Authors: James Grippando
“Look at the next highlighted line. Could you read that aloud, please?”
Her hand was shaking. It took her a moment to steady the paper and read it. “It says ‘Apnea—as reported by mother.’”
The judge interrupted. “Counsel, do you intend to go through each and every one of these records? It’s quite a stack.”
“My point is almost made,” Gaines said. “Let me get straight to the bottom line. Mrs. Laramore, turn to the page that is flagged by the yellow Post-it, about two-thirds of the way down your stack of records there.”
Jack followed along with copies.
“Can you tell the court what this is?” asked Gaines.
“It’s a blood test report.”
“Blood test for your daughter, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Would you read the highlighted portion of the box at the bottom of the report, please?”
Jack glanced at his own page. He saw the answer that Mrs. Laramore finally uttered: “High concentration of diuretic,” said Mrs. Laramore.
“The blood test confirmed that someone was giving your daughter a high dose of a diuretic, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“Had any doctor prescribed a diuretic?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“In fact, that would have been a really stupid thing to prescribe, wouldn’t it, for a child who had presented to the emergency room for dehydration”—he paused to check his notes—“eleven times?”
“That wouldn’t be smart, no.”
“And yet
someone
,” he said, his voice taking on an edge, “was giving your daughter diuretics.”
“According to the blood test, yes.”
He moved closer, tightening his figurative grip on the witness. “Mrs. Laramore, you’re aware, are you not, that excessive use of diuretics can cause long QT syndrome?”
“Objection,” Jack shouted.
“Sustained.”
“That’s fine,” said Gaines. “If the court wishes, we can bring in a dozen doctors who will testify to that fact.”
“The court wishes you to ask your next question.”
“Yes, Judge. Mrs. Laramore, doctors have told you, have they not, that your daughter’s heart condition was caused by excessive use of diuretics?”
“Objection.”
“No, I’m going to allow that one,” said the judge. “It’s a different question.”
The witness shifted uneasily. “Yes. Doctors have told me that.”
There was a murmur across the courtroom, as if the observers sensed that Gaines had truly scored.
Gaines took another step closer, his voice rising. “Mrs. Laramore,
you
gave your daughter those diuretics, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“You
caused her long QT syndrome.”
“No!”
“Objection!” Jack shouted. “This is pure harassment.”
Gaines repositioned himself yet again, as if someone had pointed out the perfect spot in the courtroom for TV coverage. “Judge, we intend to show that the QT syndrome was caused by the victim’s own mother, who presents a classic case of Munchausen syndrome by proxy.”
“What?” said Jack.
“Her daughter presented to the ER nearly every two weeks before her second birthday. Mrs. Laramore shows a high level of understanding of her daughter’s medical condition. She has never left her daughter’s side since she’s been hospitalized. This is a psychology that thrives on the illness of children. The diuretics given to her daughter caused symptoms that fed the mother’s illness, but they also caused long-term heart problems for Celeste.”
“Judge,” said Jack, “it doesn’t matter
how
Celeste got long QT syndrome. The point is that it’s treatable and would not have resulted in a coma if BNN had not interfered with the transmission of vital information from the ambulance.”
“I’ll sustain the objection. Counsel, please approach the bench.”
Jack came forward, and Gaines stood with him at the judge’s bench.
“Mr. Swyteck, your objection is well founded because, yes, in a strict legal sense, you are right: It doesn’t matter how Celeste got long QT syndrome. The law says that a wrongdoer takes the victim as he finds her. I’m sure Mr. Gaines is well aware of that rule of law. But if these allegations of Munchausen syndrome by proxy are true, Mr. Swyteck, you need to settle this case. To be blunt about it, the sympathy value of your case has been neutralized. These are smart lawyers you’re up against. They are going to find a way to get this information before the jury if and when this case goes to trial. If not in the courtroom, it will definitely be in the media. And as much as I tell jurors not to read newspapers or watch TV, they do. This is the sort of thing they will hold against your case and your client.”
“I guess that’s why BNN wanted today’s hearing on television,” Jack said, unable to resist a swipe.
“That’s an outrageous accusation,” said Gaines.
“I won’t ascribe any motives to anyone,” said the judge. “I’m denying BNN’s motion to dismiss the case. But take my warning to heart, Mr. Swyteck. You’ve got serious problems.”
