by Irene Hannon
Chapter Seven
“Eldon Lewis called. He was pretty upset.”
Cal gave Cynthia a distracted look, then paused beside her desk and wearily raked his fingers through his hair. It had not been a good Monday. “I’m not surprised.”
“Was it bad?”
“Brutal. I warned him they might get rough, but I didn’t expect it to take such a vicious turn.”
“One of those situations where he almost felt like he was on trial, right?”
“Right. And it certainly didn’t help our case that the judge let it go on far too long, despite our objections.” The weariness in his voice was now tinged with frustration.
Cynthia eyed him sympathetically. “Listen, how about I get you some coffee?”
Cal gave her a tired grin. “Since when do you offer to fetch coffee?”
“Since you look like you’re about to cave in without some.”
“I don’t deserve you, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” Cynthia said pertly as she rose and headed toward the coffeemaker. “Just remember that when you’re deciding on next year’s raises for your hardworking law clerks.”
Cal smiled and continued toward his office. He dropped his briefcase on the desk, then went to stare pensively out the window, his hands thrust into his pockets.
“One cup of coffee,” Cynthia announced a moment later.
He turned and took it from her. “Thanks. Now get out of here. Go home to that new husband of yours.”
“When are you going home?”
He shrugged and took a sip of the coffee. “Later.”
She gave an unladylike snort and planted her hands on her hips. “Maybe it’s a good thing you don’t have a wife,” she declared. “The poor woman would need to keep a picture of you on hand just to remember what you look like.”
“Good night, Cynthia,” Cal said dryly.
She threw up her hands. “I give up!”
“Can I count on that?”
Her face grew thoughtful. “On the other hand, maybe if you had a wife, you’d keep more reasonable hours.”
Cal groaned. “Go home, Cynthia, before you get any more ideas.”
She grinned. “Oh, I’m full of ideas.” Then her face grew more sober. “Seriously, Cal, try to get out of here before midnight.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Cynthia shook her head. “You’re hopeless. But even if you won’t take my advice, I intend to take yours. Good night.”
When Cynthia left, Cal walked to his desk and sank into the overstuffed chair. He felt sick about the way the defense attorney had distorted the facts to discredit his witness. And there wasn’t much he could say to comfort the man. Still, he had to try. So, with a weary sigh, he reached for the phone.
The man answered on the second ring.
“Mr. Lewis? Cal Richards.”
“How could they do that?” the witness burst out, clearly distraught.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Cal said sympathetically. “In cases like this, where the stakes are very high, the defense can sometimes play pretty dirty, as I warned you. I was hoping they wouldn’t this time, but I guess we gave them too much credit.”
“But I know what I saw!” the man protested.
“And I’m sure it happened exactly the way you described to the court.”
“But they made me sound like—like some kind of derelict! Like I made it all up. They kept dragging up all that stuff from the past, and they twisted everything I said. It wasn’t fair!”
Cal drew a deep breath. No, it wasn’t. But he’d seen it happen more times than he cared to remember. And though he’d done his best to keep the cross-examination focused on the Johnson incident, objecting whenever the defense attorney brought up Eldon Lewis’s past, enough information had been imparted to instill doubt about the witness’s credibility in the minds of the jurors. Which had been the precise intent of the defense, of course.
“I know, Mr. Lewis. But you did your best and told the truth. All we can do is hope that the jury sees that.”
The man gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
After watching the jurors’ faces today, Cal didn’t, either. He had hoped for more from them. But the defense team had done a masterful job of planting doubt, and there was little he could do now to change that. “You did everything you could, Mr. Lewis. That’s all any of us can do. And I appreciate your cooperation. I know this wasn’t easy for you.”
The man sighed, and suddenly his anger evaporated. “I guess I thought I’d put the past behind me, moved on as best I could with my life. This made me realize that my mistakes will always haunt me,” he said resignedly.
“You have moved on with your life,” Cal corrected him firmly. “From every standpoint—ethical, moral, legal—the defense team should never have brought all that up. It is history. Remember that.”
“Yeah. Well, I’ll be seeing you.”
The line went dead, and Cal slowly replaced the receiver. The man was clearly unconvinced, and Cal felt a deep pang of regret for the need to involve him in the trial. But he’d been their only hope. It was a chance they’d had to take in the cause of justice. He’d known that the defense team might use Lewis’s past against him. The man’s struggle a dozen years earlier with serious depression and a temporary drinking problem shouldn’t have had any bearing on the credibility of his testimony, given the exemplary life he had led for the past ten years. But Johnson’s team had positioned the facts in a way that implied that the witness was still unstable and not to be fully trusted.
It was one of those days when the injustice of the justice system weighed heavily on Cal’s heart. Wearily he reached for his briefcase. Despite Cynthia’s advice, it was going to be a very long night. As he spread his papers out and prepared to draft an outline of his closing remarks, he wished there was someone he could talk with about his feelings, someone who would listen to his doubts and reassure him that he had done all he could, someone who could fill the empty place in his heart and offer him understanding and support.
