The Court (2 page)

“That's correct, Sister.” Wright was desperate for a cigarette. “Our professor has combed over the justices and their stands on such issues as the death penalty, abortion, and similar matters.”

“I don't agree there is any similarity.”

He shook his head. “It's a matter of opinion, of course. In any event, the professor believes the Court will again split, as it does so often now, and it is his opinion that Justice Howell will decide for you.”

She silently regarded him for a moment. He felt uncomfortable under her steely gaze. “And you think you can actually rely on such a thing,” she asked.

“I rely on nothing except the brief we are submitting and the argument we will present. This is a contest, Sister, an important contest. I play to win. We not only bought the professor's predictions, but also his study on the background of each justice. How I approach the brief and argument will be influenced by what I determine is the best avenue for success. The professor's data will be of great use to me. Remember, when all is said and done, I must find the means to persuade the majority of the Court to our point of view.”

She looked out the window. “If I lose the case I shall be forced to serve the sentence imposed by the lower court, is that not correct?”

He almost whispered the answer. “Ten years. To be served at the state women's prison.”

She looked back at him, the hint of an icy smile upon her thin lips. “I shall be one of the few nuns in prison, at least in this country. But I do not consider myself a martyr. I presume I will be assigned to the prison infirmary where I can once again serve as a nurse, at least in fact, if not in name. I also suppose that my fellow inmates, while perhaps not the genteel ladies I associate with here, will talk to me. That, in itself, would constitute an improvement.”

“Prisons are not convents, Sister.”

The smile vanished and the commanding eyes narrowed. “I am not afraid. Do you know what will happen to me if you should win my case for me?”

“You'll be free. Not just out on bond, but really free.”

“Mother General has made it quite clear that if I wish to remain in the order I shall be required to spend time with a cloistered order. We shall pray together, but we will not be allowed to talk. The Church regards what I have done as murder. It is a time-honored way of exacting penance. Unlike your civil authorities, no time is set. I shall serve in silence until someone designated by the Church believes I have seen the error of my ways and have been sufficiently punished for my transgressions. When that occurs, if ever, I shall be sent back to serve perhaps as a teacher, but I shall never be allowed again to nurse the sick. I am not to be trusted.” Her words were spoken without bitterness, but just as a flat, objective statement of fact.

“That is the fate that Rome will demand,” she continued. “That is, should I choose to bow to the Pope's authority.”

“And if you don't?” He was interested. Wright had never considered the ultimate consequences to the nun if they were victorious before the Supreme Court.

A cold smile haunted her lips. “I shall be excommunicated. That may not mean a great deal to you, Mr. Wright, but I have taken vows of obedience and I still believe in my Church. If I ignore my superiors I shall be cast out.”

“I'm in no position to advise you in religious matters. Still, it
is
your choice. You could leave. You have a tremendous educational background, Sister. Surely you could get work.…”

She held up a restraining hand. “Of course. But what kind of work? I am quite notorious, am I not? Do not protest. They call me Sister Death. Can you honestly see any reputable hospital taking me on? Wouldn't the media jump on that?”

“Well, there are a number of things you could do. You could teach. And there are clinics where you would be welcome.”

“Abortion mills? I am a nun, Mr. Wright, but I am not naive. Certainly there are a number of medical places where I could be exhibited like a prize freak, perverse places where men calling themselves doctors scrape away the lives of thousands of unborn and innocent children. No, I'm afraid such a fate would be inconsistent with my beliefs.”

Wright was confused by her attitude. “You make it sound as if you really want to lose the case.”

Her ability to be inscrutable, to conceal her thoughts and emotions behind her placid features, was impressive. He sought a hint of her feelings in the cold eyes behind the spectacles but found none.

