Blind Justice Page 2

  “Morning, Amy. Sorry I’m late.”

  She smiled faintly. “It’s all right. That legal assistant on the other side told me you were practicing your closing argument.”

  Another favor he owed Christina. “Do you feel secure about your testimony? Are there any other questions you wanted to ask me?”

  Amy’s face tightened. “Do I really have to go up there in front of the judge and everybody?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He patted her hand. “Don’t worry about it, Amy. I’ll be here the whole time. You’ll do fine. Promise.”

  “I hope so,” she said nervously. “I really do.”

  After Judge Helen Hart entered the courtroom, she reassembled the jury and resumed the trial. Judge Hart was in her mid-forties and had been on the bench long enough to approach her work with a sense of grace and humor Ben found extremely refreshing. A good judge could make a tense trial like this one much more bearable.

  Ben’s only remaining witness was Mrs. Simmons; she was the make-or-break witness for their case. The medical witnesses were perfectly convincing, but if Amy didn’t persuade the jury she had been injured in the auto accident and was still suffering resultant damage, the jury would never enter a verdict in her favor.

  After she took the stand, Ben steered Amy gently through the direct examination they had prepared and practiced countless times in advance of trial. She was extremely nervous, but her answers were solid, and she appeared sincere. She discussed her neck injury and the symptoms she experienced periodically: the sharp, stabbing pain, the uncontrollable spasms, the inability to hold her head erect. Her doctor said she had a severe soft tissue injury and, after performing some minor surgery, he prescribed medication and physical therapy for the rest of her life.

  After they completed their prepared questions, Ben stepped away from the podium. Amy’s testimony had been fine, but it hadn’t really captured the jurors’ heartstrings. It was a little too canned, too pat. Ben knew he needed to depart from the script and ask some zingers artfully designed to elicit jury sympathy.

  “Amy, are you able to enjoy the same quality of life you had before the accident?”

  Amy looked down at her hands. “Oh, you know. I do all right.”

  Hardly a stirring response. “Amy, are you still able to play tennis?”

  “Well, you know, Mr. Kincaid, I never really enjoyed tennis that much.”

  “What about your golf game?”

  “Well, now that I have grandchildren, I don’t heed to be out chasing a little ball all over the green.”

  Ben took a deep breath. “Amy, are you embarrassed when your neck starts to twitch in public?”

  “Oh, my. You know, I don’t give much thought to what other people think.”

  Sheesh. This called for drastic action. Ben approached the stand and leaned over the rail. “Amy. I know you’re trying to be brave and uncomplaining, but you must be honest with the jury. I can see your neck trembling. It hurts, doesn’t it? It hurts right now.”

  She pressed her hand against her neck. “Yes,” she whispered.

  Good girl. He was leading the witness, of course, but Reynolds was probably too dim to notice. “It hurts every day, doesn’t it? So badly you can barely tolerate it?”

  Her entire head was shaking. Her nod was barely perceptible.

  “And if you can’t afford to pay for the medication and the physical therapy, that pain is going to continue unabated for the rest of your life, isn’t it?”

  Her eyes were welling up with tears. “I-I guess so,” she said.

  “Thank you. No more questions, your honor.”

  Ben returned to plaintiff’s table, pleased. It was a struggle, but Amy finally managed to tell the jury what they needed to know. Just let Reynolds try to take her apart on cross. If he got rough with her, the jury would hate his effete little guts.

  Reynolds walked slowly to the podium. He obviously saw the dilemma as clearly as Ben, and as a result, wasn’t sure how to begin. “Mrs. Simmons, my name is Quinn Reynolds.” He stood for a moment, poised in thought. “I represent the defendant, Mr. Lombardi.”

  “And his insurance company,” Amy added.

  “Move to strike,” Reynolds said, without missing a beat.

  “Granted,” Judge Hart said. “The jury will disregard the witness’s last remark.”

  “And I move for a mistrial,” Reynolds said.

