The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(62)

“Professor... thank you for the advice, but...” he sighed.

“But what?” Tom asked.

“I know it’s pretty late in the day to be asking, but...” Rick paused, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do. “Will you try this case with me?”





47


“No,” Tom said, hating himself the minute the words were out of his mouth. He stood and turned his back on Rick, gazing into the kitchen where the table of unopened mail seemed to glare back accusatorily at him. I can’t, Tom thought. I’m too old, too sick and I don’t have time to get prepared.

“Why?” Rick asked, and Tom could hear the disappointment in the boy’s voice. “Didn’t you hear me? I really need–”

“No, you don’t,” Tom interrupted, turning around to face Rick. “I wouldn’t have referred this case to you if you weren’t ready. You’ve lived and breathed this case for half a year. You have a difficult decision to make, and I can’t tell you the way to go. You have to choose. Even if I were to say yes, it doesn’t change the Wilma Newton dilemma. You have to trust your gut and make that call. I would just be a distraction. If the Tuscaloosa News or the television stations got wind of it, they could turn the trial into a circus. You don’t want that and neither do I.”

“You’re really saying no,” Rick said, still not believing it.

“You don’t need me,” Tom said. “I...” He started to mention the cancer, but stopped himself.

“If I didn’t need you, I wouldn’t have come here,” Rick said, brushing past Tom towards the kitchen. “I wouldn’t have banged on your door at 6 in the morning. That’s a copout, Professor, and you know it.”

Rick stopped when he reached the door to the kitchen. “What are you doing here, Professor?” He slowly turned, and his eyes burned with anger. “Seriously? You get run off by the law school and you split town? The school puts their spin on everything and you don’t say anything? What’s that all about?”

Tom again fought the urge to say something about his health.

“You once told our trial team that if we ever needed anything once we got out in practice that you would be there.” Rick’s voice cracked. “You’re a liar, Professor.”

“You’ve asked too much, son. You want me to try a case with you three days before the trial starts. Have you lost your mind?”

“You’re a liar, old man,” Rick repeated, ignoring Tom’s response. “And I’ve seen those photographs you’re talking about. The wet T-shirt ones. And you’re right. They do look bad.”

Tom froze. To his knowledge, the photographs hadn’t been put in the newspaper. “How...”

Rick laughed bitterly. “Oh, I haven’t told you the best part. The defense lawyer for Willistone showed me those photographs. I guess he noticed Dawn working for me and recognized her. He got a real charge out of showing them to me, calling Dawn your whore and telling me that the only reason you referred the case to me was to see me fail. I mean, why else refer a multiple fatality wrongful death case to a kid nine months out of law school?”

“Who?” Tom asked, already knowing the answer.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Rick said. “I’ve sent you a copy of every pleading in the case.”

“Say it,” Tom said, his voice stifled by anger.

Rick smirked, opening the door, and Tom lunged forward, grabbing his arm. “Say it, you sonofabitch.”

“Isn’t this how we got in all this trouble to begin with?” Rick asked, looking down at his arm. “Aren’t I supposed to punch you now? Where are the YouTube cameras when you need them?”

Tom let go of Rick’s arm, and glared at the boy. “Say it,” he repeated.

“Tyler,” Rick said, stepping back out of the open door. “The defense lawyer is Jameson Tyler.”





48


Rick squealed his tires as he sped out of the driveway, but Tom wasn’t watching. He had already knocked all of the mail off the kitchen table and now was on his knees, going through the letters and packages from Rick that he had ignored for months. It didn’t take him too long to find what he was looking for.

Willistone’s answer to the complaint was almost twenty pages long, denying all claims and asserting a number of affirmative defenses, including contributory negligence. Tom quickly turned to the last page and put his finger on the signature line. His stomach instantly turned to acid.

“Jameson R. Tyler, attorney for the defendant.”

“Son of a bitch,” Tom cursed, throwing the answer across the room. He leaned against the table, feeling dizzy. He wasn’t supposed to do much the day after a treatment, and he felt sick to his stomach. The room began to spin.

“Fuck!” he screamed, shaking his head and beginning to pace the kitchen floor. That sonofabitch, Tom thought, remembering Jameson’s words after the mock trial: “Good luck with finding her someone. I’ll pray that whoever it is doesn’t have to face me.”

Tom’s entire body shook with anger. I told him everything. Described the whole f*cking case and mentioned I was thinking of referring it to Drake. He probably laughed his ass off when this case came in. Tom bit his lip so hard that it bled. He showed Rick the photographs and called Dawn my “whore”. Tom punched the cabinet above the microwave so hard that his fist went through the wood with a loud crash, sending splinters everywhere.