Silent Justice: A Ben Kincaid Novel of Suspense

Chapter 33

TRYING A LAWSUIT, BEN mused, not for the first time, was a lot like having a baby. Not that he would know personally. But women always said that childbirth was followed by a biological forgetfulness, an erasing of the memory of how painful it was, so that women could conceivably want to have children again. It was much the same for trial lawyers. Trying a case was mercilessly demanding, tiring, debilitating, and typically unrewarding. Every time Ben was immersed in a trial, he swore he would never repeat the agony. And yet, like most trial lawyers, a month or so later, he became bored and restless, itching to go back before the jury.

A trial lawyer’s life, when the trial was on, was really no life at all. Once it began, there was no time for anything but that, nothing but attending to the needs of the court and the client. The days might seem interminable to the jury, but to Ben, they were never long enough. Each day swept past in a mind-reeling frenzy, one must-do task followed quickly by another.

He rarely slept well during a trial. He’d rise at five to prepare for the day’s witnesses, arguments, whatever. He’d pore over the exhibits, charts, documents. He’d review deposition transcripts. There was always too much data, too much information to be absorbed and recalled, more than could possibly be fed into a single human memory bank. At eight fifteen, he’d trudge over to the courthouse, mounds of information in tow. And then he’d be in court all day.

While the trial was on, there was no time for random thoughts, daydreaming, a life outside. While the trial was on, total acuity was essential. His full attention had to be focused on the proceedings. Any moment his mind wandered would be a moment opposing counsel would try to slip in something objectionable. He’d rarely go out for lunch; he’d have Christina bring him back a candy bar or a bag of Doritos while he reviewed the afternoon’s witness examinations. At the end of the day, he’d go back to the office to strategize with the client, replay the day’s events, assess damage, consider options, plan tactics, consider settlement offers. And once the client had gone home, he could start doing the real work. And if he was lucky he’d be asleep by midnight—but one or two or three in the morning was more common. More than likely, given how little time there was, he’d sleep on the sofa in his office. And all too soon, five A.M. would roll around again.…

Actually, most nights, Ben would awake about four A.M. in a blind panic, dripping with sweat. What have I forgotten? What did I miss? These anxiety attacks were inevitable. Modern trials were simply too complex; no one could remember everything, no matter how good they were. Sometimes he would be able to get back to sleep, after running through a mental checklist of the next day’s witnesses. More often he would not. He would try running around the block, or listening to soothing music or playing the piano. Or he would simply give it up and start preparing for the next day’s work early.

Sometimes he would close his eyes and try to remember the forest behind the house his grandmother had lived in when he was growing up, deep in the rolling green hills of Arkansas. He would recall the crisp, clean air; the blissful silence; the occasional deer or squirrel darting about; the tall trees; the sense of peace. Sometimes that would help calm his anxiety and get him back to sleep.

But not this time. Not this trial. Grandmother’s house was too far away and the forest had been clear-cut. Instead, all he saw was Cecily Elkins’s tear-stained face. In his mind’s eye, she was leaning toward Ben, keening with the pain of the bereaved mother, shaking Ben back and forth, pleading. Tell me it was not all for nothing, she would say. Tell me it was not all in vain.

By the third week, the trial was wearing everyone down. Some of the jurors seemed dazed or glassy-eyed; both lawyers occasionally had to resort to cheap tricks to make sure some important piece of testimony was heard.

The lawyers themselves began to tire. Ben noticed a substantive decline in the enthusiasm levels in Colby’s entourage, not to mention other signs of stress—shirts that needed to go to the dry cleaners, suit coats creased around the seat. Tempers flared more often. Foolish mistakes were made. Sometimes the snipping and squabbling between lawyers became so strident that Judge Perry called a recess, “so you can get a grip on yourselves.” It was no one’s fault, really. But mental exhaustion, relentless pressure, and sleep deprivation will take their toll. This, Ben often reflected, is why this thing is called a trial.

By the middle of the fourth week, Ben was ready to put on his medical witnesses. This, as he well realized, was probably the most important part of his case. He had evidence that the Blaylock plant used TCE and perc and that those chemicals made their way to the aquifer. Colby could dispute and argue and rebut all he wanted; the evidence was there. But there was one more necessary step in the causation chain that led to liability. Ben had to show that those chemicals Blaylock disseminated caused the children’s cancers. It was the causation problem Judge Perry had warned him about from the outset of the case. Without this essential element of proof, Ben had no case at all.

