The Professor (31 page)

80

Faith was surprised when she heard her cell phone ringing.
When did I turn it back on?
she wondered, sitting up from the bed and wiping the sleep from her eyes. She gazed at the bedside table, confused it wasn’t where she had left it.

“Boys, where’s my—?”

“Here,” Danny said, bringing it to her. He and Junior were busy playing the in-room Wii, which was one of the amenities this hotel had to offer. “I turned it on to see if it had any games, but they all sucked.”

Faith’s heart caught in her chest.
He’s been in my phone
, she thought
. Could he have seen the texts from Jack?
Suddenly alert, she looked at Danny but saw no signs of agitation or anxiety.
All he did was check the games.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” he asked as the phone rang for the third time. “You need to check your messages too. You have, like, ten.”

Faith barely processed Danny’s last comment as she pressed the answer button.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Faith.” Jack Willistone’s familiar voice chilled Faith’s entire body.

“What do you want?” Faith asked.

“I want to confirm that you’re in New York, where you should be. In thirty seconds I’m going to call the hotel where I told you to stay. If you don’t answer, then all the videos of Buck the gay porn star get released.”

The phone clicked dead in her hand, and Faith shook with anger.
Who does he think he is?

Thirty seconds later the in-room phone began to ring, and Faith picked up. “Satisfied?”

“Very,” Jack said, chuckling. “Has anyone contacted you regarding the trial in Henshaw County?”

Something Danny had just said tickled at Faith’s brain, but she couldn’t remember it.

“No. I haven’t heard anything.”

“You promise?”

“Yes. Why? Why the hell are you so worried about me anyway? I told you all I did was stamp documents and store them. I don’t remember anything, and all the documents burned in the fire.”

“Just covering all my bases, Faith dear. No one has contacted you, correct?”

Faith heard a loud beeping sound and she looked at the cell phone on her bed. The light had come on, and Faith glanced down at it. The voice message symbol had “10” next to it, and she also had three text messages and twenty missed calls.
What the hell?

“I haven’t spoken to anyone,” Faith said, still gazing at the phone.

“Good,” Jack said, and Faith heard what sounded like relief in Jack’s voice.
What’s going on?
“If someone does call, you call me immediately, you understand? Your sons’ memory of their father depends on it.”

“I know what’s at stake.”

“You better.”

When the phone clicked dead, Faith grabbed the cell phone and held her finger over the voice mail notice.

“Mom, we’re hungry,” Junior said. “It’s almost eight o’clock. Can’t we go somewhere?”

Faith gazed back at the phone.
Jack wouldn’t have called if he wasn’t worried
, she thought.
Ten messages and twenty missed calls.
He knows someone is trying to reach me.

“Come on, Mom, get dressed,” Junior pressed.

“If you listen to all those messages, we might as well order room service,” Danny said.

Sighing, Faith turned the phone off and set it back on the dresser.
What good would it do to hear them? Whatever it is
,
she thought,
I’m not going to do anything.

She grabbed a sundress from the closet and walked to the bathroom but stopped at the door to look back at her boys. “Why don’t we go to Little Italy tonight?”

81

Wilma got home about 8:00 p.m. All she wanted to do was kiss her girls on the forehead and go to bed, but when she pulled in the driveway she was met by a surprise. Ms. Yost’s car was not there. The house was dark—not a single light was on.
What’s going on?

She parked in the driveway and quickly walked to the front door, fumbling in her purse for the keys. She finally got the door opened and turned the light on. There on the coffee table was a note. She ran to it, a sense of dread coming over her. When she picked it up, she held it for a split second before reading.
Please, God. Don’t let anything have happened to my babies.
She could see JimBone’s face.
Please.

She began to read.

Dear Wilma,

I have tried for some time now to find justification for your actions. But I can no longer stand by and watch you do this to your children. I knew you were a stripper. People talk, you know. I didn’t approve, but I wasn’t going to cast stones. A couple of weeks ago a lady from church said she’d heard you were a prostitute. I didn’t want to believe. Then I heard that message on your answering machine. I left it for you to hear.

