Doubt (Caroline Auden Book 1) (19 page)

Water dripped down Caroline’s chin as she leaned over the fountain outside the courtroom. She kept her face tipped over the basin so she wouldn’t drench her suit. She cast a sideways look around for something with which to wipe her chin. Other than her sleeve.

A hand reached into Caroline’s view, offering a clean, white handkerchief that smelled faintly of a men’s cologne she didn’t recognize.

She glanced up to see Ian Kennedy towering over her.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the handkerchief.

She wiped her chin, then handed the damp fabric back to the tall defense attorney, who gazed at her with an innocuous, friendly expression.

“I thought I saw you head this way,” Kennedy said, smiling his gap-toothed smile.

Caroline didn’t smile back. Had he followed her when she fled the courtroom? Had he waited outside the women’s bathroom? Creepy.

“Remarkable job filing that article,” he said. “I saw the file stamp on it, just seconds before the virtual file window closed. That had to have been stressful.”

“It was.” She wouldn’t give him anything more than that.

“Did you actually find the assistant scientist who wrote it?” Kennedy asked. “Or was the article someplace else?”

Caroline didn’t answer. She knew he didn’t expect her to.

“It is quite an article,” Kennedy continued. “I read it and the supporting data as soon as they showed up on my desk. Dr. Heller’s research was meticulous, I’ll admit.”

“That’s true,” Caroline said. “His sample sizes were impressive, too.”

“Agreed,” Kennedy said. “I’ll do my best to debunk that article, but it has made this a far closer fight.”

Caroline resisted the urge to respond, to continue talking about the article she’d worked so hard to find. Here, in her adversary, she’d found what she’d wished Dale had provided: a curious mind. That this curious mind also happened to lack all morality or scruples prevented her from speaking further. She shut her mouth and kept it closed.

“I knew you were something special.” Kennedy smiled, the gap between his two front teeth more evident up close. “Louis is lucky to have you on his team. He really doesn’t deserve someone of your quality. You really could do so much better.”

Caroline remained silent. She prepared to defend herself. From what, she didn’t know. Some threat. Even though she knew Kennedy wouldn’t do anything in a courthouse. Even though she knew he didn’t act directly. Even though she knew there were marshals around. Still, she feared him and his disarmingly benign demeanor. Benign like a sleeping cobra, she reminded herself.

“We offer attractive packages to our young associates,” Kennedy said. “We also offer a stipend for a car lease. Plus, our firm banker offers very reasonable interest rates on home loans. The golden handcuffs, if you will.” He paused. “We also offer generous medical benefits. Dental. Vision. Even . . . mental health.”

Caroline blanched. Outside of a single notation in a student health record at UCLA, she’d never had a formal diagnosis of anxiety. Had Kennedy mined those records? She let none of her discomfiture show on her face.

“I’ve got to get back in there,” Caroline said, nodding with her chin toward the courtroom.

“Of course you do,” Kennedy said, inclining his head and stepping back to let her pass. “Just promise me you’ll think about it. If ever things don’t work out for you where you are . . .” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow to complete the sentence.

“I’m fine where I am for now, but I appreciate the offer,” Caroline said. Perhaps if Kennedy thought she was vaguely interested, he’d be less inclined to kill her. Or something.

She turned to walk toward the courtroom.

The sound of her heels clicking against the marble floors echoed, obscuring her ability to sense if Kennedy was following.

She refused to look back.

But as she walked away, she shivered. Kennedy had only asked about the assistant scientist—as if he already knew the lead scientist was dead. While the newspapers had covered Heller’s death, the scientist’s demise wasn’t something Kennedy had any reason to know about. Heller hadn’t published, after all. They had no reason to know the article’s history. Or the sad history of its author.

Had Kennedy just tipped his hand? Had he just revealed that he indeed had something to do with Dr. Heller’s demise?

Preoccupied by the ominous possibilities, Caroline stepped back into the courtroom.

CHAPTER 10

The courtroom had filled to capacity. The room hummed with an undercurrent of anticipation. Everyone knew what was coming: showdown at high noon.

Caroline’s heart began to pound in time to the ambient stress in the room.

