All notepads were out now, all pens in use. “Two more start prepping for defense. Okay, you two. Every time Marcus comes up with something, you prepare a counterattack. We meet every day a half hour after court adjourns for strategy sessions. I’ll have sandwiches brought in. Weekends and evening activities are hereby canceled for the duration. Any questions?”
They looked around, the unasked question on everyone’s face. Finally Suzie blurted out, “Do you think New Horizons had Marcus beaten?”
Logan replied with a growl. “Get to work.”
TWENTY-FIVE
ON WEDNESDAY Marcus awoke with enough clarity for his arm to ache more than his head. He greeted the nightmare’s lingering dread not as he would a friend, but at least as a sign that things were returning to normal. By the time he had showered and dressed, he could hear sounds rising from downstairs. Marcus entered the kitchen to find Kirsten and Darren cowed and silent at the table, while Fay Wilbur clattered about the stove and grumbled angrily to herself. She rounded on him the instant he appeared. “Well? What you staring at?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Wilbur. Nice to see you again.”
“This ain’t some good-time show. Get on over there and sit yourself down.” She turned back to the skillet and muttered as she would a curse, “You look like a three-egg man to me.”
“All I normally take is toast and coffee.”
“Hmph. Probably why you got yourself messed up. Didn’t have no strength. Anybody with the sense God gave a little blind mole knows you gotta start your day with a full belly.” She whipped plates in front of Kirsten and Darren. Kirsten gawked at her two eggs and bacon and sausage and three biscuits and grits and ham hock, then directed a horror-stricken appeal at Marcus. Fay Wilbur caught the glance out of the corner of her eye and demanded, “What’re you staring at him for? He can’t tell you a thing worth knowing ’cept you gotta eat it all before you rise up.”
Soon as she turned back to the stove, however, quick as a flash Darren picked up Kirsten’s plate and shoveled a goodly portion onto his own. She responded with a sigh of pure gratitude.
Marcus asked Kirsten, “What brings you over so early?”
“Starvation, most likely,” Fay Wilbur rattled the biscuit tray. “Girl’s all skin and bones and eyes. Even her hair looks peaked.”
Kirsten replied, “Netty called this morning. Her son had a bad night. She asked me to handle the office.”
“Hush up, now, you got all day to do your lawyering.” Fay Wilbur slapped a plate down in front of Marcus. “Right now what I’m hearing is folks not using their forks fast enough.”
After breakfast Marcus waddled his way to the front door. Kirsten wore a mildly astonished look. Only Darren was smiling. As he pushed open the door, Darren spoke for the first time that day. “D-don’t see how Deacon stays so th-thin.”
Marcus asked Kirsten, “Have you found anything more in Gloria’s research materials?”
“Maybe.” The enigmatic wariness returned to her features. “I’m not sure.”
Marcus glanced at his watch. There were questions to be asked, but not now. “I need whatever there is.”
“I brought the rest of her stuff with me.” Their gazes no longer met. “I’ll start on it tonight.”
“Can I help?”
“Gloria wouldn’t want a stranger going through her personal things.” The reply sounded practiced. “I can do it faster by myself.”
Marcus carried his suspicions with him to the car and out of town. Just as they hit the highway, with Darren driving, Marcus’ mobile phone rang. “Glenwood.”
“It’s Ashley Granger here, sport, calling from Washington. How’re you doing?”
“Fine.”
“That’s not what I hear. Old Dee tells me somebody got you good.”
Marcus stared at the day ahead. “How did Dee Gautam hear about that?”
“Been asking myself the same question. Only found one answer. Because he thinks what you’re chasing is important enough to watch, and watch closely. How does that grab you?”
Marcus replied truthfully, “I’ve got a load of questions and no answers this morning.”
“You and me both.” Ashley sounded impossibly cheerful. “You dropping this case?”
“Not a chance.”
“That’s the spirit. I’m still trying to track down who’s the top dog at your Factory 101. Lots of people are taking offense. I’ve even earned a couple of warnings from Dee himself.”
