"Actually, I was asking your opinion of how Randolph orchestrated the part of the cross-examination we heard."
"Unfortunately, I don't think it was as effective as I would have hoped. It made Craig sound too preachy, like he was giving a lecture. I would have preferred the whole cross to have been punchy and direct, like it was at the end."
"I thought Randolph 's cross was pretty effective," Jack said. "I never realized Craig was such a self-made man. Working as hard as he did at gainful employment while going to medical school and still getting the grades he did is very impressive."
"But you're a doctor, not a juror, and you didn't hear Tony's direct. Craig might have struggled as a student, but from the juror's perspective, it's hard to have sympathy now that Craig and I are living in what is probably closer to being a four-million-dollar home, and Tony was very clever on his redirect, the way he brought back Craig's negative feelings about the patient, the red Porsche, the girlfriend, and the fact that he had to forsake many of his old patients."
Jack reluctantly nodded. He had been struggling to look on the bright side for Alexis's benefit. He tried a different tack: "Well, now it's Randolph 's turn in the sun. It's time for the defense to shine."
"I'm afraid there's not going to be much sunshine. All Randolph is going to do is present two or three expert witnesses, none of whom are from Boston. He said he'll be finished this afternoon. Tomorrow will be the summations." Alexis shook her head dejectedly. "Under the circumstances, I don't see how he could turn this thing around."
"He's an experienced malpractice attorney," Jack said, attempting to generate enthusiasm he didn't feel. "Experience generally prevails in the final analysis. Who knows. Maybe he has a surprise up his sleeve."
Jack didn't realize he was half-right. There was to be a surprise, but it wasn't going to come from Randolph 's sleeve.
18
"Magazines?" the waif-like young woman questioned. Jack thought she was no more than ninety pounds, yet she was walking a half dozen dogs ranging in size from a gray Great Dane down to a small bichon frise. A clutch of clear plastic poop bags stuck out of her jeans' back pocket. Jack had stopped her after following his established route back down through the Beacon Hill neighborhood. He had it in his mind to buy some reading material in case the wait for the backhoe operator turned out to be overly protracted.
"Let's see," the woman said, scrunching her face in thought. "There's a couple of places on Charles Street."
"One would be fine," Jack said.
"There's Gary Drug on the corner of Charles and Mount Vernon Street."
"Am I going in the right direction?" Jack questioned. At the moment he was on Charles Street, heading toward the park area and the parking garage.
"You are. The drugstore is a block down on this side of the street."
Jack thanked the woman, who was pulled away by her impatient canines.
The shop was a true, ma-and-pop-type store with an old-fashioned cluttered but welcoming ambience. The whole shebang was about the size of the shampoo section in a generic chain drugstore, yet it was a true emporium. Products that ranged from vitamins to cold remedies to notebooks were tucked into shelving that went from floor to ceiling along the single aisle. At the far end near the pharmacy counter was a surprisingly wide selection of magazines and newspapers.
Jack had mistakenly agreed to lunch with Alexis and Craig. It turned out to be like being invited to a wake where you were expected to converse with the deceased. Craig was furious at the system, as he called it, at Tony Fasano, at Jordan Stanhope, and mostly at himself. He knew he'd done a terrible job despite the hours of practice he'd been through with Randolph the night before. When Alexis tried to get him to talk about why he had so little control of his emotions, knowing full well it was in his best interest to do so, he flew off the handle, and he and Alexis had a short but nasty exchange. But mostly Craig just sat for the hour in sullen withdrawal. Alexis and Jack had tried to talk, but the intensity of Craig's irritation gave off vibes that were difficult to ignore.
At the end of lunch, Alexis was hoping Jack would return to the courtroom, but Jack had begged off with the excuse that he wanted to get to the cemetery by two in hopes that Percy Gallaudet had made short work of his contribution in rectifying his buddy's sewer system. At that point, Craig had angrily told Jack just to give up, that the die had been cast, so Jack needn't bother. Jack had responded that he'd gone too far involving too many people to abandon the idea.
With several magazines and a New York Times under his arm, Jack proceeded on to the parking garage, got his sad-looking Accent out into the daylight, and headed west. He had a bit of trouble finding the route that had brought him into the city that morning, but he eventually recognized a few landmarks that indicated he was on the correct road.
Jack pulled into the Park Meadow Cemetery at two ten and parked next to a Dodge minivan in front of the office building. Going inside, he found the frumpy woman and Walter Strasser exactly as he'd left them in the morning. The woman was typing into a monitor, and Walter was sitting impassively at his desk with his hands still clasped over his paunch. Jack wondered if he ever did any work, since there was nothing on his desk surface to suggest it. Both people looked in Jack's direction, but the woman immediately went back to her work without a word. Jack proceeded over to Walter, who followed him with his eyes.
"Any sign of Percy?" Jack asked.
"Not since he left this morning."
"Any word?" Jack asked. He marveled that the only way he could tell Walter was conscious was the rare blink and the moving mouth when he spoke.
"Nope."
"Is there any way to contact him? I'm supposed to meet him here sometime after two. He's agreed to dig out Patience Stanhope this afternoon."
"If he said he'd do it, he'll be here."
"Does he have a cell phone? I failed to ask him."
"Nope. We contact him by e-mail. Then he comes by the office."
Jack put one of his business cards on Walter's desk. "If you could contact him to find out when he's going to get to Patience Stanhope, I'd be much obliged. You can call me on my cell phone. Meanwhile, I'll head up to the grave site if you can tell me where it is."
"Gertrude, show the doctor the Stanhope plot on the map."
The wheels on Gertrude's desk chair squeaked as she pushed away from her desk. As a woman of few words, she merely tapped an arthritic index finger at the appropriate spot. Jack glanced at the site. Thanks to the contour lines, he could see it was on the very crest of the hill.
"Best view in the Park Meadow," Walter commented.
"I'll wait there," Jack said. He started for the car.
"Doctor!" Walter called. "Since the grave is scheduled to be opened, there's the issue of the fee, which must be settled before digging commences."
After parting with a significant number of twenty-dollar bills from his bulky stash, Jack returned to the rent-a-car and drove up the hill. He found a small turnout with an arbor shading a park bench. He left his car there and walked over to where he guessed the Stanhope plot was located. It was on the very crown of the hill. There were three identical, rather plain granite headstones. He found Patience's and glanced briefly at the incised inscription.
Getting the magazines and newspaper out of the car, Jack went over to the bench and made himself comfortable. The weather had improved dramatically from the morning. Bright sun beat down with a ferocity that it hadn't had on previous days, as if to remind everyone that summer was just around the corner. Jack was glad to have the shade from the ivy-covered arbor because it was tropically hot.