Inadvertent Disclosure (22 page)

Braeburn nodded with
understanding, and Sasha refrained from rolling her eyes. They were laying it
on pretty thick, considering the judge couldn’t see them and Jed was off in
la-la land.

“Now, in your medical opinion,
Dr. Spangler, as we sit here today, is Mr. Craybill incapacitated?”

“Objection,” Sasha said in the
direction of the phone.

“Would you care to share the
basis, counselor?”  Justice Bermann cracked in a bored voice.

“Relevance, your honor.”

Braeburn telegraphed his
outrage. “Relevance?  Mr. Craybill’s incapacitated state isn’t relevant to a
petition to have him declared incapacitated?  Your honor, I don’t even know how
to respond to that.”

“Ms. McCandless, please
explain.”

“The county is conflating Mr.
Craybill’s current state and his state when it filed the petition. Assuming,
for the sake of argument, that Mr. Craybill is currently incapacitated, it
doesn’t lend any credence to the petition. The county couldn’t have known Mr.
Craybill would be in this state today back when it filed. Unless Dr. Spangler
has psychic powers that Mr. Braeburn forgot to tell us about?”

“Mr. Braeburn, what do you
say?  Isn’t this a case of bootstrapping?”

“Absolutely not, your honor,”
he sputtered. “The county obviously believed he was incapacitated when it filed
the petition; hence, the filing of the petition. His current incapacitation
serves to confirm the correctness of that belief and to highlight the urgent
need for this court to appoint a guardian immediately—before Mr. Craybill
declines further and so that Dr. Spangler can treat his condition
appropriately.”

Braeburn waved his hands around
in wide, fast circles as he warmed to his argument.

“Indeed, this crisis situation
is a direct result of Ms. McCandless’s refusal to consent to the appointment of
a guardian at the initial hearing. An appointment that almost certainly would
have prevented Mr. Craybill from engaging in the self-neglect that has brought
us all here. To now say that his condition shouldn’t be considered, well, isn’t
that a bit like the old chestnut of the boy who killed his parents then pleaded
for mercy from the court because he was an orphan?”

He finished and gave a
satisfied nod.

This time, Sasha couldn’t stop
her eye roll.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “Your
honor, I take exception to counsel’s suggestion that I am responsible for Mr.
Craybill’s condition. I carried out his wishes, as I was required to do as his
attorney. I understand Mr. Braeburn wanted me to ignore that duty and play
ball, as it were—”

“I’ve heard enough. The
objection is overruled. Dr. Spangler, you may answer.”

The doctor let out a throaty
laugh. “If I can remember it.”

Braeburn smiled and said, “Let
me repeat it for you, doctor. In your medical opinion, based on your
examination of Mr. Craybill earlier this evening, is he incapacitated?”

“Yes.”

“Is he capable of making his
own decisions about his medical care?”

“No, he is not.”

“Thank you. I have no further
questions.” Braeburn picked up his notepad and returned to his chair.

Dr. Spangler’s warm, open
manner dropped away. She straightened her back and held her hands stiffly in
her lap. Here was a woman who had testified enough times to know what was
coming.

Sasha stood and claimed the
spot on Jed’s tray table for her notes.

She started with a neutral
tone. “You testified that you became concerned about Jed this past winter when
you learned he’d fallen, correct?”

“Correct.”

“When was this encounter with
Jed at the gas pumps, if you recall?”

Dr. Spangler frowned, thinking.
“Right after the holidays. So, early January?”

“So, in early January, Jed told
you he fell, and you were sufficiently worried about his ability to take care
of himself that, after prayerful reflection, you felt you had to report the
situation to the Department of Aging Services, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“When was that?”

“Excuse me?”

“When did you tell the director
of the Department of Aging Services that you thought Jed Craybill could no
longer function independently and needed to have a guardian appointed?”

“Hmmm . . . I’m not sure.” She
flashed Sasha a fake apologetic smile.

Sasha gave her a fake helpful
smile right back. “Was it in January?”

“I don’t remember. Sorry.”

“February?”

“I don’t know.” Irritation
crept into her voice.

“March?”

Braeburn shot out of his chair.
“Objection! She’s badgering the witness. She said she doesn’t remember.”

“Ms. McCandless, move along.”

Well, at least she knew the
judge hadn’t fallen asleep on the other end of the phone.

“Yes, sir,” she said, then
turned back to the witness. “Let me make this easy for you, doctor. The incapacitation
petition was filed on March thirtieth. That’s roughly ten weeks after you would
have run into Jed at the gas pumps. So, did you wait two and a half months to
report your concern to the Department of Aging?”

“I’m sure I didn’t wait that
long.”

“The Department of Aging sat on
your report for weeks, if not months, then?  Is that what happened?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“But, it stands to reason:
either you didn’t report it right away or you did, but the Department of Aging
Services didn’t do anything about it right away. You agree it has to be one or
the other, right?”

Dr. Spangler narrowed her eyes
but didn’t answer. Instead, she glared at Braeburn, who shrugged. The question
wasn’t objectionable, and he knew it.

“Do I need to repeat the
question, doctor?”

She shifted in her seat. “I
don’t know what to say. At some point after I saw Jed, I raised my concerns
with Aging Services. At some point thereafter, someone there instructed
Attorney Braeburn to file the papers, and then, apparently, they were filed on
the last day of March.”

Sasha liked the way the doctor
laid it at Braeburn’s feet. It showed Shelly Spangler looked out for one person
and one person only: herself.