Marcus hugged his bandaged arm. “You watch yourself.”
“I’m not taking any chances. But I called to tell you I might be closing in on some answers.”
“Anything you can give me now?”
“No, I don’t like dealing in rumors. But I’ll tell you this much. If what I’m thinking proves to be true, you might have more of a case than you think.” Ashley’s voice rang with the excitement of the hunt. “If I were you, I’d start treating this like something maybe I won’t win, but at least I might take down to the wire.”
Marcus cut the connection, and sat surrounded by the traffic and the mysteries.
“Mr. G-Glenwood.”
“Call me Marcus.”
“Somebody’s d-dogging us.”
The words snapped him into focus. “What?”
“T-three cars b-back.” Darren’s hands made fists the size of mallets as he watched the road and rearview mirror both. “W-white pickup.”
Marcus swiveled, searched, felt his gut protest as he sighted the dirty truck. Swiftly he searched his pockets and came up with the deputy’s card. He punched in the number.
“Sheriff’s department.”
“Patch me through to Amos Culpepper, please.”
“Who is this?”
“Marcus Glenwood. Deputy Culpepper told me to do this.”
“Hold one.” There were a number of pops and hissing silences, then, “Go ahead.”
The rich twang said, “Marcus?”
“I’m being followed by one of the pickups that attacked me at New Horizons.”
Through the static of a radio patch, the deputy’s voice tightened. “Where are you?”
“Highway 64, traveling west, about twenty miles outside Raleigh.” He rose in his seat. “Hang on, they’re veering off. They just took the Zebulon exit.”
“Means they’re listening in to police band. Not a good sign. Where are you headed?”
His heart seemed to hammer louder now that the truck had been replaced by an unseen threat. “Federal courthouse.”
“I’ll meet you there.” Anger grated over the airwaves. “Somebody’s about to get me riled.”
BY TEN O’CLOCK the jury had been fully selected and Judge Nicols was well into her introductory lecture on procedural dos and don’ts. Marcus glanced at Charlie Hayes, saw his slackened features and vacant gaze. Marcus realized that the old man assumed his role was over, and that he missed the courtroom fray like a drowning man would the very air.
Marcus leaned over close and murmured, “I want you to make the opening statement.”
A cattle prod applied to the man’s nether regions would not have provoked a stronger reaction. Even so, the old man’s voice kept to a courtroom whisper. “I don’t have the first idea of what to say.”
“Then that puts us in about the same fix.” Marcus grinned for the first time since his visit to the hospital. It felt like he was awakening muscles given over to permanent slumber. “I also want you to handle the first few witnesses.”
Charlie’s head bobbed like a bird searching the heavens as he fitted Marcus into focus. “We talking strategy here?”
“Maybe.” Marcus decided he owed the old man a fuller slice of the truth. “A lawyer in Washington thinks he might have something that will turn this case around.”
“So you want me to start off, then if we need to change course it’ll come more natural.” Charlie did not need to ponder long. “I can live with that.”
“Good.”
“ ’cours
e, my experience is, most times these last-minute reprieves hold off like smoke on the horizon.”
“Then we don’t have a case, and it doesn’t matter one way or the other, long as we build up some publicity.” Marcus proceeded to tell him what the opening statement needed to contain. It did not take long.
Judge Nicols broke in. “All right, Mr. Glenwood. Counsel for the plaintiff may proceed.”
“I’ll be taking that role, Your Honor.” Charlie Hayes fumbled slightly as he plucked his cane from the railing. Alarmed that he might have overstrained the old man’s heart, Marcus started to protest that he should do it after all. But Charlie threw him a quick wink, scarcely more than a twitch. Marcus settled back, ready for the show.
