Freezing People is (Not) Easy (23 page)

Winterbotham asked Stella about the cryonics program. She replied, “Beyond having an interest in the science, I didn't have a role. Mr. Nelson was kind enough to present me with
The Prospect of Immortality
by Professor Robert Ettinger. It was a wonderful book; I could see the absolute logic in it and for some time even considered it for myself.”

“Have you then changed your mind about cryonic suspension?”

“I would say not for others, but I fear I am too set in my thinking to change. When I see the results of people fighting to get money and saying anything to get it, I would rather not subject my grandchildren to such a traumatic ordeal. They are what I live for today, and I think cryonics will be the wave of the future.”

“Were you the official attorney for the CSC?”

“No. I mean, I never got paid or anything like that. Mr. Nelson is a very dear friend, and occasionally he asked me for an opinion or help in filling out a complicated legal form. Whatever I could do to help Mr. Nelson was my pleasure. But I never served in any official capacity.”

I smiled at her as she perched on the edge of the witness stand. Hearing her take my part was one of the few bright spots in the trial; this ordeal certainly showed me who my real friends were.

“Did you help the Cryonics Society obtain its nonprofit status in California?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I have no more questions, Ms. Gramer. I thank you for appearing here today on behalf of my client, and it's truly a pleasure to meet you.”

Winterbotham was acting well, and I got to hear nice compliments from my friends. This was feeling like a good day—so far.

Now it was Nothern's turn, but sadly for me, he was too smart to try tackling her. She could easily parry any attack, and the plaintiffs did not want to risk their case by allowing her to make the defense look better. Nothern did, however, have a few questions.

He asked first if she had been the mysterious provider of the beautiful office suite in Westwood that was donated to CSC for three years. She responded, “Yes, I suppose I was.”

Nothern shook his head. “Ms. Gramer, I can't for the life of me understand how you got yourself mixed up with such a crazy scam as freezing dead bodies.”

She looked like she needed to educate him. “Well, Mr. Nothern, it is quite obvious that you have not read Professor Ettinger's book. I suggest you do. I think you'll have a very different opinion of cryonics once you have properly prepared for this case.”

As she exited the witness stand, I wanted to blow her a kiss. I was feeling confident as the judge adjourned for lunch. There was a bottleneck of people at the exit, so I stopped off at the water fountain until the crowd cleared.

Two women, well dressed and in their thirties, sat on a nearby bench. Since getting divorced, I had started dating again, but I was a little too shy to approach them. I still felt inexperienced, since Elaine had been my first girlfriend and we had married as teenagers. Besides, a trial for my life was not an appropriate time to start flirting. They looked intelligent, though, and might see the logic of cryonics. I edged closer, trying to catch their eyes with a smile so that I could introduce myself.

I overheard the short-haired blond say to her friend, “I knew this cryonics stuff was nothing but a scam. Those poor families. He was just setting himself up as a new Messiah.”

Her friend leaned in and countered, “It's worse than that. I heard he murdered people just so he could freeze them. He belongs in jail.”

Messiah? Murderer? Jail?
I bit my lip, stunned, and drew back. I could see someone believing I was negligent or a zealot, but how could anyone possibly accept such lies?
Did the jury think that too?
I started breathing fast as I glimpsed how effectively Worthington had sunk his fangs into my legacy. He was willing to destroy me by distorting this case far beyond a simple contract dispute. These women were strangers, completely unrelated to the trial, and yet they were convinced I was a criminal.

The women heard my loud exhale and turned toward me. I was seething. The blond's eyes grew wide; she quickly motioned to her friend and they skedaddled toward the cops in the lobby.

I collapsed on one of the hallway benches, completely dejected, and I sat there unmoving for the entire lunch break. My friend of twenty years, Sandra Stanley, was slated as the next witness and noticed me as she walked through the crowd. I couldn't explain, and I didn't need to; she wrapped her arms around my shoulders, gave me a quick hug, and led me into the courtroom.