With a heavy heart I have reported you to DHR. Your kids are now in the custody of the county. Jackie doesn’t know. She thinks she’s on a field trip. But Laurie Ann is devastated. I’m sorry, but I had to tell her. I hope that you will change your ways.

I know it doesn’t seem so, but I’m your friend, Wilma. I’m doing this for your children. I hope that one day you can be with them again.

With love,

Carla Yost

Wilma was numb.
No. It was all for them. Everything. All of it. For them. Not me. Them.
She walked back to her bedroom and saw the blinking light on the answering machine.
No.

She pushed it. “You have one saved message,” the monotone message voice said. “Received 10:30 p.m. Monday.”

“Monday? What was I doing . . . ?”
Wilma closed her eyes, thinking of all the roofies he had forced her to take. The long blackouts.
No.

The message began with static. Then his voice.

“Ah, God, Wilma this is so good. You. You are so good
.
”

It was JimBone. She could hear panting in the background. Then a low moan. She recognized the sounds as her own. But she couldn’t remember.

“My God, woman. Now you better beg for it. Come on now, bitch. Beg.”

She could hear a thud and knew it was the back of his hand hitting her head.

“Fuck me,” her own voice whined from the machine, slurring the words.

“Damn. Damn! Wilma. You are one good whore. Come on now, bitch. You’re being paid top dollar for this dick. Let me see your best. Don’t pass out on me.”

She heard laughing and more panting. Then his voice again.

“Since you won’t remember any of this, sweet Wilma, I’m leaving you a little reminder of the greatest couple of nights of your life. Courtesy of the Bone.”

Click.

She must’ve laid on the bed for two hours without moving. Crumpled up in the fetal position. Slowly whispering, “No. No. No. Nothing for me. Everything for them. Nothing for me. Everything for them.”
At some point she lost control and started sobbing. Crying so hard she thought her heart would stop. Finally, she got up and walked over to her dresser. She pulled the pistol out of the top drawer and slowly loaded it.

What comes around goes around.

She knew it was true. Your actions eventually catch up to you. She took off all her clothes and turned on the overhead light in the bedroom. Then she looked in the mirror and pointed the pistol at her head.

You deserve this. You fucking earned it, you whore.

Then she closed her eyes.

And pulled the trigger.

82

When Rick hung up the phone, his face told the story.

“Still nothing?” Tom asked.

“Nothing,” Rick said, his face ashen and his eyes bloodred. “What are we going to do? Without Faith the plan doesn’t work.”

Tom rubbed his chin and glanced inside the courtroom, seeing the bailiff walking out of Cutler’s chambers. They had run out of time.

“Whether it works or not, we have to follow it,” Tom said, opening the door. “We can’t wait.”

“ALL RISE!”

The courtroom was again filled to capacity. As he walked down the aisle, Tom kept his eyes straight ahead, forcing himself not to look. His stomach was starting to hurt on a regular basis but he ignored the pain.

As Judge Cutler strode into the courtroom, Tom calmly placed a copy of the bill of lading on Tyler’s table.

“We plan to introduce the original today as part of our rebuttal,” Tom said. “We were given it yesterday afternoon by Dick Morris’s cousin.”

Tyler glanced at the document, but if he was surprised by it he didn’t show it.
Never let them see you sweat
, Tom thought, admiring his former friend’s cool.

“It’s too late to be surprising us with documents, Professor,” he said. “You’ll never get it into evidence.”

“Really? Well, I have a lot of surprises in store for you today, Jamo,” Tom said, smiling. “And I’ve got a little bit of experience with evidence.”

Tom turned away just as the judge was seating himself behind the bench.

“Mr. McMurtrie and Mr. Drake,” the judge said, looking at them. “Are you going to be calling any rebuttal witnesses?”

Tom felt a rush of adrenaline as the judge met his eye. “Yes, Your Honor. Yes, we are.”

