Indispensable Party (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller No. 4)

by Miller, Melissa F.

  Despite himself, Gavin was rapt. Bricker could deliver a sermon like the best of the televangelists.

  Bricker continued, his voice ringing stronger. “So on January 1, 2000, Anna and I committed our lives to building a network of like-minded survivors. We began by recruiting neighbors and friends who shared our values. Preppers PA is now several hundred members strong with cells throughout the state and a few select members from out of state. We run workshops and drills to teach self-sufficiency and self-defense. As we’ve grown, it’s become necessary to impose an organizational structure. Many of our members have military backgrounds, so the hierarchy that we chose borrows liberally from the armed forces. To answer your question, then, I’m the captain of a band of Americans committed to preserving our way of life when—not if—a large-scale disaster strikes.”

  He sat back in his chair and contemplated Gavin for a moment. Then he said, “I’ve answered your question, now perhaps you can do me the same courtesy. What do you want with Celia Gerig?”

  Although Bricker phrased his demand as a question, he spoke with the assurance of someone who expected to be obeyed and respected. In Gavin’s experience, a man like Bricker would be thrown off-balance if his authority was questioned.

  “That’s between me and Celia. Take me to her,” Gavin responded.

  Bricker clenched his jaw. A muscle twitched in his cheek. Gavin waited.

  Finally, Bricker said, “She’s unavailable right now.”

  Although Bricker’s daughter had said Celia was dead, Gavin hoped the girl was mistaken. “The last time I saw Celia, she was very ill, Mr. Bricker. I’d like to make sure she’s okay.”

  Bricker closed his eyes briefly then snapped them open. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but, sadly, Celia’s passed away. As you say, she was quite ill, and she succumbed to her illness.”

  Gavin’s head spun. He swallowed hard, suddenly thirsty. Sweat dripped from his hairline.

  Bricker squinted at him. “Mr. Russell, are you okay?”

  Gavin gulped and tried to nod. His vision blurred and he felt dizzy, lightheaded. He pushed the mask up to the top of his head and gasped for air.

  A remote part of his brain registered surprise that he was having such a strong physical reaction to the news of Celia’s death. He struggled to his feet, gripping the edge of Bricker’s desk to steady himself. He felt like he was underwater, swimming. The lights were growing dim at the edges of his vision.

  Far off, from a great distance, he heard Bricker’s voice calling his name.

  Gavin swayed, the lights went out, and he crumpled to the floor.

  CHAPTER 25

  Sasha and Connelly were walking into a Tex-Mex restaurant a block away from the task force’s building, when Sasha’s phone buzzed. Naya’s name scrolled across the display.

  “Why don’t you grab us a table?” she suggested to Connelly. “And order some chips and guacamole. I’ll be right in.”

  Connelly walked over to the hostess station and Sasha huddled in the restaurant’s foyer and answered the call.

  “How’s the weather, Naya?” she said by way of greeting, scanning the menu posted inside the door.

  “Snowing like crazy. But, Mac, I’m not calling to chat,” Naya said. Her voice was calm but tight.

  Sasha abandoned the menu and gave Naya her full attention. “What’s up?”

  “You’re not going to believe this, but the D.C. District Court Clerk’s Office just called.”

  “Did we screw something up with the filing?” Sasha thought that was highly unlikely given their shared attention to detail, but she supposed nobody was perfect.

  “No, the papers are fine. The case has been assigned to the emergency hearing judge, Judge Minella.”

  “Great, maybe we’ll get an order soon.”

  “Oh, we’ll get an order soon. The judge scheduled argument for two-thirty,” Naya said.

  “What day?”

  “Today, Sasha. You have to appear in the D.C. District Court in three hours and argue the motion.”

  Sasha nearly dropped the phone.

  “Mac, you there?”

  “I’m here. The judge scheduled an argument on an ex parte motion? There’s no one on the other side.”

