(2012) The Court's Expert Read online

  “You mean there really is no one who would like to know where you are? I see very few people who are actually alone,” she lamented. “What’s your story; what do you do for a living?”

  “Objection: compound question,” he murmured, not really speaking to anyone. He quickly added, “Sorry, that’s just the trial dog in me misbehaving,” trying to salvage any gains he had made previously. As soon as he offered the comment, he knew it was out of line, yet when he looked up, he suddenly took notice of the nurse’s green eyes and gorgeous auburn hair.

  “It’s been a long and disagreeable day—and now this. I’m a criminal defense lawyer. I represent people accused of crimes. It takes all of my being. I was married, but my entire family eagerly divorced me, and we have little contact anymore. They say I’m too busy and distracted. I’m quite certain neither my ex-wife nor any of my kids would be interested in knowing where I am or why. Unless of course, if it might speed up delivery of their support checks. But, enough about me.”

  The nurse studied Charlie’s countenance and facial expressions.

  Charlie looked back and appreciated the compassionate yet understated smile she featured. Charlie tardily asked, while thinking she really did have inviting eyes, “What’s your name?”

  “Bernadette Collins. Around here, I’m ‘Bernie.’ That’s really a shame there’s no one for you,” she offered, sympathetically delivering condolences.

  “Well, being on my own has some advantages, but I’d trade the loneliness in a minute—it can be crushing.” Charlie suddenly found himself almost stuttering as a fresh wave of pain stabbed into his hand.

  “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I thought I might get your mind onto other things and you might feel better, but I can see I was out of place,” she apologized.

  “Oh, no, no, forget it. I may seem a bit crusty. It’s just my nature and not a pleasant trait I must say. Go ahead, and let’s talk. The conversation is a good distraction, unless you have other patients who need you now.”

  “Well, at the moment it’s quiet, so I’m so glad we have this opportunity. If you don’t mind, I have a personal legal problem that’s been heavy on my heart. Since you are a lawyer, would you mind if I asked you your opinion? It involves my sister-in-law.”

  “What’s going on?” Charlie encouraged her to continue. He found himself wanting to hear her speak so he could reap the therapeutic effect that her voice was having on him. He tried placing her accent but couldn’t make the connection so far. No rush, he loved the sound of her voice and sooner or later would ask her if she hailed from Minnesota or Michigan.

  “Okay, but you’ll tell me if I’m bothering you, I hope.” Charlie made no audible reply but nodded his approval that he was ready to hear her story. “Her name is Marti Barnes, and she’s a licensed vocational nurse. She’s worked all her life and enjoys an excellent reputation. About six years ago, she heard of a position as a live-in caregiver for an old man, a Mr. Martorano. He was a well-to-do rancher from the San Joaquin Valley, who had retired in Three Rivers, up the South Fork Road.”

  “Yeah, I know Three Rivers,” Charlie interrupted, “outside Sequoia National Park. Lifestylers and artsy crowd, right?”

  “I think so. Anyway, it seems the old man’s family was caring and supportive enough but just couldn’t manage the time needed for all his problems. He had the usual collection of aging troubles, an illness, and an immune system deficiency. Besides, he was a real handful. The family decided that a live-in was the ticket, but no one lasted on the job very long.

  “That all changed when Marti signed up. Mr. Martorano was in his late seventies when she started working for him. His attitude improved once Marti settled in, and they became friends. His immune system was healthy enough as long as he kept up with his monthly treatments. The family relied on Marti for other chores, too, and pretty soon she was in charge of the maintenance of his luxury home in the foothills. Everyone fell in love with Marti. Professionally, she had finally come into her own. She was very happy feeling needed and knowing that she was making a real difference in the old man’s life.

  “She’d been on the job, living in his home in Three Rivers for many years when Mr. Martorano suddenly became seriously ill. Despite all the efforts of his doctors and Marti, he did not improve. He was admitted to the hospital, diagnosed with pneumonia, and never left. He died five days later.”