“Very well, call your next witness.”

Tom looked at the jury, who all appeared alert and ready to go. Then he glanced at Tyler, who was going over the bill of lading with his associate.
Time for the next surprise, Jamo
, Tom thought, his heartbeat racing. He nodded at Rick for the go-ahead, and his young partner rose to his feet and spoke in a voice that carried to the back of the courtroom.

“Your Honor, the plaintiff recalls Ms. Rose Batson.”

83

As Rose Batson walked down the aisle, Jameson Tyler put a sticky note on the bill of lading and handed it to his associate.

“As subtle as you can, hand this to Mr. Willistone,” Jameson said, trying to keep his voice steady.

If they get that document in, the case is over
,
he thought.
Pickup at 9
:
57 and due in Montgomery by 11
:
00. If that bill is legit, then Newton had to speed to make it on time. And we lose. We lose big.

Tyler turned to watch Rose Batson take her seat at the witness stand.
Why the hell is he calling her again?
he wondered, feeling uneasy. This was not how he had envisioned the morning going. He had thought he’d be moving for judgment as a matter of law right now and getting the negligent training and supervision claim thrown out. Now it appeared that the Professor and Drake might have found the smoking gun on negligent training and supervision and . . .
Rose Batson is about to testify? Again?

Tyler smiled at the jury as if he didn’t have a care in the world, but he had begun to sweat underneath his starched dress shirt.

What in the hell is going on?

Jack Willistone forced himself not to laugh.
“What the fuck is this?”
had been scribbled in blue ink on the yellow sticky note, underneath which was the bill of lading for Dewey Newton’s fateful trip. Jack had never actually seen the bill but knew what it was. Yes, it was bad, and under normal circumstances the document would destroy them.
But these aren’t normal circumstances
,
Jack thought.
These are the circumstances I have created.

The bill of lading was stamped and signed, as all bills of lading at the Tuscaloosa Ultron plant were, by its records custodian, Faith Bulyard.
Who happens to be in New York City right now and ain’t coming back.

Jack smiled and scribbled his reply to the sticky note.

“Piss in the wind.”

84

“Ms. Batson, how long have you worked at the filling station at the intersection of Limestone Bottom Road and Highway 82?” Rick asked, gesturing to the jury so that Ms. Rose would direct her answer to them.

Last night, after disclosing his “stop” at Ms. Rose’s store and his idea to recall her to the stand, the Professor had insisted that Rick conduct the examination. “She’ll be more comfortable with you asking the questions, Rick. She trusts and likes you. We need to work this one as a team. You handle the witness . . . and I’ll take care of Tyler.”
Rick wasn’t sure he agreed with the plan, but he was humbled that the Professor believed he was up to the challenge.
Just relax
, Rick told himself.
You can do this.

“Forty years,” Rose answered.

She wore her normal outfit for work. A Texaco shirt, short sleeved, with her name stitched over her heart, and a pair of jeans.

“And in those forty years, how many times have you driven east on 82 and turned left onto Limestone Bottom to get to your store?”

Rose smiled. “Well, ever’ day, I ’spect. For thirty years I lived about a mile west of the store, so that was my normal way a goin’. The last ten years I been livin’ at the store, but every day I go downtown for a piece of pie and a Co’-Cola down at Eunice’s. Come back 82 and turn left on Limestone Bottom.”

Rick pulled out a marker board from the corner of the courtroom, set it in front of the jury, and took the top off of a black marker. “So, I’m no mathematician, but if we give you two weeks’ vacation every year, you would have made this turn three hundred fifty times a year for forty years.” Rick wrote “350 x 40” on the board. “Is that right?”

Rose shrugged. “I didn’t take that much vacation.”

Rick nodded. “So it would really be more than three hundred fifty days a year?”

“More like three hundred sixty.”

Rick erased “350” and replaced it with “360.”

“OK, three hundred sixty times forty is”—Rick worked the problem for the jury—“carry the two . . . fourteen thousand four hundred times. So . . .” He turned back to Batson and pointed at the board. “So, you’ve made the left turn from 82 onto Limestone Bottom about fourteen thousand four hundred times.”

