The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(83)

“Your honor, may I approach?” Tyler asked, walking past Dawn to the bench. He was smiling but his face had gone pale. The Professor was right. He’s got no comeback, Dawn thought.

“We’d ask that you strike Ms Murphy’s answer for being unresponsive,” Tyler said, his voice hurried and frustrated. “Her comments about me are clearly irrelevant.”

The Professor cleared his throat, smiling. “Your honor, I objected when counsel started down this road on the basis of relevance, and you overruled my objection.” He paused, and his smile vanished. “Respectfully, Judge, Mr Tyler asked for the tongue-lashing he just received. The witness’ testimony should stand.”

Cutler hunched his shoulders and looked down at the bench, then back at Tom. “You’re saying he opened the door to it.”

Tom nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Cutler turned to Tyler. His gaze was unsympathetic. “I agree with the Professor... er... Mr McMurtrie. The witness’ testimony will not be stricken. Move on to something else, Counselor.”

Jameson Tyler blinked, but he didn’t say anything. He looked at Dawn and then back to his own counsel table, where his associate looked like he’d tasted something bad.

“I...” Tyler stammered and grabbed the index finger of his right hand. He looked at the jury and smiled. He’s got nothing, Dawn thought.

“... have no further questions.”



Rick was stunned. That’s it? He got nothing. Plus, Dawn made him look like a bully.

“Re-direct, Mr McMurtrie?” Cutler asked, looking at the Professor, who had just made it back to the table.

“No, your honor.”

“OK, then, the witness is excused.”

Dawn stood and walked past the counsel tables. She kept her eyes straight ahead, not looking at Rick or Tom, and Rick felt a pang in his heart. She doesn’t want the jury to see her smiling at us, Rick knew. Still, he couldn’t help but feel sad. Am I gonna see her again?

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Cutler said, once Dawn had exited the double doors in back of the courtroom, “we are going to take a one-hour lunch recess. Please report back to the jury room at 1 o’clock.”

Rick was out of his seat the minute Cutler’s gavel hit the bench. Please still be here, he thought, bursting through the doors and looking in both directions for Dawn. When he saw her standing next to Powell, relief flooded his body.

“Hey...” Rick started to say, but Powell cut him off.

“Dude, you’re not going to believe this,” Powell said, thrusting a sheet of paper in front of Rick. Rick looked at Dawn, but she was pointing at the page.

“You have to read it,” she said, her eyes wide with excitement.

Rick looked down. The top of the page had the blue and red logo of Ultron Gasoline. Underneath the logo, the title of the document read “Bill of Lading”. It was dated September 2, 2009. There were six columns underneath the title. Cargo: 9,000 gallons. Loaders: Carmichael, Morris. Driver: Newton. Location: Montgomery. Time of delivery: 11am. Time of pickup: 9.57am.

All of the information on the document was typed except the time of pickup, which was stamped. The stamp was red, so the document had to be original.

“Where did you get this?” Rick asked, looking up at Powell.

“Doolittle Morris came by the courthouse this morning and gave it to me. Said he found it in Mule’s Bible, where Mule kept important documents.”

“Holy shit,” Rick said, looking at Dawn. “Mule never mentioned he had the actual bill of lading, did he?”

She shook her head. “He never said he had any documents, but... didn’t he say he might send you something in the mail?” She smiled. “A little extra butter...”

“...on the bread,” Rick finished, slapping his hands together. “You’re right!”

“What’s wrong?”

Rick turned at the sound of the voice, and the Professor was standing behind him.

“I think we just found the smoking gun,” Rick said, handing the document to Tom. The Professor reviewed it quickly and his eyes widened.

“Holy... shit.” Tom said, whistling.

Rick laughed. “I know.”

“It’s no good to us if we can’t put a witness on the stand to authenticate it.” Tom said, his voice sober. He looked up and turned the document around, so Rick could see it. “We’ll need to find the records custodian, and... we’ll need to find her fast.”

Tom pointed to the bottom of the page, where, in smaller font than the rest of the document, was the following sentence. “I certify that I received this bill on the date above.” Underneath the sentence was a signature line, below which was the typed title “Records Custodian”. Above the line was a signature, written in blue, original ink. The handwriting wasn’t great, but Rick could make it out. Even if he couldn’t have read it, he knew who it was. Who it had to be.

She told us, Rick remembered. She signed every one of them.





73


Faith Bulyard sat on a stone bench in Central Park, eating a Mickey Mouse creamsickle and watching the boys throw the football. It was a beautiful, but hot, summer day in New York, and Faith could feel sweat bubbling in her belly button underneath her tank-top shirt. Every so often, out of habit, she’d reach into her front pocket for her cell phone, but it wasn’t there.