“Yes, Judge,” Gottkind answered quickly. “He’s been following the case in the papers. He felt obliged to come forward.”
“I take exception, Your Honor,” said Karp formally.
“Exception noted,” said Craig. “Bring on your witness.”
“Who the fuck is this guy, Murray?” asked Karp in a whisper between clenched teeth as the witness took the stand.
“He’s a big shot on the state medical board,” Selig whispered back.
“What did you do wrong that he knows about?”
“Nothing! No, really, Butch, I got no idea why the guy is up there.”
They soon found out. Dr. England was a man in his late sixties, dressed in an old-fashioned and unseasonable brown three-piece suit and extremely shiny brown wing tips. His face was white and long, the thin silver hair combed tightly over the skull. With his wire-rimmed glasses he looked just like the antique doctor in the ads drug companies ran in glossy medical journals, the one sitting at the child’s bedside.
Dr. England testified that he had chaired the Committee on Professional Conduct of the State Board of Medicine in the revocation hearing of a Dr. Stephen Bailey. Bailey was one of the many Dr. Feelgoods who had sprung up in the seventies, dispensing various reality-altering pharmaceuticals essentially on demand to a well-heeled clientele. It was alleged that Bailey had taken to attending house parties in upstate Sullivan County bearing little bags of such meds, distributing them freely to all who asked. Dr. Selig had been called before the board as an expert on toxicology; the board had to determine whether some of the doses of diet pills and such that Bailey had administered were, in fact, dangerous.
“And did Dr. Selig think that Dr. Bailey had prescribed dangerous doses?” Gottkind asked.
“He did not,” said England with a tone and a look that showed what he thought of the opinion. “Dr. Bailey retained his license, largely as a result of Dr. Selig’s testimony.”
“And during that testimony, what, if anything, did he say regarding dosage of the drug amphetamine?”
“He said that he did not know what all the fuss was about, because he had taken massive doses of amphetamine in medical school to help with studying and it hadn’t harmed him any.” Murmurs spread briefly through the court.
“What did you think of that?”
“I thought it was gratuitous, frivolous, and unprofessional,” said England, his face glowing with righteous satisfaction.
Karp whispered to Selig, “Did you say that?”
“Oh, God, of course I didn’t say that.”
“What did you say, then?”
“Hell, Butch, how can I remember my exact words? It was nearly five years ago.”
England’s testimony ground to a halt. The defense rested. Karp checked the wall clock. He rose. “Your Honor, I have no questions at this time, but I would like to call Dr. England back first thing on Monday when court reconvenes.”
The judge’s eyes flicked at the clock too. He knew the pickle Karp was in. He also knew that it was a gorgeous spring day and that if he left now he could roll up a mess of paperwork and get in a full set of tennis before dark. And it was Friday. And the jury could use a little break; he had driven the case hard for eight weeks.
“Well, I don’t see why we can’t break now, as Mr. Karp suggests. You can do your cross Monday, Mr. Karp, and then we can begin summations. I trust that neither of you will be so long-winded as to make me regret this indulgence.” The court tittered politely. The gavel fell.
“How bad is this, Butch?” asked Selig nervously.
“How bad? It’s a disaster, Murray. It’s the end of the trial and I got no way to impeach the fucker, because the transcripts of license revocation hearings are sealed, and there’s no time to get an order to unseal them, and it’s the weekend anyway, and what’s in their minds now is you’re a junkie who let a dope pusher keep his license.”
EIGHTEEN
“Cheer up, Butch, it can’t be that bad,” said Marlene soothingly. He was acting like a baby, and it was starting to get on her nerves. They were in their living room, waiting while a casserole warmed.
He groaned and began to tell her again how bad it was, but she interrupted him. “Look! Stop kvetching already! The main thing is, is Murray telling the truth?”
“Oh, crap, Marlene, how do I know? He says he didn’t say that flip stuff about speed, but you know Murray. He likes to shake up the civilians from time to time with tales from the crypt. It’s something he could have said. But that doesn’t matter. We need the transcript of that hearing to impeach England, and we don’t have it.”
Marlene thought for a minute or so. “You say the transcripts are in Monticello, in the county courthouse?”
“Yeah, why?”
“It’s only about three hours away. I could run up and get them.”
“No, Marlene,” Karp explained, “you’re not listening. They’re sealed records. It would take a court order to unseal them. It’s the weekend. I already called the courthouse; the guy there told me Monday’s the earliest they could start to look for them, and Monday’s too late.”
“Would Craig write you an order?”
“I guess so, but what good would it do? The place is closed.”
“Closed places can be opened,” said Marlene archly.
He looked at her, at the all-too-familiar expression on her face, and then slowly raised his hands to cover his ears. “I don’t want to hear this, Marlene.”
“No, you don’t, but you want the transcripts by Monday, and this is the only way to get them. Get the order to cover your ass with the judge and … I don’t know, I feel the need for some country air. Maybe I’ll take a drive upstate this weekend with Harry.”
“La-la-la-la-la-dum-di-dum,” sang Karp. He kept his hands over his ears, his body hunched as if to avoid blows, as he walked sideways out of the room.
He passed Lucy on the way out and got a startled look.
“Why is Daddy acting goony, Mommy?”
“Because he’s a goon. Come here, I want to talk to you.” Lucy sat by her side on the sofa.
“Look, Daddy’s having some bad problems with his big case, and I have to help him this weekend. I have to go out of town, so-”
Lucy’s face crumpled. “Nooooo!” she moaned. “You promised you would take Isabella and me and Hector to the zoo and to Rumplemeyer’s for sundaes. And go shopping. You promised!”
“I know I promised, but this is an emergency. I know! I bet Daddy will take you.”
“Nooo! It’s not the same. Isabella hates him.”
“Dear, there’s no reason for Isabella to hate him because he’s never done anything bad to her. Maybe it would be a good thing for her to start getting over her fear of men, hmm?”
“You promised!” wailed Lucy. Tears covered her tender cheeks.
“I’m not going to discuss it anymore,” said Marlene firmly. “You can call Isabella at the shelter and tell her your father will take you, or you can wait for next week.”
Lucy uttered a shriek of frustration and flounced out.
“What was that all about?” Karp inquired, wandering back in.
“Oh, nothing. Lucy’s being unreasonable again. I told her I couldn’t take her to the zoo because I had to go … someplace.”
“Oh. You know, I wrote down the information on the Dr. Bailey revocation hearing, the dates and all, on a piece of paper and I can’t remember where I left it. It might be on your desk.”
“Yes, it might,” said Marlene. “It’s probably filed under ‘Arrant Hypocrisy.’”
“Yes,” agreed Karp. “That, or ‘Keeping Daddy Out of Jail.’”
She was parked with Harry Bello in front of the Sullivan County Courthouse in Monticello, New York, a small two-story brick building. They sipped coffee and made plans. Marlene slipped a vitamin pill from her jacket pocket into her mouth and washed it down. It was early Saturday morning; they had left the City just past dawn, and her stomach was starting to grumble for real food.