Dead Peasants

by Larry D. Thompson

  In the insurance industry, such policies have gained the name of “dead peasant policies” because they are usually placed on low level workers and the premiums are paid even after the employee leaves the company. The policy is routinely kept secret from the employee and his family. According to a spokesman for the Department of Insurance, such policies were banned in Texas a number of years ago but are still available in some states.

  June Davis is represented by Jackson Bryant, formerly a prominent plaintiff attorney in Beaumont who recently moved to Fort Worth. Bryant reports that he was going to the courthouse yesterday for a hearing about production of a spread sheet of all of Allison Southwest policies on former employees when he was accosted in front of the courthouse. His life was threatened if he continued to practice law in Tarrant County.

  “At the hearing I asked Judge McDowell to require production of the other dead peasant policies still being carried by Allison Southwest. Clearly, it’s deceptive for Allison to place these polices on employees in secret, knowing it will ultimately reap the benefit of such ghoulish practices. I fully expected him to rule that they were discoverable, but he summarily rejected my motion. So, as of right now, only Allison Southwest and its lawyers know the scope of the deception.”

  Jack chuckled as he put down the paper. He’d read enough. Now he would make short order of the mob outside. After a shower and shave, he dressed in brown slacks, a white shirt and loafers. He knew what he was going to say and also knew it would not make the reporters happy. Before going to the front door, he whistled to Killer from the back. Killer rounded the corner and stopped at his feet. “Good dog, Killer. You protected us once again. Now come on in the house.”

  Jack told Killer to stay in the kitchen and walked to the front door where he motioned for silence. “Sorry to keep you folks waiting. I’ve now read the Star Telegram story and really can’t add anything more to it.”

  “Are you going to move to recuse Judge McDowell?” a voice yelled

  “That’s really trial strategy that I prefer not to discuss. However, let’s see how events unfold over the next couple of days. I wish I could tell you more, but Mr. Hampton certainly has done his homework. I have no reason to disagree with what he has reported. You all have a good morning.”

  Judge McDowell stepped out to pick up his paper and was also confronted by reporters. “What the hell? What in tarnation are you doing on my lawn? You’re trespassing and I demand that you get off my property.”

  He grabbed his paper and hurried back to the sanctity of his house. As he read the paper a scowl settled on his face. How the hell did this happen? All he did was take campaign contributions. And what business is it of some damn reporter that he ruled the dead peasant policies weren’t discoverable. After re-filling his coffee he reached for his cell phone and called Ace Leyton. When Leyton answered, he spewed out a string of expletives. As he paused to get a breath, Leyton jumped in.

  “Judge I’ve got a couple of reporters on my lawn, too. Calm down.”

  “Calm down? You son of a bitch, you may have just cost me my election and just when my pension was about to vest. How the hell could this happen?”

  “Judge, it’s just business as usual. Our employees contribute to campaigns all over the state. They list their home addresses, and no one ever looks beyond that. Someone talked this Hampton guy into digging. My guess is it’s Bryant. Unfortunately, it’s all out there on the internet. We’re going to have to come up with another plan to support our fine judicial candidates like you.”

  “Hell, the horse is out of the barn. Some other future plan doesn’t do me any good.”

  Leyton paused while he thought. “I have an idea. Suppose you call a press conference this afternoon and say you just learned of the contributions coming from my firm and Allison when you read the story. You’re an honest judge and you’re sending refund checks to everyone remotely connected with the lawsuit.”

  At four that afternoon the bailiff stuck his head in the judge’s door. “It’s time, Judge. You’ve got a whole courtroom full of reporters. Lights are everywhere and cameras are rolling.”

  McDowell wiped the sweat from his brow and, pushing his shoulders back, he walked into the courtroom and made the effort to climb to his bench as if he were thirty years younger and fifty pounds lighter. He poured himself a glass of water.

  “Be seated ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming. I’m pleased to clear up some misconceptions that have surfaced today.”

  Two reporters on the front row looked at each other and shook their heads.

  Another reporter asked, “What misconception, Judge? You received $400,000 in campaign contributions from lawyers and litigants on one side of a case I understand is going to trial in two weeks.”

  McDowell was not accustomed to having questions thrown at him in his own courtroom. “Sir, if you’ll give me a moment, I’ll explain. All we have on our computer and all that’s reported to the Election Commission are names and home addresses. We have no idea where these people work. Now that this has come to light, I’ve instructed my campaign staff to return every one of the questionable contributions. That task will be completed in a week.”

  A television reporter on the front row blurted out, “What about Leyton’s firm? They had to know what they were doing.”

  McDowell wiped the sweat from his face again. “That’s up to Mr. Leyton. I think that he and his firm have abided by the letter of the law. You may want to check other sitting judge’s reports. Maybe they’ve done this for a number of judges they consider well qualified.” McDowell tried to smile.

  Hartley Hampton rose from the back row. “Judge McDowell, are you going to recuse yourself from the Davis case?”

  McDowell had enough. He rose from his chair and pointed his finger at Hampton. “Absolutely not. I’m one of the most senior judges in this county. My reputation for impartiality is beyond reproach. Anyone and everyone who sets foot in my court will be treated equally. Good day.”

