Part Ninety-Six
When Zubin frantically brought his car to a stop in the car park of the Old Bailey, he knew he was going to be late. What ought to have been a routine operation had been prolonged into something far more serious, making him extremely late in leaving for court. But as he strode purposefully towards the enormous old building, he saw George, stood on the steps outside the front doors, smoking. "I was wondering when you would turn up," She said as he approached. "I thought I was going to be late," he said, stopping next to her and sounding a little breathless. "Don't worry," George told him placatingly. "Court isn't starting for another ten minutes, so you've got plenty of time. Take a deep breath and calm down. We'll look after you." Doing as she'd said, he eyed her thoughtfully. "Do you know just how bad for your health that is?" He couldn't help asking, as she exhaled a plume of smoke. "Oh, and isn't sleeping with women who get paid for it also bad for one's health?" "Thank you for the reminder," Zubin said caustically. "Oh, well, at least the prosecution doesn't know about that," George said with a smile. "At least I don't think they do. I've had tabs on Brian Cantwell since the word go." "You start to sound more and more like Connie every time I speak to you," Zubin said darkly. George laughed. "Did she tell you about the roasting I gave her last week?" "No," Zubin said looking very interested all of a sudden. "She's actually been very quiet about her time in court." "I bet she has," George said with some amusement. "Just remember how lucky you are that you're on the right side in this case."
When Zubin finally stood in the witness box, he remembered her words, and thought that yes, he certainly did have the better end of the deal. "Professor Khan," Jo began. "What does your job mean to you?" "My job is ultimately about relieving a person's pain," Zubin replied, trying to remember that lecture he'd once given in the company of Ric, where he'd also uttered such sentiments. "From initial diagnosis to either complete cure or time of death, I am responsible for either completely anaesthetising a patient, or doing my utmost to control the pain they feel. Just as much of my work is spent in post-operative pain management as it is in pre-operative anaesthetic. Nothing can quite compare, to the knowledge that I have been able to even slightly assuage the pain a person feels whilst suffering from any disease or injury." "In your profession as an anaesthetist," Jo continued. "How does it allow you to interact with that of the surgeons around you?" "We are all part of a team," Zubin told the court confidently. "I anaesthetise the patient, and the surgeons operate on him or her, with the nurses and physicians taking over after we have completed our work, though some say the work of a doctor is never done. If we did not work as a team, no patient would ever survive their encounters with us."
"How much did you actually see of Henry Mills, during the few weeks that preceded his death?" "I generally saw Henry on a twice weekly basis, where I would assess his deteriorating condition, and prescribe the relevant doses of Morphine. These last few visits were performed at his home, as he was unable to continue making the journey to the hospital. This was by no means uncommon, as I do it with several of my patients who decide to remain at home in the final stages of their illness." "How well did you get to know his wife?" "Naturally I got to know Mrs. Barbara Mills extremely well, as she was primarily in charge of administering her husband's Morphine. I found her to be a warm, sympathetic, very caring woman, and a woman in whom I had complete faith to take care of her husband in his final weeks." "How supportive were you," Jo asked him carefully. "Of her decision to care for Henry at home?" "Once I met her and assessed her capability for such a task, I was entirely agreeable to her doing this," Zubin replied without any hesitation. "Barbara was taught how to administer the Morphine, plus the other drugs that Henry was taking. She was perfectly competent in performing these tasks, and she did not present me with any cause for concern at her choice to care for her husband at home. As I have said before, many spouses or partners do choose to do this, and it is most commendable when such a choice is taken."
"Finally, Professor Khan," Jo said a little somberly. "Did it surprise you to hear that Henry Mills had killed himself?" "Yes," Zubin replied with equal weighting to his tone. "Henry had always struck me as a practical, straight-thinking, no-nonsense kind of man, and I would never have expected the thought of suicide to enter his head, but one should never underestimate what severe pain can do to a person's mind. We as professionals can have no real idea what our patients suffer, unless we have been through similar experiences ourselves, which most of us haven't." "Thank you, Professor Khan," Jo said as she retook her seat, signalling the end of the questioning from the defence.
"Professor Khan," Brian said as he rose to his feet. "Why, if you say that one should never make assumptions as to what one patient can stand, did the issue of possible suicide attempts never cross your mind with regards to Henry Mills?" "Because, as I have already stated," Zubin said a little testily. "Neither he nor his wife ever gave me reason to consider it as a possibility. As I saw it, they were both dealing with his illness in a practical, wholly pragmatic fashion, something I wish I could see in all my patients. The only point of real concern that Henry ever voiced in my presence, was that having to care for him on an almost constant basis was clearly exhausting his wife. He didn't want her to become ill herself in caring for him. He clearly loved his wife, and didn't want to be a burden to her." There was a slight silence in the court as these words were taken in and digested, because Zubin had far too clearly spelt out to the jury what Barbara's life would have been like. In just those few words, he had fully illustrated the picture of her life with a dying Henry. "Taking all this into account," Brian continued a little carefully. "What makes you assume that his wife is innocent?" "You didn't see the way that Barbara cared for her husband, day in day out," Zubin said fervently. "She would no more have killed him, than I would deny my patient the correct dose of anaesthetic during an operation. Barbara devoted every ounce of energy she had to caring for Henry, to administering his pain relief, and to making him feel as loved as she could. I saw evidence of this every single time I visited him. It is extremely rare that I consider a terminally ill cancer patient to be lucky, but in a way, Henry was. He couldn't have asked for better care, or a more loving wife. That is why Barbara is innocent of the crime of which she is accused, because she simply could not have performed such an act, even to help her husband out of the pain-filled hell he was inhabiting." Zubin knew that he had been treading on thin ice with this one, because he was well aware of Barbara's previous imprisonment and why she had been there, but he'd felt it to be the right thing to say.
After listening to Zubin's heartfelt reasoning, John took a moment to survey this man stood before him. He looked like a professor, that was true, and he looked like someone who would mean every word he uttered, if only to insist on his own superiority. But he had been sincere in his pronouncements of Barbara's innocence, John knew that, and when Brian sat down, clearly having no more questions for the Professor, John simply said, "Court will adjourn till ten tomorrow morning," Before rising from his throne and retreating through the door behind the judge's bench.