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“I’m all right,” he said. He cleared his throat again, dabbed at his eyes. Then he sipped from the water glass.
“I’m fine.”
O’Mara nodded, then asked him, “Were you given an explanation for Josh’s sudden death?”
“They said that his blood sugar bottomed out, and I wanted to know why. Dr. Garza said that he was mystified,” the witness said, stiffening his lips around the word, trying to control the quiver in his voice.
“I was mystified, too,” Friedlander continued. “Josh had been stabilized the day before. He’d eaten a couple of meals. Went to the bathroom without help. Then, overnight, right there in the hospital, he went into a coma and died! It made no sense.”
“Did the hospital do an autopsy on Josh?” O’Mara asked.
“I demanded it,” Friedlander said. “The whole thing was fishy —”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Kramer bellowed from his seat. “We all sympathize with the witness, but please instruct him to simply answer the questions.”
The judge nodded, then addressed the witness. “Mr. Friedlander, just tell us what happened, please.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor.”
O’Mara smiled encouragingly at her witness. “Mr. Friedlander, were you ever given the results of the autopsy?”
“Eventually, I was.”
“And what were you told?” Maureen asked.
Friedlander exploded, his face turning the brightest red. “They said that Josh’s blood was loaded with insulin! I was told that it was injected into his IV bag sometime during the night. That Josh got that insulin by mistake. And that’s what killed him. A mistake by the hospital.”
O’Mara stole a look at the stricken faces of the jurors before asking, “I’m sorry to have to ask, Mr. Friedlander, but how did you feel when you learned about that mistake?”
“How did I feel?” Friedlander asked. “I felt like my heart had been cut out of my chest with a spoon. . . .”
“I understand. Thank you, Mr. Friedlander.”
“Josh was our only child. . . . We never expected to be in the world without him. . . . The pain never stops. . . .”
“Thank you, Mr. Friedlander. I’m sorry to have put you through this. You did just fine. Your witness,” O’Mara said, and motioned to Kramer.
The witness snatched several tissues from the box in front of him. He held them up to his face as hoarse sobs racked his body.
Chapter 29
LAWRENCE KRAMER STOOD and slowly buttoned his jacket, giving the witness a moment to pull himself together, thinking that the man’s son was in the ground, for God’s sake. Now all he had to do was neutralize his awful testimony—without antagonizing the jury—and, if possible, turn Stephen Friedlander into a witness for the defense.
Kramer walked to the witness box and greeted Mr. Friedlander in a kindly manner, almost as if he knew the man, as if he were a friend of the family.
“Mr. Friedlander,” Kramer said, “let me first express my condolences on the tragic loss of your son.”
“Thank you.”
“I want to clear up a few things, but I promise to keep this as short as I possibly can. Now, you mentioned that you met David Lewis, the young man who was sharing your son’s room when you visited Josh on July twenty-sixth.”
“Yes. I met him the one time. He was a very nice boy.”
“Did you know that David has diabetes?”
“I think I knew that. Yes.”
“Mr. Friedlander, do you know the number of the bed your son occupied in his hospital room?”
