An Invisible Client Page 10

  We stepped inside the courtroom. The defense was already there—six of them, with Bob at the head. He was still wearing his eye patch. I sat at the plaintiff’s table, and he said, “Morning, Counselor. You look nervous. No need to. This will be quick and painless.”

  I ignored him and looked up at the judge’s bench. The courtroom had no windows, and it was always, somehow, cold—even in the summer. The bailiff stood by the judge’s bench and stared out at nothing. When the judge’s clerk came out, everybody stood before realizing he wasn’t the judge. Everyone sat back down. Then the judge came out, and we had to stand again, as if we were praying to a deity.

  Gills was a short man, maybe five three, maybe less. He sat on something to make him appear taller, and I wondered if it was a phone book. He looked out at our table, then over at the defense table. “We’re calling the case of Joel Whiting versus Pharma-K Pharmaceuticals. Now is the time set for scheduling conference. I have before me a motion to excuse the plaintiff’s presence due to health reasons. Mr. Walcott, you don’t have an objection to said motion. Is that correct?”

  “Actually, Judge,” Bob said as he rose, “I think it’s only fair that the plaintiff be here. Mr. Rucker is here and has to take time off. I’m certain Mr. Whiting wouldn’t have too much trouble making it down for the court appearances.”

  I rose to my feet. “Mr. Whiting is a twelve-year-old boy in renal failure, Your Honor. He couldn’t come here any more than he could climb Mount Everest right now.”

  Bob said, “I just want what’s fair, Your Honor. It seems unfair that Mr. Rucker has to take time off from his busy schedule overseeing the operations for Pharma-K, and Mr. Whiting won’t even have to appear in court. I think the plaintiff should have to bear the burden of filing suit.”

  “He’s sick, Bob,” I said, trying to bore a hole through him with my stare.

  “Then maybe he and his mother should’ve thought of taking the more-than-generous offer that was made.”

  “Gentlemen,” Gills said, “calm down. Mr. Walcott, you’re being an asshole. I don’t like assholes in my courtroom. Is that clear?”

  “Of course, Your Honor. Again, we just want what’s fair.”

  Olivia cleared her throat and stood up. Her hands were trembling. “Um, Your Honor, I’m . . . um, Olivia Polley, I work with Mr. Byron. I’m allowed to appear under Utah’s third-year practice rule as I—”

  “Ms. Polley,” the judge said, “you see this chair? It’s not comfortable. Hurts my ass like sitting on a jagged rock all day. Just tell me what you’re gonna tell me.”

  “Well, I was just thinking that a good compromise might be that we excuse both Mr. Whiting and Mr. Rucker. That way no one is inconvenienced but the lawyers.”

  “Nothing I love more than inconveniencing lawyers. My order on the motion is that Mr. Whiting is excused for all future court appearances, and anybody the defense would want to bring is excused, as well. I’m fine going forward with just counsel at all future appearances. Everybody happy?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Yes, Judge.”

  I leaned over to Olivia and whispered, “Nice.” She blushed and had to fight back a smile, as though you weren’t allowed to smile in a courtroom.

  “Good,” the judge said. “Now, I assume we want a discovery timetable?”

  “Actually, Your Honor,” Bob said, “may I approach?”

  “Certainly.”

  Bob laid a document down on the plaintiff’s table then gave another copy to the judge. It was a 12(b)(6) motion.

  The motion was named after the rule of civil procedure that governed it. The caption read: FAILURE TO STATE A CLAIM UPON WHICH RELIEF CAN BE GRANTED.

  Bob was claiming that we didn’t have any legal basis for filing a lawsuit. It was one of the most dangerous motions in all of civil practice. If the motion was granted, the suit would be dismissed, and I would find it extraordinarily difficult to bring another one. If the motion was denied, Pharma-K would likely raise the initial offer and try to settle the case. The motion was typically filed after discovery was completed, not before.

  “You sure you wanna file this now?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Okay, it’s your rodeo. Mr. Byron?”

  “I’ll need at least a month for my reply, Your Honor.”

  “A month it is. Get a new date from my clerk.”

  After we secured new dates, I asked Olivia to get started on the reply. Bob had filed one of the few motions that would allow the judge to make a decision based completely on the actual documents rather than any testimony. The judge would hold a hearing and ask us questions about the motions, but by then, he would have already made up his mind. It was a way for judges to make sure they weren’t overwhelmed with crappy lawsuits. They didn’t like letting things go forward when they knew the plaintiffs were holding out to find better evidence later. It was very likely this case would be dismissed in a month. So I decided I had better find something good to put in that reply.

  I spent the rest of the workday conferring with KGB about the case, then went out to Greens to actually see where they kept the children’s medicine.

  Greens was one of those little neighborhood groceries that had just a few shelves of products and a couple of cashiers standing up front with nothing to do. One smiled at me but said nothing. I strolled around for a little bit, getting a feel for the place, before heading to the pharmacy area.