  Charlie twitched involuntarily and found himself concentrating now. He began to log names of the players as Bernie continued with her story.

  “His estate went into probate. It turns out he was worth over one hundred million dollars.” Charlie snapped together all the attention he could muster at the moment.

  “As you might guess, people claiming a share of his treasure came out of nowhere, including my sister-in-law it seems. But that’s just Marti’s way. She said that the old man had promised her an inheritance, something about an oral agreement to make a will, which they say can be enforced in this state because she promised to take care of him for the rest of his years. It seems Martorano had run off so many caregivers, he was afraid of losing this good one.

  “Marti said she had kept her side of the bargain, and now it was time for the estate to honor its obligation. There was nothing in writing, mind you, but she said she was to stay in the mountain home with an annual allowance for the rest of her life. She’s fifty-nine years old now, so there’s a lot at stake. Anyway, the lawyer for the estate was very unpleasant to her, so she felt she had no choice but tell him she was going to talk to her own lawyer.

  “As it turned out, the Martorano family is very powerful and influential. Someone convinced the sheriff to open an investigation, and later the district attorney brought murder charges against Marti. There was no autopsy, or so I’m told.”

  “What charges specifically?” Charlie asked, now generating even more interest in the conversation, his legal instincts surging in spite of his painful ordeal.

  “Murder? First degree? Capital case?” and Bernie slipped into muffled sniffling.

  “My God!” Charlie almost exploded, ignoring Bernie’s angst. How he loved the practice of law. In his growing enthusiasm for what he was hearing, he unthinkingly jammed his left hand against the table and quickly jolted himself back to reality.

  Bernie sighed, regained a bit of her composure, and continued: “She was arrested eight weeks ago and has been in jail ever since, staring at a million-dollar bail she’ll never make. Marti has a public defender, but she doesn’t think the attorney is sufficiently experienced to defend this case. Her defender has never handled a major homicide case before, and she wants an experienced attorney if that’s even possible. Do you know what it would cost to hire one, by any chance?”

  “Excellent question,” Charlie replied, complimenting her. “The response is, ‘it depends.’ The real answer relates to how much the accused person, Marti in this case, values her life. As you can imagine, that figure changes depending upon the financial circumstances of the particular defendant. Most people in such trouble spend all the money they can find and then some, if they think there is a chance for an acquittal. It tends to be a sizeable amount, regardless.”

  “She might have five thousand dollars available from her meager savings,” Bernie paused in distracted thought and then finished her sentence, “and with family and friends included, the total could possibly reach twenty-five.” Her voice trailed off.

  Without warning, the curtain separated, and Dr. Prosser advanced into the patient bay as though he was entering a shower stall. Without personal comment or introduction, he declared, “If ‘internal fixation’ computes for you, I’m advising we start the procedure as soon as possible.”

  Always one to admire a fellow word merchant, Charlie silently complimented the doctor for his pithy presentation. He could learn something from this genius. “I think I understand, but could you give me some details?” he replied.

  “Certainly. One of the three sites we’ve found so far in your
left hand is badly comminuted, several pieces at one site, and hardware must be installed to stabilize the fractures. You have damage in bone joints as well. Not good either. I understand that you are right-side dominant, so if you had to get such a serious injury, at least you picked your nondominant upper extremity. I must advise you that there is a high risk of permanent damage due to predictable complications following this type of trauma and surgery. Your injuries could definitely become disabling if we do not act appropriately and swiftly. Even if we get an excellent result in surgery, I cannot guarantee the future for you.” With that, he departed from view as instantly as he had appeared. Over his shoulder, he added, “I’ll call the OR right now, unless you have a better idea, Mr. Malone,” and the sound of his footsteps faded away down the hallway.

  Bernie and Charlie gazed at one another for several moments before Bernie broke the silence. “I’m really sorry for laying this trip on you, Mr. Malone. I guess I just needed to unload on someone who understands. But you have plenty of your own troubles, so please forgive me, will you?”

