The Family Lawyer Read online

  “Now, you were fired from your previous job as a girls’ high-school soccer coach, were you not?”

  Lundy is on his feet, objecting on relevance grounds.

  “This goes to Coach Volokh’s motivation for testifying the way he has,” I say.

  “Overruled,” the judge says. “You may answer.”

  “I resigned,” Volokh says.

  “Resigned because if you didn’t the school was going to fire you.”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “Let’s explore the circumstances of your termination. You have an alcohol problem, do you not?”

  “I did.”

  “You were terminated after you came to a practice drunk?”

  “That’s what they claimed. I was not intoxicated at practice. As I just said, I did have a drinking problem. I went into a step program afterward. That’s why I was able to get hired at my present position.”

  I’m tempted to bring up our encounter at the pub but let it go.

  “At the time you were fired, you coached a girl named Ellie Jones?”

  The coach doesn’t answer, only regards me with hatred. He shakes his head in disgust.

  “You’re shaking your head, sir, but you did coach Ellie Jones.”

  He silently appeals to Lundy for help.

  “Objection,” Lundy says, confused about the facts but obviously aware that one of his star witnesses is in trouble.

  “Overruled,” Judge Sears says, clearly curious about where I’m going.

  “I coached Ellie,” Volokh says. He clenches and unclenches his jaw. If we weren’t in a court of law, he’d attack me. He might anyway.

  The other reason he resigned was that the player, Ellie Jones, complained to her parents that he’d groped her breast. In fact, he was showing her a move called the dodge, and the girl turned in such a way that the touching was inadvertent. Fortunately for Volokh, the high-school newspaper was recording practice, and the video confirmed his story, though that didn’t come out until three days later. But his tenure with that team was over. His problem now: Ellie Jones resembled Farah Medhipour and was also of Persian descent.

  He actually brought the claim up in the job interview and asked that someone verify the facts. I was the person the school appointed to make the inquiry, because I’m a lawyer and was an involved parent then. Though the allegation wasn’t true, it was made, which means that I can use it to discredit this loser and make it look like he was attracted to Farah and engaged in behavior that contributed to her suicide. Let Lundy bring the truth out on redirect if he dares. Volokh’s credibility will come into question either way.

  Just as I’m about to go in for the kill, I glimpse the gallery. There are quite a few reporters and bloggers in the courtroom. I’m about to propagate a vicious lie, and a falsehood that finds its way into cyberspace always takes on a peculiar truth. If I pursue this line, use the video, Volokh will be ruined no matter what the reality. I look at Debra, who’s gazing down at a legal pad. Almost involuntarily, I say, “No further questions.”

  Confused, Hailey whispers, “Why didn’t you finish, Dad?”

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  I glance back at Janet, who’s glowering at me. She knows why I cut the cross-examination short—my precious ethics and my need for Debra Grant’s approval. If Hailey is convicted, Janet will never forgive me for passing this witness. I’ll never forgive myself.

  Chapter 22

  After court, I usually go to the office to prepare for the next day’s testimony, but tonight I go directly home for a rare family dinner. Since I banished Daniel from the courthouse, he’s said little to me. He enters the kitchen, but instead of sitting down, he shovels a pile of lasagna on his plate and leaves.

  “Daniel, come to the table,” I shout, but he ignores me.

  “Let him go,” Janet says. “It’s more pleasant without him.”

  In the past, I’d have to reprimand Hailey for texting her friends while we eat, but lately she hasn’t had anyone to text.

  “I guess they don’t want to be associated with a criminal,” she explains. “Their loss.” She claims Aaron is still in the picture, but I haven’t seen him around in a while. Though she speaks in a matter-of-fact, almost defiant tone, there’s a sheen in her eyes. She uses an index finger to swipe several times at the corner of her right eye, pretending to scratch an itch rather than brush away a tear. On the rare occasions when Hailey cries, the tears start in that right eye. And still, she doesn’t yield to emotion.