“Hey,” said a voice from behind her.

She recognized it immediately. Eddie.

She longed for an oasis of optimism. A friendly face. But there was no guarantee Eddie would provide it. Perhaps their night together had been born of euphoria after the breakneck-speed filing of the Heller article. Perhaps their connection had evaporated with the rising sun. Perhaps he was the sort of man who disavowed his sexual conquests with the cold shoulder of selective amnesia.

Caroline turned to face him.

In a pin-striped suit and wing-tip shoes, he cut a confident figure.

When Caroline met his eyes, he looked down.

Shyness, Caroline realized. She found it endearing. And encouraging.

“You made it,” she said.

“My flight got delayed. But I’m on the one ahead of you back to LA, so I might beat you back.” He met her eyes and held them.

Warmth blossomed in Caroline’s chest.

“Though after we win this thing today,” Eddie continued, “I’ll have to clean out my borrowed office and go back to Atlanta.” His dark eyes held genuine regret.

Caroline knew the expression in her own eyes matched his. She had known their fling would be short-lived. But she hated the reminder.

A light touch on her wrist brought her attention back to him.

“That’s nice,” Eddie said, his gaze traveling to her wrist where a bracelet formed of silver and gold Celtic knots hung.

She knew he was trying to change the topic. She decided to let him.

“It’s called a Donegal,” she said. “It’s supposed to symbolize the harmonious weaving together of two paths. My dad gave it to me when I graduated law school.”

“He must’ve been proud of you,” Eddie said.

“He was, though I think he was also a little bit . . . conflicted.” She shook her head. “It’s a long story.” She hadn’t told her father the date of her graduation. They’d drifted so far apart that she didn’t see the point. But a week after graduation, the bracelet had arrived in the mail, wrapped in raffia and accompanied by a handwritten note from the artist describing the meaning of the Donegal. Caroline knew her father saw symbolism in the gift. But she didn’t call him to ask. And yet, she was wearing it.

“I’d like to hear the story.” Eddie’s eyes held hers. His fingers remained on her wrist. Intimate. Soft. Warm.

The heat in Caroline’s chest spread upward to her face.

She felt a sudden wave of self-consciousness at the intimacy of their interaction in a crowded courtroom. A prickle of awareness caused her to turn.

She found Louis watching her from across the courtroom. Frowning.

Her heart sank. She could almost hear his thoughts—I told you not to trust the loaned associates, and now you’ve gone off and slept with one of them? She had no explanation. Except—passion isn’t easily confined? We didn’t pick this, it picked us? It all sounded cheesy and lame.

So she broke contact with Eddie’s hand.

“I better go see about Louis,” she said and withdrew.

Weaving through the sea of men in suits, toward the plaintiffs’ side of the courtroom, she couldn’t help but notice she was a foot shorter than everyone. The conversations going on around her were happening over her head. Literally. She was also at least a decade younger, and one of only a handful of women on either side, all of them junior associates.

Taking the last few steps toward Louis, Caroline easily read his mood in the compressed line of his mouth and the tightening of his jaw. He wasn’t happy.

“Eddie helped me file the article—” she began.

“Yes, Silvia informed me. I’m grateful for his efforts,” he said. His words were neutral, but there was no warmth in his voice.

Caroline didn’t know what to say. She just knew with sudden urgency that she had to repair the damage her connection with Eddie had done to Louis’s opinion of her. To his trust. She needed to figure out how to recover both.

But before she could speak again, Dale trotted up, his face flushed. His too-big mouth grinned widely like a golden retriever in the heat of a game of catch.

“We’re almost ready to go,” Dale said. “Herb’s got the PowerPoint all set up.”

Dale gestured with his chin toward the audiovisual vendor, who sat hunched over a laptop at a small desk behind the plaintiffs’ counsel table.

“Plus, I wore my lucky tie.” Dale fondled the lime-green tie with aqua dots, tilting it forward for Louis and Caroline to see. “My wife got it for me for Christmas.”

Caroline kept her face neutral. What was Dale’s wife like? Did she know about her husband’s philandering? People were often blind to what they didn’t want to see.