  “Don’t be silly. To the contrary, I’ve really enjoyed our short visit, and I truly hope I can help Ms. Barnes somehow. Talking about cases is exactly what I do habitually, whether I’m hurting or not. Tell you what, after I’m finished here, I’ll get in touch with your sister-in-law, if that’s okay with her, and we can talk things over. That won’t cost her a thing. Of course, if I take her case, we’ll need to work out a fee arrangement before I get completely involved.”

  Bernie expressed her gratefulness for bending Charlie’s ear, admitting to him that her primary focus should have been restricted to easing his plight and securing appropriate treatment for him. Charlie assured her that her conduct was both professional and caring, that he had no misgivings about trying to help her sister-in-law.

  Bernie excused herself but not without a little self-consciousness about her failure to disclose all the details of Barnes’s problem. Oh well, she thought to herself, there will always be time for Malone to get all the details before he commits to representing Marti.

  With a professional air, she bade Charlie farewell, stressing that she would be back to check on him during the rest of her shift. Charlie felt a wave of confidence in his care from Bernie and from what his doctor had shared with him. Stone sober now, he settled in for a brief nap before surgery preparations began.

  Malone’s next significant recollection occurred midmorning in the recovery room. Realizing he had been unconscious for some time, he tried to regain his bearings; he failed to recognize anyone in the immediate vicinity. Memories flooded back into mind, and he searched for Bernie’s friendly smile before realizing she was gone. Once the recovery nurse noticed he was moving, she came to the gurney and inquired about his comfort. Charlie confirmed that he felt well enough, although as the memories of the previous evening swarmed into his mind, he became light-headed. The nurse told Charlie that he was welcome to spend the coming night in the hospital if he wished to do so, or he could be released later in the afternoon to rest at home. His orthopedist approved either approach. Regardless, he was to see Dr. Prosser the following morning at 11:00 a.m. in his office.

  “Oh, and by the way, Nurse Collins left her phone number with the request that you call her as soon as possible—something about a legal case or something,” she continued. “What would you like to do this evening?”

  “I can be a nuisance either place but get into less trouble at home, so thanks for the invitation, but I think I’ll decline this time.” Visions of health insurance co-payments swarmed his consciousness. “And thanks for the telephone number. I’ll give Bernie a call today,” he added, hoping to convey an air of professionalism.

  “Good, I know she will appreciate that. She said she was so very grateful for your time with her, but she sounded, I don’t know, almost desperate,” and Charlie sensed the urgency in his latest caregiver’s voice.

  Good reason, he confirmed to himself. He knew full well that defending a capital murder charge was no picnic; very few people who represented themselves had ever done it successfully.

  “Yes, I spoke with her last night. I know she’s upset, and I’m happy to assist if I’m able,” Charlie replied as he looked around for his belongings. “Is there anything you need signed before I leave?”

  “Hold on! You’re not leaving till midafternoon, if then, and if I decide you’re up to it and get Dr. Prosser’s approval for your release. You don’t just wake up in recovery and trip the light fantastic out to the parking lot. We’ve got to watch you for a while.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know,” Charlie said, half apologizing. He really didn’t mind being “in custody” at the hospital anyway. Much better than in jail, and he, of all people, knew the differences between the two venues. “I’ll just take a snooze here if that’s okay with you, ma’am.”

  Charlie slept soundly for what he guessed might have been a couple days. Once he awoke, he was stiff and found it impossible to change position even though he was very motivated to do so. His movements again caught the attention of the recovery nurse who approached and inquired how he was feeling.

  “I’m not healed, but my prospects are good, I think,” he offered in anticipation of cutting off further questions so he could gather his things and go home. “Do you need any more paperwork from me?”

  “No, we have everything we need. If you think you’re up to it, I’ll step out so you can slip into your street clothes now. Do you need any help with that? I can call an orderly,” she offered.

