The Professor (33 page)

“Yes, Your Honor,” Tyler said, approaching the stand. “Ms. Bulyard, you don’t have any personal knowledge of the schedule that Dewey Newton kept at Willistone Trucking Company, do you?”

“Well . . . the bill of lading”—Faith pointed to the screen, and Jameson tensed as he noticed that the bill still showed on the screen; his associate had forgotten to take it off—“shows his schedule for September 2 with us.”

As calmly as he could manage, Jameson walked to his counsel table and leaned into his associate’s ear. “Turn that damn thing off.”

The screen went blank.

“OK, Ms. Bulyard, the document says what it says. But you don’t know why Dewey Newton was late to your plant that day, do you?”

Faith shrugged. “I don’t know he was late. For all I know, we may have been late.”

Yes
, Tyler thought, feeling relief flood his body as his eyes moved to the jury.
Did you hear that?
he tried to convey with his eyes. If the plant was late or slow loading the truck, then Willistone was in the clear. He could take all of the steam out of Tom’s direct.

“That’s right, Ms. Bulyard,” Tyler said, keeping his voice measured.
Just one more question.
“So Mr. Newton’s schedule with Willistone on September 2, 2009 could have been just fine, and for all you know it was Ultron’s delay that caused the truck not to be loaded until 9:57, correct?”

Jameson held his breath for the answer, intending to sit down immediately after hearing “Yes” or “Correct.” But the answer didn’t immediately come. Faith Bulyard’s face had reddened, and she looked angry, glaring not at Tyler but out in the galley.

“Ms. Bulyard, would you like me to repeat the question?” he asked, feeling a deep sense of dread come over him.

“No, I heard the question just fine,” Faith said, still glaring past Tyler into the audience. He followed her gaze, and his chest constricted when he saw its intended target.
Oh, no . . .

“Ms. Bulyard, let me—” he started, but Faith Bulyard’s words cut through his like a knife.

“Shut up, Mr. Tyler,” Faith said as her eyes burned into Jack Willistone’s. The anger she’d built up for the past nine months pulsed in her veins. “I heard your question, and I’m going to answer it.” Faith cut her eyes from Jack and looked directly at the jury. “The answer is, for that day I don’t know exactly why the truck wasn’t loaded until 9:57, but—”

“You answered my question,” Tyler interrupted. “And I have nothing—”

“Let me finish,”
Faith said, her whole body trembling as she rose from the chair. She sensed that her time on the stand was almost over, and she still hadn’t said what she came to say.

“Your Honor, if the witness says anything further, it will be unresponsive and irrelevant. We have no further questions.”

Faith whirled around and looked at the judge, who was rubbing his eyebrows. “Your Honor, I have more to—”

“The witness will stop talking,” Cutler interrupted, banging his gavel. “I agree with Mr. Tyler. You’ve answered his question.”

“No,”
Faith said. “I—”

“Ms. Bulyard, if you don’t stop talking I’m going to hold you in contempt,” the judge said, again banging his gavel. “Now, will there be any redirect from the plaintiff?”

Faith continued to stand, moving her gaze to Rick Drake, whose eyes were as wide as her own. Behind Rick she saw her two sons. Junior’s face was crimson with anger, but Danny was staring off into space, still in total shock.

What have I done?
Faith thought.
Have I come all this way for nothing?

“Ms. Bulyard.”

Faith turned at the sound of the voice, and the older man—the Professor—was standing in front of her. His hand was on her shoulder.

“Please, ma’am, sit down and let me ask you a couple more questions.”

Faith did as she was told.

“Ms. Bulyard, what were you about to say before Mr. Tyler cut you off?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Tyler cut in. He too had remained standing. “Ms. Bulyard answered my last question. Allowing her to give an unsolicited speech to this jury, which may include hearsay and other inadmissible material, would not be proper and could be highly prejudicial to the defendants.”

“I agree,” Cutler said. “The objection is sustained. Mr. McMurtrie, you’ll need to ask a different question.”

Tom looked at Faith’s pleading face, thinking of the question that prompted her outburst. He had forgotten about the pain. He could sense that the entire trial might ride on what Faith Bulyard wanted to say.

