Michael Baden: Remains Silent

She examined herself in the mirror one last time, aware of her flaws- owing to her healthy appetite for food and wine and her 5-feet-8-inch height, she wore a size eight rather than the four she fantasized; also, there was a little bump at the edge of her nose, a genetic inheritance from her father she hadn’t had the nerve to fix with plastic surgery- but reasonably satisfied. Her cheekbones were good- she got those from her mother- and the fire in her eyes, the joy of battle, was hers alone.

A stranger in the courtroom might assume she was someone’s client- another society wife- a lady who lunched. An opposing lawyer might treat her as a bimbo who was sleeping with one of the senior partners- until she presented her case, that is.

Manny had remembered to pin a small square of red cloth inside her suit jacket for luck, something her grandmother had taught her to do, just in case. She was taking no chances; no one would cast an evil eye on her, not today. She needed to win.

She entered the courtroom- a striking space with red velour jurors’ chairs and blue carpet- and took her place at the massive oak plaintiff’s table. Two minutes later, the court was in session.

“The defense calls Dr. Jacob Rosen.”

Jake Rosen. Maybe he was why she felt edgy. She had met him last March, when she needed a second autopsy in the Jose Terrell shooting and had arranged to helicopter him to a New Jersey field next to the morgue- actually paid out of her own pocket!- so he could confirm the bullets that killed Terrell were fired by the cops while Terrell had his hands up in surrender.

Rosen had bounded out of the copter like a fashion-challenged Frankenstein with the unkempt hair of a mad scientist. The hair was long and thick, brown peppered with a few strands of gray; she’d had a ridiculous impulse to comb it for him just to feel it under her fingers. He carried a folded raincoat on top of a weatherbeaten black briefcase so full of papers he couldn’t fasten the clasp, but he was superbly professional; his findings were so thorough the detective who fired the fatal shots struck a plea bargain, the city paid damages to the boy’s mother, and the case never came to trial.

Now here was Rosen again, six months later, testifying for the defense. Manny knew that private experts could work for anyone they wanted, but she still felt betrayed. He’d been so patient with her, so cooperative. She felt he’d been as outraged as she was by the first, obviously bogus, coroner’s report in the Terrell case. He seemed to care about truth then; now she knew his testimony could be sold to the highest bidder.

Manny barely looked up when he came in. She knew what he was going to say, but her own forensic expert had assured her that his opinion was a load of crap. So what if she’d briefly- momentarily- thought him attractive? He was Judas incarnate.

Today as he walked to the witness chair he looked like nothing more than some high-priced egghead from central casting trotted out by the cops to rationalize their bad behavior. Manny knew he was only forty-four, but under the courtroom lights he looked older. And he needed to go to a Pilates perfect-posture class to cure his slouching shoulders. He was wearing a black suit, a white shirt, and a skinny black tie. If he had spiky hair instead of the mad-scientist kind he’d have looked like an aging eighties British punk rocker. In the months since she’d seen him he’d grown a mustache. Facial hair from the seventies, clothes from the eighties- What was his problem? Hadn’t anyone told him he was living in the twenty-first century?

Under direct examination, Rosen testified that he thought the police could easily be blameless, citing a berry aneurysm of the brain. Blameless! “So to sum up,” the lawyer said, “in your professional opinion, you feel that Miss Carramia’s death was not due to any action on the part of the police officers in question.”

“That’s correct,” Rosen said, turning to the jury. “In my opinion, there is a reasonable degree of medical certainty that the decedent died of natural causes.”

Yeah. Like the sidewalk stood up and cracked her skull open.

“Thank you for your honesty, doctor.” The defense attorney favored the jury with one of his nauseatingly smarmy smiles. “No further questions.”

Manny rose from behind the plaintiff’s table and approached the witness. She was going to eat him up and spit him out.

“Dr. Rosen, how much are you being paid for your testimony today?”

“My fee is five thousand dollars- for my time, not my testimony.”

Manny raised a scornful eyebrow. “A day?”

“Yes.”

He hadn’t charged her that much last March to do a second autopsy. Maybe if she’d outbid the defense she could have recruited him for Essie’s parents.

“I see,” she said. “You work for the City of New York, correct?”

“I’m deputy chief medical examiner. But I’m testifying in this case in my private capacity as a physician and a forensic pathologist.”

Blood was in the water and she was the shark. “In your role for the city, isn’t it important to have a good relationship with the police?”

He crossed his legs, unfazed. Manny noticed that his suit jacket had been patched. What? Couldn’t afford a new suit at five thousand per? What a loser.

“Of course,” he said, “but that doesn’t affect my opinion.”

“Doctor, are you acquainted with Dr. Justin West, medical examiner for the State of New Jersey, and Dr. Sanjay Sumet, the forensic pathologist who testified for the plaintiff in this case?”

“Indeed. They’re both fine men and fine doctors.”

“Doctors West and Sumet agree that Miss Carramia died as the result of a blow to the head. But you claim she died of natural causes- a brain aneurysm. Is that right?”

“Yes. As I’ve just testified, a ruptured berry aneurysm.” Rosen shifted back in his chair, which creaked under his weight. The witness box wasn’t designed to accommodate such long legs. Manny hoped he was as uncomfortable in his lies as he was in his body. But there was no strain detectable in his voice. “My opinion is based on the material I’ve reviewed: the autopsy report, witness statements, and my dissection of the brain, which had been retained by the medical examiner.”

“But there’s nothing in her medical records to indicate she had such a condition.”

Rosen turned to the judge. “Is that a question?”

Smug prig.

“I’ll rephrase,” Manny said quickly. “Was there anything in her medical history to suggest she suffered from this”- she cast a meaningful look at the jury-“rare condition?”

Rosen shrugged. “There probably wouldn’t be.”

She shook her head as if she’d never heard anything so outlandish. “Then isn’t your opinion awfully convenient for the police? In fact, aren’t you handing them a gift-wrapped Get Out of Jail Free card?”

All six lawyers for the defense leaped to their feet, like cheerleaders at the big game. “Objection!” one shouted.

Manny rolled her eyes at them. “It’s a figure of speech.”

“She’s being argumentative,” said another.

The judge grinned. “What else is new?” Manny started to speak but he waved her off. “Overruled,” he said.

“Thank you, your honor.” She turned back to Rosen. “Doctor, isn’t it true that, in cases such as this, the testimony of the officers involved is often unreliable?”

He leaned forward. “Not necessarily.”

Got him! “Really?” She brandished a document. “This is an abstract of a paper given at a meeting of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences in February 1993, based on a study of twenty-one police takedown death cases. It concludes that pathologists should not rely on police testimony in such cases because it’s often inaccurate, possibly due to stress or simple dishonesty. Are you familiar with the paper?”