Charlie leaned heavily on the cane as he moved in front of the jury box. “My name is Charlie Hayes and I am seventy-seven years old. I had the honor of practicing law in this fine state for nigh on fifty years. A lot of that time was spent sitting right up there where Judge Nicols is now. I retired, oh, it must be going on nine years back.” He paused to adjust his weight on the cane. “I was ready to go. I’d loved serving my state and my country, but the time had come for me to step aside and spend more time with my family. Then the lawyer you see seated over there, Marcus Glenwood is his name, he came by and told me about this situation. And I knew that I had to find it in me to try one more case. And I’ll tell you why. The reason is very simple, ladies and gentlemen of the jury: Never in all my born days have I come up against anything quite so vile and treacherous as what has brought us together here today.”
Logan was on his feet in a flash. “Objection!”
“Overruled. Counsel is granted leeway in opening remarks.”
Charlie had used the interruption to move over and lean on the podium. It was a sturdy walnut stand set now to face the jury box. Charlie took a wheezy breath, then continued. “Now, I could run us through this and that, but I’m old enough to know you’ll be sitting there through it all thinking, This is just lawyer talk. He’s paid to say what he’s saying. Am I right there, folks?”
Marcus watched as a few jurors rewarded him with smiles, even a couple of nods. They were a mixed group about whom he knew almost nothing. The defense had made judicious use of their strikes, holding the number of blacks down to the dentist and two older women. All the six white males, one of whom was jury foreman, bore the mark of hard work and the outdoors—scarcely the type to show sympathy for a black female activist. The three white women had the appearance of senior staffers, severe in bearing and alert. All Marcus knew for certain was that the final seven choices attended church every Sunday. Until Ashley’s call, it had seemed to be enough.
“So I’m not going to hold you here for hours on end, showing off what’s left of my voice,” Charlie went on. “The evidence and the witnesses will speak for themselves.”
Charlie let the podium do for a crutch and pointed toward the defense with his cane. “Right down there is New Horizons Incorporated and their bunch of fancy-suited lawyers. One of the biggest textile companies in the world. Sports, fashion, shoes, the works. Almost two billion dollars in sales. Everybody knows ’em. I imagine some of you have kids wearing their clothes. They’ve got the splashiest ads, the hottest music, the biggest names in sports today. But what those ads don’t tell you is how New Horizons clothes are stained with innocent blood.”
“Objection!”
“Sustained. The jury is instructed to ignore that remark. Mr. Hayes, watch yourself.”
“Yes indeed, Your Honor. Thank you.” Charlie thumped his cane upon the floor. “I said I’d keep this short, and I’m a man of my word. All I need to tell you now is that by the time we’re done here, you’re going to have a very different picture of New Horizons Incorporated. One that leads you not just to believe—no, but to know that they have kidnapped and abused and held against her will a young local woman named Gloria Hall. I do sincerely thank you.”
Charlie limped back to his seat before either the defense or the judge recovered from their surprise.
“That’s it?” Logan Kendall rose to his feet. “That’s all they have?”
Judge Nicols demanded, “Mr. Hayes, are you done?”
“I am indeed, Your Honor.” Charlie fished out a handkerchief and wiped his face. “And may I say, a more attentive jury I’ve never had the pleasure of addressing.”
“Your Honor, this is absurd!” Logan stopped halfway to the bench. “The plaintiff has not connected the company in any way to this woman’s disappearance!”
Judge Nicols lowered her head in a warning glare. “Is that the defense’s opening statement?”
Logan caught himself. “No, Your Honor. Defense waives its opening statement, but reserves the right to claim it later.” He retreated to his table, muttering just loud enough for the jury to hear, “If the trial actually manages to last that long.”
“Very well.” Judge Nicols turned to the jury. “The defense will not address you now, but may do so later on. This will probably take place before they call their own witnesses.”
Logan remained standing. “Your Honor, once again we move to dismiss this case. The plaintiff’s opening statement shows this whole thing to be nothing more than a sham.”
“No, I am going to allow it to continue. For now.” Her gaze was hard and searching. “Mr. Glenwood, Mr. Hayes, you have your work cut out for you.” She banged her gavel. “Court is adjourned until nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
THURSDAY’S DAWN found Marcus already at work. The sunrise was filtered through his two favorite trees, the sycamore tall and looming, the dogwood gnarled and thick-limbed as a Florida oak. Marcus sat at his desk and wrestled with strategy. An hour or so later, Darren slipped a breakfast plate and a fresh cup of coffee in front of him, then left without saying a word.