She seemed to be carefully choosing her words as she spoke. “I have given my situation considerable thought. Believe me when I tell you that I feel completely justified in the eyes of God, despite whatever position the Church may take at this time. I believe eventually my actions will be seen as blameless under civil law. However, what the future may hold is not in my command. I was trained to serve God and humanity, Mr. Wright. I may be serving God here but I feel the need to serve humanity. I need to resume nursing. That is why I called you, Mr. Wright. I wish to withdraw the appeal and begin my sentence.”

The attorney knew the shock had shown on his features, but he quickly composed himself. A lot would depend on just how he handled the situation. He paused, then spoke. “Come now, Sister. You can't be serious?”

Her chilly eyes never blinked. Sister Agatha Murphy was a determined woman. One eyebrow lifted slightly as she replied. “Surely you can have no objection to dropping the matter? I would have thought you would welcome it. I understand most of your work on this case is donated. What do you lawyers call it? Pro bono—for the public good?”

Michael Wright sat back in his chair. He was an experienced trial lawyer and quite accustomed to controlling panic. He knew if he reacted too quickly or emotionally she might perceive the true situation. She was intelligent. It would have to be handled very delicately.

“If you want the matter dropped, Sister, I shall certainly do so.” His mind raced for just the right words. “However, your case has really gone beyond the fate of Sister Agatha Murphy, hasn't it?”

She said nothing. Her only response was a slight narrowing of her eyes.

“Sister, there are desperate people all over America. They are dying. Slowly. Painfully. There is no hope of recovery. The pain medications no longer work. Surgical nerve blocks no longer work. You know what is happening to them much better than I. They pray for release. If they are comatose and living on life-support systems, even your own religion allows the plug to be pulled. But if they are alive and screaming in pain, they are forced to endure to the very last.”

“Young man, I am not a jury and you don't have to paint any word pictures for me. I have spent most of my life serving such people. If you have a point, make it.” Her tone was soft but her words crackled with command.

“Look, if you win, the whole law shifts. This issue, which has bounced around the courts and various state legislatures, which has been on ballot initiatives, will finally be settled. People in pain, if they desire it, can ask for release. Doctors and nurses can legally do it in every state. Now some doctors and nurses who help these people out of their misery stand in jeopardy of ruin and prison.”

“Many do it, despite that.”

“Of course, but many do not. That's why your case is important, extremely so. It isn't just a matter of whether you get locked away in a jail or a convent. As in so many of these cases, Sister, your personal fate is comparatively unimportant. But the outcome of your case will affect millions. It will change the law and society will be forced to solve a problem it has long feared to face.”

She studied him silently for a moment. “Do you honestly think I was right in what I did with my patients?”

He nodded.

For just a moment her features seemed to soften. She looked out the window again. “All right. I can understand the importance of the decision. I suppose I can endure.” She slowly turned her head and looked at him. “Perhaps it will ease your burden if you know that I do not care whether I win or lose as an individual. We will continue the appeal, Mr. Wright.” She stood up. “Thank you for coming.”

He got to his feet. “You are a most admirable person, Sister. I can certainly understand your discomfort here, but it won't be long now. The Supreme Court has accepted the case. My brief is almost finished. The briefs will be submitted and the Court will assign us a date to argue. The professor in Oregon believes that the court will act quickly on this matter because of the importance of the rational suicide issue and the publicity the case has received.” He smiled. “Perhaps the words are a bit inappropriate for you, Sister, but as I tell many of my other clients, just try and hang in there.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I do not need your sympathy or your encouragement. I appreciate your intention, however. Good day, Mr. Wright. I'll have one of the sisters escort you out.”

“I know the way.”

“As you wish.”

She was gone as quickly as she had come. Once again he was alone in the eerie silence. Quickly he strode down the hallway, opened the door, and escaped into the world outside. He needed a drink and he knew he had to make a telephone call.

Wright stopped at a bar and had the drink first. Then he moved to the bar's phone booth.

Sister Murphy was incorrect. Michael Wright's time was not donated. He was on retainer and well paid. The check came from the Egress Society of America, Incorporated, but it was signed by Herbert Mennen.