  “So, we’re winning, right, Dad?”

  “We’re holding our own,” I say, a euphemism for I don’t think we’re winning at all. “It’s the prosecution’s turn, so the jury only hears their evidence.”

  “We’d be winning if you hadn’t let up on Volokh,” Janet says.

  “It was wrong, Janet. Fiction.”

  “The great defense lawyers do whatever they must to protect their client,” Janet says. “Even when they’re only in it for the money and not representing their own child in a life-and-death homicide case.”

  “I don’t get it,” Hailey says. “Did you decide not to do something that would help me? Why would you do that?”

  Suddenly I have no appetite. “I think I’ll eat later. I’m going to get ready for tomorrow.”

  On the way to my study—well, I call it that, but it’s really a cramped bonus room tacked onto the rear of the house—I pass Daniel’s bedroom. I knock and without thinking walk in before he responds. He’s sitting in front of his computer, and when he notices me he jumps and immediately slams down the cover of his laptop, just as most teenage boys do when their father catches them looking at porn.

  But Daniel wasn’t looking at porn. Oh, how I wish he were. He was viewing a still image of Farah Medhipour’s lifeless body dangling from the second floor railing immediately after she hanged herself.

  Chapter 23

  Brady Sears has always had a temper, and now he’s so furious that his cheeks have flushed crimson, and purple veins bulge from his bald pate. “That video was filed under seal,” he bellows. “Whoever took that photograph violated the law. When I find out who did this, I’ll hold them in contempt and make sure they spend a long, long time in jail, First Amendment be damned. The police will be speaking with all of you.”

  Because he cleared the courtroom before the video was played, the judge blames the media for surreptitiously snapping a photo and posting it. There’s another possibility that gnaws at my gut. Daniel was in court the day Farah’s video was played. Could he somehow have captured that image using his cell phone without anyone noticing? Of course he could. He’s more tech savvy than anyone I know.

  When I confronted him about it, he denied knowing how the photo got onto the web. Of course he did.

  The posting of that image could severely damage our case. Public opinion has never favored Hailey, but now it will turn overwhelmingly against her. The jurors have been instructed not to watch TV, read the newspapers, or surf the internet, aren’t supposed to know about events like this. But juries always find out, as if by osmosis.

  Chapter 24

  Dr. Nathalie Tyler, MD, received her medical degree from Johns Hopkins and did her residency in psychiatry at the University of San Francisco. A tall, elegant woman in her fifties, she specializes in adolescent behavioral issues and has been in private practice for about twenty years. She was Farah’s treating therapist at the time of the suicide.

  Under questioning from Lundy, Tyler recounts the history of Farah’s psychiatric issues. She testifies that Farah suffered from depression starting at age ten. Farah also suffered from dyssemia—the inability to pick up on nonverbal cues and body language, typical of a child who doesn’t fit in socially. A dyssemic child can wish someone happy birthday and unknowingly sound sarcastic and insincere, Tyler says. Despite these issues, Farah didn’t become suicidal until the bullying started.

  “During the last therapy session before Farah died, did she
mention Hailey Hovanes?” Lundy asks.

  “She did.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Objection, hearsay,” I say.

  “Under Rule 803 it’s a statement made for and reasonably pertinent to medical treatment, and describes the cause,” Lundy says.

  “Don’t argue against the objection unless I ask you to, Mr. Lundy,” the judge says. “I know the law. The objection is overruled.”

  “Unbelievable,” Debra says under her breath.

  “Did you say something, Miss Grant?” Judge Sears says. He either has astounding hearing or he reads lips.

  Many lawyers would quail at the judge’s tone, but Debra half stands and says, “I was just telling Mr. Hovanes that I’d like the opportunity to argue the validity of your ruling on the hearsay issue. It’s clearly erroneous. May I be heard, Your Honor?” My partner is certainly no wimp.

