Feeling emotional, he leaned over and kissed her head. Then he walked out.
Unaccustomed to the barrage of feelings he experienced, he was totally drained.
* * *
“State your name and date of birth, please.”
The deposition took place in a room off a courtroom, with a court reporter and recording devices.
Noreen stared at Cid Marx, from Marx Associates, the lawyer for the plaintiff. The expression on her face was bland. “Noreen Eve Shannon.” She gave her birthdate.
He asked for her address, social security number and place of birth. Then, “Where did you go to school, Ms. Shannon?”
“It’s Dr. Shannon.” Her voice was cool. Dismissive. She’d been dealing with men like this for years. More than likely, the nomenclature was meant to distract her. “I graduated from Harvard University and Med School. After that, I spent three years doing a fellowship in cardiac surgery at Upstate Medical.”
“And your last position at Upstate Medical?”
“I was chief of surgery.”
“Was?”
“Yes, I recently retired.”
He had to know this but he arched a brow in surprise. “At 41?”
“Objection.” This from Nick Redmond. “Irrelevant.”
Objections would be noted by the court reporter for consideration but the questioning kept going.
“I don’t mind answering. I’d worked obsessively for years and I did all I wanted to do there. It was time for a change.”
“You’re an author now, right?”
“Yes. I publish medical thrillers.”
“Are you successful at that?”
“My second book made theNew York Timesbestseller list.”
“Let’s go back two years ago to the night of April 12. You were chief of surgery then?”
The abrupt change was meant to throw her off again. “I was.”
“You know this deposition is about Dr. Paxton Barry. Did you have contact with him the night of the surgery in question?”
“Yes. He left the operation and came to my office.”
“Had the surgery ended?”
“No.”
“How did you know that?”
“I found out later.”
“Who is Stuart Struthers?”
“At the time, an intern.”
