"Whoa," Jack said with yet another shake of his head. "Not good!"
"Not good at all. Craig managed to present himself as an arrogant, uncaring M.D. who was more interested in getting to Symphony Hall on time with his sex object than doing what was right for his patient. It was exactly what Randolph told him not to do."
Jack sat up straight. "So what is Randolph doing on cross-examination?"
"Attempted damage control would be the best description. He's trying to rehabilitate Craig on each individual issue, from the PP, problem patient, designation all the way to the events that happened on the night Patience Stanhope died. When you came in, Craig was testifying to the difference between Patience's condition when he arrived at the home and the description he'd gotten from Jordan Stanhope on the phone. Randolph had already made sure that Craig told the jury that he did not say Patience Stanhope was having a heart attack when he was speaking with Jordan, but rather it was something that had to be ruled out. Of course, that was in contradiction to what Jordan had said during his testimony."
"Did you get any sense of how the jury was responding to Craig's testimony during the cross as compared with the direct?"
"They seem more impassive now than before, but that may be just my pessimistic perception. I'm not optimistic after Craig's performance on direct. Randolph has a real uphill struggle ahead of him. He told me this morning that he's going to ask Craig to tell his life's story to counter Tony's character assassination."
"Why not," Jack said. Even though he wasn't all that enthusiastic, he felt a rekindling of sympathy for Alexis and wanted to be supportive. As they returned to their seats in the courtroom, he wondered how a finding for the plaintiff would affect Alexis's relationship with Craig. Jack had never championed their union, from the first time he'd met Craig some sixteen years previously. Craig and Alexis had met while in training at the Boston Memorial Hospital and had come as houseguests to Jack's home while they were engaged. Jack had found Craig insufferably self-centered and one-dimensionally oriented toward medicine. But now that Jack had had a chance to see them together in their own environment, despite the current, difficult circumstance, he could see that they complemented each other. Alexis's very mildly histrionic and dependent character, which had been much more apparent as a child, melded well with Craig's more serious narcissism. In a lot of ways, from Jack's perspective, they complemented each other.
Jack settled back and got himself as comfortable as he could under the circumstances. Randolph was standing stiffly erect at the podium, exuding his normal blue-blooded resplendence. Craig was in the witness box, leaning slightly forward, his shoulders rounded. Randolph 's voice was crisply articulate, melodic, and slightly sibilant. Craig's was vapid, as if he'd been in an argument and was now exhausted.
Jack felt Alexis's hand insinuate itself between his elbow and his side and then move forward to grab his hand. He squeezed in return, and they exchanged a fleeting smile.
"Dr. Bowman," Randolph intoned. "You've wanted to be a doctor since you were given a toy doctor's kit at age four and proceeded to administer to your parents and older brother. But I understand there was a particular event in your childhood that especially firmed this altruistic career choice. Would you tell the court about this episode."
Craig cleared his throat. "I was fifteen years old and in tenth grade. I was a manager for the football team. I'd tried to make the team but didn't, which was a big disappointment for my father, since my older brother had been a star player. So I was the manager, which was nothing more than the water boy. During the timeouts, I ran onto the field with a bucket, ladle, and paper cups. During a home game, one of our players was hurt and a time-out was called. I dashed onto the field with the bucket, but as I drew near I could see the injured player was a friend of mine. Instead of carrying my bucket to the huddle of players, I ran to my friend. I was the first one from the sidelines to get to him, and what I confronted was disturbing. He had badly broken his leg such that his cleated foot stuck off in a markedly abnormal direction, and he was writhing in agony. I was so struck by his need and my inability to help him that I decided on the spot that not only did I want to become a doctor, I had to become a doctor."
"That is a heartrending story," Randolph said, "and stirring because of your immediate compassionate impulse and the fact that it motivated you to follow what was to be a difficult path. Becoming a doctor was not easy for you, Dr. Bowman, and that al-truistic urge you so eloquently described had to be strong indeed to propel you over the obstacles you faced. Could you tell the court something of your inspiring Horatio Alger story?"
Craig perceptively straightened in the witness chair.
"Objection," Tony shouted, getting to his feet. "Immaterial."
Judge Davidson took off his reading glasses. "Counsels, approach the bench."
Dutifully, Randolph and Tony congregated to the judge's right.
"Listen!" Judge Davidson said, pointing his glasses at Tony. "You made character a centerpiece of the plaintiff's case. I allowed that, over Mr. Bingham's objection, with the proviso you established foundation, which I believe you did. What's good for the goose is good for the gander. The jury has every right to hear about Dr. Bowman's motivations and training. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Your Honor," Tony said.
"And furthermore, I don't want to hear a flurry of objections in this regard."
"I understand, Your Honor," Tony said.
Tony and Randolph retreated to their original spots, with Tony at the plaintiff's table and Randolph at the podium.
"Objection overruled," Judge Davidson called out for the court recorder's benefit. "Witness may proceed to answer the question."
"Do you recall the question?" Randolph asked.
"I should hope so," Craig said. "Where should I begin?"
"At the beginning would be appropriate," Randolph said. "I understand you did not get parental support."
"At least not from my father, and he ruled the house with an iron fist. He was resentful of us kids, particularly me, since I wasn't the football or hockey prodigy like my older brother, Leonard Junior. My father thought I was a 'candy ass,' and told me so on multiple occasions. When my browbeaten mother let it slip that I wanted to be a doctor, he said it would be over his dead body."
"Did he use those exact terms?"
"Absolutely! My father was a plumber who was dismissive of all professionals, which he labeled as a collective bunch of thieves. There was no way he wanted a son of his to become part of such a world, especially since he never finished high school. In fact, to the best of my knowledge, no one in my family on either side went to college, including my own brother, who ended up taking over my father's plumbing business."
"So your father wasn't supportive of your academic interests."
Craig laughed mirthlessly. "I was a closet reader as a youngster. I had to be. There were occasions on which my father whacked me around when he caught me reading instead of doing things around the house. When I got report cards, I had to hide them from my father and have my mother sign them secretly because I got all A's. With most of my friends, it was the other way around."