He started with the man who became known as the “cluster expert,” Dr. Jonathan Daimler. He’d been recommended to Ben by the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. He was a tall man, lean, with a thin nose and a seemingly permanent intense expression.

“According to the CDC,” Ben said, as he introduced the witness to the jury, “you’re the world’s foremost expert on leukemia clusters.”

Daimler grinned sheepishly. “Well, in truth—I’m probably the world’s only expert on leukemia clusters.”

That’s good, Ben thought. Be modest. The jury likes modest. Especially from someone whose resume is longer than most novels. “Could you tell the jury how you got involved in this line of work?”

“Of course. About twenty years ago, I was interning at the CDC. I received information about what appeared to be an epidemic of leukemia cases in a small town in Illinois. Six children died in a two-year period—in a town about a square mile in size.”

“Why did that trigger your interest?”

“Leukemia is a rare disease—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. Statistically, there should be only one case per one hundred thousand children. This could’ve just been a statistical anomaly … but it was still extraordinary. I thought it merited further investigation.”

“So what did you do?”

“I went to Illinois. I was allowed to conduct in-detail examinations of the medical records and the families of the victims. I examined bone-marrow samples, blood, written documents. I checked radiation levels. Family histories. I found no evidence of any hereditary illnesses or predispositions that might be contributing to the outbreak.”

“So what, if anything, did you conclude?”

Daimler’s gaze intensified. “I became convinced that there must be some infectious agent, a virus, perhaps, that was causing the disease outbreak. This is not, admittedly, the traditional medical view of leukemia. But previous researchers have discovered leukemia viruses transmitted amongst animals—birds and mice, for instance. And I noted that these cases were principally striking victims preteen or younger—when children are most susceptible to infectious diseases.” He paused, gazing earnestly at the jury. “I simply couldn’t believe this concentration of cases could be random. I couldn’t isolate a causal agent. But I felt certain there was one.”

Ben caught a quick glance of the jury. He had worried that this medical testimony might soar over their heads, particularly in their current torporous state. But as far as he could tell, they seemed to be following along. “So what did you do next?”

“I began combing the CDC files, looking for other leukemia clusters.”

“And did you find them?”

“In spades. A small town in Texas, with nine cases in nine months. A village in New York, population less than a thousand, with three cases in a year. Six children in New Jersey, all attending the same elementary school. A "leukemia house" in Georgia, where three residents and a visitor all developed leukemia in a single year. All extraordinary events. Too extraordinary for me to write off as coincidental. I was convinced that something was causing these microepidemics.”

“Did the rest of the medical community share your views?”

“To be honest, sir, some did and some didn’t. After I published my first paper in the New England Journal of Medicine, I got a lot of comment. Some researchers thought I had been misled by statistical aberrations. Some agreed there must be a cause—but what was it?”

“I have a question,” Ben said, “and I’m sure this has occurred to some of the jurors as well. If there is something—a virus or … whatever-—causing these leukemia cases—why doesn’t everyone get it?”

“In my opinion, the causal agent must be a low-potency pathogen—something that would only affect the most susceptible victims. Like children, for instance. Of course, that very low potency makes it all the more difficult to discover.”

“Have you made any effort to learn what that pathogen might be?”

“Of course I have. I have and others”—he nodded toward a familiar face in the gallery—“like Dr. Rimland have. But it’s an extremely difficult process. A low-level pathogen might be too subtle to evidence itself in tests with lab animals. For all our supposed scientific sophistication, our current testing techniques are crude, and the incidence of the disease is too infrequent to readily establish a connection between cause and effect.”

“But you don’t rule out the possibility?”

“No. Theoretically, it can be done. And as I said, we are working on it.”

“Thank you, sir. No more questions.”

Ben sat down pleased. Not a home run—in fact, Daimler’s testimony could’ve been omitted altogether. But he hoped it would lay the groundwork and establish credibility for the critical testimony from Dr. Rimland that would establish the link between the poisons in the water and the children’s deaths.

Colby rose for cross eagerly. “Let’s establish one thing up front,” Colby said, his voice loud and confident. “You don’t know the slightest thing about what happened in Blackwood, do you?”

Daimler drew in his breath and sighed. He’d been cross-examined before. “I would hardly say I don’t know the slightest thing—”

“You have not investigated the deaths which form the gravamen of the present case.”

“No. I have not been asked to do so.”

