The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(41)
Shit, Rick thought, glancing over to the edge of the highway, where Dawn’s expression registered the same thought. Shit...
At seventy-five years old, Ted Holt had been reconstructing accidents for fifteen years, which was a retirement gig after he had spent most of his life working for the Swift Trucking Company in Fort Worth, Texas. Rick had gotten to know Ted during Rick’s time clerking at Jones & Butler, as Holt was Jameson Tyler’s go-to expert in wheels cases. Rick remembered Jameson saying that Ted was “the best in the business”, and that the affable Texan could make a jury eat out of his hand.
When Holt had stepped out of his rental car to begin his inspection, looking ever the Texan with his jeans, plaid flannel shirt and black Stetson, Rick had smiled, knowing he’d gotten the jump on Tyler.
Now, though, none of that mattered.
“Honestly, Rick, I just can’t say,” Ted said, talking in his slow drawl. “At ninety-five yards, which is still in the dip, Bradshaw probably should’ve seen the rig. At a hundred and five yards, Bradshaw probably can’t see shit. But at a hundred–” Holt rubbed his chin “–it’s just too close to call. We’re talking a couple of yards and split seconds. I–” he scratched his head and walked out of the road as a car began to come towards them “–I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking the stand.”
Great. I’m sure you’ll feel comfortable depositing my two thousand dollars, Rick thought, taking a long sip of Sun Drop and trying to calm down.
But, as the sugar from the soft drink flooded his system, Rick knew he was being shortsighted. If Ted couldn’t give him a strong opinion, then he’d rather know that now than find out at trial after Tyler had torn him and Rick to shreds.
“I appreciate you shooting straight with me, Ted,” Rick managed.
Ted nodded, and Rick could tell he felt bad.
“If it makes you feel any better, I doubt Jameson will find anyone either.”
That did make Rick feel better. Sort of.
“Anyway,” Ted said, slapping Rick on the back. “Sorry I couldn’t help.”
Rick and Dawn stood in front of Rick’s Saturn as the last vestiges of sunlight began to dissipate, neither speaking. Like a punchdrunk boxer, Rick tried to steady himself from the blow of Holt’s unhelpful opinion. He knew he couldn’t afford another opinion. He’d have to try the case without an expert, and hope to hell that Holt’s prediction that Tyler would not be able to get one was correct.
Turning his head, Rick looked beyond Ms Rose’s store to the south, where miles and miles of farmland stretched across Henshaw County and into Marengo County. The Drake Farm was only three miles away.
Rick had hoped that, after a successful meeting with Ted Holt, he and Dawn could stop by the farm and tell his parents about his new case. It had been a long time since he’d had something good to share with them. They had both been so disappointed when Jones & Butler terminated his contract, especially Rick’s father. “Seven years of putting you through college and law school, and you blow everything we worked for in a matter of seconds,” Billy Drake had said, storming out of the house after Rick broke the news. Since then, Rick had barely talked with his father, and while his mother was more approachable, the sadness in her voice and eyes was difficult to take.
“How can y’all drink that?” Dawn finally asked, nodding at the plastic bottle in Rick’s hand.
“Sun Drop?” Rick said, unable to suppress his smile. “Are you kidding? How can you not?”
Dawn smirked. “There’s so much sugar...” She had barely taken three sips of hers, but, like a good sport, she’d tried to tough it out.
“So... what now?” she asked.
Rick looked into her brown eyes, thinking of the other night at her apartment. Things had been a little uncomfortable since then, neither of them quite knowing how to act around each other.
“Well,” Rick began, forcing his eyes away from her, “it looks like our case on liability will rest in the capable hands of Sheriff Jimmy Ballard. We’ll have to pump the speed angle, and not emphasize whether Bradshaw should have seen the rig. I just hope Ted is right about Tyler. If Tyler finds an accident reconstructionist and we don’t have one to cancel him out, that could hurt.”
Rick sighed as they both climbed into the Saturn. He pulled the car towards the exit onto Highway 82, and he hesitated, knowing that he could turn right and be at the farm in five minutes. His mother probably had a good dinner waiting with plenty for him and Dawn.
Shaking his head, Rick turned the wheel left. As they headed towards Tuscaloosa, he felt Dawn’s hand touch his forearm. “Hey,” she said, smiling. “I know that didn’t go like you hoped, but don’t forget about Wilma. Even without an accident reconstructionist or Rose Batson, and even if Dick Morris and Faith Bulyard turn out to be dead ends, we’ve still got Wilma.”
Rick couldn’t help but smile back at her. She was right. If Dewey Newton’s widow told the jury that her husband was forced to speed to meet his schedule and that she helped him fraudulently record his driver’s logs, then, combined with Sheriff Ballard’s testimony that Dewey was speeding, nothing else would matter. Wilma would be a lot more powerful than any hired-gun accident reconstructionist.
Rick nodded, feeling a deep sense of resolve. Softly, almost to himself, he repeated Dawn’s words.