  Another call took place that day. Dwayne Allison called Leyton. His voice was surprisingly calm. “Ace, you’ve created a helluva mess, haven’t you?”

  “I’m doing my best to unwind it. I never figured all of this would come out in the open. It never has up until now, and our firm does it in at least twenty states where judges are elected, maybe more. Dwayne, do you want me to resign so you can get other counsel?”

  There was silence on the phone before Allison spoke. “No, not at this late date, but if you don’t win, let your partners know I’ll be suing your firm for malpractice. If I lose, the amount of the loss will come to rest at your feet. Understood?”

  “Understood, Dwayne.”

  That evening Jack convinced Colby to join him and J.D. in the man cave. J.D. flipped local channels to catch coverage of the story. When it got to be seven o’clock, Jack clicked off the TV.

  “You going to try to recuse him?” Colby asked.

  “Hell, no,” Jack replied. “Before today I would have done about anything to have gotten rid of him. Now, he’ll be watched like a hawk by the media. He’ll call them straight for damn sure. By the way,” Jack grinned. “Remind me to send Hampton a case of scotch at Christmas.”

  73

  Jack went into his pre-trial mode. Every waking minute was spent at one end of the dining room table, outlining examination of each witness, thinking through the order of exhibits and careful preparation of voir dire examination of the jury panel and opening statement. After five days Jack shut down the computer, satisfied he was basically ready, and headed for the kitchen. J.D. was coming through the back door.

  “Afternoon, Son. What happened to your crutches?”

  “Trainer said I’m through with them,” J.D. said as he turned to rummage through Jack’s canes. “He suggested I use a cane for a few more days. I told him I knew just where I could get one.” J.D. picked out a solid oak cane with an eagle for the handle. “Okay if I use this one?”

  “Be my guest. You want a
glass of water?”

  J.D. thought a minute. “Well, since I’m not actually in training right now, I suppose an occasional beer wouldn’t hurt.”

  Jack nodded and opened the refrigerator, pulling out two Bud Lights. As he handed the beer to his son, Colby appeared in the kitchen, sleep still in her eyes from an afternoon nap. Jack smiled as he realized she was making the effort to crawl out of her shell.

  “So, if everyone’s having a drink, where’s mine? Chardonnay, if you please, bartender. Then I suggest we all adjourn to the patio. I think we may be in for a first class sunset.”

  After they had settled into chairs on the patio and Killer had made the rounds to be petted and have his ears scratched, J.D. asked, “So, how’s the trial prep coming, Dad?”

  Jack sipped his beer as he thought through what he had done over the past several days. “I’m basically done. I’m sure I’ll come up with some more questions and thoughts for opening statement over the next week. That’s the beauty of the computer age. When I was a baby lawyer, we’d fill yellow pads with all of this stuff and then had to make notes in the margins when something else popped up. Now, I can go into whatever document I need and insert a question in its rightful place.

  “The only pieces missing from the puzzle are those other dead peasant policies the judge blocked me from getting.”

  “Just how important are those policies?” Colby asked.

  “In reality, we should win the case without them. Still, I don’t know what impact they might have since we haven’t seen them. Like I said before, if we had them and could get them in evidence, the jury might be so pissed off that they would award several million in punitive damages for June. More importantly, they could also get you off the hook on the murder charge, particularly if we’re right and Allison had policies on those other employees who met with violent deaths. I’d at least like to have a look at them before trial and then try to figure out a way to get them in evidence.” Jack sighed. “Only, I gave it my best shot and struck out.”

  Jack thought for a minute, then turned to J.D. “Son, you’re supposed to be the computer whiz. You think you could hack into Allison Southwest’s computer system and get the information on the policies we’ve been looking for?”

  J.D. nodded. “I think I can probably do it, but if the state bar finds out you’re using evidence that we got from hacking into Allison’s system, won’t you get in trouble?”

  Jack walked over to stand behind Colby and put his hands on her shoulders. “Son, Allison raised the stakes when he killed Rob and got Colby charged with murder. Her life is on the line. If what we’re doing helps get her off, I’ll deal with the state bar later. I wouldn’t give a damn if I had to trade my license for her life.”

  74

  The next morning Jack was awakened by a pounding on his door. “Wake up, Dad. Get your ass out of bed. I’ve got everything.”

  Jack put on shorts and a T-shirt and met J.D. at the kitchen table. After pouring a cup of coffee, he took a seat beside his son.

  “It took me all night, but here’s what you want, copies of all of the applications and policies and a spread sheet that lists the employees and former employees who have insurance coverage, their Social Security numbers, the amount of the coverage and amount of the premiums along with their last known addresses. The beneficiary on every one is Allison Southwest. The spread sheet is even in alphabetical order.”

  “Here, let me have that paper. I’ll read the names and you tell me if there was coverage and how much.”

  As Jack read the names, J.D. scrolled down the spread sheet. After thirty minutes they had completed the list. All nineteen had polices on their lives from $200,000 to $500,000, double indemnity in the event of accidental death.

