The Subway ; The Debt ; Catastrophic

by Dustin Stevens

  There will be times when you question your case, your abilities, even why you went to law school. Don’t fight against them, don’t try to win those internal battles. Just let them go, push them aside to another day if you must, and focus on the task at hand.

  Those very words came to his mind as he stood outside the 3C, right after listening to Reed try and convince him that settling for pennies on the dollar was his only recourse. The guilt of the morning was gone, the burning rage at Reed was receding, all that was left was an adrenaline drip that ebbed and flowed as needed, pulling back to near nothing as he ate with Christine, coursing through his body as he fired away at Pinkering.

  Sitting in his chair, watching Reed examine Sarconi, he could feel an internal dilemma begin to build. Whatever latitude he had with the court had been used that morning, well spent to crucify the doctor for crawling into bed with a corporate giant at the expense of his patients. The point was an important one and Shane was not the least bit sorry he’d made it, but he couldn’t afford such strong arm tactics again. The jury had spent two weeks watching him in his carefully selected attire delivering hand crafted statements, holding himself out as the antithesis of his opponents in every way.

  Two outbursts though, against the first two defense witnesses called no less, would go a long in destroying that image. He could not allow his temper to do that, to forget for a moment that this was about Tyler, and Heath, and Prescott, not himself.

  Shane sat leaning forward over his desk, taking notes he didn’t need, his pencil scratching across the yellow paper in even loops. Every few seconds he would look up at Sarconi, his face impassive, before going back to his legal pad. As he did so, he became aware that Reed was sneaking glances his way throughout his examination, the look a mixture of curiosity and revulsion.

  “Mr. Laszlo, your witness,” Judge Lynch said, Shane looking up in surprise at the abrupt ending of Reed’s direct. He was aware that Sarconi had far less to offer than Pinkering did, but didn’t expect Reed to corral his questioning to just a half hour.

  Must be waiting for redirect, to try and extinguish any flames Shane ignited, was all he could figure.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Shane said, noting the judge’s lingering stare, the unspoken warning not to have another outburst like the one that morning. With a tiny nod, Shane rose and straightened the front of his suit, stepping out from behind the table.

  “Mr. Sarconi, you have been working with SynTronic for fourteen years now, is that correct?”

  Sarconi leveled a malevolent glare onto Shane. Thick jowls outlined his face as he stared, giving him the appearance of an oversized bullfrog. He seemed to sit upright and stiff in his chair, a position mirroring the one used by Pinkering that morning, a pose that reflected they both seemed to be in a great deal of pain.

  Shane made a mental note of it, wondering if SynTronic had turned their goons after their own trial team as well.

  “Yes, that is correct,” Sarconi said.

  “And how much of that time has been spent here at Ohio Tech?” Shane asked, his voice normal, his demeanor back to the one he’d employed every day before, not even a trace of the episode from that morning visible.

  “The last five years,” Sarconi said, his voice low, his tone mistrusting. He was dressed in a well cut Italian suit with a solid black tie, the somber attire giving his entire appearance a very dark hue.

  “Five years,” Shane said, nodding his head, back to moving in even steps across the floor. “And in that five years, how many new devices have you introduced to Ohio Tech?”

  Confusion crossed Sarconi’s features, causing him to shake his head, a small wince tugging at his eyes. “I’m sorry?”

  Shane paused, one hand in his pocket, the other in front of him, and looked at Sarconi. “How often are new products, designs, etc. introduced?”

  “Well, it depends on the product,” Sarconi said, his gaze shifting to Reed and back.

  “Okay, that’s understandable,” Shane said, resuming his pace. “Let’s say for a knee replacement product, how many of those have you introduced since coming to Ohio Tech?”

  “Two.”

  Shane glanced back towards the court behind him, Abby with her pad and pen out on her lap, Margie beside her, staring down at a tangle of fingers in her lap. In front of them sat Tyler, watching close, the same as he had since the trial started.

  “So, the KnightRunner and one other?”

  Sarconi’s eyes narrowed a bit as he processed the question, his bulbous head nodding in agreement. “Yes, that is correct.”

  “And could you tell us, when was the last model introduced, before the KnightRunner?”

  Silence hung for a few moments, Sarconi staring back at Shane, trying to determine where the questions were going, how much he should divulge.

  “Not quite two years ago.”

