The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(50)
35
Rick sat on the dusty couch and sipped bad coffee from a paper cup. As was customary whenever he was nervous, he was fighting a queasy stomach and had already taken about four trips to the bathroom this morning. Now, though, in the living area of Ms Rose’s apartment at the back of the Texaco, there was nowhere to go. He’d have to suck it up and hold it in. He leaned forward, and looking down, noticed that his pants were showing leg between the cuff and his socks. Nice, Rick thought.
Sitting next to him, Jameson Tyler was the picture of cool. Charcoal suit, red power tie, crossed legs, not a single hair out of place. They were waiting for Ms Rose to take her leave from the front desk, which should be any minute.
Taking a deep breath, Rick reviewed his notes and prayed that Dawn or Powell would find Dick “Mule” Morris soon. Rick had called Wilma last night, and she had no memory of seeing any bills of lading. So, unless they found Mule Morris and Mule remembered the bills or Dewey Newton’s crazy schedule, all the information gained from Faith Bulyard would be useless.
Dawn was back at the office now, making phone calls and searching every corner of the internet while Powell had gone to the Crawfish Festival this morning. We’ll get him, Rick told himself, thinking of the trial date looming less than two months away. We have to.
The sound of foot patter jerked Rick’s eyes open and his stomach tightened. Seconds later, the door to the room opened, and Rose Batson stepped through, looking pissed off and ready to kick ass.
“All right, let’s get this over with. I got thirty minutes.”
“Ms Batson, let me show you what I’m going to mark as Defendant’s Exhibit A,” Tyler said, his voice gentle and deferential, two qualities that Rick could not conceive Jameson Tyler possessing. Give the man an Oscar, Rick thought, trying not to cringe as Tyler placed Ms Rose’s statement in front of her. Outside of Rick, Tyler, and Ms Rose, the only other person in the apartment was a striking blonde court reporter named Vicki. Vicki had set her stenograph machine on a coffee table in the living area.
“OK.” Ms Rose took the statement and glanced down at it. She was sitting in a worn La-Z-Boy, which Rick figured was the chair she watched TV in every night.
“Ms Batson, what is Exhibit A?”
“It’s the statement I wrote after the accident.” Ms Rose sounded firm but guarded. Her eyes viewed Tyler as if he might be a dangerous animal. Which, of course, he is, Rick thought.
“And would you please read it into the record, ma’am?”
Ms Rose took a pair of bifocals out of her shirt pocket and held the piece of paper in front of her. Then she read: “Walked outside to get a breath of fresh air. Saw eighteen-wheeler coming west on 82. Saw a Honda coming east. Honda put blinker on to turn on Limestone Bottom. Honda turned in front of the rig and trucker put on the brakes. When crash occurred, I was knocked out for a few minutes.” Ms Rose took off her glasses and looked up from the paper.
Tyler smiled. “And does what you just read fairly and accurately depict your memory of the accident?” Tyler continued, his voice remaining in that deferential tone that Rick had never heard before.
“I don’t remember much about the accident,” Ms Rose started. “I wrote this right after it happened and I didn’t have no reason to lie.”
Tyler crossed his legs and paused. “Ms Batson, you wrote Exhibit A shortly after the accident occurred, correct?”
“Yes, that’s what I just said.”
“And that’s your signature at the bottom of the page, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Ms Batson, your statement indicates, and I quote, ‘that the Honda turned in front of the rig and trucker put on the brakes,’ correct?”
“Right,” Ms Rose said, shooting Rick a glance. “That’s what I saw.”
“And I believe you’ve told me over the phone that the rig was just a hundred yards away from the Honda when the driver of the Honda started turning. Is that correct?”
Rick tensed, recognizing a setup question when he heard one. A sense of dread came over him.
Rose nodded. “Yes. There and abouts.”
“I have nothing further,” Jameson said, turning and smiling at Rick, as Rick’s dread intensified.
He has an expert, Rick thought, walking through the gravel to his car with his head down, anxiety pulsing through his veins. Why else would he ask her to confirm the distance? He talked to her before just like I did, and he’s found someone that will say that Bradshaw should’ve seen the rig. Rick felt a wave of nausea. If Tyler had an accident reconstructionist and he didn’t, then...
He hasn’t disclosed an expert yet. You could be reading too much into it.
Rick tried to shake off his anxiety, but it was impossible. He had known this deposition would be bad for his case, but he felt uneasy, as if he were missing something important.
He had almost reached his car when Tyler’s voice stopped him.
“See the Order setting trial, Rick?” Tyler asked, pointing his keyless entry device at the crimson Porsche parked next to Rick’s Saturn. The court reporter, Vicki, was walking next to him.
“June 7,” Rick said.
Tyler put his file in the Porsche, bent over, and started the car, while Vicki walked around the vehicle and opened the passenger side door. Rick had not realized they had ridden together.