If there’d been a jury, Sasha
would have gone after her once or twice more, just to beat her up and get her
back up, but Justice Bermann understood the point and, more important, was
running a clock on her.

“Approximately how many times
did you check on Mr. Craybill between the January encounter and the filing of
the petition at the end of March?”

“None.”

“None?  Didn’t you testify that
you were worried about your patient living alone in a remote area?”

“Yes.”

“So worried that you couldn’t
be bothered to follow up with him to make sure he was okay?”

Braeburn was back on his feet.
“Your honor!”

“Yes, counselor?”

“This is uncalled for. Ms.
McCandless is—”

Justice Bermann cut him off.
“Cross-examining the witness, I believe it’s called.”

“It’s not that I couldn’t be
bothered,” Dr. Spangler said, drawing out her words in an effort to buy herself
some time. “It’s that Mr. Craybill is . . .was . . .someone who valued his
independence. He wouldn’t take kindly to me checking on him.”

“Knowing that quirk of
character, you didn’t try to talk to him before you sought to have him declared
incompetent?  Perhaps you could have suggested that he hire a part-time home
aide or ask a neighbor to stop by periodically. Did you do that?”

“No.”

“Did you do anything to help
him access resources that would have supported him?”

“No.” Her voice took on a
petulant tone.

“Now, you mentioned you have a
number of patients for whom you serve as court-appointed guardian?”

“That’s correct.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know offhand.”

“But you can estimate, can’t
you?”

“I don’t know—maybe, three to
five percent of my patients?”

Sasha was getting tired of the
doctor’s coyness. “How many patients do you have, Dr. Spangler?”

“I treat most of the residents
of the town proper and a good portion of the surrounding county. The last time
I checked my database, I had nearly three thousand patients.” She finished with
a self-satisfied smile.

“Three thousand?  You’re a
practice of one, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Forgive me, doctor. Can you
explain how you can possibly adequately treat three thousand people?”

The smile turned modest. “Well,
first off, the fact that a patient is registered in my database simply means I
have treated him or her. Many of my patients are like Mr. Craybill, in that
they don’t come in for annual checkups or well visits. I see them when they
have the flu or sprain an ankle, but it might be years between visits. And,
second, as you’ve surely noticed, Springport is fairly rural. There’s not much
drawing people to the area; well, there wasn’t until the fracking started, at
least. Although some businesses are moving into the area, there aren’t
currently a lot of other options for medical care. So, some of my patients may
see me for routine issues just because it’s handy, but they seek treatment in
Johnstown or elsewhere for other conditions. I understand that. I’m just a
simple country doctor, after all.”

She fluttered her eyelashes and
looked down at her lap, like she was waiting for Sasha to come put a halo on
her head.

“Okay, let’s do some math.
We’ll be conservative. Three percent of three thousand is ninety. I got that
right, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“So, there have been at least
ninety of your patients, possibly more, who—in your view—needed to be declared
incapacitated. Did you manage to get yourself appointed as the guardian for all
ninety?”

“You say it like there’s some
kind of conflict.” Her dark eyes flashed a warning at Sasha.

A warning she chose to ignore.
“Isn’t there?”

“Not hardly. It’s a great deal
of work and responsibility. If there’s a family member or friend willing to
take it on, I always ask them to do so before I go to the Department of Aging
Services. But, sometimes, there’s no one.”

“No one except you.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re paid by the county for
doing this, right?”

She laughed, a wide open laugh.
“A pittance.”

“So, that’s a yes?”

“Yes.”

“And serving as guardian gives you
complete control over the person, his finances, everything, right?”

“Yes. Well, subject to the
court’s oversight, of course.”

“Of course. I don’t imagine you
have time in between caring for your three thousand patients to provide the
level of support required to help ninety or more incapacitated individuals stay
in their homes?”

“No, unfortunately, that’s just
not possible. And, unlike more metropolitan areas, we don’t have any social
work agencies qualified to serve as the guardian. It’s just me.”

“A simple country doctor,
right?”

“You got it.”

Sasha switched gears fast,
while the doctor was still basking in her self-sacrifice. “When did you last
see Mr. Craybill before today?”

“I can’t recall. It’s been
awhile.”

“You didn’t speak to him
recently and recommend an allergy medication?”

Dr. Spangler’s face clouded.
“Who told you that?”

Sasha looked at her impassively
and waited for her to answer.

“I . . .don’t believe so.” She
wrinkled her brow and stared at the ceiling. Her eyes shifted to the left
corner of the room. “Not that I recall.”

“Hmm. Are you sure?”

This time her eyes met Sasha’s
straight on, but the doctor raised one hand to her mouth before saying,
“Actually, I am.”

Liar, Sasha thought and tallied
the tells: she’d answered the question with a question; looked up and to the
left; touched her face; and, finally, prefaced her answer with “actually.”

“Just one last question. What
was Mr. Craybill’s score on the MMSE you administered?”  Sasha threw the
question over her shoulder, casual and relaxed, as she headed back to her seat.

“Um, I didn’t give him a test.”
She said it in a resigned voice.

“Pardon?” Sasha said, wheeling
around to face her again, letting her face register disbelief.

Dr. Kayser, who had been so
silent and still that she’d forgotten he was there, choked back a laugh at the
theatrics.

“I said,” the doctor repeated,
louder this time, “I didn’t give him a test.”

“I have no further questions
for this witness,” Sasha said.