“Your Honor, this is all very fascinating,” Tyler said, rising to his feet, “but we object. The number of times Rose Batson made this left turn is completely irrelevant.” Cutler motioned for counsel to approach the bench, and Tom joined Rick and Tyler in front of the judge.

When they were out of earshot of the jury, the judge peered down at Rick. “Mr. Drake?”

Rick had hoped to be further into the examination before Jameson’s objection, but Tyler was no dummy. He had to know where Rick was going by now, and he wasn’t going to wait another second.

“Judge, I’m just laying some foundation,” Rick said. “I can link it up if you give me a few more questions.”

“A foundation for what?” Tyler asked. “Rose Batson is a store clerk at a Texaco. She is not an expert. She can’t give opinions on the accident.”

“She has made the same turn that Bob Bradshaw made on the day of the accident over fourteen thousand times,” Rick said. “She has spent forty years at that Texaco. She knows that area better than any person on the face of the earth, and her opinion as a layperson would be beneficial to the jury.”

Cutler scratched the side of his face and pulled a book in front of him, which Rick instantly recognized. He glanced at the Professor, who nodded.

“Section thirty-five, part five,” Tom said, and Cutler looked down at him.

“Uh . . . thank you. This is your book, right, Mr. McMurtrie?”

“Yes, sir,” Tom said. “Second edition.”

“Are there other editions?” the judge asked.

“Yes, sir. There is a third and a fourth. The lay opinion section, though, hasn’t changed. Ms. Batson’s testimony should come in under the cases cited in it.”

“Your Honor, as I’m sure Tom says in his book, the general rule is that lay opinions do not come in.” Tyler’s usual calm and cool manner had been rattled, and his voice had risen to a higher pitch.

“That’s true, Judge,” Tom continued. “But I think you’ll find this case to be similar to
Matthews Brothers v. Lopez
, where the Alabama Supreme Court affirmed a trial court’s allowance of a lay witness to give his opinion on how long skidmarks had been on the pavement of a highway. Ms. Batson, like the lay witness in
Matthews Brothers
, has so much experience with the scene of the accident that her opinions will aid the jury in understanding what happened.”

Cutler continued to peer at the hornbook, running his finger along the page and whispering to himself. Finally, he looked up from the page. “OK, Mr. Drake, I’m going to allow you to continue, but I’m not yet sure whether I’m going to allow Ms. Batson’s opinions to come in. That will depend on what you’re asking her about. Mr. Tyler, you are welcome to object when the opinions are asked for.” He turned to Rick. “Please proceed.”

Rick walked back to the board and pointed at the number he’d written on it. “Ms. Batson, you’ve made the left turn from Highway 82 onto Limestone Bottom over fourteen thousand times.”

“Yes.”

“And is that the same turn you saw Bob Bradshaw making the day of September 2, 2009?”

“Yes, it is.”

“In the over fourteen thousand times you’ve made this turn, have you ever started to turn and then seen that a car was coming in the other direction?”

“Objection, Your Honor.” Tyler was out of his seat again. “Ms. Batson’s experience with this turn is irrelevant.”

Rick smiled, not looking at Tyler. “Your Honor, Ms. Batson’s experience with this turn establishes the foundation for the opinions I want to ask her about.”

“Overruled. Let’s get on with it, Mr. Drake.”

“Ms. Batson, you may answer the question.”

“Several times, yes. I can’t give you a number or nothing, but that has happened before. There is a little dip in the road about a hundred yards from the light and when a car is in that dip, it can be hard to see. A couple of times I haven’t seen the car and barely missed having a wreck.”

Rick shot Tom a look, and his face said it all.
Now.
Rick turned to the witness, noticing that Tyler had already stood behind him, ready to object.

