Unsaid: A Novel (34 page)

“No sir,” Jaycee says clearly.

“Are you absolutely certain?” Mace asks with an insinuation of incredulity.

“Yes. I’m fully aware of where I go, sir.”

“I see,” Mace says.

David tries hard not to squirm in his seat.

“Let me be more specific. Did you drive your car to the perimeter of the CAPS facility at any time following your arrest?”

“No.”

“I remind you that you are under oath, Doctor.”

“So I’ve been told, Mr. Mace.”

Max leans over to David and whispers, “What the hell is this about? Is he just being an ass?”

“No idea,” David whispers back, but I can see that he’s nervous.

Up at the front of the courtroom, Mace turns to Allerton. “Then I’ve nothing further for this witness at this time.”

“Okay,” Allerton says. “Any redirect, Mr. Colden?” David, lost in his own thoughts, appears not to have heard. “Mr. Colden? Hello? Any redirect?”

David refocuses on the judge and then slowly rises to his feet. “Not at this time, Your Honor.”

Allerton turns to Jaycee. “You’re excused, Doctor.” Jaycee steps out of the witness box and takes a seat behind David. “Do you have any other witnesses, Mr. Colden?” Allerton asks.

“Yes,” he says. “We call the former director of NIS, Dr. Scott Jannick.”

David’s entire team simultaneously looks at him exactly the same way—
What the hell?
But if I know nothing else, I know my husband. I know what he has in mind. By some bizarre and convoluted series of events, he now has my last gift to him and to Cindy; he’s not going to waste it, whatever the risks.

Mace is instantly on his feet. “Your Honor, this is entirely inappropriate. We’ve had no notice that Dr. Jannick would be called as a witness. He isn’t even in the courtroom.”

Allerton nods. “Have you made provision to have Mr. Jannick in the courtroom, Mr. Colden?”

“No. His testimony only became material once the testimony today was elicited.”

Allerton looks at the clock. Four thirty
PM
. “I hate to end the day early, but I do think the prosecution is entitled to a minimum of notice before you call one of their own as a witness. We are adjourned until nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

As soon as Allerton is off the bench, Max goes to manage the press while David finds Jaycee.

“When did you decide to call Jannick?” she asks.

David ignores the question. “Why was he asking you about your car?” David asks.

Jaycee shrugs. “Fishing, I guess.”

“The head of the criminal division of the US Attorney’s Office doesn’t fish.”

“Well, he was this time, and whatever trick he had in mind clearly didn’t work.”

“Maybe, but the trial isn’t over yet.”

“Trust me, okay?” Jaycee says and quickly walks away.

Chris catches up to David. “What was that all about?”

“Do you know when it’s time to really worry during a trial?” David asks her.

Chris shakes her head.

“It’s when your client says ‘Trust me.’ ”

Later that evening, David sits alone in his darkened office. I’ve been summoned here by the sound of my own voice and the light thrown by my own image. There I am on the computer screen, a ghostly
vision from the past. And yet, here I stand, an ethereal phantom from the past. At least on the screen David can see me and hear my words; I carry the weight of history. He even tries to trace my movements with his fingers, so powerful am I. But here, I am nothing to him—not even vestigial.

When David hits the
PLAY
button on his computer for the sixth time, I am grateful that I can find my dear Skippy. He lies with his head on his paws between Clifford’s legs in the bed that has become Clifford’s when the boy stays at our house. Skippy’s eyes are still alert, but his cough is persistent now.

One of my old photo albums is open before them, the one I called my Remembrance Album. It holds a photograph of every creature I’d ever lived with. On the inside front cover, I had written these words more than two decades ago: “On the pages within are those who came before; those who shared their lives with us all too briefly. These are the lives we honor. These are our beloved angels who have returned to God.”

Clifford slowly turns through the photographs, pausing to point out each dog, cat, bird, or rodent to Skippy. When Clifford gets to the blank pages at the end, he carefully closes the album, kisses Skippy on the head, and turns out the light.

A
t nine o’clock the next morning, Jannick smiles at the judge and the jury from the witness box.