“I haven’t lost a single case yet with this baby,” Dale said brightly. “This is the longest run I’ve ever had for a lucky tie.”

Caroline studied the talismanic piece of fabric. It didn’t seem to have any unearthly glow or other special properties she could divine.

“I retired my last lucky tie after that loss in the Wrangler rollover case,” Dale said, wincing. “But we’ve got a great presentation for the judge ready to go today. I just know he’s gonna love it.”

Caroline smiled gamely and made the noncommittal
mmm
sound people use to fill gaps in conversation.

The door to the judge’s chambers clicked open, and the bailiff emerged.

“The judge will take the bench in five minutes,” he announced.

In response, the attorneys scattered around the courtroom began to move toward the front, like goldfish rising to food. People began to take their seats. The show would begin soon.

“Hey, Dale,” called a broad-shouldered man from the front of the gallery.

Caroline identified the man as Anton Callisto. Deena’s boss. With his thick build and close-cropped silver hair, he was someone you’d want on your side if a fistfight broke out.

Anton waved Dale over to the counsel’s table.

“Come on,” Dale said to Louis and Caroline. “We need to decide who’s sitting where.”

Falling into step behind Dale and Louis, Caroline followed them to the front of the courtroom. She noted the strange layout. The podiums where the attorneys for each side would be arguing were positioned directly behind the long counsel tables, where another five lawyers for each side would sit. As a result, Dale would be looking over the heads of his seated colleagues when he stood up at the podium.

Other than the half-dozen lawyers who would sit up front at counsel’s table, the attorneys would be relegated to the seats in the gallery. There weren’t enough seats at the table for all of the attorneys on the Plaintiffs’ Steering Committee.

Dale regarded the seating situation and rubbed his hand across his chin. Then he looked at Louis. “I’d like you up here, Louis,” Dale said. “That leaves two seats for Anton and Paul.”

Caroline watched the proceedings with dismay. After failing to induce Dale to study on the plane, this effort to relegate her to the back of the courtroom seemed . . . unwise.

“Excuse me,” Caroline said. “Don’t you think I should sit at counsel’s table?”

Dale looked at her with a curious expression etched on his face.

“I wrote the section of our brief about the scientific literature,” Caroline said. “You might have questions for me during the argument.”

Dale shrugged. “Okay. Sure.”

He grabbed a passing paralegal and said something into her ear. She disappeared then returned a few seconds later with a folding chair, which Dale wedged between Louis’s seat and Anton’s seat.

Squeezing herself between two large men beside her, Caroline felt small and invisible.

She opened her laptop and pulled up the index of articles. Just in case Dale needed it.

“Wish me luck,” Dale said, sitting down on Louis’s other side.

“Good luck,” Caroline muttered.

The bailiff stood poised, waiting for the telltale click of the door and the soft shuffle and stir that would announce the arrival of the judge. The moment came with an electric jolt and a sigh. A door behind the curtain opened to reveal a man with copper hair and a dark goatee. His black robe swished as he walked over to the bench and sat down.

“Court for the Southern District of New York is now in session,” the bailiff announced. “The Honorable Todd R. Jacobsen presiding.”

The judge spread his binders and tablet on the table in front of him, neatly arranging his materials for the hearing. Caroline studied his face. He didn’t look as young as she’d expected. She knew he’d been appointed to the bench only five years ago, but he already looked like a seasoned veteran.

Judge Jacobsen looked up with bright-blue eyes that held a twinkle of amusement.

“Welcome to the
Keep-Every-Lawyer-in-the-Country-Employed
case. What do you think the taxi meter is on all of your billable hours here today?” he asked.

The attorneys laughed as one. A bonding moment, scripted by the judge to relieve the tension in the room. Caroline appreciated the effort. From the taut expression on Ian Kennedy’s face to Jasper’s anguished squint, the courtroom was a soup of intense emotion.

