Silent Justice

by William Bernhardt

  “Your honor,” Ben said, “I object!”

  Perry shrugged. “The man has been paid. He’s admitted that.”

  “But this goes beyond—”

  Perry cut him off. “Unless you have an objection, counsel, pipe down.”

  “Look,” Rimland said, “this is science, not a traffic accident. Science moves forward by small steps—”

  “You’re making excuses, Doctor,” Colby said.

  “I’m not. I’m trying to explain. What you’re asking is absurd.”

  “Asking for proof is absurd?”

  “This isn’t a game we’re playing!” His face flushed. “You’re asking all these questions to obfuscate the truth, not to elicit it. We’re talking about something that kills children!”

  Colby made a show of not being impressed. “When the witness has no proof, he resorts to dramatics.”

  “If you want to get right down to it, no study has ever proven that smoking causes lung cancer. But everyone in this courtroom knows perfectly well that it does. By the same token, I can’t work backward and prove with absolute certainty what caused a specific incidence of childhood leukemia. But when the water is tainted with chemicals, and you know those chemicals cause cancer, common sense tells you—”

  “Your honor,” Colby said, cutting him off, “the witness is not being responsive.”

  “Answer the question,” Judge Perry growled.

  “And I move that the witness’s rant be stricken.”

  “So stricken.”

  “No!” Ben jumped to his feet. “Your honor! He was answering the question. You can’t tell the jury to ignore the most important—”

  “I’ve ruled, counsel. Sit down.” Perry’s face was lined with anger. “Don’t you ever tell me what I may or may not do in my courtroom. And be grateful I don’t strike everything this witness has said. I find his testimony speculative and unconvincing in the extreme.”

  Ben almost exploded. What was the judge doing? He was practically ordering the jury to ignore Rimland. That was grossly improper—and devastating.

  Colby held up his hands. “I’m finished, your honor.”

  “Good. The witness may step down.”

  Ben bounced back to his feet. “Your honor, I have some redirect—”

  “Forget it. I’ve had enough of this … ‘expert.’“

  “I’ll be brief, your honor, but—”

  “This witness has wasted too much of our time already, counsel. I’m going to very seriously reconsider Mr. Colby’s Daubert motion tonight, because I do not think you have met the standards that this case requires. So don’t push your luck.” He grabbed the papers on his desk, scooped them up, and walked briskly toward his chambers door. “This court is in recess. Everybody go home!”

  Chapter 34

  JONES AND LOVING WERE waiting at the office door when the trial party, Ben, Christina, and Professor Matthews, returned.

  “Well?” Jones asked anxiously. “How did the medical experts do? How is the trial going?”

  Ben didn’t answer. Matthews tried to fill the gap. “Like any trial,” he said professorially, “it has its ups and downs. It’s not nearly over yet.”

  Jones’s eyes crinkled. “What does that mean?”

  Ben slammed his briefcase down on a desk. “It means we’re getting our butts served to us on a platter.”

  “Now, Ben,” Matthews said, “it isn’t that bad.”

  “We’re getting whipped. And you know it.”

  “What about the medical experts?” Jones asked. “How did they do?”

  “They sucked gas.” Ben threw himself down in the nearest chair. “It was embarrassing.”

  “Embarrassing? We paid fifty thousand dollars for embarrassing?”

  “It wasn’t their fault. Colby ripped them apart. There was nothing they could do. He was ready for everything. He undermined their testimony, made them look like snake-oil salesmen.”

  “I don’t know,” Christina said. “I think some of the jurors liked Dr. Rimland. And believed him.”

  “It won’t be enough,” Ben moaned. “Not against Colby.”

  Christina gave Ben a sharp look but said nothing.

  Jones decided to change the subject. “What took you so long to get back? I thought the courthouse closed over an hour ago.”

  “We stopped at the hospital,” Ben explained. “Wanted to check on Mrs. Marmelstein.”

