Nothing Lasts Forever (2 page)

“He never mentioned her.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“Did John ever discuss cutting you and your brothers out of his will?”

“Absolutely not. He was the most generous man in the world. He always told me that there was nothing I couldn’t have, and that when he died…” Her voice broke. “…that when he died, I would be a wealthy woman, and…” She could not go on.

Judge Young said, “We’ll have a fifteen-minute recess.”

Seated in the back of the courtroom, Jason Curtis was filled with anger. He could not believe what the witnesses were saying about Paige.
This is the woman I love,
he thought.
The woman I’m going to marry.

Immediately after Paige’s arrest, Jason Curtis had gone to visit her in jail.

“We’ll fight this,” he assured her. “I’ll get you the best criminal lawyer in the country.” A name immediately sprang to mind.
Alan Penn.
Jason had gone to see him.

“I’ve been following the case in the papers,” Penn said. “The press has already tried and convicted her of murdering John Cronin for a bundle. What’s more, she admits she killed him.”

“I know her,” Jason Curtis told him. “Believe me, there’s no way Paige could have done what she did for money.”

“Since she admits she killed him,” Penn said, “what we’re dealing with here then is euthanasia. Mercy killings are against the law in California, as in most states, but there are a lot of mixed feelings about them. I can make a pretty good case for Florence Nightingale listening to a Higher Voice and all that shit, but the problem is that your lady love killed a patient who left her a million dollars in his will. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Did she know about the million before she killed him, or after?”

“Paige didn’t know a thing about the money,” Jason said firmly.

Penn’s tone was noncommittal. “Right. It was just a happy coincidence. The DA is calling for Murder One, and he wants the death penalty.”

“Will you take the case?”

Penn hesitated. It was obvious that Jason Curtis believed in Dr. Taylor.
The way Samson believed in Delilah.
He looked at Jason and thought:
I wonder if the poor son of a bitch had a haircut and doesn’t know it.

Jason was waiting for an answer.

“Ill take the case, as long as you know it’s all uphill. It’s going to be a tough one to win.”

Alan Penn’s statement turned out to be overly optimistic.

When the trial resumed the following morning, Gus Venable called a string of new witnesses.

A nurse was on the stand. “I heard John Cronin say,
‘I know I’ll die on the operating table. You’re going to kill me. I hope they get you for murder.’ ”

An attorney, Roderick Pelham, was on the stand. Gus Venable said, “When you told Dr. Taylor about the million dollars from John Cronin’s estate, what did she say?”

“She said something like ‘It seems unethical. He was my patient.’”

“She admitted it was unethical?”

“Yes.”

“But she agreed to take the money?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

Alan Penn was cross-examining.

“Mr. Pelham, was Dr. Taylor expecting your visit?”

“Why, no, I…”

“You didn’t call her and say, ‘John Cronin left you one million dollars’?”

“No. I…”

“So when you told her, you were actually face-to-face with her?”

“Yes.”

“In a position to see her reaction to the news?”

“Yes.”

“And when you told her about the money, how did she react?”

“Well—she—she seemed surprised, but…”

“Thank you Mr. Pelham. That’s all.”

The trial was now in its fourth week. The spectators and press had found the prosecuting attorney and defense
attorney fascinating to watch. Gus Venable was dressed in white and Alan Penn in black, and the two of them had moved around the courtroom like players in a deadly, choreographed game of chess, with Paige Taylor the sacrificial pawn.

Gus Venable was tying up the loose ends.

“If the court please, I would like to call Alma Rogers to the witness stand.”

When his witness was sworn in, Venable said, “Mrs. Rogers, what is your occupation?”

“It’s
Miss
Rogers.”

“I do beg your pardon.”

“I work at the Corniche Travel Agency.”

“Your agency books tours to various countries and makes hotel reservations and handles other accommodations for your clients?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to take a look at the defendant. Have you ever seen her before?”

“Oh, yes. She came into our travel agency two or three years ago.”

“And what did she want?”

“She said she was interested in a trip to London and Paris and, I believe, Venice.”

“Did she ask about package tours?”

“Oh, no. She said she wanted everything first class—plane, hotel. And I believe she was interested in chartering a yacht.”

