Michael Palmer - Natural Causes

The tribunal system, begun in Indiana and eventually adopted by Massachusetts, was an attempt to do away with frivolous litigation against physicians. It was hoped that the screening procedure would one day lower the horrific insurance premiums that continued to drive many doctors out of clinical practice. The premiums and retroactive surcharges, totaling over $100,000 annually for some specialists, were a major cause of spiraling health care costs. And adequate coverage was mandatory in the state for licensure. Those physicians who wished to continue practicing in Massachusetts had no choice but to increase their patient load and order more and more "defensive" laboratory tests.

The tribunal, made up of a judge, an attorney, and a physician of the same specialty as the defendant, was not set up to determine guilt or innocence, Matt explained. The only question to be answered today was: Assuming Lisa Grayson's allegations are true, has malpractice occurred? — or in legal terms: Do she and her attorneys have a prima facie case?

"The tribunals find in favor of the plaintiff much more often than not," Matt had explained. "But even in cases where they lose in tribunal, plaintiffs can proceed to trial if they are willing to post a bond-in Massachusetts it's six thousand dollars-to cover court costs and the defendant's legal fees. And even then, the judge can waive the bond if he doesn't believe the plaintiff can afford it. That's obviously not an issue with the Graysons."

A scuffed, grass-stained baseball bounced off the lawn and rolled over the sidewalk, just in front of where Sarah was walking. She picked it up and threw it overhand to the teen who was chasing it. The youth, possibly Hispanic, gloved the toss with reflexive ease and smiled shyly at her from beneath a Red Sox cap.

"Not a bad arm for a girl, huh, Ricky?" she heard Matt call out.

He waved to her from across an expanse of grass and then left the group of boys he had been playing with and loped over. He had on sneakers, a Greenpeace T-shirt, and the trousers to his suit. As he spoke, he gestured with his well-worn mitt as if it were part of his hand.

"Ricky, thanks for the catch," he said as he passed the youth. "That fork-ball of yours is really starting to move. Hey, maybe I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"He's cute," Sarah said.

"He's a felon," Matt replied. "Just kidding… sort of. Those kids out there are a gang. Los Muchachos. A couple of years ago, the court assigned the defense of two of them to me. Nothing too serious, fortunately. Anyhow, I showed them some of my press clippings-only the good ones, of course-and we sort of got to be pals. Now the whole gang is playing ball, and a number of them are working with younger kids, Ricky, there, actually made his high school team. He's got some talent."

"You made all that happen?"

"Hell, no. They made it happen. I just let them know there was nothing uncool about beating up on a baseball instead of someone's head. Next week will mark the end of Ricky's probation. I got a couple of box seat tickets to a Sox-Baltimore game. I originally got them for me and Harry-that's my son. But he had to go back home for some summer school. So I'm taking Ricky instead. It was supposed to be a surprise, but I've already told him. I'm not much good at surprises."

"Where does Harry live?" Sarah asked.

A shadow of sadness darkened Matt's face. "California," he said.

His tone discouraged further questions on the subject. After a few uncomfortably silent moments, he smiled thinly and nodded toward the far side of the Common. "My office is that way."

Sarah was relieved to turn away from his pain and just walk.

Matt's work clothes were in his office, which was on the fifth floor of a converted brownstone. The three-room suite was not nearly as dismal or disorganized as he had painted it to be, Sarah pointed out.

"Everything's relative," he said. "Unfortunately, in this law business, with more attorneys around here than scrod, image counts. Sometime, just for the hell of it, I'll take you to visit Jeremy Mallon's place."

"Spare me," Sarah said.

He introduced her to his secretary, a pleasant, motherly woman named Ruth. Sarah could tell she was eager for conversation even before a word between them was spoken.

"Mr. Daniels is a wonderful man," Ruth began, moments after Matt had gone into the inner office to change.

"He seems that way."

"A good lawyer, too. And a great father. He says you're the most important client he's ever had. He always works hard, but I've never seen him put in hours like he has on your case."

"That's reassuring."

Sarah smiled a little uncomfortably and scanned the narrow coffee table for a magazine of any remote interest to her. She ended up with a dog-earred, four-month-old copy of Consumer Reports. The message she had hoped to deliver to Ruth went unreceived.

"He's here when I leave at night," she prattled on, "and he's here when I arrive in the morning. That lady he was seeing just couldn't understand how important building up this practice is to him, after what's happened with Harry and all. I think that's why she broke it off, because he wasn't paying enough attention to her. I never liked her much anyway. Too snobby, if you know what I mean. Mr. Daniels can do better."

Suddenly Sarah felt torn between asking the woman to stop sharing such personal information about her boss and grilling her for every bit of data she could deliver. She settled on a middle-of-the-road approach.

"What's happened with Harry?" she asked, reflecting on the sadness in Matt's face and thinking the worst.

"Oh, it's not Harry. It's that ex of his. A few years ago, she as much as kidnapped the boy and up and moved to California. Los Angeles, no less. Mr. Daniels fought her in court, but he got no place-even though everybody knows that she drinks too much, and he'd be a much better parent for him."

"That's very sad."

"You said it. And he cares too much about Harry to refuse anything that woman asks. Private school. Summer school. Extra money for clothes. Plus the cost of flying him here and back whenever she permits it. I write a lot of the checks, so I know how much he pays for those trips. I think that's why this case of yours is so important to him. If he does well with it, the medical insurance company will probably send more business his way. Am… am I talking too much? Mr. Daniels keeps scolding me for talking too much to the clients. But the truth is, if there were more clients, I'd probably do less talking, if you know what I mean."

Sarah wondered how long she would have to know her laconic attorney, and how well, before learning as much about him as she had in just two or three minutes with his secretary. At that moment, the ancient intercom on Ruth's desk crackled.

"Sarah, I'm sorry to be taking so long," Matt said. "I called a client about a small matter, and he's had me on hold forever. I won't be much longer. Ruth, take a break from whatever you're doing and entertain her. We don't want her to think we're one of those stuffy, aloof firms."

The Suffolk Superior Court Building, a granite relic, was a five-minute walk from Matt's office.

"I want to be sure you're not expecting something out of Perry Mason," he said as they waited at a light to cross Washington Street. "Today Mallon gets to put on the gloves and hammer us as mercilessly as he wants-affidavits, letters from experts, the works. After he's done, we get to regale the tribunal with arguments that are roughly equivalent to alleging that Mallon's mother wears army boots. This is the first fire fight we'll be in, only they get to have guns and we don't. So it's not going to be very pleasant. But just remember, it's only a skirmish."

"It sounds awful."

"Don't worry, we'll have our chance. Just don't get rattled by what you hear. As you were told that day in Mr. Kwong's shop, these people are not your friends. I saw him yesterday, by the way."