The Professor (16 page)

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Simple. All I want you to do is to suddenly lose your memory when you get to trial. And I’m prepared to pay you a hundred thousand in cash for that amnesia. Fifty thousand now and the rest after the trial.”

“You want me to . . . lose my memory?” she asked, confused by the request.

“Yeah. Blow off Drake for any deposition. Keep telling him you’re too busy to talk. If he corners you, just be vague. Don’t agree to any more specifics. Just tell him you’ll testify to what you’ve already told him. Then, when called to testify, just forget the crucial stuff. The only thing you have to deny outright is helping Dewey rig the logs. Understand?”

Wilma nodded.

“Good. So, do we have a deal?”

Wilma shivered.
This is wrong
, she knew. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, she knew. Just as she had always known that Dewey’s driving schedule was wrong.
But where else am I ever gonna make this kind of money?

She took the whiskey bottle from Jack’s hand and cocked it back, feeling it burn the back of her throat.

She spilled some of the liquor down her chin, and Jack wiped it off with the back of his hand.

“Well?” he said.

Before she answered, she took another long sip and placed the bottle on the floor.

“Two hundred thousand,” she said. “Half now and half after trial. If I do what you say, I get the money regardless of how the trial goes. I shouldn’t be punished if y’all lose anyway.”

“Well, you little bitch,” Willistone said, laughing. “Are we negotiating?”

“Yes. I think I should get more for lying under oath. You bastards did run Dewey to death and you know it.”

Willistone crossed his arms, his eyes not leaving Wilma’s.

“Did we bring that much?” he asked, still looking at Wilma.

“Yeah, boss,” she heard JimBone say in the background.

“OK, Wilma. But before I agree to that, I’ve got a few extra conditions too.” His voice was cold. Mean. “We seem to have a disagreement about whether you’re lying or not when you say you don’t remember. I think saying you don’t remember is more truth than fiction, but you obviously don’t feel that way. So . . .” He leaned in closer, and Wilma already regretted asking for more money.
I am so stupid.
“If I’m paying for a lie,” Willistone continued, “I want the real McCoy. Instead of not remembering at trial, you’ve got to testify that the schedules were fine as far as you knew. That if anything, Dewey had a light load and needed more runs. Got it?”

“What about before trial?” she asked. She was trembling but couldn’t stop.

“Just stay away from the family’s lawyer. When he contacts you, tell him you’ll testify but that you don’t have time to talk with him. Put him off. If he does get to you, be vague and blow him off as fast as you can. Try to let him think that you are his star witness without giving him any more information. Then at trial you become our star. He calls you to the stand and you bury his ass.
Comprende
?”

She almost said she couldn’t do it. In fact, she wanted to say that. She wanted to just go back to the first deal he proposed. Not remembering would have been a lot easier.
But I can’t go back
,
she knew, thinking of when she had been thirteen on a weekend trip with her family, climbing to the third platform at Point Mallard Water Park in Decatur, Alabama. The third platform was the highest. When she got up there, she wanted to walk back down the ladder, but she couldn’t do it. She had to jump. She felt the same way now. She nodded her agreement to Willistone.

“All right, Wilma. Second condition. If you tell anybody about our arrangement or if you fail to carry out your end of the deal, then you’re dead, you hear me?”

He got close enough to where she could smell the whiskey on his breath. She again nodded.

“And your little girls. We won’t hesitate, Wilma. And that lady . . .” He snapped his fingers and closed his eyes. “What’s that old hag’s name, Bone?”

“Ms. Yost.”

“Ms. Yost too. We won’t hesitate, Wilma. Do you understand?”

Ms. Yost? The girls?
They knew all about her. And they would do it. She knew they would. She tried to maintain a poker face as she nodded, but she knew she was grimacing.

“And one more thing.”

He was closer now, and she could feel the whiskers of his face on hers.

“If you want two hundred thousand, you’re gonna have to give me some of this,” he whispered, moving his hand up under her G-string.

For a split second she almost tried to run. To scream. To do anything. Then she looked into Jack Willistone’s cold, hard eyes.

It’s no use
, she thought.
They’ll find me. Wherever I go
. . .
they’ll find me.

“Done,” she whispered back.

PART FOUR

32

Faith Bulyard lived at the end of a cul-de-sac off Rice Mine Road in Northport. The two-story home had a circle driveway and what looked to be a big backyard, though a privacy fence made it hard to see. Rick pulled up to the curb in front of the house and cut the ignition. It was 5:30 p.m., and though it was dark outside, the street lamps provided a nice view of the house. Rick could see several lights on inside the Bulyard home.

“Looks like somebody’s there,” Dawn said.

Rick nodded, feeling butterflies in his stomach. He needed this meeting to go well. Up to this point the day had been a total failure. Earlier that morning Rick had taken the deposition of Jack Willistone, the president of Willistone. Other than learning that Dewey Newton was headed to an Ultron station in Montgomery on the day of the accident, there had been no useful information disclosed. Ruth Ann’s deposition had also been taken, and though she was a sympathetic witness, there weren’t any points that Rick could score with her. Tomorrow Tyler would depose Rose Batson, which Rick knew wouldn’t be good for the home team. Rick had tried several times to talk with Ms. Rose again in the last month, but she’d blown him off each time, saying she’d already said her piece.