The courtroom was hushed. Gus Venable walked over to the prosecutor’s table and held up some folders. “The police found these brochures in Dr. Taylor’s apartment. These are travel itineraries to Paris and London and Venice, brochures for expensive hotels and airlines, and one listing the cost of chartering a private yacht.”

There was a loud murmur from the courtroom.

The prosecutor had opened one of the brochures.

“Here are some of the yachts listed for charter,” he read aloud. “The
Christina O…
twenty-six thousand dollars a week plus ship’s expenses…the
Resolute Time,
twenty-four thousand five hundred dollars a week…the
Lucky Dream,
twenty-seven thousand three hundred dollars a week.” He looked up. “There’s a check mark after the
Lucky Dream.
Paige Taylor had already selected the twenty-seven-thousand-three-hundred-a-week yacht. She just hadn’t selected her victim yet.

“We’d like to have these marked Exhibit A.” Venable turned to Alan Penn and smiled. Alan Penn looked at Paige. She was staring down at the table, her face pale. “Your witness.”

Penn rose to his feet, stalling, thinking fast.

“How is the travel business these days, Miss Rogers?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I asked how business was. Is Corniche a large travel agency?”

“It’s quite large, yes.”

“I imagine a lot of people come in to inquire about trips.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Would you say five or six people a day?”

“Oh, no!” Her voice was indignant. “We talk to as many as fifty people a day about travel arrangements.”

“Fifty people a day?” He sounded impressed. “And the day we’re talking about was two or three years ago. If you multiply fifty by nine hundred days, that’s roughly forty-five thousand people.”

“I suppose so.”

“And yet, out of all those people, you remembered Dr. Taylor. Why is that?”

“Well, she and her two friends were so excited about taking a trip to Europe. I thought it was lovely. They were like schoolgirls. Oh, yes. I remember them very clearly, particularly because they didn’t look like they could afford a yacht.”

“I see. I suppose everyone who comes in and asks for a brochure goes away on a trip?”

“Well, of course not. But—”

“Dr. Taylor didn’t actually
book
a trip, did she?”

“Well, no. Not with us. She—”

“Nor with anyone else. She merely asked to see some brochures.”

“Yes. She—”

“That’s not the same as
going
to Paris or London, is it?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Thank you. You may step down.”

Venable turned to Judge Young. “I would like to call Dr. Benjamin Wallace to the stand…”

“Dr. Wallace, you’re in charge of administration at Embarcadero County Hospital?”

“Yes.”

“So, of course, you’re familiar with Dr. Taylor and her work?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Were you surprised to learn that Dr. Taylor was indicted for murder?”

Penn was on his feet. “Objection, your honor. Dr. Wallace’s answer would be irrelevant.”

“If I may explain,” interrupted Venable. “It could be
very relevant if you’ll just let me…”

“Well, let’s see what develops,” said Judge Young. “But no nonsense, Mr. Venable.”

“Let me approach the question differently,” continued Venable. “Dr. Wallace, every physician is required to take the Hippocratic Oath, is that not so?”

“Yes.”

“And part of that oath is”—the prosecutor read from a paper in his hand—“‘that I shall abstain from every act of mischief or corruption’?”

“Yes.”

“Was there anything Dr. Taylor did in the past that made you believe she was capable of breaking her Hippocratic Oath?”

“Objection.”

“Overruled.”

“Yes, there was.”

“Please explain what it was.”

“We had a patient who Dr. Taylor decided needed a blood transfusion. His family refused to grant permission.”

“And what happened?”

“Dr. Taylor went ahead and gave the patient the transfusion anyway.”

“Is that legal?”

“Absolutely not. Not without a court order.”

“And then what did Dr. Taylor do?”

“She obtained the court order afterward, and changed the date on it.”

“So she performed an illegal act, and falsified the hospital records to cover it up?”

“That is correct.”

Alan Penn glanced over at Paige, furious.
What the hell else has she kept from me?
he wondered.

If the spectators were searching for any telltale sign of emotion on Paige Taylor’s face, they were disappointed.

Cold as ice,
the foreman of the jury was thinking.