“Ms. Batson, you have testified in this case that the rig was a hundred yards away from Bob Bradshaw’s Honda when the Honda began its turn. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So was the rig in the dip you were talking about?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ms. Batson, based on the over fourteen thousand times you’ve made the same left turn that Bob Bradshaw was attempting, in your opinion could Bradshaw have seen the rig before he started his turn?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Tyler said. “May we—?”

“Overruled,” Cutler said, cutting him off. “You can answer the question, Ms. Batson.”

“It’s just impossible to tell,” Rose said, looking right at the jury. “I don’t see how anybody could say one way or another. We’re talking about split seconds. It’s happened to me several times, and I’ve never been hit, because the other car wasn’t hauling ass. With how fast that rig was moving—”

“Objection, Your Honor.” Tyler was out of his seat, his face as red as his tie. “Ms. Batson’s answer has gone beyond the scope of the question. I’d ask that any comments regarding the rig’s speed be stricken.”

“Sustained,” Cutler said. “The jury will disregard Ms. Batson’s description of the rig’s speed.”

Rick nodded, knowing it didn’t matter.
Like they can forget.

“Thank you, Ms. Batson. I have no further questions.”

It was all Rick could do not to give a fist pump as he walked back to the counsel table.
I can’t believe it worked.
But he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. The minute Judge Cutler started flipping through his copy of
McMurtrie’s Evidence
, Tyler didn’t have a prayer.
It was like arguing with Moses over the Ten Commandments.

As Rick took his seat, Tom nudged him with his elbow. “Great job,” Tom said. “That’s one down.”

And one to go
, Rick thought, glancing at his cell phone.
There was still no word from Faith. Given the brevity of Tyler’s cross-examinations, Rick figured they had fifteen minutes before they would have to call their next witness.

Our last witness.

Rick reached into his front pocket and touched the photograph of the Bradshaw family. Then he looked at Ruth Ann. Dark circles had formed under her eyes but she gazed stoically at the witness stand.
It’s almost over
,
Rick wanted to tell her, feeling an ache in his heart for this woman who had lost so much.

All she wants is the jury to know the truth.

And there was still a chance they might know. A small chance but . . .
a chance
.

Rick squeezed his phone and began to pray.
Fifteen minutes.

“Ms. Batson, you’re not an accident reconstructionist, are you?” Tyler asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I don’t even know what that is. I run a gas station. Damn good one too.”

“You’ve never had any instruction on how to analyze an automobile accident for fault, have you?”

“I reckon not.”

“You’ve never investigated an automobile accident?”

“No.”

“You have no idea whether Bob Bradshaw should have seen Dewey Newton’s rig on September 2, 2009?”

“Like I said, it’s impossible to tell. We talkin’ split seconds.”

“You saw Bob Bradshaw’s Honda turn directly in front of the rig, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And that’s what you wrote right after the accident happened, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing further, Your Honor,” Tyler said, shaking his head at the jury as if he couldn’t believe Rick and Tom had wasted the jury’s time with such an unqualified witness.

“Redirect?” Cutler asked, shooting a glance at Rick.

“No, Your Honor.”

“Very well. Ms. Batson is excused. Call your next witness.”

Tom turned to Rick, who shook his head.
Damnit
, Tom thought.
Come on, old man, think. If Faith’s not gonna show, how else can we get this document in?

“Mr. McMurtrie, will the plaintiff be having any further rebuttal?”

“Let me see that bill again,”
Tom whispered, and Rick slid it in front of him. Tom scanned the contents, looking for something, anything, that might help.

“Mr. McMurtrie?” Cutler pressed.

Tom’s eyes moved over the page at warp speed.
Come on, there’s gotta be another way. There has to
 
. . .

Tom’s heart caught in his chest when he saw it.
Well, I’ll be
 
. . .
He cocked his head and blinked several times, making sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.
How the hell did I miss that?

“Mr. Mc— ”

“Your Honor, may we approach?” Tom asked, standing and holding the document.

“What are you doing?” Rick asked.

“Just watch,” Tom said, approaching the bench as Cutler motioned him forward.