  Jones declined to ask the obvious follow-up question. This new subject seemed to depress Ben even more than the first.

  “Loving?” Ben asked.

  “Yeah, Skipper?”

  “How goes the search? For Paulie.”

  Loving was visibly less comfortable. “I’ve made some progress. I’ve confirmed that there is such a person, and he is her son. He was born in New York State, which made the search all the harder. He should be about fifty-two now.”

  “But have you found him?”

  “No. I’m still lookin’, though. Takes a while to comb records in every state, even with Jones helpin" on the computer. "Specially when you don’t have a social security number. Still, it can’t take more than a month or—”

  “I don’t think we have a month,” Ben said somberly. “I’m not sure we have two weeks. According to the doctors, she could go …” His voice trailed off. He never managed to complete the sentence, not that it was necessary.

  “Can I bring up one more incredibly depressing subject?” Jones said. “We’re broke.”

  “We’ve been broke for months. Since we started this case.”

  “Which I told you not to take. But of course, I’m not the type to say I told you so.” Jones sniffed. “But we’re more than just broke now. We’re deep in debt, hocked to the hilt, they’re-coming-to-take-us-away broke.”

  “They’ve got my car,” Ben said. “What else can they take?”

  “Well, all this mediocre office furniture, for starters. And then the equipment. And then the office itself. And how are we going to continue this endless trial without an office?”

  “The bank won’t do that. They have a stake in this trial, too.”

  “Don’t be so sure. The Brain’s taking some major criticism for giving us that last loan, which you squandered on today’s suck-o witness. I’ll think he’d do just about anything right now to collect some of the debt.”

  “There must be something else we can do. Some option …”

  “Then you tell me what it is.” Jones dropped a tall stack of credit cards on his desk. “These are all maxed out to the hilt, and I can promise you no one’s going to give us another one. I’ve been transferring funds between accounts and kiting checks like some kind of mob money launderer.”

  “Take the money in petty cash and—”

  “There is no petty cash, Ben. There hasn’t been for weeks.” Jones folded his arms angrily. “Hell, we don’t even have money in the coffee kitty. We can’t even afford lunch!”

  “I’ll make our lunches,” Christina chimed in. “I’ll fix sandwiches and bring them with me in the morning.”

  “Still—”

  “And we can all pitch in on the coffee.”

  “Says you,” Jones sniffed. “I haven’t had a paycheck for a month.”

  “None of us have, Jones. But we have to stick together.”

  “The supplies company has cut us off. That means no legal pads. No typing paper. No toner cartridges.”

  “We’ll have to make do. Eliminate everything that’s unnecessary. Cancel all the newspaper and magazine subscriptions. Stop paying the membership dues. Turn off the heat—”

  “I did all that long ago.”

  Christina jumped back in. “Maybe if we made some kind of appeal to the press—”

  “Who are you kidding? The press lost interest in this case weeks ago. They were hot for a day or so, when it was fresh and new. But they soon moved on to other, more important subjects. Like the mayor’s sex life.”

  “There has to be something we can do,” Ch
ristina insisted. “Something we haven’t thought of.”

  “There isn’t.” Jones was resolute. “This is serious. We can’t continue like this.”

  “We have no choice. We can’t abandon everything in the middle of the trial.”

  “We can’t go on when we can’t pay the bills! Maybe if we accept Colby’s settlement offer—”

  “That was an insult!” Christina said. “Peanuts!”

  “We need peanuts!” Jones insisted. “We need something!”

  “Would you two please stop it!” Ben’s voice boomed out of nowhere, startling them. “I’ve had as much of this crap as I can take!” His jaw clenched, he marched off. He made a beeline for his private office, then closed the door behind him.

  All four of the others watched as he disappeared from sight.

  “Does this mean there’s no team meeting tonight?” Professor Matthews asked.

  Ben was sitting at his desk, not looking at the outline in front of him, when Christina floated into his office.