  “You made that list before Rob was killed. Was he covered?”

  J.D. took a minute to get to the right place on the spread sheet. “There he is. “$500,000 coverage, in effect for fifteen years, beneficiary Allison Southwest.”

  “Now there’s one more,” Jack said. “See if Colby is on that sheet.”

  J.D. clicked his mouse a few times. His eyes grew big as he drew in a breath. “Oh my God, Dad. There’s a policy on Colby for two and a half million dollars. Why would Allison have put the biggest coverage on her?”

  Jack poured another cup of coffee as he thought. “I suspect she was a rising star back when she worked there. If she’d stayed, she probably would have run the finance operations for all of the dealerships. On top of that she was young and female. The premiums had to be dirt cheap.”

  “Wow, Dad, we’ve got him. We’ve got Allison.”

  “No we don’t, Son, not yet. We’ve got information. I can’t offer one bit of this in evidence. Not to say that I can’t use it to make Allison sweat and hopefully lay a trap so we can force him to provide this same information during trial. That’s my job as a trial lawyer. I’ll figure out a way.”

  “Why don’t you turn all of this over to Joe Sherrod and let him run with it?”

  Jack shook his head. “Two reasons. We might lose the element of surprise in our trial which is just a week away. As to the charges against Colby, all this would do is give the Fort Worth cops is a motive for Allison. They think they’ve made their airtight case against Colby. They don’t have any other evidence, and they’re not likely to bust their butts to look for proof that Allison had Rob killed. This won’t change their minds. Joe can wait. As I said, one way or the other, I’ll use this information. There’s got to be a way to tie Allison to Willie’s death and all these other deaths. I just need to think on it for the next week, and then we’ll see how the trial plays out.”

  75

  Jack awoke at four o’clock in the morning, tossed and turned for a few minutes and resigned himself to the inevitable. It was the first day of trial and his body was already pumping with adrenaline. He stopped by the bathroom and then went to the closet to pull on his cut-offs, T-shirt and running shoes. He walked to the kitchen and saw that the coffee was not set to come on for another hour and a half. After he pushed the start button, he went to the back door and hollered to Killer who was asleep in one of the patio lounges. Killer bounded to the door.

  “Come on, let’s you and me go for a walk.” He hooked a leash to Killer’s collar, and they went out the front door and across the street to the country club. Killer’s leash was twenty-five feet long on a spool that gave him enough leeway to sniff out new smells or the scents of dogs who passed by the day before.

  Jack thought about the days to come. He remembered the early days of his career as a trial lawyer when he wanted to be in the courtroom but still dreaded stepping foot across the court’s threshold. He smiled as he remembered his first trial when not only did his voice crack on voir dire, but throughout the trial his hand shook so badly that he couldn’t take notes. Then, there were the years that he couldn’t sleep more than four or five hours a night and by the fourth trial day he was functioning on adrenaline and coffee. All of that had now changed, except for this morning, the first day of trial. Now, he knew what to expect and knew he could handle anything thrown at him by the judge or opposing counsel. He fully expected to be in command when he set foot in the courtroom. It was his stage and he expected all eyes, particularly those in the jury box, to be on him.

  By the time he and Killer turned after going twenty minutes away from the house, he had thought through his preparation once again and was satisfied that everything had been done. In the past week he had met with June and explained what she should expect. He paid for Jerry Buchanan to drive up from Palestine to make sure there were no gaps in his testimony. David Gamboa, his local insurance broker, was prepared to testify that dead peasant policies were illegal in Texas. Then he smiled. His legal assistant, seated right next to him at counsel table, was J.D. If J.D. did decide to go to law school in a few years, that would be the one thing that would bring him out of retirement. The law firm of Bryant & Bryant had a nice ring to it. Last, but, of course, not least,
Colby would be in the audience, acting as another pair of eyes and ears, a thirteenth juror, so to speak. Her job would be to listen to the evidence and offer her lay opinion of witnesses and constantly keep her eyes on the jury to see how they were receiving the evidence. Now her role took on new meaning after the criminal charge against her. And it would be good for her to have something to focus on other than her own problems.

  When he and Killer walked back to the house, he found the Star Telegram on his driveway. Hopefully, Hartley had done his job. Jack wanted a human interest story on June Davis and her fight with Allison Southwest. It didn’t need to be big, but Jack wanted it to remind Judge McDowell that others were watching him and his rulings. Jack stopped on the front porch under the light to glance at the paper. It wasn’t on the front page, but it was the second story on the local news section. That would do for now.

  After pouring coffee and making sure Killer had food and water, he sat at the kitchen table to read the story and glanced at the rest of the headlines. Nothing good going on in the world with the exception of TCU football. The first game of the season was the following weekend. The coach was quoted as saying that J.D. might be activated by the second game. Jack was getting his second cup of coffee when J.D. walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Damn, Dad, I thought I was the one getting up early.”

  “I beat you by about an hour. Your coach says he may activate you for the second game. You think you’ll be ready?”

  “Heck, I was ready before pre-season started. I’ll just have to convince him I’m okay to start that game. Will we be through with the trial in two weeks?”