Still, she was miserable.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began. “The prosecution has her suppositions wrong. In cases like these, overzealous district attorneys often cherry pick the facts. In the coming days, the defense will show that those treated by the Feinsteins are not victims, as she calls them, but patients who wanted the surgeries and are recovering from them. We’ll also show the judicious distribution of necessary pain meds, not the willy-nilly prescribing the prosecution alleges. They are doctors. They knew what they were doing. And it wasn’t illegal or immoral. It was right.”
Oh, brother, Hayley thought. He didn’t believe that any more than she did. An overwhelming sense of loss hit her. How could the man she cared so much about compromise himself this badly? In short, he wasn’t the person she thought he was.
That should help cure her. God help her, she’d get over him—and soon!
* * *
As Paul sat back down after opening statements, he blanked his mind of the detestable case he’d taken on. He’d been under extreme pressure by the partners to argue this one. So, he told himself everybody deserved a defense. Told himself that these were the kind of cases that established a reputation for cut-throat defense attorneys. And that’s exactly what he wanted to be. He was done playing the good guy.
He glanced to the side. His new attitude was because of the woman who was checking her phone, and when she did turn her gaze toward him, she looked right through him. Fuck her.
Judge Larson asked, “Are you prepared to call witnesses, ADA Casella?”
“Yes, your honor. I call Amelia Bailey to the stand.”
Hayley approached a hunched over woman with gray hair and an almost-emaciated frame, who used a walker to come forward. Solicitously, Hayley asked, “Do you need any help, ma’am?”
“Maybe getting up the steps.”
“Judge, may she testify from the floor, please?”
“Yes, of course.”
If he hadn’t known Hayley so well, he’d think she was performing for the jury. But she would treat an old woman like this, one who was sick. Sicker than she should be, Paul knew in his heart.
Once Mrs. Bailey reached the front of the courtroom, Hayley lowered the fold-down seat on the walker and the woman eased herself onto it. “Are you comfortable? Do you need some water?”
Paul gritted his teeth.
“No thank you.”
The bailiff swore the witness in and Hayley started her questions. “Mrs. Bailey, could you tell the court where your pain is?”
“In my lower back.”
“On a scale of one to ten, what is your pain level right now?”
“It’s a nine.”
“You’ll have to speak up ma’am.” The judge’s tone was kind.
“A-a nine.”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Mrs. Bailey? Your hands are shaking.”
“They shake all the time since the surgery.”
Hayley continued, “Have you taken the oxycodone prescribed by the Drs. Feinstein?”
“Yes. I’m taking them three times a day.”
“What was your original pain level, when you first went to the clinic?”
“About a six. On a bad day.”
“I see. So, you’re in more pain now, than before surgery?”
“Yes.”
“I object to this questioning. Ms. Casella isn’t trained to interview a patient for medical details. There are a variety of pain-control measures she probably doesn’t know about.”
The argument was weak, but he could see the jury’s shock and was trying to dilute it.
Hayley rolled her eyes at him.
The judge said, “That’s a frivolous complaint, Mr. Covington. Objection overruled.”
“Mrs. Bailey, how long ago was the surgery?”
“Six months.”
“Are you feeling any better at all?”
“I’m worse. I hurt constantly and I’m in a fog all the time.”
Finally, Hayley said, “No more questions.”
As he stood and approached the stand, Paul knew he had to tread lightly. Mrs. Bailey seemed even more frail up close. Her shoulders were bony and stuck out. “Hello, Mrs. Bailey.”
“Hello.”
“How long have you been suffering from back pain?”
“Most of my adult life.”
“Have pain killers reduced it at any time through the years?”
“Some.”
“Did you want back surgery?”
“They thought it would help. I was taught to listen to doctors.”
“Do you think they did the wrong thing?”
“Objection. Irrelevant.”
“Objection sustained.”
Paul asked a few more question then retired the witness. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with her.
The testimony stretched on with the four more clients who were seeking damages. Same story. Same suffering.
At noon, the judge banged the gavel. “We’ll recess for lunch. Court will resume at two p.m.”
Everyone stood and the judge left, then the courtroom started to empty.
“Doesn’t seem like this is going well, Covington,” Robert Feinstein said. The small man with a big wallet frowned at him. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“It’s early, Robert. We haven’t presented our case yet. The prosecution always goes first. We’ll have our time.”
“I hope so.” The Feinsteins left.
When the exit doors closed, Paul looked over at Hayley. She had her head down, writing herself some notes on a legal pad. He noticed some tendrils had come out of the knot at her neck. He’d be damned if he’d be ignored. He crossed to stand in front of her. “Hayley?”
She looked up. Her face was unlined, with no weary ones around her mouth and eyes. Guess she was doing just fine. Unlike him, whose anxiety and confusion had given him wrinkles. “Yes, Paul?”
“How have you been?”
She straightened. “As well as can be expected. You?”
“Pretty miserable.”
Tossing the pen down, her shoulders flattened. “Me, too.”
“What did you do all week?”
“I buried myself in this case.”
“So did I.”
“It’s a distasteful one. You must think so.”
“Everybody deserves a defense.” But even his voice was weak.
She stood. “I suppose so. Well, good luck.”
“You, too.”
She walked down the aisle toward the doors. Her graceful movement, innate to her, made him long for her. He said, “Hayley?”
Turning in the empty courtroom, she raised her brows. “Yes?”
“I miss you.”
Again, the vulnerable expression. “I miss you, too.”
One of the double doors to the courtroom opened and in walked