Awhile back, Sandra had told me that when she was forty she wanted to study law. I told her she was nuts and that she would never make it. “Pick another profession,” I had advised. Weeks earlier, Sandra had passed the bar exam on her first attempt, with the third-highest score of any applicant that year. Thankfully she never held my abysmal advice against me. Sandra had been a very strong supporter of cryonics since its inception. She was a fantastic writer and responded to thousands of inquiries to the CSC, published the cryonics newsletter, and cowrote my first book,
We Froze the First Man.

Winterbotham guided Sandra through all the years she volunteered for the Cryonics Society. He then asked her to explain what the organization meant for her.

She replied, “We were participating in an epochal moment in which Professor Robert Ettinger had proclaimed to the world that the era of human death on Earth was about to come to an end.”

He then asked her to comment on my character. She placed a hand over her heart and said, “Bob Nelson is one of the most sincere human beings I have ever had the pleasure to know in my life.”

I gave her a half-smile, trying to forget the women in the hallway and instead focus on her words. She knew me and knew the truth.

“Thank you, Ms. Stanley. No more questions.”

Nothern began his cross-examination. “Ms. Stanley, as a
very
close friend to Mr. Nelson and a trusted member of the CSC, did you know what was going on at the storage vault in Chatsworth?”

Sandra glowered and wagged her finger at Nothern. I had to grin—I'd wanted to do that a dozen times. “I don't know what you mean by ‘going on.' That cemetery vault is where the cryonics patients were interred.”

“What I am asking you, Ms. Stanley, is did you know exactly which persons were frozen and which ones were not and why?”

“At different times, I believe I did, but that constantly changed as equipment failed and patients were moved. Mr. Nelson did not want others involved in that quagmire.” Sandra was speaking fast; she had an agenda for her testimony and a lot she wanted to say. “His life's goal was to save those patients; he considered them historically vital pioneers of the cryonics movement. If he had known he would be blamed if he failed, I think he would have done it anyway.”

“Well, Ms. Stanley, how do you explain the loss of the Harrington brothers' mother and the ten thousand dollars they gave to Mr. Nelson?”

“The money was paid to the Cryonics Society of California as a donation supporting low-temperature biology and not to Mr. Nelson personally. It was certainly not a business deal, as you are trying to suggest.”

“So what do you suggest, Ms. Stanley? Should we just accept this loss and let Mr. Nelson perpetuate this same scam on countless people across the country?”

“Mr. Nelson never scammed anybody.” A strand of her long brown hair fell in her face, and she reached up to push it back. I could tell from her twitching hand that she needed a cigarette. “And he has resigned from CSC. Yes, there will undoubtedly be more losses in the future. However, you don't stop great scientific effort because someone didn't make it. Look at the first heart transplants. Look at the space program: They had losses, but no one gave up because of those failures. They took their losses, learned their lessons, and kept trying until they succeeded.”

Nothern moved to align with the jury box. “It is clear, Ms. Stanley, that you have little compassion for these two young men's suffering and their enormous loss. You are a true believer in this body-freezing craze, which has absolutely no support from the medical or scientific communities whatsoever.”

I elbowed Winterbotham and he sprang to his feet. “Objection . . . I mean, counsel should be asking questions, not making speeches.”

Before the judge could sustain, Nothern said, “I have no more questions.”

Sandra shook her finger at him again. “Mr. Nothern, scientists began the cryonics movement, and they are leading us into a brave, new world—”

“I said no more questions. You're excused.”

Sandra blew her hair from her face, obviously frustrated and disappointed.

I looked at my attorney, hoping he would ask Sandra more questions on redirect examination. It didn't help our case having Nothern's statements ringing in the jury's ears. As Sandra rose to exit the witness stand, I knew that was a lost cause. Winterbotham had resumed his habit of resting his chin in his palm and staring off at Lady Justice.

Our next witness was Joseph Mendoza. Joe was the groundskeeper at the Chatsworth cemetery and had helped me with the vault. As he was sworn in, Joe was nervous and couldn't keep his voice from shaking and his hands from trembling; I felt bad that I needed him to testify.