Jack turned away and glanced at Mrs. Laramore in the witness chair.
Don’t I know it.
“The witness may step down,” the judge announced. “We’re adjourned.”
I
don’t want to talk about it.”
That was all Virginia Laramore said to Jack after the hearing before Judge Burrows. Jack was fine with it, at least until the handful of inquisitive reporters stopped trailing them out of the courthouse, down the granite steps, and to the parking lot. The media coverage wasn’t nearly as extensive as it had been for the Sydney Bennett hearing, but one reporter followed them all the way to the car, asking over and over, “Mrs. Laramore, did you abuse your daughter?” The question was met with silence, punctuated by Jack slamming the driver’s-side door.
Jack was behind the wheel and turning onto Flagler Street when his client finally opened up.
“Celeste was adopted.”
Jack hit the brake, then looked straight at her. “What?”
“All those medical records are from the time she was with her birth mother. Ben and I adopted her after HRS took her away and she was put in foster care.”
Jack pulled the car over to the curb and put it in
PARK
. It wasn’t easy to get tough with a woman whose daughter was in a coma, but Jack was losing patience. “Why didn’t you tell me that? And, for God’s sake, why didn’t you shove it in Ted Gaines’ face when he attacked you like that?”
“Because Ben and I have never told anyone outside the family that Celeste is adopted. And I’ve never even told Celeste that her birth mother was abusive. I wasn’t about to make that blowhard Ted Gaines the first person to hear it. Especially not on television. Celeste has already made enough headlines for his disgraceful client.”
Jack couldn’t disagree. “I’m sorry you had to go through that today,” he said.
“It’s the second worst thing I’ve ever had to deal with.”
Jack knew the first.
“Can we get back to the hospital, please? I want to be with Celeste.”
Jack put the car in gear and drove. Instinct told him that Mrs. Laramore would have preferred to ride in silence, but questions remained, and Jack was running out of time. He’d spoken to Ben Laramore about the visitation records from the women’s detention center and gotten no explanation. He needed to ask again.
“Why did Celeste visit Sydney Bennett in jail?”
Mrs. Laramore was looking out the side window. “I’m no more help than Ben on that one. We don’t know.”
“Why do you think she went? Your best guess.”
“No idea.”
“Celeste’s roommate told me that Celeste also visited Neil Goderich, Sydney’s first lawyer. We’ve searched through all Neil’s notes and can’t find a single record of their meeting.”
“Maybe it never happened.”
“Can you think of any reason why Celeste would have met with him?”
“A formality, maybe? She wanted to visit Sydney and needed to clear it with her lawyer. But that’s just a guess.”
It seemed like a reasonable guess. “But that still doesn’t tell us why she wanted to visit Sydney.”
“No,” Mrs. Laramore said as she massaged the bridge of her nose. “This is giving me a headache.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to press. This adoption news may be leading me down the wrong path, but it may be the answer to some of the questions I’ve been asking myself. Questions that started with those photographs of Celeste that Ben sent me.”
“What about them?”
Jack cut across traffic to take the expressway on-ramp. “There’s a definite transformation in Celeste’s appearance.”
“She grew up.”
“No, it’s not just the difference between being seventeen and being twenty. Sydney Bennett was arrested three years ago. That’s when her face first appeared on the news. There’s a vague resemblance between Celeste at age seventeen and Sydney when she was arrested. Over the next three years—as Sydney’s face was more and more on television—the resemblance gets stronger. Mostly due to the way Celeste started wearing her hair, how she wore her makeup.”
“Are you saying she was
trying
to look like Sydney?”
“Maybe I am.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? I don’t mean to pry,” said Jack, “but if you’ve never told Celeste that her mother was abusive, you probably haven’t told her much at all about her. Is it possible that Celeste started to wonder?”
“She never asked me about her.”
“Did she ask Ben?”
“Not that he ever told me. But I honestly don’t see where you’re going with this. And could you please drive faster? I really want to get back to the hospital.”
Jack’s focus on the conversation had dropped his speed well below the limit. He took it up to sixty, which still left him in the slow lane on the busy westbound Dolphin Expressway. They were coming up on the exit for Jackson Memorial Hospital when the real question finally popped out of Jack’s mouth.
“Virginia, do you know who Celeste’s birth mother was?”
