The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(102)

“Yeah.”

Rick paused, feeling emotion building in his chest. He was so tired. “I just wanted to thank you. I...” Rick wanted to say more, but he couldn’t find the words. “...thank you,” he repeated.

Tom winced as he straightened himself in the chair. He couldn’t move without feeling pain in his groin and abdomen, and he’d just pissed more blood in the bathroom. He, too, was exhausted and badly needed to see a doctor. But he wouldn’t leave Rick to wait for the jury alone. He’d come too far to abandon ship now. He looked into the boy’s eyes, knowing what was on the line for him. Knowing this twenty-six year-old kid, a year out of law school, had gone toe to toe with Jameson Tyler and had been willing to go the distance alone. “No thanks necessary, Rick. You got guts, son,” Tom said. “Guts and balls. What you have, a person can’t teach. That’s why I referred you this case. This case needed passion. It... needed you.” Tom winced again.

“Are you OK, Professor? Do you feel...”

“You boys gonna kiss?” It was Tyler. He had walked over and now stood in front of them, smiling weakly. It was the first time he’d spoken or moved since they had come out in the hallway.

“Hell of a job, men. Hell of a job,” Tyler said. “Not bad for your first trial, Rick. And Professor...” Tyler smiled, shaking his head. “Looks like the old bull still has a little gas in the tank.”

“A little, Jamo. Enough to whip your ass.” For a moment, the two men looked at each other. Then Tyler extended his hand. “I know it doesn’t matter now, but I’m sorry about what happened with the Board.”

Tom stood, but did not extend his hand. “You’re right, Jamo,” he said, looking down on his former friend. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Tyler’s face turned a bright shade of pink. It looked like he was about to say something else, but he never got a chance. At that moment, the doors to the courtroom swung open, and the bailiff stepped through, an anxious look on his face.

“They’ve reached a verdict.”





91


The courtroom was again filled to capacity. Apparently, the people who had left when the jury was given the case had stuck around, hoping the case might be decided that evening. The courtroom was literally buzzing with electricity, as the spectators talked amongst themselves. The excitement was palpable.

Judge Cutler banged his gavel, and the buzz came to a halt. In seconds, the courtroom was silent as a church.

“Mr Foreman,” Cutler bellowed. “Has the jury reached its verdict?”

In the back right corner of the jury box, Sam Roy Johnson stood, holding a single piece of paper in his right hand. “Yes, we have, your honor.”

“What says the jury?” the Judge asked.

Tom placed his elbows on the table and watched Sam Roy. The last time Tom had heard a verdict read was June 20, 1969, three weeks before his breakfast with the Man. If anything, his adrenaline was pumping harder now that it had then. There is no feeling in the world like this, Tom thought, savoring it and knowing in his heart that they had done all they could do. We left it on the field.

Next to Tom, Rick leaned forward, gripping the photograph of the Bradshaw family in his pocket. Please God, give this family justice. Taking the photograph out of his pocket, he placed it in Ruth Ann’s hand and clasped hers with his. In this moment – the biggest moment of his life – Rick thought not of himself or his career. He thought only of the family in the picture. The young father and mother, not much older than Rick, who’d had their entire future and life shattered in the blink of an eye. The two-year old little girl who should’ve had a long, wonderful life, but instead burned to death in a Honda Accord. And, finally, the grandmother who’d had the strength and courage to go the distance. Not for money or greed, but for the truth. Tears burned Rick’s eyes. All he could do now was pray... and listen.

Sam Roy Johnson cleared his throat.

“We the jury of the Circuit Court of Henshaw County, Alabama hereby find for the Plaintiff, Ruth Ann Wilcox, as to all claims against the Defendant Willistone Trucking Company and award her the total sum of...

“...$90 million dollars...”





92


There were a lot of hugs. Once Judge Cutler dismissed the jury, Rick hugged Ruth Ann, and Tom joined in for a group hug, kissing Ruth Ann gently on the cheek. Then Billy Drake came over and grabbed Rick in a bear hug. “I’m so proud of you, son.”

Rick was in utter shock. $90 million dollars?

When the verdict was read, there had been a collective, audible sigh from the courtroom. Sam Roy Johnson had gone on to read the jury’s allocation, which was $30 million for Bob Bradshaw’s death, $30 million for Jeannie Bradshaw and $30 million for little Nicole, but it was hard to hear due to the rustling in the courtroom. All of the reporters had headed for the double doors at the same time, each wanting to be the first to break the news.

Now, it was a madhouse. People Rick didn’t know were slapping him on the back, and the Professor was engulfed in a sea of the same. It was overwhelming and wonderful. But not complete. There was still someone else Rick wanted to see. Where is she? Rick stood on his toes and searched the crowd, still not seeing her. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned.

“Looking for someone?” Dawn smiled, though her eyes were red with tears. “Congratulations, Rick. You really deserve–”