  “I know what ex parte means, Mac. I don’t know what this guy’s thinking; maybe the clerk screwed up. You’ll show up and everyone will have a good laugh, then the judge’ll sign your order and you’ll walk out of there,” Naya said.

  Right. A federal judge would just good-humoredly laugh off a screw up. More likely, it would end up being her fault somehow.

  “But, if he really wants me to argue, I don’t have the file. I don’t even have a copy of the brief,” Sasha said, trying to keep her rising panic out of her voice.

  “Listen, you can do this. I explained to the clerk that you’re in D.C. today but you don’t have access to a printer. He was really nice about it. If you go to the counter in the clerk’s office and ask for Lamar, he’ll give you a packet that contains copies of everything we filed.”

  “Lamar. Got it.” Sasha exhaled. Maybe she could do this. It was a clear-cut argument.

  “Uh, two more things. My new best friend Lamar tells me Judge Minella is … mercurial.”

  “A mercurial judge, how rare,” Sasha deadpanned.

  Naya snorted. “Point taken. And the second thing is I checked the flights. There’s a Hemisphere Air flight that I might be able to make. Maybe. If the stars align. And it doesn’t get canceled because of the snow. I could be there by two-thirty or close. But I’d have to leave now.”

  The offer brought a smile to Sasha’s face. “I appreciate that more than you know. And, ordinarily, I’d love the moral support, but even if you did make it, you wouldn’t get here in time to do anything but watch. Besides, we both know you need to get home this evening and get your chair out before you lose your spot.”

  Naya lived in Point Breeze, which was typical of Pittsburgh’s neighborhoods. Many of the homes sat close to one another on narrow streets with no off-street parking. Finding a spot to park could prove difficult under any circumstances, but when there was a snowstorm, scarce parking became nearly nonexistent. Banks of shoveled snow ate up precious spots along the street. So homeowners would shovel ‘their’ spots right in front of their homes, and then put out chairs to save those hard-won spots whenever they left again. Having done the work to clear the spot, the theory went, the shoveler was then entitled to park in that spot until the snow melted.

  The parking chairs ranged from folding chairs to lawn chairs to kitchen chairs to barstools. On occasion, a recliner that had outlived its useful life as living room furniture appeared along the curb to guard a coveted parking spot. Somehow the system worked: the chairs were respected, never moved or stolen.

  Naya laughed. “Come on, now, you know Carl probably already shoveled me a spot and plopped a chair down in it. We’ve got about six inches so far.”

  Poor, long-suffering, love-struck Carl had been trying to get Naya to date him as long as Sasha had known her. Naya insisted she didn’t have romantic feelings for Carl, but Sasha thought she could detect a warming in Naya’s demeanor toward her neighbor. He’d been at her side constantly over the summer right after her mother had died.

  “So, leave at five and go home and thank Carl. I’ll call you after the hearing.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. Unless you’re secretly hoping to see Lamar …” Sasha teased her.

  “Yeah, right. Well, I guess you shouldn’t need me. I mean, you’ll be arguing unopposed right? Pretty hard to lose that argument,” Naya teased her right back.

  “Virtually impossible,” Sasha agreed.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Leo was impressed by Sasha’s calm as she told him that instead of having margaritas and burritos, they were going to race to the federal district courthouse in D.C. to pick up some papers and then camp out while she prepared for an argument in a few short hours.

 
Despite the fact that his legs were considerably longer than hers and he wasn’t wearing four-inch heels, he had to struggle to keep up with her as she strode back to the parking lot.

  “You might need to testify,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Wait, what?”

  “You’re my fact witness. You verified the motion, so if the judge has questions about the facts, I need to have you ready to address them,” she said.

  “Oh,” he said, his stomach sinking. He’d never testified in court before.

  His dismay must have shown on his face, because she met his eyes and smiled. “It’ll be okay, Connelly. I’ll make sure you’re prepped. And, besides, this is an ex parte hearing. There won’t be anyone there to cross-examine you.”

  “What does that mean, though?”

  Sasha stopped at the passenger side door. “It means this’ll be a walk in the park, okay?”