“You didn’t think that was important.”

“Not to what I had to say. I was only asked to give an opinion regarding leukemic clusters. I did so.”

“So you don’t care what actually caused those deaths in Blackwood.”

Daimler rolled his eyes, visibly irritated. “It’s not that I don’t care—”

“You just didn’t think it mattered.”

“Not to what I had to say—no.”

“So your testimony cannot in any way be said to go toward the question of what killed those boys and girls in Blackwood.”

Ben got the impression Daimler’s academic temperament was about to spill out and explode. “That was not the subject of my testimony.”

“Good. I just wanted to make sure the jury was clear on that. You have no idea what killed those kids.” He flipped a page in his notebook. “So let’s talk about what little you actually did say. You believe leukemia clusters exist.”

“I think it’s undeniable.”

“And they aren’t just statistical anomalies.”

“Not in my opinion.”

“So you said. But you don’t know what causes the clusters, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“And if you don’t know what causes them—you can’t rule out the possibility that they may just be coincidental. It could be coincidental, couldn’t it?”

“That’s not my opinion.”

“But it’s a lot of other people’s opinion. Right?”

“I … suppose.”

“Your opinions haven’t exactly been embraced by the medical community, have they?”

Daimler’s face flushed. Colby had hit a delicate spot. “As I already indicated, some agree, some disagree. That’s in the nature of developing research.”

“Didn’t the Journal of Cancer Epidemiology say”—Colby glanced down at his pad—”and I quote, "Daimler has taken inevitable statistical anomalies and converted them into proof of a contagion no one can detect."“

Daimler’s lips pursed. “That was the opinion expressed by the author of that particular article, yes. One man.”

“But he’s hardly alone in that opinion, is he?” Colby glanced at a stack of medical journals perched on his desk, as if ready and willing to pull out one embarrassing example after another, if necessary.

“No,” Daimler said, acquiescing. “He is not.”

“Tell us the truth, Doctor. It could all be just a horrible coincidence, couldn’t it?”

“In my opinion—”

“That’s not what I asked for,” Colby said, cutting him off. “You heard the question. You’ve been looking for years without success for a causal agent for these clusters. You haven’t found one. So long as that’s true—isn’t it possible that these outbreaks are simply coincidental?”

“I don’t think—”

“Answer the question, Doctor! Isn’t it possible?”

Daimler drew in his breath. “I suppose, until a causal agent is verified, that is possible. But—”

“Thank you, Doctor. That’s what I wanted to know. That’s what we all … wanted to know.” Colby started back to his table, then stopped. “Oh, yes. One more thing.”

Ben sat upright. When Colby went into his Columbo act, it was time to beware.

“You don’t have a very high opinion of the plaintiffs" leukemia expert, do you?”

Damn. Ben clenched his fists under the table. How did Colby find out?

“I’m talking about Dr. Abbott Rimland,” Colby continued. “You don’t think much of his work, do you?”

Daimler glanced at Ben. “I respect Dr. Rimland as I would any other colleague.”

“You wrote in the Stanford Journal of Medicine that—”

“I have disagreed with his conclusions on occasion.”

“You called him a quack!”

Daimler’s ire was no longer masked. “I did nothing of the sort.”

“You said the controls in his studies were flawed. You said he rushed to judgment.”

“That’s quite another thing. Peer review is an important part of the research process.”

“And speaking as his peer,” Colby said, drowning him out, “you totally disagree with everything he’s about to tell the jury.”

“I can’t predict what he might say. I have disagreed with him on occasion.”

“Well then,” Colby said, spreading his arms, “if such a distinguished personage as Dr. Daimler can disagree”—he turned toward the jury—”I’m sure we can all feel free to do the same.”

Ben was furious with himself. He knew about Daimler’s article in the Stanford journal. But he wanted Daimler on the stand, and he had no choice but to use Rimland. He had gambled that Colby wouldn’t find that short article in an obscure academic journal.

He had gambled, and lost.

Nonetheless, despite having the worst possible introduction, he had to call Rimland to the stand next. His case depended on it.

Rimland looked well-groomed and tanned, no doubt from several days out on the golf course, or the driving range at the very least. He’d let his beard grow since Ben saw him last. Normally, Ben preferred that his witnesses not have facial hair; Oklahoma juries sometimes distrusted facial hair. But he made an exception for expert witnesses; the more professorial, the better.