At least she answers her phone
, Rick thought. Faith Bulyard was clearly screening his calls. There was no telling how many times he had tried. Morning. Afternoon. Night. Both on the cell number he’d gotten from Hank Russell and on the home number that Dawn had found.

Rick had wanted to drop in on Ms. Bulyard sooner, but there just hadn’t been time. The last four weeks had been a blur. The morning after the meeting with Ted Holt, Rick had received a box of discovery from Tyler, which contained interrogatories, a request for production and one for admissions, all of which had to be answered within thirty days. While trying to answer all of Tyler’s discovery, Rick and Dawn also had to keep the four other files in his office going.

Finally, there was Wilma Newton. One of Tyler’s interrogatories had asked for the names of all witnesses who had knowledge of facts that would support the claims in the lawsuit. Rick had hoped to surprise Tyler with Wilma at trial, but the interrogatory left no wiggle room. Rick had no choice but to list her as a witness.

He’ll take her deposition
, Rick knew
.

“Hey, you OK?” Dawn asked, nudging Rick on the arm.

Rick took a deep breath. “Yeah, just a little nervous. I doubt this is going to go well.”

“We won’t know until we know,” Dawn said, opening her door a crack and then looking back at him. “Dropping in on Wilma turned out to be the right thing to do. Maybe this will too.”

Maybe
,
Rick thought, opening his own door and walking the cobblestone path toward the house.
But I doubt it.

A woman of about fifty answered the doorbell, looking suspiciously at Dawn and Rick.

“Can I help you?”

“Ms. Bulyard?” Rick asked, trying to sound as pleasant as possible.

“Yes.”

Rick sucked in a quick breath. “My name is Rick Drake and this is my law clerk, Dawn Murphy.”

Ms. Bulyard narrowed her eyebrows. “OK . . . oh . . .” Her eyes flickered as she looked from Rick to Dawn and then back to Rick. “You’re that lawyer who’s been calling.”

“Yes, ma’am. I was hoping you could give me those fifteen minutes now.”

Ms. Bulyard—who was a tall, athletic woman—looked behind her and then at her watch. “I really wish you had called. I was about to go to the gym, and I need to get back to fix dinner for the boys.”

“I did call, ma’am. I’ve called several times and left at least a dozen messages. Please, it will only take fifteen minutes.”

Ms. Bulyard turned her back on them, and for a minute Rick thought she was going to slam the door in their faces. Then she turned her head and motioned for them to follow. “Come on. Let’s go into the kitchen. I’ll make some coffee.”

Five minutes later the three of them were seated at a round table in the breakfast nook of Faith Bulyard’s kitchen. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled the room, and Rick breathed it in, beginning to feel better about the meeting. He heard footsteps and yelling upstairs, sprinkled in with laughter.

“Sorry for the noise,” Ms. Bulyard said. “The boys just got home from football practice and . . .” She sighed, smiling. “What can I say? They’re teenage boys.”

Rick smiled back at her. “No worries. I was a teenage boy not that long ago, and my mom still tells me I’m too loud in the house.”

Ms. Bulyard laughed and took a sip from her coffee cup. “So how can I help?”

Instead of explaining all of the background again, Rick chose to get right to the heart of it. “We met with Hank Russell over a month ago at the Ultron plant in Montgomery. Ultron’s lawyers were there, so I couldn’t really talk with him. He gave me his business card, and after we left the meeting we noticed that your name and cell number had been handwritten on the back. We thought he might be trying to help us and that you must know something about the accident that killed our client’s family or perhaps something else that might be relevant . . . like maybe the schedule that Willistone’s drivers were on.”

Ms. Bulyard held her coffee cup with both hands, gazing down at the dark liquid. After several seconds she sighed and looked back up. “What you have to understand is that Hank was sort of a mentor for my husband, Buck, who . . . died in the fire.”

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Rick offered.

“Thank you,” Ms. Bulyard said, drinking a sip of coffee. “Anyway, Hank was a few years older and had been with Ultron longer. When problems would arise, Buck liked to run them by Hank and get his take before he called the corporate brass.” She paused. “Buck talked with Hank about the Willistone . . . problem.”

“The Willistone . . .
problem
?” Rick repeated.

Ms. Bulyard nodded. “They were too good to be true. Once Buck signed the contract with Jack, deliveries picked up by twenty percent. Everything ran faster. We delivered gas faster and more efficiently than we ever had, which meant our clients were able to sell more gas and we made more money. The partnership with Willistone made Buck the most valuable plant president in the southeast. At that time the only Ultron plant in Alabama was in Tuscaloosa. The Montgomery plant was under construction, but it wasn’t a reality yet. Hank Russell was actually working at the Chattanooga, Tennessee plant at the time.”

Rick narrowed his eyebrows. “So working with Willistone was good for your husband and good for Ultron. How is that a problem?”

