“Of course it would!” Wally said with a belly laugh. “You guys make a great tag team.”
“Watch it, Mr. Figg,” Judge Seawright growled.
“Knock it off,” David whispered. A few seconds of silence followed as Wally settled down. Finally, the judge said, “I agree that the mistrial could have been avoided, and that it has caused additional expense. However, I think $35,000 is somewhat on the excessive end. Sanctions are in order, but not to that extent. Ten thousand dollars is a more reasonable sum. It is so ordered.”
Wally exhaled-another shot to the gut. David’s next thought was to try to speed things along so the meeting could come to a merciful end. Finley amp; Figg couldn’t afford much more. He offered a lame “Judge, we need to get back to the hospital.”
“Adjourned, until Friday morning.”
CHAPTER 39
The second jury was comprised of seven men and five women. Of the twelve, half were white, three were black, two were Asian, one was Hispanic. It was slightly more blue-collar and slightly heavier as a whole. Two of the men were uncomfortably obese. Nadine Karros had decided to use her peremptory challenges to exclude fatties instead of minorities, but she had been overwhelmed by the sheer abundance of girth. Consuelo was convinced that this jury was far more to their liking than the first.
Monday morning, as Wally stood and made his way to the podium, David held his breath. He was on deck, and another heart attack would force him into the lineup against overwhelming competition. He was pulling mightily for the junior partner. Though Wally had lost a few pounds frolicking with DeeAnna, he was still pudgy and unkempt. As far as heart attacks go, he appeared to be a much likelier candidate than Oscar.
Come on, Wally, you can do it. Give ’em hell and please don’t collapse.
He did not. He did a passable job of outlining their case against Varrick Labs, the third-largest drugmaker in the world, a “mammoth corporation” based in New Jersey, a company with a long, deplorable history of littering the market with bad drugs.
Objection by Ms. Karros. Sustained from the bench.
But Wally was careful, and with good reason. When a stray word or two can cost you upward of $10,000, you tiptoe lightly around anything you’re not sure of. He repeatedly referred to the medicine not as Krayoxx but rather as “this bad drug.” He rambled at times but for the most part stayed on script. When he finished thirty minutes after he started, David was breathing again and whispered, “Nice job.”
Nadine Karros wasted no time in defending her client and its product. She began with a lengthy, detailed, but quite interesting list of all the fabulous drugs Varrick Labs had brought to the market over the past fifty years, drugs that every American knew and trusted, and some that most had never heard of. Drugs that we give to our children. Drugs we consume with confidence every day. Drugs synonymous with good health. Drugs that prolong lives, kill infections, prevent diseases, and so on. From sore throats and headaches to cholera outbreaks and AIDS epidemics, Varrick Labs had been on the front lines for decades, and the world was a better, safer, and healthier place because of it. By the time she finished with Act One, many of those in the courtroom would have taken a bullet for Varrick.
Switching gears, she dwelled on the drug at hand, Krayoxx, a drug so effective that it was prescribed by doctors-“your doctors”-more than any other cholesterol drug in the world. She detailed the extensive research that had gone into developing Krayoxx. Somehow, she made clinical trials sound interesting. Study after study had proven the drug to be not only effective but safe. Her client had spent $4 billion and eight years researching and developing Krayoxx, and it stood proudly behind this wonderful product.
Without staring, David watched the faces of the jurors. All twelve followed every word. All twelve were becoming believers. David himself was being persuaded.
She talked about the experts she would call to testify. Eminent scholars and researchers, from such places as Mayo Clinic, Cleveland Clinic, and Harvard Medical School. These men and women had spent years studying Krayoxx and knew it far better than the “lightweights” the plaintiff would present.
Wrapping up, she was confident that when all the proof had been heard, they, the jurors, would have no trouble understanding and believing there was absolutely nothing wrong with Krayoxx, and they would retire and reach a quick verdict for her client, Varrick Laboratories.