  “Don’t you wish,” the judge replied. “Proceed with your questions, counselor.”

  “Mrs. Simmons, you claim you have suffered a soft tissue injury to your neck. Is that correct?”

  “That’s what the doctor told me.”

  “But Mrs. Simmons, isn’t what the doctor actually said—” Reynolds flipped through his notebook, then turned it over and flipped through it again. “Now where did I put that?” He walked back to defendant’s table and began burrowing through his huge stash of documents.

  Ben smiled. There was nothing better than seeing a sleaze-meister’s dirty tricks backfire. Early in the case, Reynolds had issued a huge request for production of documents. Reynolds was obviously hoping to bury Ben, the sole practitioner, under a morass of paperwork, and to make the litigation as expensive for Amy as possible. Now Reynolds was unable to find the document he needed because it was lost somewhere in the morass of documents he brought into existence. Sweet irony.

  Unfortunately, Christina, a far better legal assistant than Reynolds deserved, walked unobtrusively to the front of the courtroom, went directly to the proper file folder and retrieved the document he needed. Reynolds snatched it from her without so much as a nod and returned to the podium.

  “As I was saying, Mrs. Simmons. Isn’t it true your doctor referred to your injury as ‘probably minor and easily removed’?”

  “Easily removed?” A puzzled expression crossed her face. “May I see that?”

  Reynolds didn’t want to, but Judge Hart gestured at the witness stand, indicating she wanted the witness to examine the document. He passed it to the bailiff, who handed it to Amy.

  “Probably minor and easily removed,” Amy repeated, perusing the medical record. “Oh, I see now. This isn’t about my neck injury. This is about a wart.”

  Reynolds blinked. “A wart?”

  “Yes. See, at the top of the page, the doctor refers to my verruca vulgaris. That’s a wart.” She looked up at Reynolds. “You’re right; that was minor and easily removed.”

  Ben covered his smile with his hands. This cross couldn’t be better if he had scripted it himself. He could see the jury verdict crystalizing before his eyes; dollar signs were flashing like neon lights.

  Reynolds flipped a few more pages in his notebook. At least he had the sense to know when to start over. “You say your neck causes you pain on a regular basis?”

  “That’s true.”

  “That you experience disorientation and dizziness.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “And that you are subject to sudden uncontrollable neck seizures.”

  “Yes. Particularly when I’m tired.”

  What softballs, Ben thought. Reynolds must’ve given up trying to win the case and decided just to act sympathetic and hope for the best.

  “And you’ve testified that the neck spasms are interfering with your work.”

  “Well, as a nurse, I’m in contact with patients on a regular basis. A violent neck twitch doesn’t make for good bedside manner.”

  “And these neck ailments began after the car accident?”

  “Oh no,” she said cheerily. “I’ve had this problem all my life.”

  Ben’s jaw practically thudded against the table. What?

  “Are you saying your injury was not caused by the car accident?” Reynolds asked.

  Amy’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Apparently it had dawned on her that she might have said something wrong. She looked at Ben, as if hoping he would answer for her.

  Judge Hart glanced down from the bench. “The witness will answer
the question.”

  Ben mentally envisioned the dollar signs slipping through his fingers. He jumped to his feet. “Your honor, I object. I can’t see what possible relevance—”

  “Save it,” Judge Hart said, cutting him off. “Overruled. Not that I blame you for trying.”

  “I’ve had neck problems since I was a little girl,” Amy answered. “I was about eight or nine when they started.”

  “Mrs. Simmons, when I took your deposition two months ago, you described in great detail the neck pains you experienced the day of the accident.”

  “That’s true,” she said. “I did have a bad attack that day.”

  “But it was not the first time you had the problem.”

  “Oh no. Not at all.”

  Reynolds grinned malevolently. If her neck ailment predated the accident, then it wasn’t caused by the car accident, meaning the driver of the assaulting car wasn’t liable. Nor was his insurance company. “No more questions, your honor.”