Ms. Bulyard took another sip of coffee. “Like I said, they were
too good
. Buck said he thought they were breaking DOT regulations. He had looked at some of the bills of lading and the times didn’t match up.”

“What do you mean?” Rick asked.

“When a Willistone driver picked up a load at the plant, he got a bill of lading. The bill had the pickup time stamped on it, and it also had the expected delivery time. So, let’s say we had to deliver gas to a Chevron station in Huntsville. It’s about three hours from Tuscaloosa to Huntsville, give or take fifteen minutes. Willistone would pick up the load and our loader would stamp the time on the bill as 1:00 p.m. and the delivery time might be 3:00 p.m.” She shrugged. “Well, that only gives the driver two hours to get there.”

“So . . . were they late a lot?”

Ms. Bulyard shook her head. “That’s just it.
They were never late.
Like I said, our clients loved Willistone because they were always on time.”

“Then how did . . . ?” Rick stopped, feeling his stomach constrict into a knot.

Ms. Bulyard smiled sadly. “How do you think?”

“They had to speed,”
Dawn piped up, her eyes wide as she looked at Rick.

Ms. Bulyard nodded. “Buck knew it and I’m pretty sure he told Hank about it. Buck thought we’d eventually get bitten by it and”—she gestured with her hands to Rick and Dawn—“I guess we did.”

Rick blinked his eyes, trying to process everything Faith Bulyard had just said. “So, according to Buck, it sounds like these bills of lading would have been very damaging evidence.”

“They would have been,” Ms. Bulyard said, shaking her head. “But now they’re gone.”

The fire
, Rick thought, also shaking his head. “Did you see any of the bills of lading that Buck was talking about? The ones where the numbers didn’t match up?”

Faith Bulyard shrugged. “I’m sure I did. That’s probably why Hank led you to me. My job was records custodian, so I always signed the bill when the loader brought it to record keeping.” She sighed. “I just never paid attention to the times. My signature reflected that we had received the bill and the delivery had gone out of the plant. It was purely a record-keeping function, and I never looked at the times. I . . . I didn’t have a clue what was going on until Buck told me.” She cut off, and her eyes welled with tears again.

“Would any of the gas stations have kept copies of the bills of lading?” Rick asked, feeling desperation kicking in.

“No. The driver would get a copy and we would keep the original. That’s it.” She shrugged. “You might see if Willistone has any of them, but I doubt they do.”

Rick had already asked Willistone in his request for production for bills of lading, and they did not have any. Also, since Newton’s rig had exploded in the accident, there was no hope of getting Dewey’s copy of the bill.

“Ms. Bulyard, do you have any personal knowledge beyond what your husband told you regarding the pickup and delivery times being too tight?”

She shook her head. “Just what Buck told me.”

Rick felt his spirits sink. If Faith Bulyard had any personal knowledge beyond what Buck had told her, then he could destroy Willistone and probably add Ultron as a defendant.
A conspiracy to make faster deliveries by forcing Willistone’s drivers to speed to make the load on time.
Combined with Wilma’s testimony and the evidence of Dewey Newton going eighty in a sixty-five, Ultron and Willistone would be begging for a multimillion-dollar settlement.
But with the documents gone and nothing beyond hearsay evidence
. . .

Rick sucked in a breath, knowing that Buck’s statements to Faith would not be considered hearsay if he sued Ultron.
Admission by party opponent
, Rick remembered, thinking back to the Professor’s Evidence class.
Buck was the president of the company. His comments to Faith would be an admission by party opponent, which by definition isn’t hearsay.
Then Rick felt his stomach tighten.
But they’d also be protected by the husband-wife privilege. If I sued Ultron based solely on Faith’s memory of what Buck told her, Faith could claim the privilege and kill the case.

“Is there anything else?” Faith asked, looking from Rick to Dawn. “I really need to get to the gym if I’m going to be back in time to make dinner.”

“Ms. Bulyard, if we sued Ultron for negligence, would you be willing to take the stand and tell a jury what your husband told you about the bills of lading?” Rick asked, feeling his heart racing in his chest.

Faith raised her eyebrows. “You want me to sell out my own husband so you can win a trial?”

“No. I want you to expose a conspiracy between two big companies that ended up killing my client’s family,” Rick said, his voice firm. “No way Hank Russell risks his job to help us. With the documents gone, you’re my client’s only hope of a jury hearing the truth. Please, Ms. Bulyard . . .”

“No,” Faith said, shaking her head. “I . . . I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Rick started to protest, but Dawn’s voice, hyper and high, cut him off.

“Ms. Bulyard, do you think Willistone or Ultron had something to do with the fire that destroyed the documents and killed your husband?”

Damnit
,
Rick thought, sensing an opportunity being lost as Faith’s face turned pink. “Don’t worry about that, Ms. Bulyard,” he said, shooting Dawn a hard look. “What we really need is—”

“I don’t give a damn about what you need,” Faith said, standing up from the table, her hands trembling with anger. She pointed a shaky finger at Dawn. “The fire marshal
ruled out
arson.” Then she turned to Rick and pointed at the door. “Your fifteen minutes are up.”