witness when we put on our defense.”

“We don't have a defense. If you let his last answer stand, the jurors will go home tonight convinced I stole the digitalis from the morgue and murdered Simmons with it. Ask him something.”

“What? I just got blindsided with the stolen digitalis.”

“I'm paying you to defend me. If you can't figure out what questions to ask a witness, I'll replace you with someone who can.”

Griffith stared at her, then stood.

“I have only a few questions, Your Honor.” He walked slowly to the podium. “Good afternoon, Doctor.”

Nelson smiled, first at Kathryn, then at the jury. “Good afternoon, Mr. Griffith.”

“Doctor Nelson, how many deputy coroners work for you?”

“Three.”

“You contract with independent pathologists to perform autopsies when you're away on business or vacation?”

“Yes.”

“Do they have keys to the morgue?”

“Yes.”

“Same with the deputy coroners?”

“Yes, they have keys, too.”

“How many lab technicians work for you?”

“Two.” Nelson crossed his right leg over his left and leaned back in the chair.

“Do they have keys?”

“Yes. I work odd hours and am not always available when they need to get in.”

“Do the pathologists, deputy coroners, and lab technicians work alone in the morgue?”

“Yes.”

“On the occasions that you keep drugs in the morgue, do you lock the door to your private office?”

Nelson shook his head. “The door doesn't have a lock.”

“So, you'd agree with me, Doctor, that in your absence anyone could have entered your office and removed the digitalis?”

“Yes.”

“You didn't see Kathryn take the digitalis, did you, Doctor?”

“Absolutely not!”

“It could have been just about anybody?”

“Yes.”

“And, as you previously testified, you don't know when it disappeared from your office, correct?”

“That's correct.”

Griffith turned. “Thank you, no further questions.”

Keefe looked at the prosecution table. “Redirect?”

McCaskill stood but remained at the table. “Just a couple of questions. If the pathologists or lab techs wanted to get their hands on a large amount of digitalis, they wouldn't need to rummage around in your office hoping to find some, because they have access to digitalis through their jobs, isn't that correct?”

“Yes.”

“But the defendant wouldn't, right?”

“I don't know.”

“Nonmedical personnel wouldn't, though, right?”

“No.”

“Doctor, did the pathologists, deputy coroners, or lab techs know you had a supply of digitalis in your office?”

“No.”

“But the defendant knew, right?”

“I already said I told her.”

“So you did. You have no reason to believe any of the pathologists or lab techs who work for you took that digitalis, do you?”

“No.”

“Given what you know today, only the defendant could have taken the digitalis, right?”

“I don't believe that.”

“I admire your devotion to your friend, Doctor Nelson, but it is probable she took the digitalis, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“No further questions.” McCaskill turned to Keefe. “The People rest, Your Honor.”

Griffith shoved his papers into his briefcase and slammed it shut. “I should've left well enough alone!”

“I'm sorry for what I said, Roger, I didn't mean it. I'm just scared. Please don't be angry with me.”

He sat beside her and put his hand on her forearm. “I'm not angry at you, Kathryn, I'm angry at myself. You aren't thinking straight—hell, under the circumstances, who can blame you. But I'm conducting the defense, and I should know better. I had no business crossing Nelson. I caved in against my better judgment, and my client—you—suffered for my bad judgment.”

“Nelson killed me, didn't he? Literally.”

“It's not over until the final verdict is in.”

“I watched the jurors. The final verdict
is
in and it's not an acquittal, or life without parole.”

“Kathryn—if you want a new lawyer, I understand. I'll move for mistrial on the basis of incompetency of counsel, buy you some time.”

“I know you're not incompetent, but I don't want more time in jail, and I don't want you to move for a mistrial.”

“What
do
you want me to do?”

“Grant me the favor I asked of you.”

“S
IT DOWN BEFORE YOU PASS OUT.
”

Granz motioned to the old institutional metal chair in front of Lieutenant Aldridge's cluttered desk in the jail's office.

“Bad day.”

Griffith dropped his briefcase to the floor, flung his suit coat at the rack, loosened his tie, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Got a fuckin' Excedrin headache, too, but no Excedrin.”

Granz pulled a bottle of Tylenol PM from the center drawer and tossed it across the desk. “Looks like you need the rest.”

“Thanks, Dave, I haven't slept well all week.”

Griffith took four pills. “You visiting Kathryn tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“When you leave, put her on suicide watch.”

Granz stared. “I thought Nelson testified today.”

“He did, unfortunately.” Griffith massaged his eyelids hard with his fingertips.

“That bad?”

“Worse.” He described Nelson's testimony. “Kathryn's convinced the jury's gonna convict.”

“What do you think?”

Griffith pulled a new half-pint of Wild Turkey out of his briefcase, twisted the top to break the stamp, took a swig, and gagged. “I think she's right.”

Granz frowned. “I didn't know you drank.”

“I don't. Bought this on a whim, but it tastes like piss.”

He screwed the top back on and handed it to Granz. “Toss it in the trash.”

“Why do you think Kate needs to be watched?”

“After Nelson testified, she asked me to help her kill herself when she's convicted.”

“Jesus Christ, Roger! You wouldn't do that, would you?”

“She'll spend fifteen years on death row waiting to be executed. Meanwhile, neither you nor Emma can get on with your lives. I might help if it comes to that.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Granz lifted the minicassette from his shirt pocket and handed it to Griffith. “Besides, maybe it doesn't have to come to that.”

“What's this?”

“McCaskill interviewed the stewardess three days
before he was appointed DA. Flashed some Mickey Mouse badge, told her he was from the Sheriff's office. Didn't know she recorded it.”

“You've listened to it?”

“Yeah.” Granz shrugged. “No Perry Mason breakthrough, but it might open a crack you can stick your foot in.”

“Wide enough to create reasonable doubt as to Kathryn's guilt?”

Granz shook his head. “Probably not.”

“Enough to sway the jury against the death penalty?”

“You may be able to argue ‘lingering doubt' as a circumstance in mitigation. Listen to it yourself, then decide.”

“The stew's willing to testify?”

“Yeah. After I listened to the tape, I called her in Calgary. She flew back to Vancouver. She's standing by at the airport's Hilton.”

Griffith dropped the tape into his briefcase, then put on his coat. “I'm headed back to my office. I'll listen to the tape on the way. If you're right that it helps, she'll be my first defense witness. Shit, she'll be my only defense witness.”

“You want me to call her, have her hop the next flight to SFO?”

“Yes, just in case. What've we got to lose?”

Granz picked up the phone and started dialing. “Not a damn thing.”