A Conflict of Interest

I didn't kill her, you know that, the doctor told his lawyer over lunch. I hate this whole business. I hate the implication that I killed her, wantonly, negligently killed her with willful disregard. Her husband knows I didn't do that. His lawyer Slattery knows I didn't do that.

What the jury thinks is all that matters, said the lawyer. The inflammatory language impresses juries and may get you angry enough so you won't think clearly on the stand. It's a money game, remember. Think of it that way, just a money game. Slattery wants a big settlement, of which he gets a third. A third of a million dollars will make Slattery call you anything he has to. If he can paint you to look like a clone of Richard Speck, he will. Relax. Be thankful you're facing Slattery and not Iggie Lavinsky. As trial lawyers go, Slattery rates a C. He keeps falling down in a straight line, but he does fall down. We'll beat him. Lavinsky, on the other hand, is scum, a street fighter. None of us like him. He'll do anything to win, anything: perjury, bribery, witness tampering, falsifying evidence, anything. If I have a line I won't cross and let's say it's here , the lawyer placed a knife in the center of the table. And if it's Slattery's line it's here , he placed another knife 6 inches away from the first. Then Lavinsky's line is here , he held a fork far away from the two knives, then let it drop to the floor with a clatter.

The doctor, accustomed to the sterility of hospitals, was fascinated by the darkness hinted at in this other world. He leaned forward across the table toward his attorney as the latter dropped his voice into …