Threehours until the Steiglitz appointment. I tried not to think about my now-defunct career. I wondered whether I should warn Kennedy.
Of course I should.
But I couldn’t bring myself to call him.
I looked for some sand to bury my head in.
I flipped open the laptop. Twenty-first-century sand.
I googled Steiglitz. Eighty-eight hits. The guy got around.
He published a lot of papers. Gave a lot of speeches. Was heavily involved in politics. Hung with movie stars and models.
There were some lawsuits too. You can’t be a doctor in the United States of America and not get lawsuits. I counted nine. That didn’t seem to be a huge number, for a prominent addiction specialist. But medical malpractice was not my field. I made a note to check with Terry O’Reilly.
Terry was an old law school buddy who did a thriving malpractice business. He made a hell of a lot more money than I did, and wasn’t half as smart. He’d asked me more than once to join him. I’d been tempted. All that dough. But I knew I could never bring myself to be an ambulance chaser. Too seedy. I knew they justified it as a crusade for the little guy. But that’s not how I saw them. Extortionists, they were to me. Find a victim. Drag out the boilerplate. Fill in the blanks. File the complaint. Wait for the settlement. Take thirty percent. Buy a new Bentley.
I didn’t want any part of it.
But that didn’t sour my friendship with Terry. He was a good guy. And a better golfer. We didn’t talk business.
Most courts had websites. On many of them you could access the pleadings. The briefs, the motion papers. Some even had transcripts of trial proceedings. It took me a while, but I managed to track down some information on each of the nine Steiglitz cases. A couple were what you’d expect. Some poor depressive finally succeeded on his fourteenth suicide attempt. Great. Let’s sue everybody. Steiglitz was named in the complaint, along with every other doctor, nurse and orderly and the hospital involved. Plaintiffs’ lawyers liked to cast a wide net. Haul in as many insurance companies as they could. Spread the pain. Make settlement more palatable. Take their thirty percent. Buy another yacht. Upgrade the summer castle in Bordeaux.
A couple of the other cases were also routine. Bad reaction to drugs. Sue the drug company, the doctor who prescribed it. The pharmacy. The maker of the bottle it came in. Whatever.
One caught my eye, though. Jane Doe v. Steiglitz. No other defendants. Records sealed.
Interesting. It was very rare that a judge would agree to seal the records. Litigation in America was supposed to be open, public. Justice in secret was justice denied. Where minors were involved, or rape victims, their identities could be protected. Here, the ‘Jane Doe’ on the caption indicated something of that sort. But the whole file sealed? Well. Must be something there worth finding out about.
I called Terry. He commiserated about Melissa. I brushed it off. I’m okay, I said. Let’s play golf.
It’s the middle of winter, Rick.
Right. You know a Dr. Hans Steiglitz?
Sure. Big mover and shaker in addiction. Had him as an expert witness once.
Really? Not a client though?
Not a client. Why, you want to sue him?
Not yet. Just wanted to find out something about him. He treated Melissa.
Ah. Finally you’re coming around.
I didn’t say that.
I can hear it in your voice. He’s like all the rest. All talk and fucking up everything he touches. You want to sue him?
I said no. I want to find out some stuff. You think you can help me?
Depends on what it is.
I told him about the sealed file.
Damn. That’s a tough one.
I’m not asking you to steal the file. I’ve got other guys for that.
He laughed.
Just ask around. See if you can find out what the case was about. It could be nothing. I don’t know. I just need to know enough to see if it’s worth following up.
Sure. But it’ll cost you two strokes on Sunday.
It’s the middle of winter, Terry.
Right.
Like I said. A good guy.