A Fool for a Client (20 page)

“I called Doctor Stern,” replied Ostrovsky, “and asked him to find out how much of the mixture had been imbibed.
He told me five measures.”

Even if Parker had been representing Justine he would not have been able to object: Ostrovsky
’
s evidence, though hearsay, was part of the
res gestae
.
As such the evidence was admissible, however damaging it may have been to Justine.

“And that would be what Professor?
Two and a half times the fatal dose?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you do then?”

“I asked for a description of the patient
’
s symptoms and was told of his low temperature and bodily trembling.
I found this to be fully consistent with pyrethrum poisoning.”

“And what action did you take?”

“I advised Doctor Stern to administer a dose of atropine, that
’
s the antidote to pyrethrum.
I advised him as to the quantity.
He concurred with that advice to the best of my knowledge.”

Parker noticed a sense of unease with Ostrovsky as he said these words, and noted also that the words themselves had a qualifying effect more typical of a lawyer or a politician than a doctor.
He sensed that this was Ostrovsky
’
s way of avoiding moral responsibility for the consequences of his actions.

“And what did you do with the bottle?”

“I marked it for identification and put in into a plastic bag.
I then locked the bag in a drawer in my desk.
A few hours later I handed it over to a uniformed police officer who showed me identification showing him to be Detective Reilly.
I got him to sign a receipt for it when he took it.”

“And is this the receipt?” asked Abrams, producing a small slip of paper.

The clerk of the court brought it over to the Professor who perused it briefly.

“Yes, that
’
s it.”

“Your Honour the receipt has been marked as People
’
s Exhibit Three, but I will be withholding it until I
’
ve established further grounds for its admission with Detective Reilly
’
s testimony.
I have no further questions of this witness.”

Abrams sat smugly.
Parker leaned over to Justine and was about to say something to her when she rose abruptly.
He straightened up sheepishly as Justine began her cross-examination.

“Professor Ostrovsky, you said something in your original statement to the police about analyzing a blood sample from Murphy, is that correct?”

Abrams knew that the blood sample was the Achilles heal of Ostrovsky
’
s evidence.
The professor had assured him that it was irrelevant, but the question was not one of science but one of the jury
’
s subjective thoughts on the subject.

“Objection,” said Abrams, rising swiftly. “The matter wasn
’
t raised in direct.”

This Abrams first opportunity to do battle with Justine directly, and his first opportunity to “crowd” her and show her the difference between an amateur and a professional in the context of a courtroom joust.
But Abrams was not dealing with such an amateur as he thought.

“Goes to impeach the witness, Your Honour,” said Justine.
“It shows that he overlooked pertinent scientific evidence that conflicted with his thesis, and may also have grounds for covering up his own mistakes now.”

“Over-ruled,” said the judge.

The jury were now wide awake and alert to the unfolding drama that had just shifted into a higher gear.
This was the first witness that Justine had chosen to cross-examine, and the first sign of a genuine crossing of legal swords between the combatants, as distinct from the feinting and posturing that had gone before.
The crack of blade against blade hinted at the drama yet to come.

“That
’
s correct,” said Ostrovsky, shifting uneasily in response to the sudden elevation in the level of the jury
’
s alertness.

Now it was Parker turn to sit forward abruptly, as he smelled blood of a different kind.
The professor
’
s answer was padded with surplus verbiage for the first time since he took the stand.
Justine was taking him out of his regular stride.

“Could you tell us the result of that examination?”

“I found no trace of pyrethrum in the blood sample that was taken at that particular time,” he replied, placing particular emphasis on the last four words.

“How did this result factor into your diagnosis of Murphy
’
s condition?” asked Justine.

“It... it didn
’
t.”

“No further questions,” Justine concluded.

She sat without gesture or flourish.

“Redirect?” the judge asked Abrams.

Abrams rose awkwardly and with a trace of apprehension, knowing that he had to mount a quick salvage operation.

“Does the absence of pyrethrum in the bloodstream
necessarily
mean that he hadn
’
t orally imbibed a fatal dose of pyrethrum Professor?”

“No it doesn
’
t,” replied Ostrovsky, clutching at the straw the prosecutor was offering him.
It only means that if he
had
imbibed such a dose, it had not yet been
absorbed
into the bloodstream.”

“Thank you Professor.
That
’
s all.”

Ostrovsky visibly sighed with relief, convinced that his ordeal was over as Abrams sat down without troubling to hide the smug satisfaction.
But the relief disappeared when Justine rose confidently, without waiting for the judge to invite her to conduct her re-cross.

“I have just a couple of questions professor,” she said, emulating Abrams
’
emphasis of Ostrovsky
’
s title with a hint of mockery.
“If the pyrethrum had
not
been absorbed into the bloodstream, then what could have caused the patient to display
symptoms
of such poisoning?”

