Robin Cook - Harmful Intent

"Guilty!" the foreperson called out with a clear, resonant voice.

Jeffrey felt his legs sway as the image of the courtroom momentarily swam before him. He grappled for the table with his right hand to steady himself. He felt Randolph grip his right arm.

"This is only the first round," Randolph whispered in his ear. "We'll appeal, just like we did the malpractice judgment."

The clerk looked over toward Jeffrey and Randolph reprovingly, then turned back to the jury and said: "Madam Foreperson and members of the jury, harken to your verdict as recorded by the court. The jurors upon their oath do say that the defendant is guilty as charged in said complaint. So say you, Madam FoTeperson?"

:'Yes," the forelady said.

'So say you, members of the jury?" the clerk asked.

"Yes," the jurors replied in unison.

The clerk turned his attention back to his books while the judge began to discharge the jury. She thanked them for their

time and consideration of the case, praising their role in upholding a two-hundred-year tradition of justice.

Jeffrey sat down heavily, feeling numb and cold. Randolph was talking to him, reminding him that thejudge of the malpractice case should never have allowed the question of his drug problem to stand.

"Besides," Randolph said, bending down and looking Jeffrey directly in the eye, "all the evidence is circumstantial. There was not one piece of definitive evidence that you had taken morphine. Not one!"

But Jeffrey was not listening. The ramifications of this verdict were too overwhelming to consider. Deep down he realized that for all his fears, he'd really never believed he'd be convictedsimply because he was not guilty. He'd never been involved in the legal system before, and he'd always trusted that "truth would out" if he ever was wrongly accused. But that belief had been false. Now he'd be going to prison.

Prison! As if to underscore his fate, the court officer came over to handcuff him. Jeffrey could only look on, incredulous. He stared at the polished surface of the handcuffs. It was as if the manacles had transformed him into a criminal, a convict, even more than the jury's verdict.

Randolph was murmuring encouragement. The judge was still discharging the jury. Jeffrey heard none of it. He felt depression descend like a leaden blanket. Competing with the depression was a sense of panic from imminent claustrophobia. The idea of being locked in a small room evoked scary images of being caught beneath the blankets when he was a young child by his older brother, filling him with a fear of being smothered.

"Your Honor," the district attorney said as soon as the jury had filed out.

He got to his feet. "The Commonwealth moves for sentencing."

"Denied," the judge said. "The court will schedule penalty proceedings after a presentencing; investigation by the probation department. When is an appropriate time, Mr. Lewis?"

The clerk flipped through the scheduling book. "July 7 looks good. 19

"July 7 it is," the judge said.

"The Commonwealth respectfully requests denying bail or a significant increase in bail," the district attorney said. "It is the Commonwealth's position that at a minimum,- the bail should be raised from $50,000 to

$500,000."

"All right, Mr. District Attorney," the judge said, "let's hear your argument."

The district attorney stepped from behind the prosecution tablc to face the judge. "The serious nature of the complaint combined with the verdict demands a significant bail, more in keeping with the severity of the crime of which he has been convicted. There also have been rumors that Dr.

Jeffrey Rhodes would prefer to flee rather than face the punishment of the court."

The judge turned toward Randolph. Randolph stood up. "Your Honor," he began, "I would like to emphasize to the court that my client has significant ties to the community. He has always demonstrated responsible behavior. He has no previous criminal record. In fact, he has been an exemplary member of society, productive and law-abiding. He has every intention of appearing for sentencing. I feel that $50,000 is more than enough bail; $500,000 would be excessive."

..Has your client ever expressed an intention of avoiding punishment?" the judge asked, looking over the top of her glasses.

Randolph shot a glance at Jeffrey. Jeffrey's gaze fell to his hands.

Turning back to the judge, Randolph said: "I do not believe my client would think or say such a thing."

The judge looked slowly back and forth between Randolph and the district attorney. Finally she said, "Bail set at $500,000 cash surety." Then, looking directly at Jeffrey, she said, "Dr. Rhodes, as a convicted felon you are not to leave the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Is that clear?"

Jeffrey meekly nodded.

"Your Honor... !" Randolph protested.

But the judge only pounded her gavel once and stood up, clearly dismissive.

"All rise!" the court officer barked.

With swirling robes like a dervish, Judge Janice Maloney swept from her court and disappeared into her chambers. The courtroom erupted in conversation.

"This way, Dr. Rhodes," the court officer standing next to Jeffrey said, motioning toward a side door. Jeffrey stood and stumbled forward. He cast a quick glance in Carol's direction. She was looking at him sadly.

Jeffrey's panic grew as he was taken to a holding room furnished with a plain table and spartan wooden chairs. He sat in the chair Randolph steered him to. Although he did his best to

maintain his composure, he couldn't keep his hands from trembling. He felt short of breath.

I Randolph did his best to calm him. He was indignant about the verdict and optimistic about the appeal. Just then, Carol was escorted into the narrow room. Randolph patted her on the back and said, "You talk to him. I'll go call the bail bondsman."

Carol nodded and looked down at Jeffrey. "I'm sorry," she said after

Randolph had left the room.

Jeffrey nodded. She had been good to stand by him. His eyes welled with tears. He bit his lip to keep from crying.

"It's so unfair," Carol said, sitting down next to him.

"I can't go to prison," was all Jeffrey could say. He shook his head. "I still can't believe this is happening."

"Randolph will appeal," Carol said. "It's not over yet."

"Appeal," Jeffrey said with disgust. "It will be just more of the same.

I've lost two cases..."

"It's not the same," Carol said. "Only experienced judges will be looking at the evidence, not an emotional jury."

Randolph came back from the phone to say that Michael Mosconi, the bail bondsman, was on his way over. Randolph and Carol began an animated conversation about the process of appeal. Jeffrey put his elbows on the table and despite the handcuffs, rested his head in his hands. He was thinking about his medical license, wondering what would happen to it as a consequence of the verdict. Unfortunately, he had a pretty good idea.

Michael Mosconi arrived in short order with his briefcase. His office was only a few steps from the courthouse, in the curved building facing

Government Center. He was not a big man, but his head was large and almost bald. What hair he had grew in a dark crescent that stretched around the back of his head from ear to ear. Some of the strands of dark hair were combed directly over the bald dome in a vain effort to provide a minimum of cover. He had intensely dark eyes that appeared to be all pupil. He was oddly dressed in a dark blue polyester suit with a black shirt and a white tie.

Mosconi set his briefcase on the table, snapped open the latches, and removed a file folder labeled with Jeffrey's name.

"Okay," he said, taking a seat at the table and opening the file. "How much is the increase in bail?" He had already put up the initial $50,000 bail, having collected $5,000 for his services.