The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(87)

As Judge Cutler banged his gavel to announce a break, Jack, as graceful as possible, stood from the table and walked out the double doors of the courtroom into the lobby. He dialed the first number before the doors closed behind him.

It was time to circle the wagons.





77


Tyler’s accident reconstructionist, Eugene Marsh, was the next witness for the defense. Marsh’s testimony was short, sweet and effective. Based on Rose Batson’s testimony that the rig was a hundred yards from the intersection of Limestone Bottom Road and Highway 82 at the time the Honda began its turn, Bob Bradshaw should’ve seen the rig and not pulled out in front of it. Even with Newton’s speed, Bradshaw caused the accident by pulling into the intersection.

Rick could barely watch. When Ted Holt told him that it was impossible to say whether Bradshaw could’ve seen the rig, Rick had doubted that Tyler could find an expert.

Never doubt Jameson Tyler, Rick thought, ashamed that he hadn’t at least tried to get someone else once Tyler disclosed Marsh. I didn’t have the money, Rick pointed out to himself. He could’ve disclosed Holt, but what would that have accomplished? Tyler’s hired gun says it’s our fault and our guy’s not sure. Win for Tyler.

Rick sighed and glanced down at his phone. He had turned the volume to silent, but the screen showed no missed calls or texts. Faith Bulyard still hadn’t responded, and it was getting late in the day. She has to have heard my messages by now, he reasoned. Neither Powell nor Dawn had texted either, so they must not be having any luck. We have to find her, Rick thought, squeezing his hands together. We have to.

As Tyler smiled and said, “No further questions,” Rick turned around, hoping he might see a smiling Powell or Dawn walking through the double doors. Instead, all he saw was a mass of people.

The galley was now completely full, and there were a few people standing near the back. What’s going on? Rick wondered. Though this was his first jury trial, he knew that most trials were not attended by an audience. Several of the faces looked familiar. Law students that he’d seen roaming the halls, one of whom nodded at him. There was also Professor Burbaker, who taught property law, and Albert Sweden, the Cumberland Law School trial team coach. Rick even thought he saw the judge from Birmingham who came down in the fall to judge one of their practice trials.

This is crazy, Rick thought, turning around as the Professor strode towards Eugene Marsh.



This is crazy, Tom thought, genuinely shocked by the crowd that had filled the Henshaw County Courtroom. But it wasn’t just the number of people – it was who they were. Judge Art Hancock sat in the third row from the front. The Cock was looking sporty with a golf shirt and khaki pants. He also wore a smile, winking at Tom and shooting him a thumbs-up. Next to him sat Rufus Haynes, who wore a suit a size too small and had his arms crossed. Rufus nodded at Tom and mouthed, “Kick his ass,” pointing at Tyler. Tom forced himself not to smile.

There were numbers of others he recognized. Former students. Professors, both current and former, including Will Burbaker, who last saw Tom doubled over the sink in the men’s room. Dean Lambert was there, but he averted his eyes when Tom glared at him. There was also a line of reporters, including the young lady who interviewed Tom the day he was forced out.

The best, though, standing at the very back of the courtroom and leaning his six-foot-four-inch frame against the double doors, was Bocephus Haynes. Bo eyed Tom, then his mouth broke into a humorless smile. It was the smile of a predator whose prey was near. “I’m always around,” Bo had said, and he had meant it. Tom nodded at his friend, and Bo gestured to the witness stand. Then he formed a zero with the index finger and thumb of his right hand. This morning, Tom had called Bo with one final assignment. And, as usual, Bo had delivered.

Let’s do this, Tom thought, turning towards Eugene Marsh and feeling the energy in the room.

They’re here to see me, he told himself. Some want me to fail. Some want me to succeed. And some are just curious. But they’re here to see if this old dog has anything left. Tom felt a twinge of pain in his abdomen. I’m overdoing it, he thought. In the bathroom during the last break, he had seen a trickle of blood. He knew he should call Bill Davis, but now wasn’t the time. Now it’s time to kick ass. Tom took a deep breath. Calm... slow... Andy...

“Mr Marsh,” Tom said, his voice booming to the back of the courtroom. “Your opinion came with a price today, didn’t it?”



Tom spent fifteen minutes covering every aspect of Marsh’s payment arrangement with Jameson Tyler and the Jones & Butler firm. Marsh was making $300 an hour and had already collected $20,000 prior to the trial starting. He stood to make $10,000 for his testimony today.

“So you’re giving a $30,000 opinion, correct, Mr Marsh?” Tom made eye contact with Sam Roy Johnson, who made a whistling gesture with his mouth. It was an obscene amount of money for an expert.

“That’s how much I charge, yes.”

“Now, Mr Tyler contacted you through the National Trucking Association, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You are one of the Association’s recommended experts, right?”

“I... guess.”

“And that’s because all you do is testify for trucking companies, correct?” Tom asked, looking out at Bo, who nodded.