  She spoke with such conviction that he decided his concerns were unfounded. “Okay,” he agreed.

  CHAPTER 26

  Sasha studiously ignored Connelly’s fidgeting. He sat beside her at counsel’s table drumming his fingers, jiggling his leg, and clearing his throat—in short, doing everything except reviewing the motion she’d placed in front of him.

  She wasn’t really concerned about him, though. He already knew the facts, and she knew how to gently lead a witness. She focused on familiarizing herself with the cases she’d cited in her supporting brief, trying to identify any weaknesses or differences between her case and the precedent that might give the judge pause. Truth was, she felt confident. Good, even.

  She wondered if she’d finally been practicing long enough that she was losing her jitters. By rights, having a hearing on an emergency motion thrown in her lap on essentially no notice should have left her unsettled and apprehensive. Instead, she was eager to get started—even in front of a temperamental judge.

  A popping noise to her right drew her attention. She gave Connelly a sidelong glance. He was cracking his knuckles.

  She leaned over to tell him to relax, when the door from the judge’s chambers opened. A matronly African-American woman in her late fifties entered the courtroom. Her graying hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She wore a black skirt and cardigan sweater over a white blouse. Her shoes were the very definition of sensible. She looked grandmotherly, but Sasha had learned that, when applied to a judge’s deputy clerk, grandmotherly could just as easily translate into stern as sweet. A clerk was responsible for insulating her judge from the world, including, but not limited to, clueless legal interns, wet behind the ears law clerks, confused pro se litigants, and angling attorneys. It was the sort of job that could sour a person’s disposition pretty quickly. Add to that the fact that federal judges were appointed for life and tended to keep their deputy clerks until one of the pair died or retired, and it wasn’t unusual to run into a clerk who’d seen it all and was impressed by none of it.

  Sasha straightened in her chair and placed a hand over Connelly’s. She smiled brightly, but not too brightly, at the woman.

  “Good afternoon,” Sasha said.

  The woman exhaled and pulled her cardigan closed in front of her.

  “You counsel for Serumceutical?” she asked in a weary voice.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sasha answered.

  The clerk nodded her head toward Connelly. “That your client or your co-counsel?”

  “This is Leo Connelly; he’s an officer of the company.”

  “Client, then. Well, come on. Judge Minella wants to do this in chambers.”

  Sasha nodded. It made sense. There was no need for the formality of the courtroom when she was the only party appearing. She scooped up her files, and she and Connelly stood.

  Connelly started to walk toward the deputy clerk, but the woman stopped him before Sasha could.

  “This door here is for court personnel only. Follow me,” she said in a not-unkind voice, as she walked around the bar and skirted the well. Sasha and Connelly followed her through the gallery and out into the gleaming marble hall.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, Ms. …,” Sasha began.

  “Mrs. Walker,” she said.

  She kept up a brisk pace, trailed by Sasha and Connelly, for the short walk to the heavy oak door to chambers. She unlocked the door using a key that she wore around her wrist on a springy elastic band.

  Inside, bookshelves lined the walls. A bronze statue of a fish sat on a small table just to the left of the door. To the right, two law clerks sat at desks that faced one another, typing away on desktop computers, stacks of Westlaw printouts piled around them.

  One of them looked up at Mrs. Walker from under a sweep of brown bangs that had been streaked pink.

  “Is this the TRO?” she asked, reaching for a legal pad.

  “Mmm-hmm, but Judge said no need to attend, Tallie.”

  The girl’s face fell. Her co-clerk smiled slyly down at his research. A rush of memories flooded Sasha’s mind—all the petty competitions that sprang up between law students, summer associates, and junior attorneys, anyone at the bottom of the legal pecking order, desperate to find a purchase to claw his or her way up a rung. Apparently, judicial law clerks were not immune.

  Mrs. Walker moved on and stopped in front of the judge’s secretary’s desk. Sasha and Connelly stood beside her.

