across his face. “He and his girlfriend were joking with the fellow in the other bed, and I was struck by that because there was kind of a party atmosphere in the room. The other boy’s name was David Lewis.”
O’Mara smiled, too, then assumed a more sober expression when she spoke again.
“And how was Josh when you got to see him the next morning?”
“They let me see my son’s body the next morning,” Friedlander said, his voice breaking. He reached forward, clasping the rail of the witness box with his hands, the chair legs scraping the floor.
He turned his hopelessly sad and questioning eyes to the jury, and then to the judge. Tears sheeted down his furrowed cheeks.
“He was gone just like that. His body was cold to my touch. My good boy was dead.”
O’Mara put her hand on her witness’s arm to steady him. It was a moving gesture and seemed quite genuine.
“Do you need to take a moment?” she asked Friedlander, handing him a box of tissues.
“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.
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
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
O’Mara smiled, too, then assumed a more sober expression when she spoke again.
“And how was Josh when you got to see him the next morning?”
“They let me see my son’s body the next morning,” Friedlander said, his voice breaking. He reached forward, clasping the rail of the witness box with his hands, the chair legs scraping the floor.
He turned his hopelessly sad and questioning eyes to the jury, and then to the judge. Tears sheeted down his furrowed cheeks.
“He was gone just like that. His body was cold to my touch. My good boy was dead.”
O’Mara put her hand on her witness’s arm to steady him. It was a moving gesture and seemed quite genuine.
“Do you need to take a moment?” she asked Friedlander, handing him a box of tissues.
“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.
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
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
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