The Witnesses

by Robert Whitlow

  Frank rubbed his chin. “Are you going to fish?”

  “I’d like to,” Parker replied. “I thought we could run up a creek and try to score some speckled trout.”

  “I know exactly where to go,” Frank said.

  Parker was silent for a moment.

  “I don’t want to trouble you if you’re busy,” Parker said.

  “Not at all,” Frank replied. “I’ll be your guide. I don’t have anything planned for tomorrow, and the weather should be perfect. Right before you called, I finished getting all my tackle situated. All we’ll need is shrimp if you want to use live bait. I can pick some up or you can do it on your way to the house.”

  “Are you sure you want to go?” Parker asked.

  “Absolutely. We ought to be on the water early.”

  “I’m picking up Layla at seven o’clock. I’ll stop at a bait shop for shrimp. And she’ll need a fishing license.”

  “Yeah, there’s a chance we’ll get checked by a fish and game warden if we’re near Oriental. See you around seven thirty. I’ll stay out of the way and make sure you and Layla have a good time.”

  After the call ended, Frank leaned against the kitchen counter and chuckled. He knew he’d thrown Parker a curveball by inviting himself on the boating trip. But as soon as his grandson started talking, Frank knew he wanted to meet this woman named Layla.

  Still puzzled by his grandfather’s response, Parker walked down the hall. Greg’s office door was cracked open, and Parker entered. Greg was on the phone and motioned for Parker to sit.

  “If you want to play hardball, I’ll be happy to oblige,” Greg said to the person on the other end of the line. “Threats like that are fuel to my fire.”

  Greg was silent for a moment. He looked at Parker and grinned.

  “Bring it on,” Greg said when the person on the call stopped talking. “If you want to swim with the sharks, you have to get in the ocean. I’ll be waiting for your insured with my jaws wide open.”

  Greg hung up the phone. His grin widened. “Man, I love baiting insurance adjusters who spout off a bunch of nonsense about their statistical models for how much a case is worth. The value of a case is what a jury will award in a verdict.”

  “But it often makes sense to settle out of court.”

  “Of course it does, but in the meantime, can’t I have fun convincing an adjuster that I’m crazy enough to try every case that walks through the door? They have to believe you’ll go to the mat before they’ll pay top dollar on a claim. That’s my style; you’ll have to find your own. What’s up?”

  “I’ve been thinking about whether to associate Thomas Blocker in the Ferguson case.”

  “And I’m waiting for him to call me back. I sent your memo to him as an e-mail attachment. Would you believe he responded in less than a minute and said he’s very interested?”

  “You already asked him to come in as cocounsel?”

  “It’s a no-brainer.”

  “Then why did you ask my opinion?”

  Before Greg responded, his phone buzzed and Vicki spoke. “Thomas Blocker is returning your call,” she said.

  “See,” Greg said to Parker, putting his hand over the receiver. “He is all over this.”

  “Which is exactly what will happen to the case if you associate him as cocounsel.”

  Greg dismissed Parker’s comment with a wave of his hand. He pressed a button to put the call on speakerphone.

  “Hello, Mr. Blocker. Thanks for calling.”

  “Excellent. And call me Tom,” Blocker replied. “If we end up working together, it’s best to drop the formalities.”

  “So what do you think about our drampshop case, Tom?” Greg asked.

  “Before we get into that, there’s a change coming your way in the settlement documents in the Mixon-Lipscomb arbitration. Paragraph six will reflect that the check will be issued by the E and O carrier for the brokerage firm.”

  “I thought a settlement this small would fall within the deductible,” Greg replied.

  “That’s an issue I wrestled through with them. Anyway, a temp worker typed the documents, and I also caught typos in paragraphs nine and thirteen. Those will be corrected and the revised documents on their way to you by tomorrow morning.”

  Parker could see Greg looking down at his notes he retrieved from the corner of his desk. His boss spoke. “Uh, you also need to delete the provision in paragraph ten requiring my clients to terminate their relationship with the company, transfer their equity holdings to another broker, and agree never to apply to open an account in the future. We didn’t agree to that on the day of the hearing.”

  “If that’s a problem, it’s a dealbreaker. My client isn’t going to litigate with Mr. and Mrs. Mixon in the future. The money paid in this case is going to buy the peace, once and for all.”

  “I’ll have to talk to my clients about it.”

  “Of course, but they already closed out all their accounts the day after the arbitration. They’ve done everything I’m asking except agree to work with someone else in the future.”

  Parker could tell from the look on Greg’s face that he didn’t know about the Mixons’ actions. On his boss’s desk was a stack of pink phone message slips. Parker suspected more than one might be from their client.

  “Then I don’t anticipate a problem,” Greg replied, trying to sound confident. “Are you ready to move on to the dramshop case? Parker House is here with me.”

  “Greetings to you,” Blocker said in German. “How are you doing today?”

  Greg looked at Parker and raised his hands in bewilderment.

  “Uh, fine, sir,” Parker replied in English. “If I understood your question.”

  “Go ahead,” Blocker said. “Tell me more about the dramshop case.”