“Ms. Bulyard, what do you know about the schedules Willistone Trucking Company put its drivers on?”

“Before he died, my husband, Buck, told me that—”

“Objection, Your Honor. Hearsay,” Tyler said.

“Sustained,” Cutler agreed.

Damnit
, Tom thought. If there had been any time to talk with Faith prior to putting her on the stand, he would know exactly what to ask her. Now he was just winging it, trusting his instincts and forty years of experience.

“Ms. Bulyard, other than what Buck told you, what do you know about the schedules?”

Faith took a deep breath and tried to calm down. She could tell the Professor was trying to help her. “Well, there were bills of lading for all of Willistone’s deliveries, and they all had the delivery and pickup times on them. On the night of this accident, there was a—”

“Objection, Your Honor. May I approach?” Tyler was already moving toward the bench. “The witness is clearly about to testify to the fire that destroyed the Ultron plant, which you specifically prohibited when you granted our pretrial motion in limine.”

“The objection is sustained,” Cutler said. “The witness is instructed not to mention the fire. Let’s move on.”

Tom glanced at Rick, who had joined Tom at the bench. “Any ideas, champ?” Tom asked.

“If I’d sued Ultron, Buck’s statements would come in as a party admission, but—”

“Too late for that,” Tom interrupted.

“She wants to help us,” Rick whispered, the desperation evident in his voice. “There’s gotta be something that’s admissible.”

Tom nodded, agreeing but unable to figure out what that was. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d taught Evidence for forty years, and the whole trial hinged on getting Faith Bulyard’s testimony into evidence.

“Professor, please continue,” Cutler said.

Tom nodded at the judge, his eyes rotating to Faith Bulyard, who looked almost as desperate as Rick. Then to the jury, many of whom had confused, irritated expressions. Finally, Tom looked at Tyler, who was now sitting down, the picture of cool.
He thinks he’s won.

Tom’s mind drifted to his book.
McMurtrie’s Evidence
. The chapter on hearsay. There were twenty-three exceptions, and Tom had a subsection on each one. Then there were three types of statements that by definition were not hearsay. Tom felt a tickle in his brain.
What did Rick just say about Ultron? If he had sued Ultron . . .

“Professor, if there are no further questions . . .” Cutler stopped, not needing to finish the thought.

Tom knew he was out of time.
Think . . .
With his back to the stand, Tom raised his eyes and looked to the galley. The courtroom was deathly quiet, all eyes on him. Adrenaline coursed through Tom, and as his eyes met Jack Willistone’s he felt the tickle again. And then . . .

. . . it all clicked.

“Ms. Bulyard,” Tom said, turning on a dime. “Have you had any conversations with anyone associated with Willistone Trucking Company regarding driver schedules, the bills of lading, or testifying at this trial?”

“Objection, Your Honor, the question clearly calls for—” Tyler started, but Tom was ready.

“Anything anyone from Willistone told her would be an admission by party opponent, which
by definition
is not hearsay. Rule 801 (d)(2) of the Alabama Rules of Evidence.” Tom paused. “Chapter forty-seven, subpart five of my book.”

Cutler opened his copy of
McMurtrie’s Evidence
to the page, then shot Tyler a look. “Mr. Tyler?”

“It would have to be an officer or high-ranking official with Willistone for that section to apply,” Tyler said, sounding weak.

“The objection is overruled,” Cutler said. “Ms. Bulyard, please answer the question.”

Faith cleared her throat and looked directly at Tom. “Yes. I’ve spoken with someone at Willistone.”

“Who?” Tom asked, holding his breath.

“Jack Willistone. The
owner
of the company.”

Tom’s eyes shot to Tyler.
That high-ranking enough for you, Jamo?

“Ms. Bulyard,” Tom said, pausing and looking at the jury.
This is it
, he thought. “Tell the jury what Jack Willistone said to you.”

Faith did not look at the jury. Instead, she glared at Jack Willistone.
How do you like me now, you bastard?
she tried to convey with her eyes. Then, clearing her throat, she began to speak.

“Jack Willistone threatened me and my family if I testified today.”