Winterbotham began by yelling at him. I groaned. Of all our witnesses, Joe needed kid-glove handling. Yet Winterbotham continued, almost screaming. “What was your responsibility to the Cryonics Society?”

It seemed Winterbotham thought that by shouting at him, Joe would understand him better. The problem was that Joe knew my name but was unfamiliar with the term “Cryonics Society.” He looked green, so I signaled Winterbotham back to our table; the judge ordered a half-hour recess.

I was thankful for that the break. “Mr. Winterbotham,” I whispered, “Joe is our witness; you shouldn't be shouting at him. The man is already scared to death just being here.” I spent most of the recess trying to counsel my attorney about the best way to handle Joe. When court resumed, the questioning went much smoother. He asked Joe how long he had known me and if I was a good guy. These questions settled Joe a bit before he launched into describing the painful capsule failure to the jury.

When Joe finished his recounting of that sad day, he said, “I'm sorry for Mr. Bob; he's a very nice man.”

“Mr. Mendoza, did you see Mr. Nelson at the cemetery very often?”

“I see Mr. Bob every day; sometime he come he stay all day. He work very hard to take care of everything.”

“Your witness, Mr. Nothern.”

Joe stiffened his shoulders, preparing himself for cross-examination.

“Mr. Mendoza, did Mr. Nelson tell you what was inside those capsules?”

“Well, he not tell me exactly, but I know what inside. We all know it's frozen people.”

“Did you realize when you did nothing after the pump stopped that the people inside were lost forever?”

“I don't know; those people are dead. They can't die again.”

“Was Mr. Nelson attentive to the capsules and the storage vault?”

“He came every day, bringing the smoking ice. He pump the water out of the vault; he blow the fan inside down there. He work very hard every day.”

“Did you see other people trying to find out what is going on inside that vault?”

“People from the TV station came with a big camera. They break the lock and open the vault. We call police. I didn't like them for that.”

“I have no more questions, sir.”

Our final witness was a character to behold. Frank Farrell had been indispensable to me for years and a genius at resolving the never-ending problems at the vault.

Ever since we met, Frank absolutely would not conform to any kind of dress code. Regardless of the occasion, he wore outfits like green pants with a purple-and-pink shirt. Once I noticed he had on one red sock and one yellow sock.

Just for fun, I commented on it. He replied, “I know. I have another pair exactly like them at home.”

I had pleaded with him to wear a suit to court. I explained that his entire credibility would depend on his appearance. As Frank walked to the witness stand, my face broke from apprehension into a big grin. I beamed with pride to see him dressed properly. His blue tie matched his blue suit, but it was tied so that it hung backwards. The whole ensemble looked as though he had just taken it out of the washing machine and wrung it out by hand, but it was a suit.

Winterbotham first asked Frank to tell the jury about his background and experience in the business world. Despite his appearance, Frank was quite a qualified engineer with an impressive education.

Winterbotham asked him about his connection to me. “I'm a fan of Bob Nelson and his effort to revive the people who were in cryonic suspension. He brought that vault into existence, and I know someday he'll be recognized for his great contribution to the world.”

“Did Mr. Nelson pay you for your work?”

“Yes, he did.”

Winterbotham transformed; he yelled at Frank. “How did he pay you, with CSC money or his own check?”

Frank's eyes got wide, but he maintained his calm. “Nope; I don't accept checks because I don't have a bank account. He always paid me in good ol' cash on the barrel.”

Winterbotham shouted again. “Were you ever in that vault?”

“Hell, yes, about a thousand times or better. Whenever it was time to replace the dry ice on different patients, I was the one that helped him. I pumped water out of the facility at least once a week, and I helped him move bodies.”

“What was your role?”

Frank paused because he'd just answered that, and Winterbotham shouted even louder than before. “I'm asking you a question! Don't you understand?
What did you do?
”

Frank drew back, surprised at the ferocity. This was just too crazy. I stood up and motioned Winterbotham back to the table. “What are you doing?” I whispered to him. “He's our witness.”