“Thank you all for coming,” the judge continued. “I know we’re all going to learn something today. Lawyers are here to educate the judges, and we judges hope to be good students for you.” Judge Jacobsen looked around as he spoke, making eye contact with each of the lawyers at each of the respective counsels’ tables. “By way of full disclosure, I was a molecular cell biology graduate student before I went into the law. So I’d like to think I’m a slightly more sophisticated student. That said, I’m still here to learn. Let’s get to it.”

The judge turned toward the counsel table on the plaintiffs’ side.

“Any time you’re ready, Counsel.”

“Thank you,” Dale said, stepping up to the podium. “Your Honor, we’ve put together a presentation to help the court sort its way through these complex issues.” He nodded to Herb, the audiovisual guy, and the first page of the PowerPoint presentation flashed onto the screen.

The word
DIAGNOSIS
arched across the top with a list of bullet points underneath that read
clinical diagnosis
,
medical diagnosis
, and
differential diagnosis
.

“I’d like to begin today by talking about bedrock science: diagnosing illness,” Dale began. “For as long as there have been doctors, we’ve made diagnoses based on signs, symptoms, and laboratory findings. When a patient shows up at a doctor’s office, that doctor has to determine which one of several diseases may be producing the symptoms—”

Judge Jacobsen leaned forward toward the microphone on the bench. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I understand what differential diagnosis is. We have limited time today, so I’d like to stay focused on the science.”

“With all due respect, Your Honor, differential diagnosis is science. It’s the most basic, well-accepted science in the world, I’d venture.” Dale smiled in a way that encouraged agreement with his words. “And it fully supports a link between SuperSoy and kidney injury.”

“Be that as it may, I’d like to hear what else you’ve got,” the judge said, smiling back, just as affably.

Caroline shifted in her seat. Judge Jacobsen hadn’t mentioned the
Scziewizcs
decision, but he apparently subscribed to that decision’s conclusion that something more than proximity-in-time evidence was necessary to prove a correlation between a substance and an injury. She hoped Dale could provide the judge with that something more.

“Well, all righty then,” Dale acquiesced, prompting his PowerPoint until he reached the slide he sought.

“Here we have a diagram of a cell,” Dale narrated. “Up there in the upper right corner, you’ll see the mitochondria. The studies we’ll discuss today suggest that SuperSoy causes some damage to different parts of the cell, especially the mitochondria.”

“Excuse me again, Counsel,” Judge Jacobsen interrupted. “I’ve read your papers. I understand your basic arguments. What I’d like to do today is drill down a bit. I’d like to know your thoughts on whether the Ambrose study’s findings on mitochondrial degradation in rats can be extrapolated to humans. Yes, I know we’ll get to the Heller study. But just as a starting point, I’d like to hear your views on Ambrose.”

Dale blinked at the judge.

“The Ambrose study,” Judge Jacobsen prompted. “It was performed on rats, right?”

Caroline turned around to face Dale and mouthed the word
yes
.

“Yes, Your Honor. It was done on rats,” Dale said confidently.

“And the assay he used for his results was an end-point assay, correct?” the judge asked.

When Dale didn’t respond, Caroline began to squirm. The answer was yes. Ambrose had used an end-point assay. The information was basic. But she’d already turned around once. If she fed Dale another answer, she’d begin to look like his ventriloquist. With great effort, she kept herself facing forward, her face an impassive mask.

“Ambrose is an important study,” Dale began slowly, “because it teaches us that if enough cells die, a kidney will fail.”

“Yes. Agreed,” said the judge, “but I’d like to talk about the details of that study.”

Dale shifted from foot to foot.

“Let’s try this a different way, Counsel,” the judge said, exhaling. “Let’s talk about Heller. Perhaps we can explore the parameters of that study, then work our way back to the other science and evaluate whether that other science is consistent with Heller or whether Heller is an outlier.”

“Sounds good, Your Honor,” Dale said. Caroline could almost hear his relief.

“The Heller article is, of course, the centerpiece of the scientific literature,” Dale said. “Although it wasn’t published, it conclusively establishes a link between SuperSoy and kidney damage.”

“I know that’s your conclusion,” the judge said, “but especially since the Heller article wasn’t peer reviewed or published, I’d like to kick the tires on Heller’s methodology. Let’s begin with the basics. How large was Heller’s sample size?”