“That is a goddamn lie!” Jack screamed, rising from his seat at the defense table and shaking his finger at Faith.

Loud banging came from the bench, and Judge Cutler stood. “Quiet! I’ll have quiet in this courtroom. Mr. Willistone, another word from you and I will put you in jail for contempt. The jury will disregard this outburst. Mr. Tyler, you need to get control of your client.”

Tyler turned toward Jack, but Jack waved him off, sat down, and crossed his arms. His face had turned beet red. Faith never blinked as she stared at the man who killed her husband.

“Ms. Bulyard.” The Professor’s calm voice broke through the tension like a gentle breeze. “How did Jack Willistone threaten you and your family?”

“He told me that if I testified or had any contact whatsoever with Mr. Drake, he would tell my sons that their father . . .” Faith’s voice broke and she looked down at her hands. “That their father was a homosexual.”

Several gasps rang out in the courtroom, and Faith looked up, this time turning her gaze to the jury.

“Jack had made videos and photographs of my husband with . . . other men. He sent them to me and told me he’d make them public if I testified in this case. He threatened me on the phone and in text messages. I never understood why he was so hot to keep me away. It wasn’t until I saw that bill again that it clicked. He didn’t want
you
to see that bill,” Faith told the jury, and Jameson Tyler bolted out of his seat.

“Objection, Judge. She’s just giving her opinion now. That’s—”

“Sustained,” Cutler said. “Just stick to what he told you, Ms. Bulyard. The jury will disregard that last comment.”

“He paid me to go to New York City so I wouldn’t be around this week, and he called me last night and
reminded
me what would happen if I came back. Well,
I don’t care anymore
, Jack.” Now it was Faith who was out of her seat. “My husband
was
gay and he cheated on me with other men. My sons know now because I told them.” She paused. “So I don’t care if you tell the whole world about it.”

89

Tom let Faith’s answer hang in the air for five seconds as silence filled the courtroom. He watched the jury, seeing outrage on some of their faces, while others appeared to be in shock. He toyed with introducing the text messages but decided against it. He didn’t know what they said and, judging by the angry looks in the jury box, they would probably be overkill.
We can’t end on a higher high than right now
, Tom thought, clearing his throat and looking at Cutler.

“We have no further questions, Your Honor.”

“Recross, Mr. Tyler?”

Tom’s eyes moved to the defense table, where Tyler was having a heated discussion with his associate and Jack Willistone.

“Mr. Tyler?” Cutler repeated.

Tyler rose from his seat, his red face a dead giveaway that he was frustrated.
Jamo is finally letting everyone see him sweat
, Tom thought.

“Your Honor, may we approach?”

Cutler motioned them all forward.

“Your Honor, we have not seen the text messages mentioned by Ms. Bulyard. Can we see those?”

Tom knew the defendant was entitled to see the texts, so he did not object. He only prayed they were as bad as Faith testified.

“Here,” Faith said, leaning over the witness stand and handing her phone to Tyler. “Enjoy.”

Tyler took the phone, and for at least a full minute they all watched his face as he reviewed the texts and their attachments. Slowly, he handed the phone back to Faith. Then he looked at Cutler.

“Your Honor, I move to withdraw myself and my law firm as counsel for Willistone Trucking Company.”

“Denied,” Cutler said, glaring at Tyler with unsympathetic eyes. “It’s too late to be quitting, Mr. Tyler. It would be too prejudicial to your client, and I am not stopping this trial so it can get a new lawyer.”

“Your Honor, Mr. Willistone’s . . . actions have made it impossible for me to effectively represent his company—”

“No, Mr. Tyler,” Cutler interrupted. “Mr. Willistone’s actions may have made it impossible for you to win this case. Your motion is denied. Mr. McMurtrie, are you going to be offering any further rebuttal?”

“No, Your Honor,” Tom said.

“Mr. Tyler. How about you? Any rebuttal witnesses?”

Tyler looked like a ten-year-old protesting a spanking. Gone was the aura of cool and invincibility.

“No, Your Honor.”

“OK, unless there are other motions to take up, let’s proceed with closing arguments.”