  “Okay,” Greg said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Chet Ferguson will make a great witness. He’s a thirty-six-year-old man who now has to be a single father to two children, ages eight and ten. The eight-year-old girl is the spitting image of her mother, so we’ve got to get her in front of the jury as much as possible. My client dropped off some family photos yesterday, and I have a picture of the mother when she was the same age that I’m going to blow up.”

  While Greg continued to talk, Parker couldn’t help feeling that the discussion about Jessica Ferguson was disrespectful to the woman killed instantly on impact. He’d have been offended if someone had talked about his mother as if she were nothing more than a key piece of evidence.

  “Sounds like you’re off to a good start,” Blocker said. “I’m not sure what I can bring to the table.”

  “He’s right,” Parker interjected as loudly as he dared.

  “Your reputation in this type of litigation,” Greg said, shaking his head. “When the insurance company for the tavern sees your name on the pleadings, it will have a huge impact on settlement prior to trial.”

  “I appreciate the compliment, but I’m not in the business of attaching my name to a lawsuit solely for purposes of ginning up a settlement. I’m a lawyer, not a poster boy.”

  “Parker can tell you I’m not afraid of the courthouse,” Greg said, bristling.

  “That’s right,” Parker added.

  “And I’d want you to help try the case if it doesn’t settle,” Greg said.

  “I understand, but if I’m not a significant part of trial preparation, I’m not comfortable walking into the courtroom. Depending on another lawyer’s work, even if it’s top-notch, is outside my comfort zone. I have to live with a case to get the right feel for what will work when it’s time to stand in front of a jury.”

  “Of course,” Greg replied. “That’s acceptable.”

  Blocker was silent for a moment. “Parker, what do you think about the merits of the claim?” the trial lawyer asked.

  “Me?” Parker replied in surprise.

  “If we end up working together, I’m interested in your impressions of how best to proceed, especially as to the emotional side
of the case. You’re uniquely qualified to offer that perspective.”

  “Because of what happened to my parents?” Parker asked in shock.

  “Yes.”

  Blocker’s knowledge about Parker’s past was creepy. He shook his head in disbelief.

  “Go ahead,” Greg said. “Answer him.”

  “Uh, I believe we need to leave room for the jury to develop its own sense of outrage at the defendant without trying to oversell it. Their sympathies will be fully engaged five minutes into the opening statement, and I suspect the defense lawyer will try to crawl in the jury box with them and agree that a tragedy occurred while planting a few small seeds of doubt about liability. He’ll spend the rest of the trial watering those seeds.”

  “What is the most dangerous seed to the plaintiff in this case?” Blocker asked.

  “Did you read my memo?” Parker asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know about the empty beer cans the police found in the defendant’s vehicle. Walter Drew would have been drinking beer from a mug at the Calloway Club, which raises the question of when and where he got drunk. Could the bartender tell Drew was visibly intoxicated when he ordered the last round of drinks at the club or not? Or did Drew get drunk after leaving the bar?”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of that when I take the bartender’s deposition followed by Drew’s deposition,” Greg said.

  “And the depositions of as many of the patrons of the club as we can locate,” Blocker added. “Have you hired a private investigator to collect that information?”

  “Not yet,” Greg replied. “That’s on my to-do list for next week.”

  Parker doubted Blocker was fooled by Greg’s false answer. Immediately after their initial meeting with Chet Ferguson, Parker had suggested they hire an investigator while the evidence was fresh, but his boss dismissed the idea.

  “There’s a former police detective from Charlotte named Ken Williams who has worked a few dramshop cases for me in the past. He’d be my choice to help.”

  “It sounds like you’re in,” Greg said with a satisfied nod of his head at Parker. “How would you propose we split the costs and fees? We have the case on one-third contingency if it settles prior to trial and forty percent if it goes to trial.”

  “Before we get to those details, I have another precondition to my involvement.”

  Parker leaned forward to listen.

  “And it’s nonnegotiable,” Blocker continued.

  “What is it?” Greg asked, shifting in his seat.

  “I want Parker as my primary contact and liaison with your firm. If that’s agreeable then we can split the attorney fee fifty-fifty, and I’ll advance all the costs of litigation, assuming the client doesn’t have the financial capability to do so. We’ll also reduce the maximum potential fee to the client to one-third. I think forty percent is oppressive absent unusual circumstances that aren’t present here.”

  While Blocker talked, Parker watched another rapid range of emotions flash across Greg’s face. His boss’s face ended up red.

  “Why Parker?” Greg asked, glaring at his associate as if it were Parker’s idea.

  “My guess is that you’re snowed under, and even though this is a big case for your firm, it’s tough for you to consistently devote the time it deserves and needs.”

  “Even if that’s true, you’re busier than I am.”

  “How do you know that? At this point in my career, I’m very selective of the cases I accept, which keeps me from overcommitting my time and resources.”

  To actually hear a lawyer say what every lawyer dreamed of being able to do blew Parker away.

  “Half the attorney fee is a lot to ask when we’re the ones who brought in the case,” Greg said, moving to a different point.

  “How many dramshop cases have you tried to a jury?” Blocker asked.

