The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(33)

Wilma didn’t immediately answer, taking a sip of her coffee.

“You’re gonna sue Willistone, aren’t you? Regardless of what I say, you’re gonna sue them.” Wilma’s voice was calm, even. Her eyes went from Rick to Dawn and then back to Rick.

“We’ve already sued them,” Rick answered, maintaining eye contact with Wilma.

“Ms Newton,” Dawn said, putting her arm around her. “Our client lost her whole family – just like you did, except imagine if the wreck had taken your girls too. She wants answers. She wants to know why this happened.”

“It was an accident. Accidents happen,” Wilma replied.

“His schedule, Ms Newton? Was it hard for him to meet? “ Rick again asked. Come on, lady.

Wilma Newton took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. She thought back to that terrible night in the hospital. Having to sign that form. Putting an end to her husband’s misery.

“Yes,” she finally answered, looking Rick right in the eye. “He had a hard time meeting his schedule. There was usually not much time to spare.” None, more like it.

“Do you remember whether he was running late the day of the accident?” he asked. “Tell us about that morning.”

“I don’t remember a whole lot. He got up pretty early and left, that’s about it.” She stopped. Why am I protecting those bastards? They were real nice at the funeral and all. “We’re so sorry for your loss, Ms Newton. Dewey was a fine trucker for us and a good man. We want to help you, and we’ll be in touch.”

But they hadn’t been in touch. Wilma hadn’t heard so much as a peep from the company since the funeral. Willistone left me and my girls high and dry. No help. No nothing.

She sighed, and took a sip of coffee. Fuck ’em, she thought.

“Anything he said, anything at...”

“Look, what did you say your name was again?” Wilma interrupted.

“Rick.”

“OK then, Rick, you want to know about Dewey’s schedule? Well, it was crazy. Not just that day, but every day. Dewey would drive twenty straight hours at times just to keep up. He knew that was more than the law allowed – he told me – but the company didn’t care. Jack Willistone inspected the driver’s logs himself every week, making sure that whatever was on the logs was compliant with DOT regulations, regardless of how many hours were actually driven. Dewey was so terrified of Jack, a lot of times he asked me to help him fill out his driver’s logs so it looked like he was under ten hours. Dewey also got a couple of speeding tickets in the months before he died. He was pissed about ’em, but he said he didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t speed, no way he could make the load on time.” Wilma sighed. “He wanted to quit. He even filled out his notice, but I–” she breathed deeply, her bottom lip trembling with anguish “–but I wouldn’t let him turn it in. The money was so much better than he could’ve made anywhere else.” She stopped and put her face in her hands.

“How could they get away with doctoring the driver’s logs?” Rick asked. “Aren’t they inspected by–”

“DOT?” Wilma interrupted, her voice dripping with bitterness. “Jack Willistone has all the local and state DOT inspectors in his back pocket. He also has an in with the Alabama State Troopers’ office. Dewey said Jack was Teflon.” Wilma glared at Rick. “He’s been getting away with this shit for years.”

There was a pause, and Wilma saw Rick glance at his pretty partner. Then he returned his eyes to Wilma.

“Ms Newton, would you be willing to tell a jury what you just told us?”

Wilma folded her arms. Persistent bastard. Not sure I’d call him a jackass, though. Just doing his job. “I don’t know,” she said, looking down at her cup. “I’d really rather not get involved.”

“I understand that, ma’am,” Rick started, “but you may be the only person who can explain why Dewey would’ve been speeding the day my client’s family died. The day Dewey died. If Jack Willistone has the DOT and State Troopers’ office in his pocket, then no one there is going to be able to help. And I doubt any of his current employees are going to spill the beans.” Rick paused. “But you could. You could pull the net over his whole operation. Forcing employees to falsify driver’s logs is a federal crime. Not only could you give my client justice, but you could help put Jack Willistone where he belongs – in prison.”

Wilma continued to gaze at the coffee cup, remembering Dewey’s anguished face the day he tore up his notice. The resigned look in his eyes. He knew it was just a matter of time, she thought. Then she thought of the hours after she left the hospital, holding her girls as they cried their eyes out. “Daddy can’t be dead. He can’t be. No. No. No.” Wilma looked up from the coffee cup, first at Dawn and then at Rick Drake. Slowly, she nodded her head.

“OK,” she said. “I’ll do it.”





23


Through the windshield of his El Camino, he watched them talk, knowing that he was too late. He’d already run the plates on the Saturn – he had friends everywhere, including the Alabama State Troopers’ office – and confirmed what his instincts had already told him. The car belonged to Richard Drake. It seemed the plaintiff’s lawyer and his hot-to-trot assistant were having a heart-to-heart with Ms Newton.