David watched the seven men as she walked away. All fourteen eyes followed her closely. He glanced at his watch-fifty-eight minutes-and the time had flown.
Two large screens were erected by technicians, and as they worked, Judge Seawright explained to the jury they were about to watch the deposition of the plaintiff, Ms. Iris Klopeck, who could not attend due to health reasons. Her deposition had been taken and recorded by video on March 30 in a hotel in downtown Chicago. The judge assured the jury this was not unusual and should not influence their opinion in any way.
The lights were dimmed, and suddenly there was Iris, much larger than life, frowning at the camera, frozen, clueless, stoned. The depo had been heavily edited to remove what was objectionable and the squabbles between the lawyers. After breezing through all the background material, Iris got to the topic of Percy. His role as a father, his work history, his habits, his death. Exhibits were offered and flashed onto the screen: a photo of Iris and Percy splashing in the water with little Clint, both parents already morbidly obese; another photo of Percy at the grill with friends around, all preparing to devour bratwurst and burgers on July 4; another of him sitting in a rocker with that orange cat in his lap-rocking, it seemed, was his only exercise. The images soon ran together and formed a picture of Percy that was accurate but not pretty. He’d been a very large man who ate too much, never broke a sweat, was a slob, died too young, with the cause of death fairly obvious. At times, Iris became emotional. At times, she was practically incoherent. The video did little to arouse sympathy. But as her trial team knew so well, it was a much better presentation than having her there in person. Edited, it ran for eighty-seven minutes, and everyone in the courtroom was relieved when it was over.
When the lights came on, Judge Seawright declared it was time for lunch and they would reconvene at 2:00 p.m. Without a word, Wally vanished with the crowd. He and David had planned to have a quick sandwich in the building and plot strategy, but David gave up after fifteen minutes and left to eat alone in the cafe on the second floor of the building.
Oscar was out of the hospital and convalescing in Wally’s apartment. Rochelle checked on him twice a day- still no sign of his wife or daughter. David called him with a brief update on the start of the trial and put a positive spin on things. Oscar feigned interest, but it was obvious he was happy to be where he was.
A t 2:00 p.m., the courtroom came to order. The bloodletting was about to begin, and Wally seemed remarkably at ease. “Call your next witness,” the judge said, and Wally reached for his notepad. “This will be ugly,” he whispered, and David caught the unmistakable odor of freshly consumed beer.
Dr. Igor Borzov was led to the witness stand, where the bailiff presented a Bible to help with the swearing in. Borzov looked at the Bible and began shaking his head. He refused to touch it. Judge Seawright asked if there was a problem, and Borzov said something about being an atheist. “No Bible,” he said. “I don’t believe it.”
David watched in horror. Come on, you quack, for a $75,000 fee the least you can do is play along. After an awkward delay, Judge Seawright told the bailiff to lose the Bible. Borzov raised his right hand and swore to tell the truth, but by then the jury had already been lost.
Working from a carefully worded script, Wally led him through the rituals of qualifying an expert. Education-college and med school in Moscow. Training-a residency in cardiology in Kiev, a couple of hospitals in Moscow. Experience-a brief stint on staff at a community hospital in Fargo, North Dakota, and private practice in Toronto and Nashville. The night before, Wally and David had rehearsed with him for hours, and they had pleaded with him to speak as slowly and clearly as possible. In the privacy of their office, Borzov was somewhat comprehensible. On center stage, though, and in a tense courtroom, Borzov forgot their pleas and delivered his rapid-fire responses in an accent so thick it barely resembled English. Twice the court reporter called time-out for clarification.
Court reporters are brilliant in their ability to digest mumblings, speech impediments, accents, slang, and technical vocabulary. The fact that she couldn’t follow Borzov was devastating. The third time she interrupted, Judge Seawright said, “I can’t understand him either. Do you have an interpreter, Mr. Figg?”