  Greg paused before answering. “None.”

  “How many have you settled?”

  “None, but I’ve been in the six-figure range several times in other tort actions.”

  “But not several times a month and never over a million dollars, correct?”

  It was a humiliating beatdown, but Parker knew Greg had brought it on himself.

  “That’s true,” Greg replied.

  “I know it’s early, but what is your preliminary valuation of the claim?” Blocker asked.

  “Four hundred thousand,” Greg replied without hesitation.

  Parker wasn’t surprised at the quick response. Greg was always thinking about a case’s monetary value.

  “And that’s without the benefit of an economist to testify about the value of Jessica’s life or digging up and destroying the seeds of doubt Parker mentioned in his memo,” Blocker said.

  “You asked—” Greg retorted.

  Parker knew Greg was about to lose his temper, which might not be a bad thing, because a cocounsel arrangement with Thomas Blocker was not a good idea.

  “And you gave a reasonable answer,” Blocker interjected evenly. “I think we have a reasonable chance of recovering around eight hundred thousand. Given that valuation and my willingness to advance all expenses of litigation, can we agree on splitting the attorney fee fifty-fifty?”

  “Done,” Greg said so fast that he almost spit into the phone.

  “With Parker as my liaison.”

  “Yes, yes. You’re right about how busy I am. The tyranny of the urgent can overwhelm the important.”

  “Then I look forward to working with you on the case,” Blocker said. “I’ll send over a cocounsel agreement. Parker can arrange a time for me to meet with the client and obtain his consent to my involvement.”

  The call ended. Greg lowered the receiver and looked at Parker.

  “Well, what do you think?” he asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not really,” Greg said as he lifted one shoulder. “But I’m curious. Why would Blocker want you to be his primary contact with the firm?”

  Parker’s immediate thought was that the super-successful trial lawyer recognized his potential, but he doubted that was the idea at the front of Greg’s mind.

  “You tell me. You’re more experienced in dealing with other lawyers.”

  “It’s easy. He thinks he can manipulate you and do whatever he wants to do in the file. But there’s no way Blocker is going to squeeze me out of the best case in the office.”

  “Why bring him in in the first place if you’re not going to let him call the shots?”

  “He’ll call the shots when there’s a need for him to hit the target, but Ferguson is my client. I’m going to soak up everything I can from Thomas Blocker so that next time I have a big case like this, associating him as cocounsel won’t even pop up as a distant image on my radar.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Is that your lucky fishing hat?” Parker asked as he held open the car door for Layla.

  The photographer was wearing light blue shorts and a white top along with a multicolored floppy hat on her head.

  “If SPF 50 is lucky, then yes. I don’t mess with the sun.”

  Parker walked around the car and slipped behind the steering wheel. He didn’t start the engine.

  “Am I right that you like spontaneity?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Here’s your first surprise of the day. We’re going to have a stowaway on the boat this morning.”

  “A stowaway?”

  “Not exactly, but that made it sound more exciting than it is. My grandfather is going to join us. Don’t ask me how or why, but he manipulated the conversation when I called to borrow the boat into an opportunity for him to volunteer as our fishing guide.”

  “Does that mean he’s a better lawyer than you are?” Layla asked with a smile.

  “He won his case.”

  “Fine with me.” Layla sat back in her seat. “I’d like to meet him.”

  They left New Bern and turned onto a ramp for the bridge over the Neuse.

&n
bsp; “Do I need a fishing license?” Layla asked as they passed the city limits.

  “Yes, we always fish legally. We’re stopping at a bait-and-tackle shop along the way to take care of that and buy bait shrimp.”

  The windows of the car were cracked open and wisps of Layla’s blond hair kept whipping up and out before dropping back into the car and then making another circuit. They came to the bait store and pulled into the parking lot.

  While Parker selected the shrimp, a male clerk in his twenties meticulously explained the different types of fishing licenses to Layla.

  “You need one that includes saltwater species,” Parker said when he came up to the register.

  Layla swiped her debit card to pay for a license that the clerk printed out and handed to her.

  It was a clear, cool morning with low humidity, a rarity on the coast. The two-lane road took them southeast and parallel to the river that was out of sight a mile to the right.

  “Stop!” Layla called out. “Pull over!”

  Parker slammed on the brakes and turned the steering wheel so the car went onto the shoulder of the road.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Did you see that tree?” Layla said, pointing to the right.

  There was a small grove of stubby trees covered with scraggly leaves.

  “Which one?” Parker asked, mystified.

  “The interesting one. I’ll only be a second.”

  Layla grabbed her camera and got out. There wasn’t much traffic on the rural road, but Parker pulled farther onto the shoulder to be safely out of the way. Layla crouched down and pointed the camera through the limbs of a completely dead tree.

  “That was an amazing tree,” she said when she returned to the car.

  “It was dead.”

  “But not its shape.” Layla handed Parker the camera. “Scroll back about ten frames and see what I got.”

  Parker held the camera in front of him so he could see the photos.

  “Wow,” he said, stopping at the third one. “It looks like it’s reaching out with arms toward a cloud in the sky.”