The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(65)

My jury, Rick thought, nodding at Sam Roy as he sat down in the front row. Rick was beginning to understand why the Professor had recommended him. I may not have the experience or the talent to hang with Tyler, he reasoned, but I do have the home field advantage. No one likes playing the Packers at Lambeau, and that’s what this is gonna be like for the Big Cat. Instinctively, Rick glanced over at the defense table, and the smug look on Tyler’s face seemed to say that this was the perfect jury – exactly the twelve people Tyler wanted. Whatever, Rick thought, knowing that Tyler was just following one of the Professor’s mantras. Never let them see you sweat.

Rick glanced out in the galley and caught the eye of Powell, who was taking off work this week to help Rick with the trial. Powell nodded and gave the thumbs-up sign.

Rick nodded back, feeling his stomach twist into a knot. He had practiced two versions of his opening statement – one with Wilma in it and one with her out – and he still wasn’t sure which one he was going to use. Last night, Wilma had texted Rick, saying she couldn’t miss more than one day of work and asking which day she was going to testify. The request was reasonable – most witnesses didn’t want to sit at the courthouse more than a day – but it still made Rick queasy. What if she doesn’t show?

After trying to call her several times and getting no answer, Rick texted back, telling her to be at the courthouse Tuesday morning and to bring the signed affidavit with her.

Now, the time was at hand, and he had to make his call. Trust your gut, Rick thought, remembering the Professor’s advice and knowing he must follow it.

“Are you OK?” Ruth Ann asked.

Rick looked at her, but, before he could answer, Judge Cutler banged on the bench with his gavel

“Counsel, are we ready for opening statements?” the Judge asked.

“Yes, your honor,” Tyler said, rising and buttoning his coat.

Rick felt goosebumps break out on his arm. What’s it gonna be, Drake?

“And is the plaintiff ready?” Judge Cutler cut his eyes to Rick, who couldn’t seem to make his feet work. You have to choose.

“Mr Drake?” Judge Cutler said, leaning over the bench. “Are you ready to give your opening statement?”

“Yes, your honor,” Rick finally said.

“OK,” Judge Cutler said, gesturing to the jury. “Please proceed.”

Rick slowly stood and buttoned his coat. “May it please the court,” he began. “Your honor... Counsel...” Rick gestured at both the Judge and Tyler before facing the jury box.

“Members of the Jury...”



“...and finally–” Rick paused; he had saved the best for last “–you’re going to learn that Dewey Newton’s driving schedule was crazy. You’re going to learn that he was put on a schedule that forced him to speed. These people–” Rick pointed at the defense table with malice and glared at Tyler, then back at the jury “–gave Dewey Newton no choice but to lay the hammer down. On September 2, 2009, Dewey Newton wasn’t going 80 in a 65 because he wanted to. He wasn’t going fifteen miles over the speed limit just because he was negligent. No, ladies and gentlemen, it goes much deeper than that. You’re going to learn that Dewey Newton had to speed.” Rick paused, making eye contact with Sam Roy Johnson. Then Judy Heacock. “After you have seen all the evidence and heard all the testimony, I am confident that you will find that this case is not just about an accident. This case is about greed. Willistone Trucking Company forced their driver to break the law in order to make a delivery, and their negligent and wanton behavior killed three innocent people.” Rick again paused, letting it sink in. Then he nodded his head. “Thank you.”

He walked back to his table and sat down. He had sweat through his shirt, but he knew no one could tell because he had his jacket on. That was OK, Rick thought, knowing it was better than OK. He had managed to plant the seed of the conspiracy without technically committing Wilma to the stand. He couldn’t prove any of what he’d said without Wilma, so he knew he would have to call her. But by not mentioning her by name, the damage wouldn’t be as bad if she flaked on him. Somehow, on the fly and in the heat of the moment, he had found middle ground.

Rick turned his head and Powell’s beaming grin let him know all he needed to know. He had nailed it.

Maybe I am cut out for this shit after all.





53


Jimmy “Specks” Ballard had been the sheriff of Henshaw County for eighteen years. The physical feature that you could not escape when you looked at Sheriff Ballard was the freckles that covered almost every square inch of his face. He had been called “Specks” for the first time by Coach Silas Mooney in the seventh grade, because his face looked like it was covered with specks of dirt, and the nickname had stuck. Around Henshaw, most folks addressed him as either “Specks” or “Sheriff Specks”. All except Rose Batson, who thought it was a mean name, and rode Coach Mooney to the day he died about it every time he came in her store.

As the sheriff strode into the courtroom Tuesday morning to be sworn in, Rick tried to contain his excitement. Judge Cutler had adjourned yesterday after Tyler’s opening, which had predictably focused on Rose Batson’s statement and his accident reconstructionist’s expert testimony. Now it was time for Rick to put on his case, and he had always known his first witness would be the Sheriff. “Hit first and hit hard” had been the Professor’s mantra and Rick was leading off with the strongest part of the case. Newton’s speed.