  “You may not,” Sears snaps. “If you don’t like my ruling, you have your remedy. That’s why the legislature invented appellate courts. Proceed, Mr. Lundy.”

  “Dr. Tyler, what did Farah tell you about Hailey Hovanes?”

  “That Hailey Hovanes was bullying her. Freezing her out of social events. Intimidating students who wanted to befriend her. Sending threatening, offensive e-mails. Tried to injure her on the soccer field. Assaulted her in the locker room. She said she confronted Hailey and told her she’d started cutting herself again, felt like dying, and would kill herself if the abuse continued. Farah told me that she pleaded with Hailey to stop.”

  “What did you do in response?”

  She knits her brow. “May I check my file? It’s been a while, and I want to be accurate.”

  Lundy hands the file folder to the witness, who peers through the reading area of her bifocals and nods.

  “Farah and I spoke about her pain, and as always, I tried to impress upon her that these horrible events were situational. I confirmed that she was still taking her SSRIs—selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, brand names Prozac and Zoloft, among others. She promised she was. I urged her to report Hailey Hovanes’s behavior to school authorities, which she steadfastly refused to do. Farah said she still had feelings for Hailey, and besides, if she reported the bullying, the kids would hate her all the more. I found that troubling, because that’s how bullies control their victims. I told her to call me any time if she had thoughts of harming herself, if she was bullied again, and she promised to do that, too. Then, three days later”—Tyler shrugs helplessly, and her eyes mist over—“Farah ended her life.”

  Lundy ends his examination, and I slowly move to the lectern. “Dr. Tyler, did Farah Medhipour ever express romantic feelings for Hailey Hovanes?”

  “She did.”

  “Sexual feelings.”

  The witness folds her hands in her lap, clearly uncomfortable. “Yes.”

  “Did Farah, to your knowledge, engage in stalking behavior toward Hailey?”

  “There was an obsessive-compulsive element going on with Farah. So, yes, Farah told me that she did pursue Hailey. It increased the depression, because Farah knew it wasn’t productive behavior.”

  Now, I ask a question on instinct, and though I don’t know the answer, it can’t hurt me. “Did Farah come from a religious family?”

  “It’s my understanding that her uncle is quite religious and that her mother is observant as well.”

  “Was Farah conflicted about her feelings toward another female because of her religious upbringing?”

  “She was.”

  “That contributed to her depression as well?”

  “It did.”

  “Now, Dr. Tyler, you said in response to Mr. Lundy’s questioning that Farah was taking SSRIs for depression. Hasn’t the Food and Drug Administration issued what’s called a black box warning that the drug could increase the risk of suicide in teenagers?”

  “The studies only show a small increase in suicidal ideation—suicidal thoughts—among adolescents, and none of the participants in the study actually committed suicide.”

  “The FDA study reported that the incidents of suicidal thoughts doubled, correct?”

  “At a very low percentage. From two to four percent.”

  “Exactly. Double the risk. And despite the black box warning, despite Farah’s suicidal ideation, you encouraged her to keep taking the drug rather than insisting that she stop.”

  “In my professional opinion, the FDA warning does more harm than good.” She sounds defensive and condescending. Perfect.

  I hammer home other aspects of her treatment protocol that might’ve been lacking: she didn’t recommend that Farah participate in group or recreational therapy. She failed to suggest a term at a residential treatment center. She didn’t refer Farah to an expert in remediation of dyssemia.

  “I’m an expert in dealing with adolescents,” she says pompously.

  “I also note from your file that Farah didn’t have family therapy,” I say.

  “That I did recommend. She refused, didn’t want to impose on her mother and uncle, with whom she resided. She was the patient, so I had to abide by her wishes.”

  “So, you couldn’t convince Farah to take the actions that you thought were necessary to help her, could you, Dr. Tyler?”

  “Alas, no, Mr. Hovanes.”

  “That was a failure on your part?”

  “One I regret every second of every day.”

