Michael Crichton - A Case of Need

I suddenly thought that Bradford, whatever his reasons for giving Wilson the case, had made a very wise decision. Because this kid was going to want to win. Badly.

“Have you talked with Art?”

“This morning.”

“What was your impression?”

“Innocent. I’m sure of it.”

“Why?”

“I understand him,” Wilson said.

OVER THE SECOND DRINK, I outlined what I had done for the last few days. Wilson listened in silence, not interrupting me, though he occasionally made notes. When I was through, he said, “You’ve saved me a lot of work.”

“In what way?”

“From what you’ve already told me, we can close the case. We can get Dr. Lee off easily.”

“You mean because the girl wasn’t pregnant?”

He shook his head. “In several cases, among them Commonwealth versus Taylor, it was concluded that pregnancy is not an essential element. Nor does it matter if the fetus was already dead prior to the abortion.”

“In other words, it makes no difference that Karen Randall wasn’t pregnant?”

“None.”

“But isn’t it evidence that the job was done by an amateur, a person who did not first run a pregnancy test? Art would never perform an abortion without checking first.”

“Is that going to be your case? That Dr. Lee is too skilled an abortionist to make so simple a mistake?”

I was chagrined. “No, I guess not.”

“Look,” Wilson said, “you can’t conduct a defense based on the character of the accused. It won’t work, no matter how you try it.” He flipped through his notebook. “Let me give you a rundown on the legal situation. In 1845, a Massachusetts General Law stated that it was an offense to procure an abortion, by any means. If the patient did not die, the sentence was not more than seven years; if the patient did die, it was five to twenty. Since then the law has been enlarged upon. Some years later, it was decided that an abortion, if necessary to save the life of the mother, was not an unlawful abortion. That doesn’t apply in this case.”

“No.”

“Later revisions include Commonwealth versus Viera, which decided that use of an instrument with intent constituted a crime, even without proof that miscarriage or death resulted. This might be very important. If the prosecution attempts, as I am sure they will, to show that Dr. Lee is an abortionist of many years’ standing, they will then imply that an absence of direct evidence is not sufficient to get Lee off the hook.”

“Can they do that?”

“No. But they can try, and it would be immensely damaging to our case.”

“Go on.”

“There are two other rulings that are important, because they show how the laws are slanted against the abortionist, with no interest in the women involved. Commonwealth versus Wood ruled that the consent of the patient was immaterial and did not constitute a justification of abortion. The same court also concluded that the ensuing death of a woman is only an aggravation of the offense. In effect, this means that your investigation of Karen Randall is, from a legal standpoint, a waste of time.”

“But I thought—”

“Yes,” he said, “I said that the case is closed. And it is.”

“How?”

“There are two alternatives. The first is to present the Randall family with the material at hand, before the trial. Point out the fact that Peter Randall, the deceased’s personal physician, is an abortionist. The fact that he aborted her previously. The fact that Mrs. Randall, the wife, had had an abortion from Dr. Lee, and hence might be bearing a grudge against him, causing her to lie about what Karen had said. The fact that Karen was an unstable and unsavory young lady, whose dying words in any case were open to question. We could present all this to the family, in the hope of persuading them to drop charges before the trial.”

I took a deep breath. This kid played rough. “And the second alternative?”

“The second is an extension, within the courtroom. Clearly, the crucial questions concern the relationships of Karen, Mrs. Randall, and Dr. Lee. The prosecution’s case now stands on Mrs. Randall’s testimony. We must discredit it, and her. We must destroy her until no juror dares believe a word she says. Then we must examine Karen’s personality and behavior. We must demonstrate that she was an habitual drug-user, a promiscuous person, and a pathological liar. We must convince the jury that anything Karen said, whether to her stepmother or anyone else, is of doubtful veracity. We can also demonstrate that she was twice aborted by Peter Randall and that in all likelihood he performed the third abortion.”

“I’m certain Peter Randall didn’t do it,” I said.

“That may be,” Wilson said, “but it is immaterial.”

“Why?”

“Because Peter Randall is not on trial. Dr. Lee is, and we must use anything we can to free him.”

I looked at him. “I’d hate to meet you in a dark alley.”

“You don’t like my methods?” He smiled slightly.

“No, frankly.”

“Neither do I,” Wilson said. “But we are forced into this by the nature of the laws. In many instances, laws are slanted against a doctor in the doctor-patient relationship. We had a case only last year of an intern at the Gorly Clinic who performed a pelvic and rectal exam on a woman. At least, that was what he said. The woman claimed he raped her. There was no nurse present at the examination; no witnesses. The woman had been treated three times in mental institutions for paranoia and schizophrenia. But she won the case, and the intern was out of luck—and out of a profession.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“View it rationally,” Wilson said. “The law is clear. Right or wrong, it is clear. It offers both the prosecution and the defense certain patterns, certain approaches, certain tactics in regard to the present statutes. Unfortunately, for both prosecution and defense, these approaches will come down to character assassinations. The prosecution will attempt to discredit Dr. Lee as thoroughly as they know how. We, the defense, will attempt to discredit the deceased, Mrs. Randall, and Peter Randall. The prosecution will have, as an advantage, the innate hostility of a Boston jury to anyone accused of abortion. We will have as an advantage the desire of any random jury from Boston to witness the defilement of an old family.”

“Dirty.”

He nodded. “Very dirty.”

“Isn’t there another way to handle it?”

“Yes,” he said. “Of course. Find the real abortionist.”

“When will the trial be?”

“A preliminary hearing next week.”

“And the trial itself?”

“Perhaps two weeks later. It’s gotten some kind of priority. I don’t know how, but I can guess.”

“Randall pushing his weight around.”

Wilson nodded.

“And if an abortionist isn’t found by the trial?” I asked.

Wilson smiled sadly. “My father,” he said, “was a preacher. In Raleigh, North Carolina. He was the only educated man in the community. He liked to read. I remember once asking him if all the people he read, like Keats and Shelley, were white. He said yes. I asked him if there were any coloreds that he read. He said no.” Wilson scratched his forehead, hiding his eyes with his hands. “But anyway, he was a preacher, and he was a Baptist, and he was strict. He believed in a wrathful god. He believed in thunderbolts from heaven striking a sinner to the ground. He believed in hellfire and damnation for eternity. He believed in right and wrong.”

“Do you?”

“I believe,” Wilson said, “in fighting fire with fire.”

“Is the fire always right?”

“No,” he said. “But it is always hot and compelling.”