Following a few preliminary questions establishing Jannick’s credentials, David requests and obtains permission from the court to treat him as a hostile witness. Jannick speaks clearly, calmly, and answers each question without hesitation.

“Did you, in fact, make the decision not to renew Dr. Cassidy’s project for another year?” David asks.

“No. That was not my decision. I did, however, make a recommendation that the project not be continued.”

“That recommendation was upheld?”

“Yes, it was.”

“So, what will now happen to Cindy?”

“She will be returned to the general NIS primate population.”

“Are there any plans for her once she gets returned?”

“Not specifically. But she will be available for suitable research projects.”

“Suitable in what way?”

“Age, gender, sometimes weight, temperament—a whole range of possible factors.”

“What are the current NIS research programs that she might be included in?”

“Objection,” Mace calls out. “This line of questioning is clearly irrelevant.”

“Your Honor, the prosecution has painted the picture that Dr. Cassidy was somehow emotionally disturbed because she didn’t want Cindy to go back to the general primate population. The jury is entitled to know what awaits Cindy there. This is all about Dr. Cassidy’s motive.”

“Okay, Mr. Colden, but let’s move it along.”

“I certainly will try,” David says. “The question, Doctor, is what are the current NIS research programs?”

“I can’t recall all of them.”

“Perhaps I can help. Hepatitis?”

“Yes.”

“Carcinogenics?”

“Yes.”

“Tuberculosis?”

“Yes.”

“Ebola?”

“Not when I stepped down.”

“HIV?”

“Yes.”

“Brain stem trauma?”

“Yes.”

“Spinal trauma?”

“Yes.”

“Surgical technique?”

“Yes.”

“Anything I’m leaving out?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Does NIS have any type of practice or policy regarding the use of post-surgical pain management?”

“We encourage our researchers to use the most humane practices.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“We have no specific policy, other than to encourage the use of post-surgical pain analgesics where it is consistent with the protocol involved.”

“Do you know how many of your researchers actually use post-surgical pain meds?”

“No, we don’t keep track of that.”

“You would agree, wouldn’t you, that chimpanzees feel pain?”

“I would agree that chimpanzees experience nociception, which is the detection and signaling of noxious events through specialized nerves. I would also agree that they have the conscious perception of that nociception stimulus.”

“How is that different from feeling pain?”

“People have different definitions of the word
pain
that often transcend the physiological response to noxious stimuli. I’m trying to be clear about my parameters.”

“Do you believe that chimpanzees suffer?”

“Define
suffer
.”

“
Suffer
—meaning the negative emotional reaction to perceived pain.”

“I believe they have a response to pain as I defined it that is more than just physiological. I don’t want to get into a semantical
jousting match with you about the meaning of
emotion
or
spirit
or
soul
or
theory of mind
. You can affix whatever labels you like.”

“In your experience, do chimpanzees understand when a painful procedure is about to commence?”

“We have documented certain physiological changes in anticipation of particular procedures—heart rate goes up, vocalization, blood pressure escalates.”

“Vocalization? You mean they scream?”

Jannick nods. “That happens, yes.”

“And when you say that NIS encourages the use of post-surgical analgesics ‘consistent with the protocol involved,’ what does that mean?”

“Analgesics are contra-indicated for certain research.”

“For example?”

“Some areas of research are specifically designed to measure the effect of noxious stimuli. You certainly wouldn’t want to use post-surgical pain meds in that context.”

David reads off a sheet at his counsel table. “So, for example, in a study of a new design of hip joints for hip replacement, you wouldn’t give post-surgical meds because…?”

“You wanted to assess the discomfort of the subject post-surgery.”

“Dr. Cassidy was aware of the manner that NIS used primates in other experiments?”

“We had discussed it.”

“And she advised you that she didn’t want Cindy returned to the general NIS primate population because of those experiments?”

“That’s putting it mildly, yes.”

“Tell me something, Doctor. Have you ever had a hip replacement?”

“No.”

“How about a knee?”

“Yes, a partial replacement, several years ago.”

“Did you have pain?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Are you sure you suffered pain following that surgery, or were you simply experiencing a conscious perception of nociception stimulus?” This question draws some isolated laughter from the benches.

