But the suspension was only the harbinger of worse trouble to come. The malpractice plaintiff attorney was a young, aggressive fellow named Matthew
Davidson from a firm in St. Louis specializing in malpractice litigation.
He was also associated with a small general law firm in Massachusetts. He’d filed suit against Jeffrey, Simarian, Overstreet, the hospital, and even
Ar-
olen Pharmaceuticals, who’d manufactured the Marcaine. Jeffrey had never been the subject of a malpractice action before. Randolph had to explain that this was the “shotgun” approach. Litigators; sued everybody with “deep pockets” whether or not there was any evidence of direct involvement in the alleged incident of malpractice.
Being one among many had initially provided some solace to Jeffrey, but not for long. It quickly became clear that Jeffrey would stand alone. lie could remember the turning point as if it were yesterday. It had happened through the course of his own testimony in the early stages of the initial civil malpractice trial. He had been the first defendant to take the stand.
Davidson had been asking cursory background questions, when he suddenly became harder hitting.
“Doctor,” Davidson said, turning his thin, handsome face toward Jeffrey and putting a pejorative cast to the title. He walked directly to the witness stand and placed his face within inches of Jeffrey’s. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored, dark pinstriped suit with a light lavender shirt and a dark purple paisley tie. He smelled of expensive cologne. “Have you ever been addicted to any drug?”
“Objection!” Randolph called out, rising to his feet.
Jeffrey had felt as if he were watching a scene in some drama, not a chapter in his life. Randolph elaborated on his objection: “This question is immaterial to the issues at hand. The plaintiff attorney is trying to impugn my client.”
“Not so,” Davidson countered. “This issue is extremely germane to the current circumstances as will be brought out with the testimony of subsequent witnesses.”
For a few moments silence reigned in the crowded courtroom. Publicity had brought notoriety to the case. People were standing along the back wall.
The judge was a heavyset black man named Wilson. He pushed his thick black-rimmed glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. Finally he cleared his throat. “If you’re fooling with me, Mr. Davidson, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
“I certainly wouldn’t choose to fool with you, Your Honor.”
“Objection overruled,” Judge Wilson said. He nodded toward Davidson. “You may proceed, Counselor.”
“Thank you,” Davidson said as he turned his attention back to Jeffrey.
“Would you like me to repeat the question, Doctor?” he asked.
“No,” Jeffrey said. He remembered the question well enough.
He glanced at Randolph, but Randolph was busy writing on a yellow legal tablet. Jeffrey returned Davidson’s steady glare. He had a premonition that trouble was ahead. “Yes, I had a mild drug problem once,” he said in a subdued voice. This was an old secret that he’d never imagined would surface, especially not in a court of law. He had been reminded of it recently when he had to fill out the required form to renew his
Massachusetts medical license. Yet he thought that information was confiden- tial.
“Would you tell the jury what drug you were addicted to,” Davidson asked, stepping away from Jeffrey as if he was too revolted to remain too close to him for any longer than necessary.
“Morphine,” Jeffrey said with almost a defiant tone. “It was five years ago. I had trouble with back pain after a bad bicycle accident.”
Out of the comer of his eye, Jeffrey saw Randolph scratching his right eyebrow. That was a previously arranged gesture to signal that he wanted
Jeffrey to confine himself to the question at hand and not offer any information. But Jeffrey ignored him. Jeffrey was angry that this irrelevant piece of his past was being dredged up. He felt the urge to explain and defend himself. He certainly wasn’t a drug addict by any stretch of the imagination.
“How long were you addicted?” Davidson asked.
“Less than a month,” Jeffrey snapped. “It was a situation where need and desire had imperceptibly merged.”
“I see,” Davidson said, lifting his eyebrows in a dramatic gesture of understanding. “That’s how you explained it to yourself?”