by MJ Rodgers
He knew Pacer’s testimony had been detrimental to his motion for summary judgment. Brett was convinced, however, that despite his impressive credentials, Dr. Pacer was hiding something. The man had even refused to meet Octavia’s eyes. Why?
Brett strode boldly up to Pacer, stopping just on the other side of the witness stand, getting as close as he could. Pacer’s head remained bent. He did not raise his eyes.
“Have you ever met Octavia Osborne before today, Dr. Pacer?”
“Yes.”
“Where and under what circumstances?”
“She was a student in a class of mine at UW.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Have you kept in touch over the intervening years?”
“Before yesterday, we’d met at two separate social functions since her graduation.”
“Have you had or do you currently have any personal or business dealings with Ms. Osborne?”
“No. Octavia and I are merely friendly acquaintances. We have not seen each other frequently enough to foster a friendship.”
If true, Brett knew that would rule out collusion between the two. He would let Zane Coltrane decide the truth of that matter later. Now he had other things to address.
“Dr. Pacer, why are you in Washington State?”
“I’m guest lecturing at UW next week.”
“How did you come to know of the stone carving on Mr. Scroogen’s land?”
“Ms. Osborne called me last evening when I arrived from D.C. to tell me about the pictograph and to ask me to look at it.”
“Do you know for certain that the pictograph on Mr. Scroogen’s land is authentically ancient Indian?”
“As I said before, no.”
“So all of this effort might be for nothing?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever worked outside of the academic or scientific community, Dr. Pacer?”
“No.”
“Have you ever had to borrow money or put your financial future on the line to try to build something?”
“No.”
“You’re not having to give up anything here by insisting that Mr. Scroogen’s building plans be delayed, even canceled, so that a group of scientists may find out in a month or two that this artifact is a fake, are you?”
“That is correct. I’m not having to give up anything.”
“But Mr. Scroogen will have to. Dr. Pacer, it isn’t your money, your time, your life’s work, on the line. How can you so easily say the words that will ruin this man’s dream?”
“Mr. Merlin, I understand you are representing your client’s interests. Please understand I am trying to represent the interests of all the people.”
“Then why is it you can’t look me in the eye when you say that?”
A moment of quiet descended on the courtroom as Dr. Watson Pacer sifted sideways in the witness chair. His shoulders remained hunched, however, his head bent.
“Mr. Merlin, ten years ago on an archaeological dig, I fell into a deep rock crevice and broke my spine. The medics wanted to lower themselves to me and lift me out. But I couldn’t let them. If they descended into that crevice, they could have damaged the delicate pictographs we had discovered there.
“So they lowered ropes instead, and I tied them around my body. They hauled me out. The pictographs were saved.
“Unfortunately, the further damage done to my spine in the process means I will never be able to stand or sit straight again. So, you are right, Mr. Merlin, when you say I cannot look you in the eye. But, I can look myself in the eye. And that has always been more important to me.”
Brett had experienced other instances when he wished he had refrained from using a certain phraseology in questioning a witness. But never more so than at this moment with this witness.
Another moment of silence descended on the courtroom, a very uncomfortable moment for Brett.
Octavia Osborne had selected her witness well. Dr. Watson Pacer was an impressive man. And Brett knew that any more questioning of him would do more harm than good for his client.
Brett thanked Dr. Pacer and returned to his seat.
Octavia rose and requested that Mr. Nordix retake the stand. After the judge reminded Ned Nordix he was still under oath, Octavia asked her only question.
“Mr. Nordix, you have heard Dr. Pacer’s testimony concerning the pictograph found on Mr. Scroogen’s property. What is your recommendation now concerning its further study?”
Ned Nordix looked at Octavia for what seemed like a very long moment without saying anything. She did not prod him, but waited attentively and patiently for his response.
Finally, he shook his head and raised his hands palms up in surrender. “I recommend it stay where it is until a team can be assembled to study it at the site of its find.”
“Thank you, Mr. Nordix,” Octavia said with a graciousness that brought a smile to Nordix’s face.
“No!” Scroogen protested as he jumped to his feet.
Brett pulled Scroogen back into his chair. “I apologize to the court for my client’s behavior,” he said loudly before whispering an order in Dole’s ear to stay seated and shut up.
Judge Les Gatton looked down at the summary judgment motion before him.
“In view of Dr. Pacer’s testimony and Mr. Nordix’s final recommendation, I have no choice but to deny your motion, Mr. Merlin. The pictograph discovered on Mr. Scroogen’s building site will remain where it is until a scientific team is organized to study it. Mr. Nordix, I will leave the assembly of that team in your capable hands. Court is adjourned.”
Brett looked over at Octavia’s positively beaming face as she flashed him a triumphant grin. Behind her, writing furiously in his notebook, was that same young reporter Brett had last seen at the construction site. No doubt Octavia had given him another call to make sure he’d be on hand.
