A Good Mother by Lara Bazelon (different ereaders txt) 📗

metabolizing the alcohol and it does not perform its essential functions properly. Do I have that right?”

Dr. Bridges shrugs slightly. “More or less.”

“Having reviewed Sergeant Hollis’s entire medical file, as you previously testified, you are aware that he was referred to the ADAPT clinic in May of 2004, following his return from a yearlong deployment in Iraq?”

“Yes.”

“What is ADAPT?”

“Alcohol Drug Abuse Prevention and Treatment. It’s an on-site clinic that provides treatment for active service members who may be suffering from alcohol or substance abuse problems.”

“How long did Sergeant Hollis receive treatment at ADAPT in 2004?”

“For six weeks.”

“Was that Sergeant Hollis’s only contact with ADAPT?”

“No. He was referred there a second time, in August of 2005, following an altercation with another service member.”

“Where did that altercation occur?”

“In a bar.”

“Is it fair to say that Sergeant Hollis was an alcoholic and that the army’s attempts to treat his alcoholism failed?”

“Objection.”

“Overruled.”

Dr. Bridges tightens his mouth. “No, it is not fair to say. In fact, it would be irresponsible to say given that I was not Sergeant Hollis’s treating physician. I never evaluated him or met him while he was alive.”

Will cuts his gaze to Abby, who zooms in on the chunk of rotting meat they have left on the screen, the yellow bubbles of fat like open pustules. “For a young male, at the age of twenty-three, otherwise in good health, is it normal to see a liver with this degree of damage?”

“No.”

“In fact, it is highly abnormal, isn’t it?”

Dr. Bridges looks briefly at the photograph, then away. “Yes.”

“What behaviors might we expect to see a person with a blood alcohol content of .26 exhibit?”

“It depends on the individual. Some people have a higher tolerance than others. I really couldn’t say, specifically.”

“Generally, then. Might we expect someone at that level of intoxication to have difficulty controlling his emotions?”

“Possibly, yes.”

“To become violent?”

Dr. Bridges isn’t going to go quietly. “It depends, counselor. Some individuals become sleepy. Others have trouble walking, experience slurred speech and slower reflexes.”

“And some individuals become quite violent, don’t they, and at the same time they have a reduced ability to control their violent impulses? They say and do things they would not say or do if they were sober or even somewhat less drunk?”

“Some do, yes. Others become withdrawn.”

Will nods. Time to move on. “You testified about the trajectory of the wound, specifically your belief that the knife was used in an overhand motion?”

“Yes.”

Will nods at Abby, who pulls up a new slide. Two images appear, similar to those shown on Shauna’s slide, but in different postures. The male figure is crouched down like a baseball catcher, the woman, still standing, is now the taller of the two.

“Your theory, Dr. Bridges,” Will says, “was premised on the assumption that both parties—that is, Sergeant Hollis and his wife, Luz Rivera Hollis, were both upright?”

“Yes.”

“But if we assume a different hypothetical in which Sergeant Hollis was crouched down, his right hand curled into a fist as he gets ready to deliver a punch—” a few quick clicks from Abby and the man’s fingers curl into a fist beside his ear then thrust outward toward the woman “—the positioning of the bodies is such that even an underhand quick jabbing motion by my client—” more clicks and the woman’s knife hand shoots out, underhanded from her side “—could cause the wound trajectory that you described?”

Dr. Bridges presses his lips together primly. “I don’t think that’s what happened.”

“There is one living witness to what happened, Dr. Bridges, and it isn’t you,” Will says testily. He needs to slow down, take the edge off. He walks toward the jury box, hands clasped behind his back. “Sir, I am not asking you what you think. I am asking you what is possible.” He turns and nods at Abby, who replays the animation. “Is this possible, yes or no?”

“Yes.”

Will inclines his head, eyes on the jurors. “You testified earlier that my client would have had to use some degree of force to drive the knife through Sergeant Hollis’s skin, muscle, rib, and finally his heart?”

“A great deal of force.”

“But any amount of force used by my client would be greater if it was met by an equal or greater amount of force coming from the opposite direction. For example, a train traveling at the speed of, say, fifty miles an hour, will do twice as much damage if it crashes into a train that is traveling fifty miles an hour toward it, as it would if it crashed into a train that is stationary?”

“That’s true as far as it goes, but—”

Will holds up his hand, smiles politely. “Allow me to finish, Doctor. So if we assume that Sergeant Hollis was crouched down and moving forward, moving into the knife as it was pointed at him, part of the force necessary to drive the knife deeply into his body would have been generated by Sergeant Hollis himself, isn’t that right?”

“I don’t agree with your assumption—”

“I am not asking whether or not you agree with my assumption.” Will can feel his irritation edging back in; he shouldn’t have had all that caffeine. He looks at Luz. She has stopped crying and is looking steadily back at him, the smallest hint of a smile on her lips.

Desire and relief move through Will simultaneously as he takes a step back toward the lectern and fixes the jury with his thousand-watt smile before turning it on the doctor. “I am asking whether you agree with the laws of physics, namely, that two people moving toward each other in a direct collision will generate more force than one body moving toward another body that is not moving at all.”

“Yes, the amount of force would be greater.”

“And it would be generated by two bodies, not one?”

“That is correct.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Walking back to counsel table, Will makes eye contact with Abby and she nods approvingly. He’s done what needed to be done. Now the jury has another story to consider. In this story, it’s Travis, not