The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(64)
“Jameson Tyler for Willistone Trucking Company,” Tyler said, looking his typical best with a blue pin-stripe suit, white shirt, and baby-blue tie. Next to him sat another lawyer from Jones & Butler – a young guy. Jack Willistone, also wearing a dark suit, rounded out the defense table.
“Pre-trial motions?” the Judge asked, peering over the bench.
“Your honor, we have filed a motion in limine regarding the exclusion of any mention of the fire that destroyed the Ultron Plant on September 2, 2009,” Tyler responded. “The fire was ruled an accident by the Tuscaloosa Fire Marshal, and any mention of it would be irrelevant and highly prejudicial to the defendant.”
“We have no objection,” Rick said, knowing Tyler was right and not wanting to fight a battle he couldn’t win.
“OK, that’s easy. Granted. Are we ready to bring in the jury pool?’
“Yes, your honor,” Tyler said.
“Yes, sir,” Rick added. Here we go.
51
Faith Bulyard sat at Gate A22 on the Delta wing of the Birmingham International Airport. The plane wouldn’t board for another fifteen minutes, but she had ordered the boys to go to the bathroom. They had a long trip ahead of them.
Faith gazed down at the three tickets she held in her right hand, and she blinked back tears. Now that she was here, she was having a hard time controlling herself. She’d already taken two Xanax this morning, but she might have to take a Valium if the Xanax didn’t do any better. This is wrong, she thought. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Faith’s hands began to shake and she reached into her purse for the Valium. When she did, she heard the familiar beep showing she had a new text message. She opened the phone, and saw that the message had come from a number she didn’t recognize. There was a photo attachment, and Faith clicked on it without thinking.
When she saw the picture, she dropped the phone. A person sitting next to her reached down to pick it up.
“No!” Faith yelled, causing the person – an elderly black gentlemen – to jerk his hand back and look at her with wild, scared eyes. Faith grabbed the phone and pressed her face close to the screen. It was grainy, but what it depicted was unmistakable. Buck was on his knees and there was a man behind him. Underneath the photograph, the message was simple. “Hope you’re on that plane. Wouldn’t want this to get in the wrong hands...”
Faith closed out of the message, and covered her face with her hands.
“Flight 1432 to New York, now boarding,” came a female voice over the loudspeaker.
“Let’s go, Mom!” Danny yelled, bounding up to her with Junior right behind them. The boys grabbed their bags and got in line, but Faith couldn’t seem to make her feet work. As bad as that picture is, it’s just the tip of the iceberg. The video...
Faith cringed as she remembered the clipped telephone conversation she’d had with Jack Willistone after Rick Drake and Dawn Murphy had left her house. “You’re going to get a video delivered to your door in about an hour. I’ll give you another hour to watch... and digest it. Then I’ll call you.”
Faith had watched the video and seen the last vestiges of the life she’d perceived she had with Buck crumble in front of her. When the next call came, the message was even more to the point. “Unless you want your boys to know their daddy was a rope sucker, I suggest you never, ever talk with the lawyers you just met with again.” The phone clicked dead when Jack finished, and Faith had lived in fear ever since. Last week, the plane tickets came in an envelope with a handwritten note. “Unless you want the video to become public, I’d make plans to spend next week in New York.”
Now, here she was, doing exactly as she was told. This is wrong, she thought again. A bully never stops. Next, he’ll want money. Or sex... Faith remembered the way Jack had looked at her with a predatory gaze at a fundraiser a few years back. He won’t stop with money...
“Mom, let’s go!” Junior waved to her from the front of the line. Next to them, a clerk waited to take the tickets Faith still held in her hand.
Faith forced her legs to move forward. It didn’t matter. All she had now were her boys, and all they had of their father was their memory of him. I won’t ruin that for them. I don’t care what I have to do.
52
At 1pm, Judge Cutler pounded his gavel and motioned for his bailiff to usher the jury in. For the past three hours, Rick and Tyler had whittled a jury pool of thirty-six down to twelve. They had started with voir dire, where first Rick, then Tyler, got to ask the jury questions about their prior experiences with truckers, car accidents, lawsuits and whether any of them knew any of the lawyers or witnesses in the case. Then each side was allowed to strike from the pool twelve people for any reason except race. The result of the process was walking into the courtroom now.
Seven men. Five women. Rick had wanted more women than men, because he thought they’d be more sympathetic. Unfortunately, the pool was male-heavy, and Tyler was able to strike most of the women.
Fortunately, however, Tyler couldn’t strike all the jurors who knew either Rick or the Drake family. Sam Roy Johnson was a black man who owned an auto parts store on the west side of town and had played football with Rick’s father. Judy Heacock was a retired schoolteacher who had taught both his parents. Now they were both on the jury.