  “Did you knock?” Ben asked. “Because I didn’t hear a knock.”

  “No, I didn’t knock. Because you’re so busy feeling sorry for yourself you’d probably have told me to go away.”

  “Now listen—”

  “No, you listen, buster, and listen up good. I know we’re deep in a major-league mess. But that’s no excuse for shouting at everyone and holing up in your office when we should be preparing.”

  “What is there to prepare? We played our best card. And we lost.”

  “Our best card, for your information, will be when we put our clients, the bereaved parents, on the stand. In case you’ve forgotten, that starts tomorrow. You have to be ready for it.”

  “I’m ready. Not that it will matter.”

  Christina leaned into his face. “What’s wrong with you? This isn’t the Ben Kincaid I know.”

  “Christina, I’m not in the mood for this—”

  “As if I give a damn. Look, I know this trial has been long and hard. I know we’re in an uphill struggle. But you can’t give up. You’ve got to keep trying.”

  “I have been trying. I’ve been doing everything I can.”

  “Have you?” She continued glaring at him. “Look, I wasn’t going to bring this up now, but since you broached the subject—” She pushed him back by the shoulders. “What the hell was wrong with you in the courtroom today?”

  “Nothing was wrong with me.”

  “Nothing personal, Ben—but you sucked.”

  Ben drew his head back. “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, pal. I call "em like I see "em. Colby was using you for a doormat.”

  Ben averted his eyes. “Colby is a very experienced litigator.”

  “So what? I’ve seen you go toe-to-toe with the best, and you’ve always held your own. But for some reason—in this case—it’s like …” She thought for a moment. “It’s like you’ve been walking on eggshells from the get-go. Even at the very start, you were playing it cool, trying to hold down the emotion.”

  “I’m just trying to be smart. Not do anything improper. There’s a lot at stake here.”

  Christina’s head began to nod. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s because there’s so much at stake. I should’ve seen it before. Eleven sets of parents who’ve lost their children. And they come to you. I should’ve known that would knock your heart for a loop.”

  “Christina, it isn’t—”

  “You’re afraid of letting them down, aren’t you? That’s what’s going on here.”

  “This isn’t just … another lawsuit.”

  “No, it isn’t. So you’re trying to play it safe. Not do anything stupid. Nothing that might embarrass them, or dishonor their cause. But the ironic thing is, by playing it safe, staying low-key—you’re giving Colby the opening he needs to stomp all over you.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating.”

  “Am I? Colby was making objections right and left, delivering little speeches to the jury. Why weren’t you protesting?”

  “He has the judge in his back pocket.”

  “And what about that speech Judge Perry made at the end of the day, discrediting your witness? That was grossly prejudicial. Why didn’t you move for a mistrial?”

  “He would’ve denied it.”

  “Of course he would’ve denied it. But at least you would’ve registered your displeasure. Might’ve made him think twice about doing it again.”

  “Or it might’ve made him toss me out of the courtroom on my butt. And then where would the plaintiffs be? Don’t you see? I can’t take the risk.”

  “I see this. Your current approach is not working.” Christina leaned in closer, till they were practically nose-to-nose. “If you’re going to win this thing, Ben, you’re going to have to get mad.”

  Mike strolled about the interior of Ronald Harris’s corner office, drinking in the chairs, the carpet, the so-so SAM’s Club office furniture. There was a bookshelf lined with legal volumes, although the layer of dust atop them told Mike none of them had been consulted in ages. There was a potted tree in the corner, looking even worse than it had the last time Mike was in this office. But for the secretary, Mike suspected it would’ve been dead long ago. The office did have a window with a view, unlike most at Blaylock, although the view was principally of the plant parking lot.

  All in all, Mike was not impressed.

  “This is the best they can do for you?” Mike asked.

  Harris shrugged. “I’m just one of many executives in the Blaylock firm.”

  “You’re the man who recovered sixty million missing buckeroos.”