After Rimland was sworn in, Ben took painstaking care to walk Rimland through a litany of all his achievements, awards, accolades, degrees, memberships and other such resume lines. The man was a pioneer in his field; he wanted the jury to know he wasn’t just some crank he’d paid to testify—since that was undoubtedly how Colby would attempt to portray him.

After the expert credentials were established, Ben drew him to the subject of cancer agents. “How did you become involved in this line of research?”

“I first started while I was still a teaching assistant at Stanford. In part, I was inspired by your previous witness, Dr. Daimler. I read one of his early articles hypothesizing the existence of cancer clusters. It seemed to me that if such clusters occur, something must be causing them. Something external.”

“Was that the common view of cancer at the time?”

“No.” Rimland turned his head toward the jury, making occasional eye contact, but not overdoing it. “Typically, scientists have assumed that cancer, and in particular leukemia, is genetic—that is, it just happens. But throughout the twentieth century, it has become abundantly clear that some cancers are caused by external factors. No one doubts anymore that smoking causes lung cancer—well, except maybe the executives in certain tobacco companies. Many other substances are now generally considered carcinogens. Artificial sweeteners, for example. If so, I reasoned, why couldn’t something be causing these outbreaks of childhood leukemia?”

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I had a theory. Now I needed a way to prove it. At the end of the year, I applied for a small research grant. I figured the best place to search for a causal agent was at the site of one of those clusters, so I traveled to the New Jersey neighborhood Dr. Daimler mentioned—the one where six children died in a square mile radius in one year. The families were most cooperative. After interviewing them, I began to suspect that there must be something common to the neighborhood causing the problem. But even after extensive investigation, I could find only two things all of the families in question shared—their air supply, and their water supply.”

Rimland then described his extensive testing procedure. He tried to isolate hundreds of possible factors. He used blinds and double-blinds. He used children who had been diagnosed with cancer and children who were perfectly healthy. He spent more than two years at it, applying for additional grants whenever the money ran out.

“But I still didn’t find what I was looking for,” Rimland said. “Until a friend told me that the EPA was in the neighborhood testing the water supply. They didn’t know about the leukemia cases; they were just responding to complaints about the taste and texture of the water. But I talked with them and managed to secure a copy of their preliminary results. Needless to say, the results just about blew the top of my head off.”

“What were those results?” Ben asked. Like any good trial lawyer, he checked the jury out the corner of his eye. They seemed to be interested, following what was said.

“Objection,” Colby said, rising to his feet. “Dr. Rimland did not conduct the study in question. If we are to hear about this EPA study, we should hear about it from the people who did it.”

Which began a twenty-minute argument at the bench, while the jurors sat quietly in their chairs, bored and annoyed. Ultimately, Ben won, but he suspected that Colby had never expected to win. His goal, once again, was to interrupt the flow of testimony, break it up, make the jury forget what they were hearing, undermine its dramatic impact. By the time Ben was able to resume questioning, he wasn’t sure anyone still remembered the topic.

“The results of the study,” Rimland answered at last, “were that the water had abnormally high concentrations of chemical contaminants, particularly TCE and perc.”

“TCE and perc,” Ben repeated quietly. “The same contaminants found in the Blackwood well. What a coincidence.”

“Objection,” Colby barked. “Move to strike.”

“So stricken,” Perry replied instantly. “Counsel, watch yourself.”

“Yes, your honor,” Ben said. “Sorry.” His face was something less than the picture of contrition. “Dr. Rimland, what did you do next?”

“Well, nothing immediately. My money had run out, and it took me two years to get financing to continue my studies. I can’t tell you how frustrating that was. Here I was, on the verge of something that could conceivably save thousands of young lives, and I couldn’t go forward because I didn’t have the money.”

“But you did eventually obtain financing?”

“Yes, and I began a series of tests with both TCE and perc, using laboratory animals. Principally rats.” Again, Rimland described his methodology in painstaking detail. He outlined how he established sufficient controls to isolate a result, how he compared rats with the same genetic backgrounds, how he gave half of them tainted water and half not, how he measured the responses. “I followed the procedures I established for over three years. My results were published in the New England Journal of Medicine.”

“I have the article here,” Ben said, holding it high. “Could you perhaps summarize the results for the jury?”

“Sure.” He scooted forward a bit, inching closer to the jury. “My conclusion was this: The tainted water caused cancer. Leukemia, to be specific. Not every time, but often. The rats that drank the infected water developed cancer almost forty times more frequently than those who did not. In effect, I created my own cancer cluster. And the only distinguishing factor between the two groups of animals was the tainted water.”