  “Any redirect?” Judge Hart asked.

  Ben rose. “Yes, your honor.”

  The judge nodded. “Lotsa luck.”

  Ben hustled to the podium. He was going to have to rehabilitate this witness like he had never rehabilitated before.

  “Amy. You did testify that your neck hurt shortly after the accident, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. Terribly so.”

  “Was it just another spasm like the others you’d had before?” Please, God, be with me now!

  “Oh no. It was much worse.”

  Yes! “So the pain after the accident was much worse.”

  “Much much more so. It had never really hurt before. After the accident, though, the pain was almost incapacitating.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “According to Dr. Carter, the whiplash effect when Mr. Lombardi’s car rammed into me caused a cervical disk between two cervical vertebrae to impinge upon a nerve.”

  “And that’s a permanent injury, isn’t it, Amy?”

  “I’m afraid so. Although the medication, surgery, and therapy will help, the doctors say the condition will never entirely disappear.”

  “So even if the accident didn’t instigate your neck problems, it would be fair to say it seriously aggravated the preexisting condition?”

  “Oh yes. It’s been much worse and more frequent since the accident.”

  Praise all that’s holy. “Thank you, Amy. I have no more questions, your honor.”

  “Very well,” the judge said. “Gentlemen, we’ll resume at one o’clock. And incidentally, Mr. Kincaid,” she added, “nice save.”

  3

  BEN GREETED AMY SIMMONS in his office lobby, carefully sidestepping the chickens. He hoped if he acted as if they weren’t there, she wouldn’t ask any questions.

  “I just wanted to thank you again for taking my case, Mr. Kincaid,” Amy said. “All the other lawyers I contacted turned me down flat.”

  “Well, soft tissue injuries are difficult to prove.”

  “You were wonderful in the courtroom today. Especially after my cross-examination.”

  “That was nothing special. I just had to adjust our theory of recovery to the eggshell skull doctrine. If the negligent party aggravates a preexisting injury, he can still be held liable for the increased pain and suffering. No big deal.”

  “I thought you were brilliant. I guess the jury thought so, too.”

  Ben shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that. They only awarded you ten thousand dollars in damages. Fortunately, the other side settled, so you’ll be spared an appeal, but you’ll have to spend half the ten thou just to cover your preexisting medical bills, much less pay for future expenses.”

  “It isn’t your fault I never told you I had neck problems before the accident. I just assumed everyone knew.”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Anyway, my brother-in-law is in law school at TU and he told me the verdict was excellent, given the circumstances. So before I do anything else, I want to pay your fee.”

  Since Amy couldn’t afford to pay an hourly rate or a flat fee, Ben had regretfully taken the case on a contingency fee, which meant he didn’t get paid unless and until they recovered from the defendant. “Amy, if you give me a third, you won’t have enough for your own medical expenses.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” she said. “A deal is a deal. Here, I have the check already written out.”

  She handed him a check for $3,333.

  That would pay a great many overdue bills, Ben mused. But no. He folded the check and tore it into tiny pieces.

  “Sorry, Amy,” he said, “but it’s always the lawyer’s prerogative to waive his fee, and that’s what I’m doing.” He let the check shreds fall to the floor. “You keep your money and get the treatment you need.”

  Amy gazed at Ben, her eyes sparkling. Wordlessly, she took his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. Then she gathered her purse and left the office.

  “Wow,” Jones said, looking up from his card table. “Whattaguy.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  “Point of order, though, Boss. Since you gave up your only prospect of recovering a fee anytime in the near future, how are you going to pay me?”

  “With the milk of human kindness,” Ben replied.

  “Nothing personal, but I’d prefer a form of legal tender that’s accepted at Kmart.”

  The front door breezed open, and Christina bustled in carrying a package.

  “A member of the opposition,” Ben said. “I hope you didn’t come here to gloat.”