  “Thanks, I think I’m up to it. If not, I’ll give a yell,” and he began to ponder what life would be like during recovery. He began to find out as he fished for his socks and squirmed his feet into the shoes he had worn last night. Turned out that was only practice because he had forgotten to put his trousers on. Off came the shoes, then he danced clumsily to get his pants on. He had not even begun to understand his limitations. An eternity seemed to pass before he moved the zipper on his trousers to the fully closed position. Forget the top button, the belt would overlap it. He started to perspire and became uncharacteristically self-conscious, as if someone was watching, but he knew this was not the case. Who would be curious about his plight anyway? In a fit of independence, he had already declined a genuine offer of assistance. He found he was exhausted from his unavailing efforts and realized he had only dressed the bottom half of his body, and not very well at that.

  The recovery nurse was seated at her workstation, a short distance down the hall. She heard the sound of the door banging open and watched as he poked his head into view.

  “All done?” she inquired pleasantly, giving no hint that she knew far better.

  “Not really,” Charlie had to admit, “but I have finished from my shoes to my belt line!” he offered as cheerily as he could muster. “I really think I’ve taken a lot of normal functions too much for granted. Kind of looks like I need a little help with my shirt, my coat, and the sling for my left arm.” Speaking of his arm, a constant throbbing was intensifying, and he started to look for a place to sit down.

  “I’m coming to help you; don’t try anything fancy,” she warned, advancing on panther strides toward his room. “Let’s not worry about any further dressing efforts until I take your vitals.” Considering what Charlie had been through, he checked out reasonably well. He collected his breath and pondered the remainder of the dressing chore.

  “Don’t bother putting your left arm into the shirt or the jacket. Your right arm will still slip into the proper places and the shirt and coat will drape your left shoulder. Let’s put the sling over your shirt and under the coat. The cast won’t work with any of your formal clothing. You’ll have a doctor’s excuse from wearing monkey suits for a while,” she added with encouragement. She busied herself with the dressing detail, signaling that she was both caring and experienced in these matters.

  Charlie was touched by her compassionate helpfulness. He said so and received a grateful smile in return.
She wished him the best of luck and said staff was available 24-7 if he ran into trouble. He said he was thankful that professionals like her were there at the hospital and started to make his way to the parking lot.

  “Mr. Malone,” the familiar voice came from behind, and he slowly turned around. “I think you might have misplaced Bernie’s telephone number. I found it just now in your recovery room. I thought you might like to have it.”

  “You are so right. Thank you. Thank you. And I will call her as soon as I can. But I don’t want to disturb her sleep. What shift is she working; do you know? And forgive me for asking, but what is your name?” Charlie asked anyway.

  “Bernie should be up by 4:00 p.m. today. And my name is Geraldine Dwyer, but around here I’m called a lot of things, mostly Jeri. Thanks for asking, though,” and she displayed a modest blush. “Don’t you want a wheelchair ride to your vehicle?” she asked.

  “No, thanks. I can make it to the parking lot. I’m driving, you know,” he responded with a weak stab at humor.

  ***

  Malone reached his residence safely. Once inside, he pulled off his suit coat and shirt. He mucked through the closet for his most comfortable loafing clothes and made straightaway for the recliner in the den. It was Sunday afternoon, and he checked the TV listings for a football game. Sure enough, the Raiders and Broncos were playing one of their usual cliffhangers, so he settled into his chair and tried to get comfortable. Impossible. He could not focus on the game, although he knew it was close. He dozed fitfully and awoke often enough to keep track of the score. The next time he noticed the game it was over, and some silly cartoon show was on the screen.

  He checked the clock and realized he could call Bernadette because it was five fifteen in the afternoon. He knew he should eat something but didn’t have the presence of mind to think exactly what it should be.

  “Hello, Bernadette?” he asked, when he heard the female voice answer the phone.

  “Yes, who’s calling, please?” she wanted to know.