  The over-the-counter medications were right in front of the cashier. I doubted anyone could do anything to the medicine without someone seeing. The Pharma Killer still could have either taken the bottle to another section of the store, put the poison in and resealed it, or taken it home, poisoned it, then resealed it. The first child was made sick the day before Rebecca bought the medicine, which meant her bottle likely couldn’t have been tampered with the day she bought it. It had to have been the day before or the day before that. I made a note in my phone to have a laboratory test Rebecca’s bottle for any glue that might prove it had been resealed.

  Of course, Rebecca Whiting’s instincts could have been right, meaning the medication had been contaminated at the source before going out. Pharma-K had recalled the product so quickly, I wasn’t surprised there weren’t more than just the three cases.

  “Can I help you?” the cashier asked.

  “Yes, actually. I, um, am interested in some cough medicine, but that whole Pharma Killer thing has me kinda spooked. Not sure what to buy.”

  “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately. It’s up to you, but I might suggest trying another brand if you’re concerned about that.”

  “Would that help?”

  “Certainly. The contamination only affected the Pharma-K brand.”

  “Really? That seems weird that some psycho would just pick that brand.”

  He shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. I can’t really speak to that. What I can tell you is all the medication is right here. We inventory them every night.”

  “Huh. That doesn’t sound like you think it was a single person.” I stepped closer and glanced around, as though I were saying something controversial. “You think it could’ve been tainted by the company?”

  “Well, I don’t know. But I will say it would be very difficult for someone to tamper with one of our medications. They’d have to purchase it, tamper with it, and then put it back. And we do inventory every night. If we had one too many, we would’ve noted that—and we never did.”

  I nodded. “Sounds like there’s more going on than the public gets to know, huh?”

  “I would say that’s accurate.”

  “Well, I think I’ll pass. Thank you for your help.”

  “You bet.”

  I left Greens and texted Jessica to list the Greens cashiers as witnesses to depose later on.

  19

  That ni
ght, I drove home without any music. I felt like thinking. I reached the stop sign by my house and stopped. Up east was the hospital. Again, I had an urge to go up there, though I didn’t know why. Normally, after a client signed up, I did everything I could to avoid that person. New clients had a tendency to eat up all of a lawyer’s time with irrelevant nonsense if allowed.

  I started turning toward home, then stopped. I veered away and drove up to the hospital.

  Joel was awake when I got there. Rebecca was out in the hall, knitting. I sat next to her.

  “How is he?”

  “He threw up a lot today. He’s really tired, poor thing.”

  “I won’t stay long.”

  “No, he likes you. You can stay as long as you like.”

  “You knit?”

  “Need something to occupy the time.”

  She kept knitting, and I watched her for a moment before I rose and peeked into Joel’s room. He was just lying there, staring at the ceiling. I pulled up a chair and sat down. He smiled when he saw me. He looked much worse than he had two weeks ago. The dark circles under his eyes had turned black, and he looked thinner.

  “That girl, the one that’s a twin, she’s cute. She been down here lately?”

  He grinned. “No.”

  “You like her, huh?”

  “She comes down and plays music for me sometimes. She really likes the Killers.”

  “Oh, yeah? I don’t think I’ve ever heard ’em.”

  “You wouldn’t like them.”

  “Why, ’cause I’m old?”

  “No, I see you liking classic rock. The stuff my mom listens to.”

  “I’ll have you know, Mr. Whiting, that I was pretty hot stuff when I was your age. I had the denim jacket and the Bon Jovi T-shirt that all the girls dug. I even had a Walkman that was always strapped to my hip.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s the equivalent to rocks and sticks for you, but at the time, it was a cool way to play music.” I noticed the TV was on, but the sound was turned off. “How you feeling today?”

  “I can’t eat or drink anything. I keep throwing up. I miss pie. My mom makes apple pie with ice cream.”

  “You’ll be eating it again in no time.”

  He took a few labored breaths. “I wanna go outside one more time.”

  “You’re going to go outside a lot. There’s no rush.”

  He looked at me. “I’m dying, Noah.”

  I didn’t know what to say. It was hard to be a kid after realizing you were going to die. Much harder still was knowing it was going to happen soon.

  “They won’t let you outside?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what: what time you wake up in the morning?”

  “Like nine or ten.”

  “Okay, I’ll be by around nine or ten tomorrow.”

  “What are we doing?”

  I rose. “It’s a surprise.”

  When I got home, I showered, then sat on the couch and tried to watch a Lakers game on the television. I couldn’t concentrate. So I got a beer out of the fridge and went onto the balcony. I stared out over the city and the bright headlights of the cars coming up the road. I heard a click from next door and looked over. On their balcony was my neighbor, Jim. He was a retired professor from the University of Utah.

  “You still up?” I asked.

  He blew out a puff of smoke. “Not much difference between night and day when you’re retired.”

  “That sounds like buyer’s remorse.”

  “Worst mistake I ever made. I should’ve been teaching until I died. I loved those kids.” He blew out another puff of smoke. “How you doin’? I haven’t seen you around lately.”

  “Just a big case I’m working on. That Pharma Killer that’s been in the news.”

  “They caught him?”

  “No, we’re suing the company that makes the medicine.”

  “What for?”

  “I think the medicine was contaminated before it went out, and they covered it up.”