Suddenly an image of Amy Winter flashed through his mind, and he frowned. She’d been cropping up in his thoughts more and more lately, but so far he’d been able to convince himself that it was only because she was an attractive, appealing woman, and that his reaction was simply a normal male response to a beautiful woman. But right now he wasn’t thinking about her in terms of her good looks. He was thinking of her in the context of confidante/friend/comforter, he realized, his frown deepening. That was serious stuff. And it wasn’t good. He wasn’t in the market for romance—particularly with her, he reminded himself firmly.
Nevertheless, a surge of longing just to hear her voice swept over him, so strong that it made him catch his breath. So strong that it scared him. So strong that it made him wonder if perhaps he should give up the fight and simply let the attraction he felt for her play out, see if their differences were really as irreconcilable as they seemed.
And then logic kicked in. He had issues of his own to resolve before he even considered trying to deal with the issues between them. That had to be his top priority.
But first he had a closing argument to write.
“Not guilty.”
A muscle twitched in Cal’s jaw and his lips settled into a thin line as he stared at the judge, oblivious to the sudden pandemonium in the courtroom. It wasn’t as if the verdict was a surprise. He’d known from the beginning that the odds were stacked against them. But as always, he’d held on to a sliver of hope that in the end justice would triumph. A hope that far too often was in vain.
He drew a slow, deep breath, then glanced toward Jamie Johnson. The defendant was beaming and shaking hands with his attorneys, his “golden boy” image restored. For a moment Cal actually felt sick. How could the man feel so little remorse for the life he’d carelessly destroyed? Cal hoped that at least Johnson had learned something from the experience. But he doubted it. The spor
ts jock would probably emerge from the trial even cockier, more convinced than ever that he was invincible, he thought with a disheartened sigh.
Cal felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up.
“You did your best, you know,” Bill Jackson said.
Cal gave a noncommittal shrug. “Too bad it wasn’t good enough.”
His colleague glanced at Johnson’s legal team. “Considering the guns we were up against—not to mention the money, the sympathetic press and Johnson’s boy-next-door image—don’t be too hard on yourself.”
Cal drew a deep breath and stood up. “Who said life was fair, right?”
“Right.”
Cal held out his hand. “Well, I know one thing. I couldn’t have done even half as well without you, Bill. I may have been the lead on this case, but you worked just as hard as I did. Thank you.”
His colleague took his hand but brushed the comment aside. “You’ve done the same for me in the past. And will again, no doubt.”
Cal smiled. “Count on it.”
“See you back at the office?”
“Yeah. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
By the time Cal packed up his papers and left, the courtroom was mostly empty. He strode down the hall toward the front entrance of the building, then suddenly changed his mind and veered off toward a side door. No doubt Johnson was triumphantly holding court for a gaggle of reporters, and that was one show he had no desire to see. He assumed Amy was among them. What had been her reaction to the outcome? he wondered. Surprise? Anger? Disappointment—in him?
The last question gnawed at him. He tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter, but in his heart he knew it did. Because like it or not, he cared what she thought about him.
And he had his answer a few minutes later when he reached his office and discovered on his voice mail the slightly husky voice he found so appealing.
“Cal. Amy. I wanted to let you know how sorry I am about the verdict. You did everything humanly possible to convict Johnson, and I thought your entire prosecution—especially your closing argument—was masterful. How the jury could let that scumbag off is beyond me. I would have waited to talk with you, but I had to file the story and you were pretty tied up, so this is the best I could do.” There was a moment of silence, and when she spoke again her voice had taken on a different, more personal—and slightly uncertain—tone. “Listen, I don’t suppose our paths are likely to cross again anytime soon, so I just wanted to say that I… Well, it’s been a privilege to get to know you. I really enjoyed the time we spent together. And I wanted to wish you all the best in the future.”
The line went dead, and Cal slowly replaced the receiver. He knew she was working at warp speed to get the story ready for the evening news, and he was touched that she had taken time to place the call. He hadn’t expected it. Or even let himself hope for it. Just as he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on the fact that she would no longer be a daily—albeit professional—presence in his life. Though they had rarely spoken, merely knowing she was in the courtroom had brightened his days. Now he had to face the fact that even that limited contact had come to an end. It left him feeling strangely empty—and more than a little melancholy.
“You’ve been summoned by the chief, Cal.”
Cynthia’s voice intruded on his thoughts and Cal glanced at her, forcing himself to shift gears. “Okay. I’m on my way.”
As he strode down the hall to David Morgan’s office, he wondered what the senior member of the department would say about the outcome of the case. He hoped Morgan wasn’t disappointed in his performance. Cal, like all of the staff attorneys, had great respect for the older man’s opinion. His incisive legal mind, combined with a great sense of fairness and humanitarianism, had made him almost a legend in the Atlanta legal community. His praise—or censure—was never taken lightly.
Morgan’s secretary glanced up when he entered, then waved him inside. “He’s expecting you.”
The older man was engrossed in something on his computer screen, but he looked up immediately when Cal stepped to the door and knocked lightly.
