Suzy's Case: A Novel (40 page)

“Okay, now what?” she asks.

“Well, it’s kind of an ‘as we go’ plan. But I have a direction.”

“As we go?” She looks more troubled than I’ve seen her to date, but then before, a murder-suicide hadn’t entered the picture.

“Listen,” I say carefully. “I have no direct evidence here. No medical professional or medical record has stated or even alluded to the fact that Suzy was electrocuted. What I have is a lot of circumstantial evidence, which is a distant second to direct evidence. Circumstantial evidence requires reasonable inferences to fill in the blanks. I’m super-uncomfortable with that as a trial lawyer because you can be faced with legal obstacles, ones that are beyond the scope of this
conversation. What I’m trying to do here is tie the circumstances together and present them to defense counsel in a neat little box beautifully tied up with ribbon and bow. The charred wire is my ribbon and the patch is my bow. They’re the only tangible pieces of evidence we have giving our claim substance. Just keep the faith. That’s all I ask. You with me?”

“I’m with you. I’m just kind of nervous.”

Surprising to me, Trace has something to say. “June, give the man the support he deserves, yo. Look what he’s been through for you.” It’s the first time I ever heard him initiate a sentence instead of just responding.

“Thanks, Trace,” I say. “And, June, your apprehension is understandable.” I look at my watch: twelve-thirty-five.

“June, listen carefully to the conversation I’m about to have. You’ll understand better where I’m going with this then.” I dial Goldman, Goldberg & McGillicuddy. “May I speak to the Weasel, please?” I ask the receptionist.

“Oh, you again. Transferring to Ms. McGillicuddy.”

She picks up. “Winnie McGillicuddy here.”

“Hey, it’s Tug Wyler. I’m sitting on the red leather seat of a ’sixty-two Impala bubble top coming from the Brooklyn House of Detention, where Dr. Laura Smith is being held. She sends her regards. She told me everything. She even put it in writing.”

“What’s everything?”

“Stop playing games. Once I bring myself to say it there’ll be no going back and you, your new law firm, and the hospital will all be exposed. The headline of the
Post
is gonna read ‘The Shocking Truth’ and Suzy’s going to be the cover girl.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insists.

“Yes you do.”

“No I don’t. Really.”

“You want proof as any good attorney would under the circumstances so I’m gonna give it to you the way the good doctor has instructed. She put some thought into it, which makes sense given how
her circumstances have changed.” It’s quiet on the other end of the line. “Are you listening?”

“I’m listening.”

“Dr. Smith insisted on handwriting out two sworn statements under oath and duly signed them before a jailhouse notary public, who also happens to be a decorated corrections officer with the rank of sergeant. She calls them Statement Number One and Statement Number Two. Statement Number One I have in my possession, and it’s only a couple words long. It’s Greek to me, but she said you’d understand. She’s no longer interested in being a part of this, as a result of her circumstances, but she has made a commitment she’d come forward as a witness for my case if need be, to right a wrong. She asked that I give you Statement Number One as soon as I left her, in hopes you’ll do what needs to be done to get Suzy Williams’s case settled. Dr. Laura—I mean Dr. Smith—wants the case settled today. No extenuating conditions. If I don’t call a certain number by seven tonight and tell a certain sergeant the case has been settled, the publication of Statement Number Two will go forward. I don’t have a copy of Statement Number Two, but Sergeant Roosevelt at the Brooklyn House of Detention does.” Dead silence. “Ms. McGillicuddy?”

“Still listening. Go on.”

“To my understanding, Statement Number Two lays everybody involved out for dead. However, Dr. Smith doesn’t wish to see anybody else get taken down over this, including you. It’s why she made the two statements with these precise instructions. She refused to give me Statement Number Two specifically so I wouldn’t use it in an unintended manner should the case settle this afternoon. Moreover, Dr. Smith has instructed me to give you Sergeant Roosevelt’s cell phone number so you can verify with her that she has an envelope in her possession marked Statement Number Two. The sergeant has specific instructions from Dr. Smith to give it to the jailhouse press unit at seven this evening, telling them also that the doctor agreed to be interviewed so her story could break on the evening news if the case hasn’t resolved. Now, do you want me to read Statement Number One to you, or would you like to continue your charade of innocence?”