The professor shifted uncomfortably.
There is a German expression in the game of chess
Zugzswang
, meaning compulsion to move.
It refers to a situation in which it is a player
’
s turn to move and he is not in any immediate danger, but whatever move he makes will put him in grave danger and cause him to lose the game.
If chess players could simply pass their turn, then
zugzwang
would not exist.
But chess players, like witnesses in a courtroom trial, cannot pass their turn.
And so Professor Ostrovsky now found himself in
Zugzwang
.

“Well first of all I didn
’
t say that the symptoms
were
caused by pyrethrum poisoning, only that they were fully consistent with it.
Secondly, the symptoms might have been
psychosomatically
induced.”

Ostrovsky looked over at Abrams for reassurance.
Abrams avoided his eyes, sensing what was coming, and wanting no part in it.

“But Professor,” said Justine adding a further note of irony to the proceedings by repeating her gentle stress on his title, “if the symptoms were
psychosomatically
induced, then surely they would have occurred independently of whether or not he
had
imbibed pyrethrum?”

Abrams was looking at the ground, desperate to cut himself off from the collapse of one of his most important witnesses.

“That would be a fair comment,” said Ostrovsky, reluctantly.

Once again there were stirrings of excitement in the courtroom.

“Thank you professor,” said Justine, returning to her seat calmly.

“That was brilliant!” said Parker, a beaming smile spreading across his face as the courtroom erupted into excited chatter.

In the spectator
’
s section, Declan scowled at the sound of Justine achieving a minor victory, even though it had no bearing on the outcome of events as he conceived it.
On the other side of the spectator
’
s section a man watched him.
He was called “Tom” or “Thomas” and there a great many stories circulating about his name.
Some said it was short for “Peeping Tom” because of the way in which he kept his victims under scrutiny before rubbing them out.
Others said it was short for Doubting Thomas” because he worked alone, being too
sceptical
to trust anyone else.
Yet others said that it stood for “Tom Thumb” because he was quite small, too small in fact to seem like a threat to anyone.
But then again a small handgun made of a composite polymer that wouldn
’
t show up in X-ray scan or metal detector was enough of an equalizer to make him a threat, especially with to those foolish enough to under-estimate him.

The IRA knew from the beginning that it was a waste of time trying to track Declan through the Irish American network in the
New York
, because he would have sufficient cunning to avoid them.
But the one place he couldn
’
t stay away from was the court. If he planned the hit there then he would have to case the joint.
If he planned it elsewhere then, lacking an intelligence network, he would probably go there to follow Justine and find out where she lived.
By the same token, the IRA man knew that he could follow Declan and find out where
he
was staying.
Then they could decide what to do.

She remained seated in the car as Murphy went round to the other side.
Her instinct was to open the door and get our herself.
She had meticulously cultivated and fiercely guarded her independent spirit and had no time for the pleasantries of gentlemanly chivalry, especially from a man whom she hated.
But with a great deal of hidden effort and willpower she forced herself to do so.
She had to remind herself consciously that she was here to put on an act, to play a role.

The door was opened by the same casually clad figure who had so confidently jumped at the bait which Justine had offered the night before.
She stood there facing him in a polo-necked sweater and form-hugging jeans.
For a moment he stood there too, admiring her, wondering how he could have such luck as to have attracted this girl without even having to tell her about his adventurous past.

“You look ravishing,” he said for the second time that evening.

Justine tried not to wince.
She should have known that he was the type to recite that hackneyed compliment at every opportunity.
He led her through the mirrored vestibule into the mahogany-
panelled
living room.
Justine looked around, stricken momentarily by awe and the nauseating feeling that she had underestimated her man, until she brought things into focus.
A man who had employed a ghost writer to draft the semi-fictionalized bestseller about his terrorist past didn
’
t need
aesthetic
standards of his own.
He could hire others to do his thinking for him.

It was others, she knew, who had advised him about the halogen lamps
in the corners that now flooded the room with light, but which could at the turn of a dial be dimmed to provide a gentle romantic ambiance for the grand seduction scene which Murphy had, no doubt, scheduled for later that evening.

The white plush-pile carpet felt soft to the touch as she slipped off her shoe and ran her toes along it.

“So what d
’
you think of the place?” he asked, reading her eyes rather than her mind.

“I
’
m impressed,” she replied balancing tact with honesty.

In one
cosy
corner of the room, near the wall of glass that looked out onto the swimming pool, a small round dining table was set for two, with a white lace cloth, a crystal vase overflowing with bright summer flowers and, the ultimate cliché, a silver candelabra out of which rose long candles tapering off at the flames which danced in the breeze from the open kitchen.

“What
’
s that?” asked Murphy, as Justine produced the bottle from behind her back.

“Tequila,” she replied.
Then she smiled with embarrassment.
“I forgot that you said we
’
d be eating Chinese.
Maybe we could have it after the meal.”