“Scroogen and I are going to use the phone and call off the trucks and crew tomorrow morning while we still have a chance of reaching them,” Ned Nordix said in Brett’s ear. “I’m also going to talk with Dr. Pacer and ask him if he’ll take a sabbatical from the Smithsonian and his UW speaking commitments to head up the team. We couldn’t ask for anyone better.”
Brett nodded without saying anything.
He knew when he had been outmaneuvered. She had planned this bogus native American find extremely well, right down to being sure that Dr. Pacer would be on hand to testify today to precisely what she wanted him to say.
Zane had filled Brett in about Octavia’s partnership at the small but highly respected Seattle law firm of Justice Inc. He suspected that the reason he hadn’t heard about her before was that she had gone to trial on only a few cases, preferring to arrange for out-of-court settlements for her clients whenever possible. Word was that she more than excelled at this behind-the-scenes work.
Brett knew he had been treated to a ringside seat at just how well she excelled. She had known exactly what was going to happen in this courtroom before she had even walked into it. She was good all right. Too damn good.
Nothing about her background had connected her with ancient Indian artifacts. Yet. Brett had told Zane to dig further. He knew it was there. He knew it was just a matter of time.
But she wasn’t giving him much time. She was executing her well-thought-out plan with swift precision. Not even the cease-and-desist order on the Scrooge dolls had deflected her path or slowed her pace. She had just dissociated herself from the issue entirely. She was smart as hell, and she moved like lightning.
And she was heading right toward a cliff...and a very big fall.
He reminded himself that she was bringing it on herself and that she would deserve everything she got. But when she turned and their eyes locked, the muscles across Brett’s neck and back tightened as he remembered the mind-bending feel and taste of those full lips, of that exciting body pressed so closely to his.
He knew then that despite what she had done, he wo
uld not be happy to see her take that inevitable fall.
She walked toward him, bold, brazen and beautiful. She stopped just in front of him. Her scent once again reminded him of heady tropical flowers heated by the sun.
He had no idea what she was going to do or say. He never did. The muscles across his shoulders and into his arms tightened.
“Whenever your client decides to reconsider kicking the seniors out of their community center and destroying their neighborhood with that condominium monstrosity, I have an alternative suggestion for his land use that he may find far easier to implement,” she said.
“So, you admit you can stop all this ancient Indian artifact nonsense?”
“Me? Stop what could be history in the making? Now, how could I do that?”
She looked and sounded so wonderfully innocent—for all of a second—before the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her.
“Actually, Brett, what I was thinking is that your client’s land adjacent to the Silver Power League’s community center would make an excellent museum for the preservation of native American artifacts, don’t you think?”
She was blatantly taunting him. Brett felt his fury toward her and his attraction for her both increasing far too fast for control. His hands balled into fists by his side.
“I’m not interested in hearing about your ideas for my client’s property, only about how you faked that artifact. If you come clean now, I will move for clemency on your behalf.”
“What a Mr. Santa Claus,” she said, her thick, liquid voice full of amusement.
He took a step toward her, frustrated and furious at how glib she could be in such a serious situation.
“No, Octavia, there is no Santa Claus. Once I have the facts in hand, as an officer of the court, I will be forced to turn you in. I’m not going to be able to save you.”
An inquisitive eyebrow arched up her forehead. “I’m surprised the idea of saving me would even occur to you, Brett, or that you would consider turning me in to be something you were forced to do. Can it be that you do have a heart, after all?”
“Octavia, this is not a joke. Your flagrant violation of the law is something I take very seriously. The law is what I live by. As a lawyer, it should be what you live by, too.”
“The law is a creation of human beings, Brett. It’s important, yes. But to place it above the importance of the human being is to miss its whole point, don’t you think?”
His hands had suddenly found her arms. “No, I don’t think that by exalting the law we give it greater importance than human beings. On the contrary. I think that when we exalt the law, we bring out what is best and worth exalting in us as human beings.”
“What is best and worth exalting,” she repeated. “Beautiful thought. And when heart as well as head is used to administer the law, I do believe that what we get reflects the best of the human being and is well worth exalting.”
Brett knew her equivocation was foolish. But somehow she didn’t look or sound foolish expressing it. Her eyes sparkled like the hard blue center of the diamond he so loved to look at. The feel of her within his hands had his heart beginning to race.
“Octavia, your flagrant disregard for the law is going to make you lose your license to practice your profession, not to mention land you in jail. Is this stupid condominium matter so important that you are prepared to pay such a dear price?”
She smiled at him then, the blue in her eyes dancing like a warm rain. “For my dear of a grandmother? In a second.”
“But you’re being impossibly reckless! I don’t understand.”
She touched his cheek as her eyes rested fully on his for the space of a heartbeat. Brett’s whole body seemed to ignite at the light in her eyes and the lightness of her touch.
“Yes, I can see you don’t understand. I’m sorry you don’t have anyone in your life who makes you do impossibly reckless things, Brett.”