  “I guess you’ve talked with Mr. Blaylock.”

  “I certainly have. Why didn’t you mention that the last time I talked with you?

  “I didn’t see that it had anything to do with the murders. I still don’t.”

  “If I found sixty million bucks for Blaylock, I’d expect a lot better office than this. A penthouse, at the very least.”

  “There aren’t any. And I felt amply rewarded at the time.”

  Given the size of the lump sum payment he received, Mike would have to agree. “How did you ever tumble onto Montague?”

  “It was pure process of elimination. I’d been working on it for months. Trying to figure out who had all the information required to make off with the loot. The account number, the password, the credentials. I knew the money had been picked up in person; I learned that from the bank. Once I excluded all the people I knew good and well weren’t in Switzerland on the fateful day, there were few remaining possibilities. I became convinced it was Montague.” He paused. “I just couldn’t figure out how a dead man could rob a bank.”

  “That must’ve been a hell of a meeting. When you waltzed into the boardroom and informed everyone that a corpse had cleaned out the cashbox.”

  “It was … memorable.” Harris glanced at the open door, as if making sure no one was listening in. “Blaylock about had a fit. He ranted and raved. Called me names. Told me I was crazy. Frankly, I thought I was going to be fired. Probably would’ve been, too.”

  “If you hadn’t been right.”

  “Exactly. If I hadn’t been right. I hired private detectives—a platoon of them. It was expensive, but eventually they started to turn up traces. Indications that Montague wasn’t dead. We figured his mother—his only living relative—would be in on the secret. So they staked her out. Sure enough, she didn’t seem particularly grieved about the loss of her only son. Hadn’t even paid for a memorial marker.”

  “She knew he was alive.”

  “She did. We staked out her house—and several other places we thought Montague might return to. Unfortunately, he had the sense not to go to any of them. We did eventually track him down, though. Took forever. But we nabbed him.”

  “Where was he?”

  “Holed up in a fishing cabin, somewhere in Texas. One sunny Tuesday morning, five of my men rushed in on him, grabbed him, and drove him up to Ok
lahoma. He never knew what hit him.”

  “And that’s when the negotiations began?”

  “Right. And I guess you know how it came out. He gave back the money—everything that was left, which was almost all of it. We agreed to keep quiet about what happened. That really ticked off Blaylock. He wanted the man to pay. Pay bad.”

  “Sounds like he did, as it turned out.”

  “Yeah. Montague died just a few months later—this time for real. Stress had just been too much for him, I guess. Pathetic thing is, he never got any benefit out of all the money he stole. Mind you, I don’t approve of theft or anything. But after pulling off such an ingenious robbery, it seemed like he was at least entitled to a shopping spree at the mall or something.”

  “At least.”

  “Has this been helpful?”

  “Not especially. But I needed to fill in the gaps. Learn as much as I could. Can you think of anything else notable about the robbery? Anything you haven’t told me yet?”

  Harris shrugged. “I don’t think so. There’s not much more to tell.”

  Mike pushed out of his chair. “Well, I appreciate your cooperation. Can you think of anyone else who might know more about Montague? Or the robbery?”

  “We kept this thing very hush-hush, for obvious reasons. I can count all the people who know about it on one hand. I don’t think you’ll have much luck in that direction.”

  “What about people who knew Montague? Before he died—the first time. Friends. Coworkers.”

  “From what I hear, Montague pretty much kept to himself. He was a bit strange. Dreamy. You know the type. Not content with his lot in life.”

  “He went on the company outing. To Frontier City.”

  “Yeah, he did. And picked up a woman there, apparently, which was what caused all the confusion on the body count. But as far as actual friends …” His head turned. “I just remembered. There was one guy people said he hung with sometimes. But you’re not going to be able to interview him, either.”

  “Let me guess. Dead.”

  “Yeah. "Fraid so.”

  Mike stepped forward; his interest level was taking a sharp upward turn. “One of the three employees recently murdered?”