  The secretary could have passed for Mrs. Walker’s sister. She placed a finger in between the pages of her People magazine and peered at them over half-moon glasses that were attached to a colorful beaded chain.

  “This the movant?” she asked Mrs. Walker.

  “Right. This here is Attorney McCandless. And this gentleman is a client representative,” Mrs. Walker said.

  “Good afternoon. The judge is ready for you, so you all go ahead in,” Mrs. Walker’s slightly friendlier sister said with a smile before returning to her magazine.

  Mrs. Walker rapped on the door behind the secretary’s desk and then eased it open.

  The judge’s private office was spacious. In addition to an executive desk, the room housed a set of tall bookshelves, a high-backed couch, and a long, highly-polished conference table. Sasha counted ten chairs arranged around the table.

  One of the chairs was occupied by a surprisingly youthful-looking jurist. He had a full head of dark hair that matched his robe. His face was unlined, and his brown eyes were alert.

  Sasha realized she’d been expecting an elderly judge. But, in retrospect, it made sense that the more junior members of the bench would be tasked with handling emergency motions.

  “Judge Minella, this is Ms. McCandless and her client,” the clerk said.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Walker. Could you check the courtroom and see if Ms. Esposito is waiting in there, by chance?”

  “Yes, your honor,” she said. She pressed a button on the wall near the bookshelves. A clicking noise indicated the judge’s door into the courtroom had unlocked, and she left.

  The judge turned his attention to Sasha and Connelly. He half-rose and offered Sasha a hand. “Ms. McCandless,” he said.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, your honor,” she said, shaking his warm hand.

  She gestured toward Connelly. “Your honor, this is Leo Connelly. He’s Serumceutical’s chief security officer.”

  The judge and Connelly shook hands and the judge waved them into seats. “Please, sit. I’m glad that the company could send us an officer on such short notice.”

  “Serumceutical takes this matter very seriously. And the company is grateful that the court has taken it up on such short notice,” Sasha said, sliding into one of the large leather chairs

  “Don’t thank me yet,” the judge said as his smile faded.

  Connelly took the seat next to Sasha and shot her a look.

  She shrugged inwardly but gave no outward reaction. The famous judicial temperament was revealing itself, she figured.

  She cleared her throat. “Are we waiting for the court reporter?” she asked
the judge.

  “No. This isn’t going to be on the record,” he said in a stern tone that dared her to argue.

  Great, Sasha thought. Nothing better than a hearing in front of a cranky judge with no way to memorialize the argument. She wanted to ask who Ms. Esposito was, in that case, but she figured it was better not to antagonize him.

  Connelly nodded toward a framed photo of the judge, clad in hip boots, standing in a stream and proudly displaying a large fish on a line.

  “Are you a fly fisherman?”

  Judge Minella’s frown morphed into a broad smile. “That’s right. That picture was taken on an expedition out in Montana. Great fishing.”

  “I can imagine. You know, a little closer to home, the Yellow Breeches in Pennsylvania has some excellent fly fishing, too,” Connelly offered.

  “Oh, yes. There’s a little town called Boiling Springs that has a white fly hatch in August,” the judge said, his eyes shining.

  Sasha knew they were speaking English, but she would have been hard pressed to join in. She smiled politely and let the discussion of anglers and runs flow over her head.

  The outer door opened, and Mrs. Walker returned from her second circuit. A frazzled-looking woman about Sasha’s age tripped after her.

  “I found her,” Mrs. Walker announced needlessly.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Walker. Kind of you to join us, Ms. Esposito,” the judge said with his frown back in place.

  The woman hesitated in the doorway. Her hair was pulled back into a messy knot and her shirt collar was folded under the lapel of her suit jacket. She was slightly out of breath.

  “I’m sorry, your honor. I returned from lunch to find this file on my desk. I apologize for my tardiness,” she said in a respectful tone that almost hid the slick of bitterness underneath.

  Sasha didn’t understand why the other woman was here, but she felt an instant kinship with the harassed attorney, although she suspected Ms. Esposito represented ViraGene.