  “Gloat? Hey, you got a jury verdict in your favor.”

  Ben shrugged. “For peanuts.”

  “That was hardly your fault. Anyway, forget the trial. Que será será. I came to bring you a birthday present.”

  Jones straightened. “Birthday? You mean today really is your birthday?”

  “Oops.” Christina closed her eyes. “Pardonnez-moi.”

  “Boss, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. How old are you?”

  “Thirty,” Ben replied, “which is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I thought you might be tempted to indulge in black balloons or strippers or other such birthday shenanigans.”

  “I prefer those guys who dress up like gorillas and deliver pizza—”

  “My point exactly.” Ben examined Christina’s package. “That’s not my birthday present, is it?”

  “Of course it is,” she said, pushing it toward him. “What’s your problem?”

  “Well, I can’t help but notice that the box appears to have airholes.”

  “Aren’t you the amateur detective? C’mon, open it up.”

  Ben set the package on Jones’s card table, pulled the bow loose, and removed the lid. Inside, he found a cat. A huge, black cat with a white ring around her nose.

  “Don’t you love her already?” Christina asked.

  “Christina…I’m not really a cat person—”

  “Oh, pish tosh. How would you know? You’ve never had a pet in your life.”

  “I like living alone.”

  “That’s exactly my point,” Christina said. “You’ve been living alone too long. It’s not healthy.”

  “Are you afraid I’ll have an arrested social development? Won’t learn to play well with other children?”

  “I just want you to get it through that thick skull of yours that you don’t have to do everything all by yourself.”

  “In my experience, the less contact I have with other people, the better. For them and me.”

  “You’re too old to be a lone wolf. It’s time to start accepting help from others, to develop a family of friends.”

  “I’ve already had a family,” Ben muttered. “It didn’t work out.”

  “That’s so wrong, Ben.” She lifted the cat out of the box. “And that’s what this little kitty is going to teach you.”

  “This little kitty? That monster must weigh twenty pounds!”

  “She is a bit on the heavy side. She used t
o belong to my girlfriend, Sally Zacharias, but she’s getting married and moving into a no-pets condo. She asked if I could find her a good home with a kind, nurturing master.”

  “So you’re giving her to me?”

  “I’m sure you could learn to be nurturing. In time.” She passed the cat to Ben.

  He took the cat awkwardly and held her like a science project. “What’s her name?”

  “Sally called her Giselle. I suppose you can call her anything you like.”

  “Giselle. That’s a good name. Very classical music.” He stroked her back timidly with one finger. Giselle purred happily.

  “See?” Christina said. “You two are getting along famously already. Here’s a couple of cans of cat food, just to get you through the night.”

  Ben read the labels. “What’s Feline’s Fancy?”

  “Gourmet cat food. It’s all she’ll eat. I hate to break it to you, but it’s the most expensive brand on the market, by far.”

  “If she’s coming home with me, she’ll have to develop more mundane tastes.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck. I have a food dish and litter box and various other cat essentials at my apartment. I’ll bring them by tomorrow.”

  “Why don’t you bring them by tonight? You can see how we’re getting along?”

  “Sorry, pal. I have an appointment.”

  Ben cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? With whom?”

  She hesitated. “Tony Lombardi.”

  “Dating a client? That doesn’t seem smart.”

  “It’s not a date. Exactly. I’m taking some settlement papers over for him to sign. Besides, the trial is over. Tony and I spent a lot of time together during the last two months. It was only natural for him to ask me out.” She smoothed her silky red hair. “After all, I am devastatingly attractive.”

  “I thought Lombardi seemed very tense in court today. Totally stressed out. At the time, I assumed he was worried about the trial. Now I realize it was because he had a date with you.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  “Christina, this does not sound like a good idea to me.”

  Christina fluttered her eyelids. “Benjamin Kincaid. I believe you’re jealous!”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I’m just concerned for your well-being. As I would be for any friend.”