It took several long distance calls to trace Mennen but he finally located him at a health club.

“You got me out of the fucking steam room,” Mennen said. “I'm freezing my butt off, so make it fast.”

Wright quickly recounted his conversation with Sister Murphy.

“Hey, if that menopausal old broad is going stir crazy, get her reassigned. Shit, sue the lady general or whatever they call her. Raise a little hell. Make the Pope look like a shit. I got too much invested. I don't want this thing dropped.”

“Sister Murphy won't sue the Mother General. There's nothing I can do legally. So far, everything is all right, but I wanted you to know she's getting shaky.”

“Shaky? Hey, that old bitch killed over a hundred and thirty-five people. Shaky! Shit, if that didn't bother her, nothin' ever will. Maybe she wants something, you think? Maybe money?”

“No. She's straight enough. I don't even think she suspects what's on the line here.”

“Wha'd'ya mean, suspects? You talk like I was planning something illegal. That's the whole point of this fucking lawsuit. I want everything legal. That's the only way it'll work.”

“I know.”

“And I want to get in on the ground floor. Hell, there's big money to be made, but you have to do it fast before the market gets flooded. I got everything ready. I got options on the places. I even got the people lined up to work 'em. Shit, I'll have a nationwide network operating before the ink is even dry on the decision. That is, if you win.”

“And if we lose?”

“Look, I'm not in the business of losing. But if we did I suppose my accountants could find a way to write off most of it, but I wouldn't be making anything on the deal. That I don't like. You sure about this guy, what's his name, Howell?”

“Nothing is sure. That's just the prediction. I think it's probably correct.”

“I damn well hope so. There's millions to be made in this thing. Christ, I think I may be able to get the health insurance companies to pay. Wouldn't that be something?”

“They'll never pay for people to commit suicide.”

“Hey, why not? If a doctor provides the prescription and it's all done in the hospital setting—one of my hospice places—and it's legal, why the hell shouldn't they pay? Hey, Wright, I'd like to go on talking, but my fucking skin is turning blue. See if you can't do something to keep that old broad happy. We can't be stopped now, now that we're so close to pay dirt. Remember, this is going to be a nationwide deal.”

Wright hung up and returned to the bar.

The money was good, very good, but contact with Herbert Mennen depressed him. The question of whether it was a criminal act to assist a suicide was a legitimate issue. There was nothing to be ashamed of in representing a side in a legitimate legal controversy. If Herbert Mennen wanted to pick up the tab—how had Sister Murphy put it about such persons—that was his choice. Still, the association with Mennen caused Wright to feel demeaned and tarnished.

He knew Mennen's background. Mennen's method may have been as crude as the man himself, but like him, they were always legal. Starting from nothing, he had made a fortune, all in the very best American tradition.

He had started his climb from ownership of a single poultry store where he killed and dressed the chickens himself. He had branched out, ending up with a national net of slaughterhouses. Then came his abortion clinics. Despite the battle over Medicaid funding, Mennen made millions before selling his interests in that business.

There was a definite pattern—Herbert Mennen liked to kill things.

Wright took the Scotch from the bartender and sipped. He thought about the upcoming case in the Supreme Court. The oral arguments would be made with calm dignity in that palacelike setting of the high court. The lawyers and the justices would speak evenly of case precedents, logic, and soaring principles of law. Meanwhile, Mennen would have things set up and ready to go.

If they won, Mennen's “hospices” would spring up like May flowers, and a parade of sick, depressed, and defeated people would line up and pay huge sums of money to sip a pleasantly flavored poison that would ease them quickly and painlessly from beneath the crushing weight of their own particular cross. Mennen's public relations people planned to call it “self-deliverance.”

He wondered if the Supreme Court justices ever considered the flesh and blood consequences of their actions, or whether they saw everything merely in abstract legal terms. He wondered if Justice Howell knew he literally held the lives of thousands of people in his hands.