“Come in, Cal. Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”
“How about a gin and tonic?” Cal replied with a wry grin. At the older man’s startled look, he added a quick disclaimer. “Just kidding,” he assured him.
“For a minute I wondered if the trial might have been even more stressful than I thought,” Morgan said with relief. “I’ve never known you to drink anything more than an occasional glass of wine.”
“I still don’t.”
“Well, you probably could use something stronger after these last few months. I know how hard you worked on the Johnson case. And I know how hard it is to lose. I’ve been there. Feel like doing a little rehashing?”
Cal nodded. “Sure.”
“Tell me about the approach the defense used.”
By the time Cal talked the case through with the older man, recounting the defense’s tactics and his strategy, he felt a lot better about the decisions he’d made in planning his prosecution. And he suspected that had been Morgan’s intent.
“So I’m not happy with the verdict, but I honestly don’t know what I would have done differently,” Cal concluded, feeling more at peace with the outcome.
Morgan nodded. “Your approach was sound. By rights, you should have won. But a lot of factors that we have no control over often influence the outcome. That’s what happened here, you know.”
“I’m beginning to accept that.”
“Good. I don’t want you beating yourself up over this. You’re a fine attorney, and you did as much as anyone could have in this case. More, I’d venture to say.”
Cal felt a flush of pleasure at the older man’s praise. “Thank you.”
“So now I want you to take a few days off. Can’t have our people working themselves into the ground.”
Cal hesitated. “Actually, I was saving my vacation for later in the summer.”
The older man waved his protest aside. “Who said anything about vacation? How many hours a week have you put in for this trial? How many weekends have you worked?”
“A few,” Cal acknowledged.
Morgan snorted. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. Just go, boy. Spend a few days in those mountains you love. Although why I send you there, I don’t know. I have a feeling one of these days you won’t come back.” He eyed the younger man shrewdly.
Cal shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll be back,” he promised.
“This time,” the older man amended. “But what about next time? None of my business, of course. But I want you to know that you have a bright future here.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Just stating the facts, son. Now go tie up the loose ends of this case and take off for a few days.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“No need to thank me. You earned it.”
Yes, he had, Cal acknowledged as he made his way back to his office. It had been a grueling few months. All trials were stressful, but the high-profile nature of this case had increased the pressure exponentially. Though the trial itself had been relatively brief, the months of behind-the-scenes research and preparation had taken a toll, and he was tired. He needed a break. Except for brief visits home on major holidays, he hadn’t had more than two consecutive days off in almost a year.
Home. The word itself was telling, he mused. That was how he thought of the mountains. And Morgan, with his keen insight, had picked up on that. Perhaps on this trip he would find a way to talk to his father about his growing desire to return, Cal reflected. He would find a way to make Jack Richards understand that his definition of success wasn’t necessarily his son’s. The last thing in the world Cal wanted to do was disappoint the man who had given so selflessly to him for so many years. But he had to live his own life. And he was growing more and more certain that he wanted to live it in the mountains.
Amy glanced at the phone for the tent
h time in as many minutes. She hadn’t heard from Cal since she left the message for him earlier in the week, but then, why should she? she told herself curtly. He had no reason to call her. Sure, they’d spent a couple of pleasant evenings together. But neither one had been a “real” date. The first night she’d bought his time. And the dinner at Rick’s resulted from a chance meeting at Saint Vincent’s. The few words they’d subsequently exchanged during the trial hardly counted as “social” interaction. There was certainly nothing in any of their encounters on which to base a relationship. Which she didn’t want, anyway, of course—right?
Amy sat back in her desk chair and sighed. Six weeks ago—was it only six weeks?—she would have answered that question with a resounding “Right!” She’d been perfectly happy with her life. She’d known exactly what she wanted and exactly how she intended to go about getting it. Relationships weren’t even on her list of priorities. She considered them a distraction, an impediment to her career goals. And career was everything.
But that was BC—before Cal. Somehow, her BC life now seemed shallow and empty. The goals she’d prized so highly—fame, power, prestige, money—no longer had quite the same luster or appeal. Instead, she’d come to discover that the work itself was just as important to her. Especially issue-oriented kinds of stories. But only since Cal entered her life had she begun to analyze why.
It was becoming more and more clear to her that despite her efforts to leave her farm roots behind, to live the life of big-city glitz and glamour, at heart she was still the same Amy Ann Winter who had been raised in a loving family with solid values and instilled with a belief that she should count among her priorities a commitment to doing good work that made life better for other people. She was still the same young girl who had been brought up to believe that the real satisfaction in life came from focusing on others, not on oneself. It was part of who she was. Period.
She’d pushed that upbringing aside for seven years as she devoted herself to making her mark in broadcast journalism. And she was succeeding. But at what price? Though she’d learned to play them, she didn’t like the political games. She didn’t like the jockeying for power. She didn’t like the cutthroat nature of a business in which you had rivals, not friends. And she especially didn’t like dealing with the Jamie Johnsons of the world.