Ben paused to let the jury soak in what he had said. “Dr. Rimland, based upon your experiences, do you have an opinion as to the possible effect of TCE and perc in a water supply?”

“Yes, I do. In my opinion, these chemicals in water, which is then brought into contact with young people, either by drinking or by immersion, say in the shower or bath, can cause leukemia. When young people are exposed to these chemicals, their chances of developing cancer increase dramatically.”

Ben cast a sober glance at the jury, making sure they understood the importance of those words. “Thank you, Doctor. I have no more questions.”

Ben tried to remain acutely attentive during Colby’s cross—even more so than usual. He remembered how much Rimland dreaded being crossed; it was the principal reason he had not wanted to testify in the first place. Ben had promised he would do his best to protect him; he meant to live up to that promise.

“For starters, Doctor,”—Colby overemphasized the word as if it was some kind of joke—”tell the jury how much you’re being paid to testify today.” Rimland stroked his beard. “Well, I’m not exactly being paid to testify—” Colby pounced. “Oh, you’re just up here out of the goodness of your heart?”

Ben jumped up. “Objection, your honor. Mr. Colby’s sarcasm is unnecessary.”

Judge Perry shrugged. “This is cross-examination, counsel.”

“I personally have not accepted any money in connection with this case,”

Rimland explained. “A fee has been paid to an organization I direct for the purpose of financing my continued research.”

“Oh, well then.” Colby winked toward the jury box. “That’s completely different, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, actually. It is.”

“Either way, the money goes into your pocket.”

“No, it funds my research.”

“Including your salary?”

Rimland slowed. “I can assure you my salary is about the least significant item in the research budget.”

“But you do take a salary?”

“I have to eat, just like everyone else.”

“And that salary comes out of the research funds?”

“I charge an hourly rate. Just as I imagine you do.”

“So in fact, you are being paid to testify today.”

Rimland exhaled heavily, resigned. “I guess you could say that.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I knew we’d get to the truth eventually.” Colby dramatically flipped a page in his notebook. “So how much did the defense pay you and your corporation?”

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

The jurors registered shock. Colby did a nice job of appearing shocked also, although he already knew from the depositions exactly what amount had been paid. “Fifty thousand dollars?” Colby leaned toward the jury. “I’m going to have to have a talk with Mr. Kincaid about the way he spends money. I know some bums down at the bus station who’ll tell him anything he wants to hear for five bucks.”

“Your honor!” Ben rose to his feet amid tittering from the jury box.

Judge Perry nodded. “The jury will disregard the last remark.”

But no admonishment. It seemed those were just for the plaintiffs.

Colby continued. “By the way, Doctor—you aren’t actually a medical doctor, are you?”

Ben rolled his eyes. Now Colby would play on the common person’s feeling that the only “real” doctors were physicians—since those were the only doctors most people saw.

“No. Nor did I ever claim to be.”

“You’re … some kind of Ph.D.?”

“I got my degree in hematology, yes.”

“You’re not even qualified to diagnose a case of leukemia, are you?”

Rimland glared at Ben. This was exactly the sort of thing he had wanted to avoid. “I’m not a medical doctor, as I said.”

“You can’t see patients.”

“No.”

“Your work is more … theoretical, right?” Again Colby’s face took on a sarcastic cast.

“I don’t know what that means. I’m a scientist.”

“But you can’t actually treat diseases. You’re not that kind of doctor. It means—”

“It means I spend my day slaving over test tubes and rats, trying to find cures, instead of hanging out at the country club or putting a swimming pool in my backyard. A medical doctor is not going to find a cure for leukemia.”

“But you can?”

“I’m trying, yes.”

“Are you trying to find a cure, or trying to find someone to blame?”

“First things come first. I have to discover the causal agent before I can formulate a means to prevent it.”

“And you haven’t been able to do that, have you?”

“I think I—”

“Dr. Rimland, can you look this jury in the eye and tell them you have absolute proof that those two chemicals cause cancer?”

“I’ve already told them my conclusions. I told them how I reached them—”

“Ah, now you’re being defensive, Doctor.” Was he? Ben wondered. He didn’t detect it. But he supposed that was beside the point. By saying it, Colby suggested to the jury that Rimland was being defensive—and had something to be defensive about. “You have no absolute proof.”