“No. Ben and I were never foster parents. We came into the picture after the birth mother’s rights were terminated and Celeste’s foster parents decided they couldn’t afford to adopt another child. I got medical information and such, and I think under Florida law I could have gotten the mother’s first name, if I’d wanted it. But the birth mother’s identity was just something I never really wanted to pursue.”
Jack turned at the Twelfth Street exit, and they stopped at the red light at the end of the ramp. The hospital where Celeste lay in a coma was in sight. Jack glanced at her adoptive mother.
“I’m thinking it may be time to find out,” he said.
T
ed Gaines’ flight landed at LaGuardia Airport a few minutes before nine
P.M.
, just in time to see the Tuesday-evening edition of the
Faith Corso Show
. He didn’t like what he was seeing.
“Friends,” said Corso in a somber tone, “it was a dark day for this network in a Miami courtroom today.”
Dark day?
Confused, Gaines stepped closer to the flat-screen television that hung by a bracket from the ceiling. He was in Figaro’s, a bar directly across from the gate where his flight from Miami had deplaned.
Corso continued, “As her twenty-year-old daughter lay in a coma, Virginia Laramore was viciously attacked on the witness stand by prominent attorney Ted Gaines. The issue in the case was simply this: Who caused Celeste Laramore to go into a coma? Of course, we here at BNN deny any responsibility for that tragic course of events. But Mr. Gaines simply went too far. In the worst case of overzealous lawyering I have ever witnessed, he proceeded to accuse Mrs. Laramore of abusing her own child and causing the heart condition that resulted in her slipping into a coma. In support of his attack, he introduced into evidence a series of medical records showing that, before the age of two, Celeste Laramore had visited the emergency room more than two dozen times. Mr. Gaines should be ashamed of himself, and he should have done his homework. My own reporters have investigated this matter, and we have this exclusive story for you, and this important message for Mr. Gaines: Celeste Laramore was adopted, you moron!”
Gaines shuddered. It was suddenly hard to breathe.
“Yes,” said Corso, “adopted. Those medical records showing physical abuse were all before Celeste was adopted—‘rescued’ may be a better word for it—by the Laramore family. Now, friends, as I mentioned, Mr. Gaines is the attorney for this network. I’m risking my own job by saying this, but I pray for the sake of the Laramore family and for the sake of Lady Justice that Mr. Gaines will no longer be the lawyer for the network I am proud to call home, the network that prides itself on getting the story right and on doing the right thing—your Breaking News Network.”
Gaines ground his teeth together, clenched his fists tight, and tried to breathe. The anger inside was more than he could contain. He stepped out of the bar and found a quiet place by the kiosk for a “lids” vendor that sold baseball caps. His hand trembled with anger as he dialed Keating’s private line. The CEO answered as if he were expecting the call.
“How goes it, Ted?”
“You son of a bitch, you set me up.”
“Well, hold on there, counselor.”
“Hold on, my ass. It wasn’t my idea to go after Virginia Laramore as an abusive parent. You wanted it. You gave me the records. You said your investigator checked it out. That was all a lie. You knew all along that Celeste was adopted, didn’t you?”
“Now, why would I do that to you, Ted?”
“Why? What better reason to ruin a trial lawyer’s hard-earned reputation than to manufacture ten minutes of self-righteous glory for Faith Corso on national television?”
“That was awfully brave of Faith, wasn’t it?” Keating said smugly. “To risk her job and call on her own network to fire its high-priced lawyer?”
“It was
staged
.”
“It’s
all
staged,” Keating fired back. “You know that better than anyone.”
“I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing. But I’m done with it. I quit.”
“Too late,” said Keating. “Check your e-mail. A letter went out from my office two minutes ago dismissing you from the case.”
Gaines moved away from the kiosk and the businessman who was checking out a Yankees cap. “You are as low as they come,” Gaines said, hissing into the phone. “Is there anyone you won’t destroy in the name of entertainment?”
“My mother died six years ago. So the answer is no. Good luck to you, Mr. Gaines.”
The call ended.
Gaines shoved the phone into the pocket of his blazer and turned around to check the TV inside Figaro’s. He was standing too far away to hear, but it took little imagination to figure out what Faith Corso was saying. His photograph—not a flattering one—was on the screen directly above the
BREAKING NEWS
banner. Bold red letters ran diagonally across his face.
FIRED
, it read.
He closed his eyes in disbelief.
You fool, Gaines. You complete fool.