“And what did the doctor tell you?”

“He said I had a growth in my abdomen. And he referred me to the most eminent specialist on the West Coast. A professor at UCLA Medical Center, in Los Angeles.”

“Who was that specialist?”

“Dr. Michael Gross. Over there.” Her father pointed to the defendant, sitting at the next table. Alex did not look over. She kept her gaze on her father.

“And were you subsequently examined by Dr. Gross?”

“Yes, I was.”

“He conducted a physical exam?”

“Yes.”

“Did he do any tests at that time?”

“Yes. He took blood and he did X-rays and a CAT scan of my entire body. And he took a biopsy of my bone marrow.”

“How was that done, Mr. Burnet?”

“He stuck a needle in my hipbone, right here. The needle punches through the bone and into the marrow. They suck out the marrow and analyze it.”

“And after these tests were concluded, did he tell you his diagnosis?”

“Yes. He said I had acute T-cell lymphoblastic leukemia.”

“What did you understand that disease to be?”

“Cancer of the bone marrow.”

“Did he propose treatment?”

“Yes. Surgery and then chemotherapy.”

“And did he tell you your prognosis? What the outcome of this disease was likely to be?”

“He said that it wasn’t good.”

“Was he more specific?”

“He said, probably less than a year.”

“Did you subsequently get a second opinion from another doctor?”

“Yes, I did.”

“With what result?”

“My diagnosis was…he; uh…he confirmed the diagnosis.” Her father paused; bit his lip, fighting emotion. Alex was surprised. He was usually tough and unemotional. She felt a twinge of concern for him, even though she knew this moment would help his case. “I was scared, really scared,” her father said. “They all told me…I didn’t have long to live.” He lowered his head.