When Marcus emerged from the house it was to find Amos Culpepper standing with Darren next to an unmarked car. The two were in the process of shaking hands, a sight that warmed Marcus as much as breakfast.
Amos said in greeting, “Looks like we’ve managed to clear up that misunderstanding with the local police.”
Marcus stowed his load of papers in the Jeep. “This is very good news.”
“My visits over at New Horizons haven’t done much but ruffle a few feathers. They claim they don’t have a single Lonnie on staff, and they’ve never heard of anybody fitting the description of your gray attacker. Felt the need to deny that before I even finished my description.” He squinted down the street as he asked, “What’d you think of the New Horizons reception area?”
“Very cold, very New York.”
“Seems kinda strange how they need to have two armed bruisers guarding a textile company’s front office.”
“They’ve got a lot of celebrities coming and going over there.”
“Maybe so.” Amos started toward his car. “Thought I’d ride along with you, hang back a ways, see if that pickup makes another appearance.”
The drive was uneventful. Amos walked him to the courthouse door and handed him over to Jim Bell, the judge’s receptionist. The retired patrolman clearly took the attack on Marcus during his watch very seriously.
Charlie was there and waiting for him, making quiet conversation with Alma Hall. “Austin teaches class this morning,” Alma said in greeting. “He wanted to come but I told him to go on to school.”
“Whatever you two feel is best.” Marcus turned to Charlie. “We need to talk.”
Charlie reached over and patted Alma’s arm. “You remember what I told you, now.”
Marcus led him over to the empty jury box. “What were you saying?”
“Not a thing you need to worry over. She’s scared, she’s not sleeping, she’s got strategies that’d wake a plucked goose. I heard her out and then told her to trust you.”
“When did all this happen?”
“Last night and again this morning. Fine-looking young lady they got staying with them, by the way.” The man sounded ten years y
ounger and had a kick to his heels. “I assume you know who I mean. Blond, slender, smart as a whip, most remarkable eyes I ever did see.”
“It’s a shame she won’t give me the time of day.”
“Now that’s strange, seeing how she fair hung on every word I said about you.”
Marcus could not tell if the old man was joking, so he handed over the folder and said, “I’ve gone through and made a list of today’s and tomorrow’s witnesses. You have one key question for each witness. Take your time, establish each one carefully, hammer that one point home as much as you like.”
Charlie scanned the morning’s work and surmised, “Past practice.”
“Exactly.” Past practice was a legal jungle, with hundreds of rulings on either side. “Hopefully the judge will allow us at least to suggest this was not an isolated case.”
“The defense will be all over this with bazookas.”
“I know. Can you handle that?”
“I’m feeling a mite peckish this morning. Wouldn’t mind taking a bite or two out of a fancy-suited lawyer.” He closed the folder. “You think they did this to young Gloria Hall?”
“I’m more convinced with every passing day.”
“Then vile and treacherous don’t even begin to describe them.” Charlie nodded to where the bailiff was holding open the door to the judge’s chambers. “Let’s get to work.”
Charlie followed the order and the strategy with a veteran’s ease. Marcus sat and rested and grew stronger, and marveled at the old man’s ability. Charlie Hayes limped badly, his dentures clicked occasionally, his eyesight was mostly absent. But he remained a master in the courtroom. His timing rivaled that of a Shakespearean actor. The jury followed his every move.
The first witness was a local labor expert. Charlie walked him through his testimony on the textile industry’s employment structure, detailing how textile companies preferred economically struggling regions because they hired large numbers of low-skilled workers. Such areas paid premiums to have the companies come, offering grants in the form of free land and tax subsidies and low-cost loans. Charlie paused at that moment, then slipped in the question Marcus had intentionally not raised at deposition. “If such companies don’t require highly skilled workers, wouldn’t it be easier for them to leave?”
The Great Divide Page 23