  “And maybe if you hadn’t failed, Farah Medhipour would be alive today?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Do you think you should be on trial for causing Farah’s death, Dr. Tyler?”

  This question causes many in the gallery to gasp, and before Lundy can even object, Judge Sears shouts, “That is an inappropriate, argumentative question, and Dr. Tyler will not answer it.” It’s not often that a judge sustains his own objection. But I’ve made my point.

  During my last few questions, Debra has been riffling through the psychiatric file, and because I’m about to end my cross-examination, I briefly consult with her. She points to a medical record that we’ve both read several times. It takes me a moment, but then I see it—this piece of paper might set Hailey free.

  I pick up the document and start to ask Dr. Tyler about it but stop myself. “No further questions,” I say.

  When I sit down, Debra whispers, “What the fuck, Matt?” This time she covers her mouth with a legal pad so Judge Sears can’t read her lips.

  “It’s under control,” I reply.

  I just hope the bombshell I intend to lob later doesn’t blow up in my face.

  Chapter 25

  We’re forty-five minutes short of the morning recess, so I can’t question Hailey about whether Farah really confronted her and threatened suicide if the bullying didn’t stop. I’m tempted to request an early recess, but doing so would make us seem worried about the shrink’s testimony. My concern about this issue becomes less paramount when Lundy says, “The People call Brianna Welch.”

  Debra and I exchange a quick look. The girl is supposed to be our witness, helpful to our case. Why is the prosecution calling her?

  Hailey’s discreet wave to Brianna goes unreciprocated. Brianna doesn’t even look over at the defense table.

  To my shock, after testifying that she’s known Hailey well for years, Brianna recounts a long history of perceived maltreatment at my daughter’s hands. I’ve always thought of Brianna as sort of Hailey’s devoted sidekick, but the girl now characterizes herself as Hailey’s toady. Throughout the direct examination, Brianna seems timid, which makes her sound more credible.

  After eliciting testimony that Hailey commanded all her friends to ostracize Farah, Lundy asks, “Did you ever witness a violent confrontation between Hailey Hovanes and Farah Medhipour?”

  “Yeah…yes.”

  “Tell us about it.”

  “There were two. During a practice, Hailey did a slide tackle from behind, and Farah twisted her ankle. The bad thing was that the whistle had blown and the play wa
s over, so Farah wasn’t expecting it.”

  “Did Hailey say anything to Farah after the play was over?”

  “I was across the field, so I didn’t hear it. But I saw her say something. She looked mad.”

  “And was there a second confrontation?”

  “So, like, I walked into the girls’ locker room after soccer practice. This was two days after the tackle. I forgot my backpack in my locker. It was pretty late, so I assumed everyone was gone. Then I hear shouting, and I peek around the corner, and I see Hailey shove Farah hard against the locker, and then Hailey shouts, ‘If you don’t stop, I’m really going to fuck you up bad.’”

  “What did you do?”

  “Like I…I’m embarrassed to say it, but I got out of there before Hailey saw me.”

  This kid didn’t say anything about this when I interviewed her. Hailey has never mentioned it, either. We’ve been blindsided from two directions.

  Fortunately, we had decided—when we were going to call Brianna as our witness—that Debra would examine her, so we were prepared.

  Debra chips away at Brianna’s credibility—over the years, she pursued the friendship with Hailey, hung out with her at school, and roomed with her when the soccer team traveled. She told others that Hailey was her best friend. She froze Farah out of the group and team. She doesn’t know whether Farah leveled the first blow in the locker room.

  “Farah was physically strong, wasn’t she?” Debra asks.

  “Yeah, she was real strong.”

  “Did you know she received more yellow cards in actual games than Hailey did?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe. Yeah.”

  “Farah got into a couple of fights during games this past season?”

  “Yeah, but they weren’t her fault.”

  “How many fights did Hailey get into?”

  “None in games. Just what I saw in the locker room and at practice.”