He moved closer, not in response to a mental signal, but to a sudden, overpowering physical one. But she withdrew her hand, stepped back out of his arms and turned to walk away.
As he watched her glide down the courtroom aisle, her words still revolved in his mind.
What was so damn wonderful about doing impossibly reckless things? They only led to trouble. Good sense and good judgment were the key to success. They had certainly led to his success.
But, damn, he wished that it could be someone else who would have to bring that foolish attorney down. Anyone else.
Brett shrugged aside the wish. He had never gotten anything he wished for, only what he worked for. And first and foremost he worked for the law. He would put her behind bars because it was his duty. And there was no question about his doing his duty. None at all.
“You told me it was going to be all over and done with this morning, Merlin!” Scroogen’s annoying voice spat in Brett’s ear.
Brett could see his client had returned to the courtroom in the same emotional temperament with which he had left. Brett gathered his legal papers and shoved them into his briefcase.
“Relax, Dole. I predict a few days—a week at the most—is all it will take for a scientific team to find the stone carving is a phony.”
“Days? A week? I’ll be ruined!”
“You can afford it.”
“How do you know?”
“I checked.”
Scroogen’s voice rose an octave. “You checked? You mean you had my finances investigated?”
“An attorney needs to know everything about his client in order to represent his best interests.”
“You had no right. I’m not even paying you!”
“Don’t remind me.”
“What if they find out that stupid thing is real?”
“They won’t.”
“You still think that attorney orchestrated this?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Well then, get the damn woman.”
“I will. But it’ll take time.”
“More time, time, time. That’s all I seem to hear from you. I told you about the telephone calls. I told you about the threatening letter I received.”
“Dole, if the Silver Power League is really behind those calls and that letter, they’re slitting their own throats. Once the police tie those threats to them, they’ll lose their support in the community.”
“But the police are dragging their feet! I told them Mab Osborne is behind both the calls and letter.”
“They have to investigate properly in order to make any subsequent charges stick.”
“She’s still making and selling those damn dolls. I swear everywhere I go I see them. They’re ignoring your court order. Have her arrested!”
“Dole, she’s seventy-six. If I had her arrested because she’s trying to raise enough money to save their center, that would just generate more sympathy for her cause and more unfavorable publicity for yours. I’m already worried about what that reporter is going to print about the stone carving and Mab Osborne’s plunge down that damn pit of yours.”
“Well then, you’ll have to do something about keeping that story out of the papers.”
“Nothing I can do now except hope that the FCC story eclipses any article on her fall or this phony stone carving. We’ll need to wait and see what the Sunday edition brings.”
“More waiting. Can’t you get that damned attorney arrested at least for being a part of the doll operation?”
“I’ve had Octavia under surveillance since yesterday. She has nothing to do with the manufacture and sale of the dolls.”
“This is insane! My bulldozers have been stopped! I can’t even go ahead with the ribbon-cutting ceremony next week!”
“Dole, the moment the scientific team pronounces that stone carving to be a fake and my private investigator ties Octavia Osborne to it, that attorney’s misdeeds will be front-page news along with your building progress.”
“So what you’re telling me is that in the meantime you’re just going to sit back and let them get awa
y with it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then, what in the hell are you going to do?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m putting away the flyswatter and getting out the shotgun,” Brett said, snapping his briefcase closed.
Chapter Five
“The story and accompanying pictures of the stone carving take up three-fourths of the Sunday newspaper’s front page, Octavia. The other fourth is my fall down that ditch. And all that FCC nonsense about my radio program gets a slim one-column mention on page six!”
Octavia was delighted to hear the burst of enthusiasm from her grandmother as she sat across from her at the breakfast table, inhaling the wonderful smells of a new batch of Christmas cookies sitting on the counter to cool.
“That reporter did a very good job on the pictograph story. But he needs positive reinforcement so he’ll keep up the good work. Yearsley is the editor of the newspaper now, isn’t he?”
“Yes. Fred Yearsley. His mother is one of our members.”
“Remind me to contact him tomorrow morning and give the reporter a commendation.”
“With pleasure,” Mab said, setting the paper aside.
Octavia poured cream into her coffee and took an appreciative sip. Her grandmother’s coffee rivaled the best Seattle had to offer.
“It’s still hard for me to believe that you’ve managed to stop the construction,” Mab said.
“Thanks to Dr. Watson Pacer. He was just as impressive as I remembered him, bless his heart.”
Mab poured some cream into her coffee and stirred the spoon through it thoughtfully.
“This stone carving has proved a very fortuitous find, especially if it turns out to be an ancient Indian artifact. Almost too fortuitous. I seem to remember that Gordon Twobrook, that young native American chief you met in law school, used to be very interested in ancient tribal rock carving. You two were very close at one time. Octavia, you didn’t—”
“Ask me no questions, Mab, and you’ll never be forced to testify to something you wished you didn’t.”
“I...see.”
Octavia sent her grandmother a sagacious smile. “Yes, you’ve always been a quick and clever darling.”