'I'm not God,' Schein said. 'I don't determine who should live and who should die.'
'Let's back up a bit, Doctor. At eleven-oh-five P.M. on June sixteenth, you left the Hotel Astor, rushing to get to the hospital, correct?'
'Yes, I believe I testified to that.'
'And you arrived at the ICU at eleven-forty P.M., where you encountered Nurse Gettis?'
'That sounds about right.'
'You drove up Alton Road to get to the hospital?'
'Yes.'
'And it took thirty-five minutes to get there?'
'It was a Friday night. Traffic was heavy.'
'If I told you a test drive we've done the last four Friday nights, never exceeding the speed limit, averaged twelve minutes, what would you say?'
He didn't say anything and neither did I. If I really had time to do test drives, all my exhibits would probably be in color-coded binders, too.
'Where did you stop on your way to the hospital, Dr. Schein?'
'Nowhere!' The answer was too quick and too loud. It surprised even me, but I was beginning to discover that the doctor was a bad liar. Most basically honest people are.
'I'm going to ask you again, Doctor, and if you want to consult with your lawyer before answering, I have no objection.'
In other words, if you're going to lie, at least do it right.
'I don't need to consult anyone,' he said, eyes flashing toward Jonas Blackwell, seeking support.
At the prosecution table, Abe Socolow watched intently. He loved to win, but deep down, he was a lot like me. He loved the truth even more.
Chrissy sat at the defense table, dressed in a short mint-green jacket with silver buttons over a matching A- line dress, her hands folded together in front of her. She chewed at her lower lip. Scared, confused, trusting me with her life. She didn't know where I was going. I hadn't told her. Early this morning, she had asked what I was doing as Cindy and I pored over a stack of prescription forms just delivered to my house from three pharmacies. Playing lawyer, I had told her. Now Cindy sat in the row of straight-backed chairs between the defense table and the bar separating the lions from the Christians. Her fingernails were painted black and embedded with silver stars like the nighttime sky. Toenails, too, judging from the planetarium view of a big toe sticking out of a straw sandal.
Thanks to Cindy, I had the ammunition, and it was time to start throwing hand grenades.
'Dr. Schein, isn't it true that you stopped at the Beach Mart Pharmacy on the way to the hospital?'
His mouth was locked tight, and the muscles of his jaws were doing isometrics. This time he didn't look at his lawyer. He looked directly at me.
Wondering.
How much did I know?
'I don't recall that.' Hedging his bets.
'The pharmacy's located on Arthur Godfrey Road. It's open twenty-four hours. Does that refresh your recollection?'
'Not really.'
Cindy had cased the place, and now I wanted to make it sound like my second home. 'Just a little hole-in-the wall. Sunglasses up front, Russell Stover candies on a rack by the register, and a pharmacist behind bulletproof glass in back.'
It wasn't a question, so he didn't answer. He was waiting, and I wanted him to wait some more. To sweat, to worry. How much does the shyster know? I know it all, Schein, and I can prove most of it.
I continued, 'There's a pass-through counter in the glass wall that they hand the prescriptions through. On the inside of the counter sits a time stamp, so every time a prescription is filled, they stamp it, isn't that right?'
'I don't know.' His neck was blotched with red, and I'd bet his heart was racing. Hook him up to an EKG and the stylus would draw the Himalayas.
I made a big production of going back to the defense table, opening files, looking for something, seeming to have lost it. I felt his eyes on my back. Let him sweat some more. 'Ah, here it is, Doctor. Perhaps this will refresh your memory.'
Sometimes I bluff, and sometimes I really hold the aces. 'Your Honor, may I approach the witness?'
The judge waved me forward. On the way, I dropped a copy on Socolow's table, then handed the little rectangular form to Schein. He grabbed for it. 'Can you identify that?' I asked.
He nodded.
'You'll have to answer audibly.'
'It appears to be a prescription form from the Beach Mart Pharmacy.'
'And that's your signature, isn't it?'
He studied it, as if trying to decipher the Axis war code. No answer. Wondering if he could deny it. Hoping for a miracle that would keep the sky from falling.
'Perhaps you remember the pharmacist as well as he remembers you,' I prompted. Bluffing now. The pharmacist was on vacation in Barbados, not in the corridor waiting to testify. I hadn't been able to reach him.
'That's my signature,' he said at last.
'KC1,' I said. 'What's that?'
'Potassium chloride.' His voice was a whisper.
'What's it used for?'
'Many things. Making fertilizer, for one.'
'You weren't doing some gardening that night, were you. Doctor?'
'It's a harmless substance,' he blurted out. 'Potassium and chloride. Both are found naturally in the body.'
'Really? Then I suppose if someone was injected with potassium chloride, it wouldn't show up in a toxicology test?'
'I don't know anything about that.'
'What's potassium chloride used for, Doctor, besides making fertilizer?'
'It's used in heart surgery.'
'And what does it do?'
His eyes darted to Jonas Blackwell and back to me again. 'I'm not an expert. I mean, I'm not a surgeon.'
'Oh, don't be so modest. The drug is injected into the heart to stop it during open-heart surgery, isn't it?'
'I'm not sure.'
'You weren't performing open-heart surgery that night, were you?'
'No, of course not.'
'But you wrote a prescription for one hundred milliliters of potassium chloride, which you picked up at eleven-twenty-seven P.M. on your way to the hospital, didn't you?'
He didn't answer.
'Doctor?'
'Yes.'
'Thank you,' I said. I returned to the defense table and let him hold on to the prescription slip. He looked like he wanted to swallow it. 'Dr. Schein, do you remember, the other day, I asked if you blamed Harry for Emily Bernhardt's death?'
'I remember.'
'And do you recall your answer?'
'Not verbatim.'
'Well, it struck me as a little odd, so let's just take a look at it.' The jurors leaned forward in their seats. I had them. I had Schein. I had the whole damn world just where I wanted it. Cindy handed me the daily transcript, provided efficiently by the stenographer for a sum equal to the gross national product of a small Caribbean nation.