“You can read it to me,” the Weasel responds, “but don’t infer from my curiosity any credibility with regard to your case.”

“Whatever you say. Statement Number One reads and I quote: ‘Valentine’s Day.’ End quote. That’s it. That’s all it says. I’ll fax it to you when I get back to the office. You still there? Hello? You still there?”

“I’m here. Fax it to me.”
Click.

“Clever, my lawyer is clever,” June says. “I hope it works.”

“Me, too, June. I have no idea why Smith drugged and kidnapped me, but it was right after he read my papers laying out what happened here. He wanted to keep the truth buried, and now it is, literally, with the Smiths. We’ll probably never know their connection, but if this works, who cares?”

Trace pulls to the curb in front of my building. “You guys stay here in the car,” I say. “I have some things I need to do in private. When I’m done, I’ll come back down.”

I go up to my office as quick as I can hobble. You never want a witness to a crime, and what I’m set on doing is a crime. All I can hope is I’ll never be tried and convicted. What I need to do now is look at Suzy’s file for something very specific to my intended malfeasance.
Bingo.
I find and take out Dr. Smith’s rejection letter, along with the three handwritten pages she attached to it.

I take out my orange highlighter and start highlighting the letters and numbers. I have every letter except for a capital
V
. Good enough. I open up my middle drawer and start fishing around. Next, I pick up a black fine-point marker. I take the cap off and test it to see if it still has juice. It does. I write over the highlighted letters and numbers, making them as dark as possible. Before capping my fine-point, I write over Dr. Smith’s signature at the bottom of her typewritten rejection letter. I open the paper compartment of my printer and take a clean white piece of paper, in order to start the tracing process. The
V
is my original, but the rest of the letters are an authentic forgery. I love it: authentic forgery.

When I’m done, the paper reads: “Valentine’s Day,” with Dr. Smith’s signature traced underneath the message and Rosie’s signature, likewise under that. I take out the notary stamp and press it down
between the two signatures and the “sworn before me” language and date I entered. This means that Dr. Smith’s signature was, in fact, legally, made before a notary public of the state of New York.

I fax my forgery to the Weasel with a handwritten cover note that reads: “June, Suzy, and I are going to Judge Leslie Schneider’s courtroom. We will see you there to place the settlement on the record. Come with big authority. I will not take a penny less. But don’t worry, I won’t shake you down, despite our disproportionate bargaining positions. I only want that justice be served and my client be compensated fairly. If you’re a no-show, that’ll be okay, too. It’s your career.”

Before walking out, I get the text I’ve been waiting for from Barton. It reads:
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. ENVELOPE DROP MADE. I WANT ALL MY VISITS TO THAT DETENTION HOUSE TO BE VOLUNTARY. PEACE
.

Trace takes us downtown. On the way there’s a call from someone I assume to be the Fidge. Trace’s side of the conversation is “Uh-huh … uh-huh … uh-huh … yeah … see you in fifty.” He pulls up in front of the Supreme Court building at 60 Centre Street and says to June, “Baby, can you make it on your own? I got a matter to attend to.”

“You know I can.” They share a smile. They’re really good friends with an amazing relationship, and I remind myself they’re not married.

I look out at the court building and curse Henry Benson. This case could have been brought in Kings County instead of a New York County venue, the latter being much worse for the plaintiff because of a more conservative jury pool. The thing is, Henry’s office is right across the street from 60 Centre, so he’s more concerned with his own convenience than the best interests of the client.

I direct June to take Suzy around to the back of the building, where the handicap-accessible ramp is, and I go up the front stairs. I want to get to the courtroom as soon as possible to make the necessary arrangements.

I enter Judge Schneider’s courtroom and check the wall clock. It’s three-forty-five. Every single person who works in this building is part of one union or another, so four-fifty is the deadline time for the Weasel’s arrival. Five minutes later, June enters pushing Suzy.

There’s not much going on except for a conference between five attorneys. Toby Wasserman, the judge’s law secretary, is ruling on the argument. After they clear the courtroom, she comes over to June, Suzy, and me. Dog is hidden in June’s big bag. “Can I help you?”

“I’m the attorney on the Suzy Williams matter, and these are my clients.”

Toby Wasserman turns to June. “Nice to meet you. I know you were here recently when your lawyer was in the hospital. Your handbag left quite an impression on the judge. She’s been talking about it ever since.”