“I have seen the cancers develop in hundreds of laboratory rats—”

“But what about people, Doctor? We’re interested in people.”

“Don’t be absurd. I can’t experiment on people.”

“Oh, well, that’s convenient, isn’t it? The truth is, you have no proof that these chemicals have any adverse effects on people.”

“I have scientific evidence—”

“Proof, Doctor. We want proof.”

Rimland was becoming so agitated he almost rose out of his chair. “Tainted water clearly caused a higher incidence of disease in laboratory animals. Obviously—”

“If it’s so obvious, sir, why does Dr. Daimler disagree with you? Or, for that matter, the rest of the medical community?”

That stung. “I don’t believe Dr. Daimler agrees or disagrees. He thinks we need to do more testing—and I agree. His criticism is that he believes I published too soon.”

“And why did you do that?” Another knowing glance at the jury. “Maybe to help raise funds for your ‘organization’?”

“I did it because I thought it might help people. There’s no reason for children to go on dying because of tainted water.”

“So you rushed to get your name into print.”

“If I were a parent of a child with leukemia, I’d want to know everything there was to know, as soon as I could know it!”

“Even if you can’t prove your outlandish accusations?”

“Common sense tells me—”

“We don’t want common sense, sir. We want proof. Concrete legal proof. And you don’t have any.”

“Don’t have any proof! I’ve been studying this for almost a decade! You’ve seen my results! It’s clear—”

“The problem with your results, Doctor, is that they have nothing to do with this case.”

“What?”

“We’re not here to talk about some poor unfortunates in New Jersey, and we certainly don’t care about lab rats. We care about the eleven children in Blackwood who died. And you don’t know anything about them, do you?”

“I think I do. I—”

“You weren’t their doctor.”

“No, of course not, but—”

“Did you ever meet any of them?”

“No, but—”

“Did you examine their bodies?”

“You know that would be impossible.”

“Did you test the water in Blackwood?”

“No, it—”

“Then how can you possibly sit there and try to tell the jury what caused these deaths? You don’t know what killed those poor children. You’re just guessing! Speculating! Saying what you’ve been paid to say!”

“Your honor,” Ben said, “I object!”

Perry shrugged. “The man has been paid. He’s admitted that.”

“But this goes beyond—”

Perry cut him off. “Unless you have an objection, counsel, pipe down.”

“Look,” Rimland said, “this is science, not a traffic accident. Science moves forward by small steps—”

“You’re making excuses, Doctor,” Colby said.

“I’m not. I’m trying to explain. What you’re asking is absurd.”

“Asking for proof is absurd?”

“This isn’t a game we’re playing!” His face flushed. “You’re asking all these questions to obfuscate the truth, not to elicit it. We’re talking about something that kills children!”

Colby made a show of not being impressed. “When the witness has no proof, he resorts to dramatics.”

“If you want to get right down to it, no study has ever proven that smoking causes lung cancer. But everyone in this courtroom knows perfectly well that it does. By the same token, I can’t work backward and prove with absolute certainty what caused a specific incidence of childhood leukemia. But when the water is tainted with chemicals, and you know those chemicals cause cancer, common sense tells you—”

“Your honor,” Colby said, cutting him off, “the witness is not being responsive.”

“Answer the question,” Judge Perry growled.

“And I move that the witness’s rant be stricken.”

“So stricken.”

“No!” Ben jumped to his feet. “Your honor! He was answering the question. You can’t tell the jury to ignore the most important—”

“I’ve ruled, counsel. Sit down.” Perry’s face was lined with anger. “Don’t you ever tell me what I may or may not do in my courtroom. And be grateful I don’t strike everything this witness has said. I find his testimony speculative and unconvincing in the extreme.”

Ben almost exploded. What was the judge doing? He was practically ordering the jury to ignore Rimland. That was grossly improper—and devastating.

Colby held up his hands. “I’m finished, your honor.”

“Good. The witness may step down.”

Ben bounced back to his feet. “Your honor, I have some redirect—”

“Forget it. I’ve had enough of this … ‘expert.’“

“I’ll be brief, your honor, but—”

“This witness has wasted too much of our time already, counsel. I’m going to very seriously reconsider Mr. Colby’s Daubert motion tonight, because I do not think you have met the standards that this case requires. So don’t push your luck.” He grabbed the papers on his desk, scooped them up, and walked briskly toward his chambers door. “This court is in recess. Everybody go home!”