“Objection.”

“I’ll withdraw the question,” David says. “Dr. Jannick, are you familiar with the term
knock down
?”

“That’s not a term that we use.”

“But you have heard of it, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Chimpanzees are stronger than humans, correct?”

“Generally, pound for pound, yes.”

“So, the chimpanzees at NIS must be anesthetized for even the most minor procedures, including drawing blood?”

“Yes.”

“How is this done?”

“The chimpanzee is darted with the appropriate amount of anesthetic.”

“Before this happens, food and water are withheld, right?”

“Generally, yes. For the safety of the specimen, so it does not aspirate while under the tranquilizer.”

“So that it doesn’t choke on its vomit?”

“Yes, that’s another way of putting it.”

“The chimpanzees know when the anesthesia is coming?”

“I couldn’t say for sure what they know.”

“Okay, let’s stick to what you do know. Does it sometimes take more than one shot to anesthetize the specimen?”

“Yes.”

“Is the chimpanzee generally moving when the dart is fired?”

“Yes.”

“Does the dart sometimes hit the chimpanzee in the face, or the anus or the penis or the vagina?”

“That has happened, yes.”

“The chimpanzees hate these tranquilization episodes, don’t they?”

“Hate is a human characteristic, Mr. Colden.”

“Fair enough. How do the chimpanzees respond when they see the dart gun?”

“They vocalize.”

“They scream?”

“On occasion.”

“They urinate on themselves? Their bowels open?”

“This happens on occasion.”

“Would you say they experience terror?”

“Again, a human characteristic.”

David returns to his counsel table and takes out another CD. “May I use the court’s projector for a moment, Your Honor?”

“What are you going to show us?” Allerton asks.

“One episode of what Dr. Jannick has just described.”

Mace stands. “We object to these theatrics, Your Honor. It is patently irrelevant.”

“To the contrary,” David responds. “This is a well-known film clip taken by a former research assistant at an NIS facility. I don’t think there’s anything theatrical about it.” David inserts the CD into the player at the front of the courtroom without waiting for Allerton to rule.

I’ve seen this clip before. The images at first are disorienting
because they’re taken from a shaky, low angle. A man in a green jumpsuit enters an area where five-by-five-by-seven-foot cages line the walls. Each cage contains a single chimpanzee. When the chimpanzees see the man, they begin to scream. The sound is deafening on the recording. The man stops before one of the cages. The chimpanzee in the cage, still screaming, tries to squeeze into the farthest possible corner. The man takes out a dart gun from a pocket in his overalls. The chimpanzee sees the gun, defecates on itself, and then turns its face away from the man, its body quivering. The man shoots, and in a few seconds the chimpanzee slumps to the floor, landing in its feces. The recording goes blue.

David stops the player. When he speaks, there is a tremble in his voice. “Is that the tranquilizing process you were describing, Dr. Jannick?”

“I don’t believe that the reaction of the primate depicted is typical.”

“But that is the process?”

“Basically, yes, but can I just say—”

“Thank you, sir. I think you answered my question. You don’t believe that Jaycee succeeded in fulfilling her grant requirements, do I have that correct?”

“I believe that her work was very worthwhile, but I don’t believe that the specimen, Cindy, actually acquired complex human language skills. I don’t believe she can be analogized to a four-year-old human child at all. The initial research was promising, but it just didn’t pan out.”

“One of the reasons for your recommendation was that Cindy’s communication with Dr. Cassidy couldn’t be replicated, right?”

“Yes. Cindy would only communicate with Jaycee. That’s a huge red flag because it often means the specimen is responding to
particular non-language reward cues—like a dog trained to sit for a bone. It says nothing about the language acquisition capability of the species or the language actually acquired by the individual specimen.”

“A dog trained to sit,” David repeats. “I see. So if I showed you one German shepherd who got up on his hind legs, walked over to the phone, dialed the pizza parlor, and ordered a large pie with half cheese and half raw beef, how many more German shepherds would need to do that to convince you that your assumptions about German shepherds were wrong?”