The Patient Was…

The patient was a thirty-year-old woman whom I had never met, spoken to, or even heard about. She was the victim of an assault, and I was a juror in the trial of the man accused of the crime.

In earlier years, physicians were automatically excused from jury duty if they requested an exemption. The idea was that it was inappropriate to take them away from caring for their patients who needed their medical services. As a consequence, physicians rarely appeared in court except as expert witnesses or when they themselves were plaintiffs or defendants. Thinking changed, however, with the realization that physicians took time off for various reasons, such as attending medical conferences and enjoying personal vacations. If they could make arrangements for their patients to be cared for in those situations, the same should apply to serving on juries. So, there I was, seated in the jury box, juror number six.

The facts in the case were not in dispute: the defendant had, in fact, stabbed the victim eleven times. He had threatened her before, the sizable knife weapon was his, and there was a witness to the attack. The defendant was charged with attempted murder.

It was a no-brainer, right?

Well, remember the intense courtroom drama from the 1950s, Twelve Angry Men? The play was first seen on television, then adapted for the stage, then as a movie in 1957 starring Henry Fonda, and restaged repeatedly since then. In the story, a jury of twelve men immediately agree almost unanimously  —  except for one holdout  —  that a young man is guilty of murdering his abusive father. The one juror who votes “not guilty” isn’t convinced of his innocence, but feels that the decision on guilt or innocence requires more deliberation and examination of the evidence.

Although women did not routinely serve on juries until the latter half of the twentieth century, the jury in our case was made up of men and women which seems to me to be the “no-brainer.”  

Everybody on the jury seemed attentive in the courtroom as the ADA (Assistant District Attorney) presented the case for the prosecution: The defendant stabbed the victim eleven times with a large knife, she was taken to the emergency Room of a local hospital, the defendant was clearly identified, and he was  soon arrested. The knife was introduced as evidence, the Emergency Room record was simply waved at us to prove she had been there, and the prosecution quickly concluded their case.

The defense attorney, a young public defender, did not contest any of what had been said by the ADA. He briefly mentioned that the victim had rebuffed an advance by the defendant which was the explanation for the attack.

Neither side presented any witnesses. We, the jurors, got the case for deliberation that first day. When we got into the jury room, the foreperson immediately suggested we take a vote. As in the play and movie, eleven jurors voted “guilty” of attempted murder, and one holdout voted “not guilty.”

The holdout was me.

The other eleven jurors looked at me with surprise, expecting and deserving an explanation. I was sensitive to the makeup of the group: as a physician, I was the only “professional” person in the jury and I did not want to come off as condescending or in any way a “know it all.”

 “Look,” I said, apologetically, “you know I’m a doctor, so I’m just interested in the medical aspects of the attack on the victim. They showed us an ER report but we never really looked at it to see what actually happened to her. Is it OK if we just review that?”

Everybody agreed we could do that. I hadn’t challenged them or their decision; I was just asking for some information of interest. The foreperson asked the bailiff to retrieve the ER report and it was more than interesting. It was revealing.

The patient, the victim of the crime, stabbed eleven times, had walked into the ER. No ambulance, no police, no frenzy. The doctors were not alarmed at her appearance; she was not in any acute medical distress. On their examination of her, the ER doctors noted eleven stab wounds, none longer than half-an-inch, none deep enough to even require a suture. They put some antibiotic ointment on the tiny wounds, and some band-aids, and released her.

Now, the jurors looked a little uncomfortable. Clearly, the image they had all had of a vicious attempt to kill a young woman was no longer viable. I felt I could press the point a bit.

“How is it possible,” I asked, as if puzzled myself. “How could a man with a large knife try to kill a defenseless woman, stab her eleven times, and not cause one wound deep enough to need even one stitch?”

Nobody offered an opinion.  

“You know what I think,” I said. “I think he only meant to scare the hell out of her. I think he wanted to terrorize her, not to kill her. What do you think?”

Everybody around the table was nodding in agreement.

“Didn’t they say he was also being charged with assault with a deadly weapon?”  I asked the foreperson of the jury.

He replied that was correct, He then asked for a vote on the charge of assault with a deadly weapon. A unanimous decision of guilty was reached: No holdouts.

After the verdict was conveyed to the judge and read in court, I asked the ADA why he had selected me for the jury knowing the charge of attempted murder was a stretch based on the medical evidence. His reply has stuck with me all this time.

“You were my test case,” the ADA said. “I wanted to see if you would pick up on the discrepancy between the charge and the evidence. And it didn’t matter anyway. This is the guy’s third conviction on a dangerous assault charge, so he is going away for twenty-five years-to- life either way.”

So much for justice!