  He whistled. “That is a doozie if it’s true.” He paused. “You’re too young to remember, but doctors used to smoke in hospitals. Sometimes, they’d recommend it to patients. You can still see the ashtrays that are bolted into the walls at the U of U hospital. The cigarette companies were so powerful, they convinced doctors to poison their patients.”

  “Aren’t you smoking right now?”

  “No, it’s weed. You want some?”

  I chuckled. “No thanks.”

  “Now that sounds like a man who needs a hit. Hang on. I’m coming over.”

  The front door opened half a minute later, and Jim walked in. He sat on the deck chair next to me, packed a pipe, then handed it to me. I took it.

  “I haven’t smoked this stuff since college.”

  “It’s for the young and the old, but you sound like you need it right now.”

  I took a small puff, and it gave me a hacking cough that made Jim laugh. I leaned my head back and watched the stars.

  “So who’s your client?”

  “A little boy who got sick, Joel Whiting.”

  “He okay?”

  “No. And those dicks are gonna get away with it like it never happened.”

  “Well,” he said, taking another puff off the pipe, “nothing’s written in stone.”

  20

  In the morning, I bought two pairs of scrubs and texted Olivia to meet me at the hospital. Then I rented a van from Enterprise and drove up to the hospital parking lot. I saw Olivia sitting in her car, waiting for me. I got out and handed her one package of scrubs. I was already wearing mine.

  “What is this for?”

  “Go to the bathroom and change. Then meet me by the elevators.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “We’re busting out a prisoner.”

  When I’d first approached Rebecca about this late the previous night, she hadn’t even hesitated to say yes. She had been trying to take Joel out for weeks, but the doctors wouldn’t allow it.

  I grabbed a wheelchair from the front entrance, then waited by the elevators. Olivia came out wearing scrubs, her clothes in her hand. I pushed the button, and we went up to ICU. Rebecca was already waiting in front of Joel’s room. Her eyebrows rose when she saw our outfits.

  “I don’t know about this,” she said.

  “We won’t do it if you don’t want to.”

  She thought for a second. “No, let’s go. Hurry up, the nurses are all hanging out at the nurses’ station.”

  We went into Joel’s room. Olivia helped me lift him into the chair. He was so light, she could’ve done it herself.

  “Where we going?” he asked.

  “Surprise, remember?”

  I pushed him down the hall, Olivia walking next to me, trying to act as casual as possible. Though the nurses had to buzz people into the ICU, they didn’t buzz anyone out. We quickly went through the double doors leading to the elevators.

  “Noah,” he whispered, sensing we were doing something naughty, “where we going?”

  “You’ll like it. Trust me.”

  We got on the elevators and went to the main floor. Hurriedly, we left the hospital and loaded the wheelchair into the van before all of us piled in.

  “Where are we going?” Olivia said.

  I just grinned as I pulled out of the hospital parking lot.

  About twenty minutes from Salt Lake was an amusement park called Lagoon. Even from a mile away, Joel saw it and turned into a four-year-old kid. He squealed, and the look on his face as he stared out the windows at the giant roller coasters was something I’d never seen. In an instant, he changed in a way that adults may have forgotten was possible.

  We parked and hel
ped him down the ramp. Rebecca and I had talked last night and decided riding the roller coasters was too dangerous, so I hoped I could still show him a good time without riding the actual rides. His mother held his hand as we walked to the front of the amusement park, a smile so wide on Joel’s face I thought it might hurt his cheeks.

  After I got the tickets, I pushed Joel in his wheelchair, and he talked about the last time he was there. He’d thrown up cotton candy on one of the roller coasters that turned riders upside down.

  We played some of the carnival games, and he tossed softballs at milk bottles to knock them down. His throws were too weak to get the ball far, but he didn’t seem to mind. The sunshine, the people, and the excitement were enough. He wore a smile from one ear to the other.

  A ride called Rocket Mouse occupied one end of the park near the kids’ section. Joel kept asking his mother if he could ride it. She said no, then he said, “But Noah will ride it with me. Right?”

  He looked at me, and I just nodded. As far back as I could remember, I had never ridden on a ride at an amusement park.

  The rocket was two seats, and Joel sat in front of me. It was a kids’ ride and didn’t go very fast, but he still turned to me and said, “Don’t worry, it won’t make you sick or anything.” He whistled to his mother, letting her know he was okay, and she whistled back.

  The ride took off, and we spun up into the air, then leveled out. The entire rocket tipped upside down—I hadn’t been told that would happen—then spun right side up again. Joel was howling with laughter, but I felt the slow rise of pressure from my stomach into my throat. I swallowed as the rocket spun again.

  By the end of the ride, I must’ve looked green, because Olivia was laughing when she helped me out of the rocket.

  “You poor thing,” she said.

  “I think you better go on any more rides with him.”

  The next ride, Olivia took him. They were both laughing and screaming like toddlers. When they stepped off, Joel held her hand. It was a casual gesture, a little thing that showed his affection, but I watched her eyes and saw them well up with tears.

  Joel asked for cotton candy, and his mother bought him some. He had a couple of bites, and that was all he could handle. He was sweating profusely.