“Thank you,” June says. She looks pleased at the compliment, but distracted. Then, unexpectedly, she adds, “I design them.”

“You’ve got talent.” Toby turns back to me. “Yes, we got a call from Lily at your office. If you need to put a settlement on the record, the judge will come down from chambers and we’ll call in a court reporter. By the way, how are you feeling?”

“Fine, thank you for asking.”

“What was it like being in a coma?”

“Surreal and peaceful. Why do you ask?”

“It’s not every day you meet someone who’s been through something like that.” She heads back to the judge’s chambers.

This coma thing is definitely a whole new social platform.

An hour goes by and no Weasel. We continue to sit and wait. When the wall clock reaches almost five, Toby comes out from behind the wooden door. “I’m sorry. We have to close up shop. You can always come back tomorrow or the next day or at any time during normal hours if you need to put a settlement on the record, but we can’t keep a court officer, a court reporter, a court clerk, a law secretary, a judge, and the rest of the crew it takes to run a courtroom after hours. It’s against the terms of certain bargaining agreements.”

I look at June. She looks at Suzy. “Not sch-weet, not sch-weet, no Vegas,” Suzy says.

“Time to go,” I tell them. “No worries, June,” I say in the most convincing manner I can. “I have Dr. Mickey Mack finding us a new expert as we speak. Once we defeat the motion to dismiss and the judge grants us permission to make the electrocution and punitive damages claims, we’ll have momentum again. If it doesn’t resolve after that, we’ll win before a jury and receive the largest jury verdict in history based on circumstantial evidence. I promise, everything’s going to be just fine.”

June looks deep into my eyes. “Those are the very words Dr. Valenti used outside Suzy’s hospital room just before she was electrocuted.”

Grabbing the handgrips on the back of Suzy’s wheelchair, she turns her toward the door. Toby, sensing June’s disappointment, speaks to us again. “We’re here if you need us during normal hours to place a settlement on the record. Have a pleasant evening.”

June pushes Suzy down the narrow aisle. “I got the door,” I tell them. I hobble around the wheelchair and pull the brass handle. Just at that second, in stomps the Weasel.

She is trailed by two people who also walk by me as I hold open the door. They come to a halt, being blocked by the leg braces jutting out from Suzy’s wheelchair. They look down. She looks up. “Sch-weet.”

The Weasel squeezes angrily around Suzy toward the bench, the pair of stooges following in tow. As they make it to the wooden fence known as the “bar” that separates the people involved in the litigation from the general public, the Weasel looks back at me. “Well, are you coming? Let’s do this.”

As I drag my leg forward, my adversary points to her colleagues. “This is Joel Glendale, the hospital’s independent counsel, and this is Sean McClain from Evergreen Structured Settlements, whom I brought to run some numbers if need be.”

Toby Wasserman, having made an about-face from her attempted exit, approaches. “Sorry, people. This part is shut down. Come back in the morning.”

“Not before we put a settlement on the record,” the Weasel says. “Call the judge down and get a reporter in here.”

“No can do,” Toby replies.

“Yes can do,” McGillicuddy counters. “I formally request that you make a call to chambers and tell the judge we’re in the courtroom waiting for her and a reporter to place a settlement on the record. It’s five minutes to five and none of the union agreements will be violated. Pursuant to article 3B, if all counsel are present and ready to proceed before five, which they are, we’re permitted to place a settlement on the record in the interest of judicial economy, even if we run past the hour. I’ll have you know I’m on the state’s Judiciary Committee, and if the judge doesn’t come down, this matter will be reviewed, as will her practice of keeping her courtroom clock set ten minutes fast.”

Toby walks over to the desk next to Judge Schneider’s bench, sits down, and picks up the phone.

June tugs on my jacket. “What’s going on?” she whispers. “Why can’t we just settle the case? Everybody’s here.”

“In order for a settlement to be legally binding on both sides without there being a chance of one party backing out,” I explain, “it has to be settled in open court, on the record, before a judge. The committee the Weasel spoke about is a group of lawyers who review the conduct of judges. They wouldn’t look favorably on a judge not being available during working hours when the attorneys, independent counsel, and a structured-settlement guy were all in the courtroom waiting to put a settlement on the record. Let’s take a seat and see what happens.”