Gus Venable turned to the bench. “Your honor, as you know, one of the witnesses I had hoped to call is Dr. Lawrence Barker. Unfortunately, he is still suffering from the effects of a stroke and is unable to be in this courtroom to testify. Instead I will now question some of the hospital staff who have worked with Dr. Barker.”

Penn stood up. “I object. I don’t see the relevance. Dr. Barker is not here, nor is Dr. Barker on trial here. If…”

Venable interrupted. “Your honor, I assure you that my line of questioning is very relevant to the testimony we have just heard. It also has to do with the defendant’s competency as a doctor.”

Judge Young said skeptically, “We’ll see. This is a courtroom, not a river. I won’t stand for any fishing expeditions. You may call your witnesses.”

“Thank you.”

Gus Venable turned to the bailiff. “I would like to call Dr. Mathew Peterson.”

An elegant-looking man in his sixties approached the witness box. He was sworn in, and when he took his seat, Gus Venable said, “Dr. Peterson, how long have you worked at Embarcadero County Hospital?”

“Eight years.”

“And what is your specialty?”

“I’m a cardiac surgeon.”

“And during the years you’ve been at Embarcadero
County Hospital, did you ever have occasion to work with Dr. Lawrence Barker?”

“Oh, yes. Many times.”

“What was your opinion of him?”

“The same as everyone else’s. Aside, possibly, from DeBakey and Cooley, Dr. Barker is the best heart surgeon in the world.”

“Were you present in the operating room on the morning that Dr. Taylor operated on a patient named…” He pretended to consult a slip of paper. “…Lance Kelly?”

The witness’s tone changed. “Yes, I was there.”

“Would you describe what happened that morning?”

Dr. Peterson said reluctantly, “Well, things started to go wrong. We began losing the patient.”

“When you say ‘losing the patient…’”

“His heart stopped. We were trying to bring him back, and…”

“Had Dr. Barker been sent for?”

“Yes.”

“And did he come into the operating room while the operation was going on?”

“Toward the end. Yes. But it was too late to do anything. We were unable to revive the patient.”

“And did Dr. Barker say anything to Dr. Taylor at that time?”

“Well, we were all pretty upset, and…”

“I asked you if Dr. Barker said anything to Dr. Taylor.”

“Yes.”

“And what did Dr. Barker say?”

There was a pause, and in the middle of the pause, there was a crack of thunder outside, like the voice of
God. A moment later, the storm broke, nailing raindrops to the roof of the courthouse.

“Dr. Barker said, ‘You killed him.’”

The spectators were in an uproar. Judge Young slammed her gavel down. “That’s enough! Do you people live in caves? One more outburst like that and you’ll all be standing outside in the rain.”

Gus Venable waited for the noise to die down. In the hushed silence he said, “Are you sure that’s what Dr. Barker said to Dr. Taylor? ‘You killed him’?”

“Yes.”

“And you have testified that Dr. Barker was a man whose medical opinion was valued?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Thank you. That’s all, doctor.” He turned to Alan Penn. “Your witness.”

Penn rose and approached the witness box.

“Dr. Peterson, I’ve never watched an operation, but I imagine there’s enormous tension, especially when it’s something as serious as a heart operation.”

“There’s a great deal of tension.”

“At a time like that, how many people are in the room? Three or four?”

“Oh, no. Always half a dozen or more.”

“Really?”

“Yes. There are usually two surgeons, one assisting, sometimes two anesthesiologists, a scrub nurse, and at least one circulating nurse.”

“I see. Then there must be a lot of noise and excitement going on. People calling out instructions and so on.”

“Yes.”

“And I understand that it’s a common practice for music to be playing during an operation.”

“It is.”

“When Dr. Barker came in and saw that Lance Kelly was dying, that probably added to the confusion.”

“Well, everybody was pretty busy trying to save the patient.”

“Making a lot of noise?”

“There was plenty of noise, yes.”

“And yet, in all that confusion and noise, and over the music, you could hear Dr. Barker say that Dr. Taylor had killed the patient. With all that excitement, you could have been wrong, couldn’t you?”

“No, sir. I could not be wrong.”

“What makes you so sure?”