When the lights came on, Judge Seawright declared it was time for lunch and they would reconvene at 2:00 p.m. Without a word, Wally vanished with the crowd. He and David had planned to have a quick sandwich in the building and plot strategy, but David gave up after fifteen minutes and left to eat alone in the café on the second floor of the building.
Oscar was out of the hospital and convalescing in Wally’s apartment. Rochelle checked on him twice a day—still no sign of his wife or daughter. David called him with a brief update on the start of the trial and put a positive spin on things. Oscar feigned interest, but it was obvious he was happy to be where he was.
At 2:00 p.m., the courtroom came to order. The bloodletting was about to begin, and Wally seemed remarkably at ease. “Call your next witness,” the judge said, and Wally reached for his notepad. “This will be ugly,” he whispered, and David caught the unmistakable odor of freshly consumed beer.
Dr. Igor Borzov was led to the witness stand, where the bailiff presented a Bible to help with the swearing in. Borzov looked at the Bible and began shaking his head. He refused to touch it. Judge Seawright asked if there was a problem, and Borzov said something about being an atheist. “No Bible,” he said. “I don’t believe it.”
David watched in horror. Come on, you quack, for a $75,000 fee the least you can do is play along. After an awkward delay, Judge Seawright told the bailiff to lose the Bible. Borzov raised his right hand and swore to tell the truth, but by then the jury had already been lost.
Working from a carefully worded script, Wally led him through the rituals of qualifying an expert. Education—college and med school in Moscow. Training—a residency in cardiology in Kiev, a couple of hospitals in Moscow. Experience—a brief stint on staff at a community hospital in Fargo, North Dakota, and private practice in Toronto and Nashville. The night before, Wally and David had rehearsed with him for hours, and they had pleaded with him to speak as slowly and clearly as possible. In the privacy of their office, Borzov was somewhat comprehensible. On center stage, though, and in a tense courtroom, Borzov forgot their pleas and delivered his rapid-fire responses in an accent so thick it barely resembled English. Twice the court reporter called time-out for clarification.
Court reporters are brilliant in their ability to digest mumblings, speech impediments, accents, slang, and technical vocabulary. The fact that she couldn’t follow Borzov was devastating. The third time she interrupted, Judge Seawright said, “I can’t understand him either. Do you have an interpreter, Mr. Figg?”
Thanks, Judge. Several of the jurors were amused by the question.
Wally and David had actually discussed the hiring of a Russian interpreter, but that discussion had been part of a broader plan to forget Borzov, forget any expert, forget all witnesses as a whole, and simply not show up for the trial.
After a few more questions, Wally said, “We tender Dr. Igor Borzov as an expert witness in the field of cardiology.”
Judge Seawright looked at the defense table and said, “Ms. Karros?”
She stood and with a wicked smile replied, “We have no objections.”
In other words, we’ll help feed him all the rope he needs.
Wally asked Dr. Borzov if he had reviewed the medical records of Percy Klopeck. He replied with a clear yes. For half an hour, they discussed Percy’s dismal medical history, then began the tedious process of admitting the records into evidence. It would have taken hours if not for the remarkable cooperation of the defense. Ms. Karros could have objected to a lot of the material, but she wanted everything laid out for the jurors. By the time the four-inch-thick file was admitted, several of them were struggling to stay awake.
The testimony improved dramatically with the aid of a greatly enlarged diagram of a human heart. It was presented on a large screen, and Dr. Borzov was given wide latitude in describing it for the jury. Walking back and forth in front of the screen, and with the aid of a pointing stick, he did a decent job of describing the valves, chambers, and arteries. When he said something that no one understood, Wally helpfully repeated it for the benefit of the others. Wally knew this would be the easy portion of his testimony, and he took his time. The good doctor seemed to know his stuff, but then any second-year med student was well versed in this material. When the tutorial was finally finished, Borzov returned to the witness stand.
Two months before he died in his sleep, Percy had undergone his annual physical, complete with EKG and echocardiogram, thus providing Dr. Borzov with something to talk about. Wally handed him the echo report, and the two spent fifteen minutes discussing the basics of an echocardiogram. Percy’s showed a marked decrease in the regurgitation of blood from the left ventricle chamber.
David took a deep breath as lawyer and witness waded into the minefield of technical, medical jargon. It was a disaster from the very beginning.
Krayoxx supposedly damaged the mitral valve in such a way that it impeded the flow of blood as it was being pumped out of the heart. In an attempt to explain this, Borzov used the term “left ventricle ejection fraction.” When asked to clarify this for the jury, Borzov said: “The ejection fraction is actually the ventricular volume at end-diastole minus end-systole, the ventricle volume, and that divided by the total volume times one hundred is the ejection fraction.” Such language was incomprehensible to laymen when delivered in slow, precise English. Out of Dr. Borzov’s mouth, it was nothing but gibberish and sadly comical.
Nadine Karros rose and said, “Your Honor, please.”
Judge Seawright shook his head as if he’d been slapped and said, “Come on, Mr. Figg.”
Three of the jurors were glaring at David as if he had insulted them. A couple were suppressing chuckles.
Treading water, Wally asked his witness to speak slowly, clearly, and, if possible, in easier language. They plodded along, Borzov trying his best, Wally repeating virtually everything he said until some clarity was achieved, but not much and not nearly enough. Borzov discussed the grading of mitral insufficiency, the regurgitation of the left atrial area, and the level of severity of the mitral regurgitation.
Long after the jury gave up, Wally asked a series of questions about the interpretation of the echocardiogram, and it prompted this response: “If the ventricle was totally symmetrical and had no discrepancies in the wall motion or geometry, it would be a prolate ellipsoid. Just defines flat end and pointed end and gentle curve, an ellipsoid fraction. So the ventricle would contract down, would still be a prolate ellipsoid, but all walls would move except the plane of mitral valve.”
The court reporter raised her hand and blurted, “I’m sorry, Your Honor, but I’m not getting this.” Judge Seawright’s eyes closed, his head was down, as if he, too, had given up and just wanted Borzov to finish and get out of the courtroom.
“Fifteen-minute recess,” he mumbled.
Wally and David sat silent before two untouched cups of coffee in the small café. It was 4:30 Monday afternoon, and both felt as though they’d spent a month in Seawright’s courtroom. Neither wanted to see it again.
While David was stunned by Borzov’s thoroughly discreditable performance, he was also thinking about Wally’s drinking. He wasn’t drunk and didn’t appear under the influence, but any return to the bottle for an alcoholic was troubling. He wanted to quiz him, to see if he was okay, but the place and time seemed inappropriate. Why bring up such a dreadful subject under such miserable circumstances?