  A small light bulb went off in the recesses of Shane’s mind, the realization that the impending payoff was what he wanted, that Sarconi had stumbled upon it without realizing it. He forced himself to remain stoic as he walked, allowing his prey to walk into a trap it didn’t know existed.

  “Mr. Sarconi, you were present for Dr. Lomax’s testimony a couple of days ago, correct?”

  “I was,” Sarconi said, nodding his head.

  “Realizing of course that there are small differences with the way SynTronic does business, would you agree with the general process that he described? From idea inception to product design to testing, back to design and then more testing?”

  Sarconi gave a wary glance to Reed before offering a nod. “Like you said, there are some differences with the way we do things, but that’s the general process, yes.”

  Shane nodded. “Okay, so let me get this straight. The previous knee replacement model was released two years ago, and you said it was the first to come out during your time at Ohio Tech, meaning that none were released during your first three years here, correct?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Which would mean that there was at bare minimum three years of study and design that went into making that model, yes?”

  Again Sarconi looked over at Reed before nodding. “Yes.”

  “And what was that model?”

  “It was an upgrade over a previous model, using a different alloy to allow for smoother movement in the joint.”

  It was all Shane could do to keep from smiling. Not only had Sarconi walked into the setup without realizing it, but now he had also used the exact word Shane was hoping he would.

  “Okay,” Shane said, holding his hand up to his mouth, pursing his lips as if deep in thought. “All that being said then Mr. Sarconi, I can’t help but wonder then why an upgrade, as you called it, warranted three years of production work, whereas a whole new and innovative model like the KnightRunner was able to be rolled out just one year and change later?”

  Sarconi stared back at Shane, the blank, venomous glare of someone just realizing they’ve been tricked. He somehow managed to smash his head even lower into his shoulders, giving him the appearance of a cranky, Italian, Jabba the Hutt.

  “That’s not how it went,” Sarconi muttered. “We often have many products under development at the same time. The timing of their releases can’t be taken as a statement of the legwork that went into their development.”

  “But at the same time, wouldn’t it be in the best interest of SynTronic to spread out those release dates? To maximize product success? It doesn’t seem to make much sense to have multiple products competing with each other.”

  Sarconi stared back at Shane in anger for several moments, his eyes narrowing until they were two small black slits. “They won’t be competing with each other.”

  “And why is that?” Shane asked, taking a step closer to the stand.

  “Because the KnightRunner won’t be available to the public for some time yet.”

  For the first time, Shane let a smile come to his face. Not one of self-satisfaction, or even of cockiness, bu
t of realization. He turned towards the jury, letting them experience the profound impact of what Sarconi said along with him.

  “It won’t be available to the public for some time? Yet you still felt it safe to put into Tyler Bentley?”

  Sarconi leaned forward in his seat, the blood draining from his face, his jowls twitching as he glanced between Reed and Shane. “Yes, of course. Of course! When I said it won’t be available, I didn’t mean that it wasn’t safe or fully vetted.”

  “So why the lag time?” Shane asked, taking another step forward, keeping his body angled between Sarconi and the jury. “Was it completed ahead of schedule?”

  “No, it was tracking as we expected it to.”

  “Was the redesign phase shorter than in past models?”

  Sarconi shook his head, his posture relaying a bit of panic. “No, like I said, it was tracking just as expected.”

  “Hmm,” Shane said, taking one more step forward, “or is it possible that perhaps the KnightRunner was rushed ahead a little bit premature to coincide with the injury to Tyler Bentley? To provide you with a poster boy for your new product design?”

  Sarconi paused before answering, turning his attention to Reed, almost begging him with his eyes to stand and object, to save his witness from having to answer. He stared so long that Shane swiveled at the hip, acting as if he was looking for whatever Sarconi had fixed his gaze on.

  Despite the movement, Shane knew what he was looking for. More than that though, he knew there would be none coming, the question constructed to avoid giving Reed any chance at having it struck from the record.

  “Mr. Sarconi?”

  Sarconi held his gaze on Reed for several more seconds, the silence in the courtroom growing in magnitude, every person seeming to lean in as one. It lasted so long that Shane knew his point was made, regardless of what Sarconi said next.

  “Preposterous. Tyler Bentley’s injury was an unfortunate occurrence for which we had a product we thought could speed along his recovery. Had it been placed and maintained properly, it would have done just that.”

  Shane raised his eyebrows, glancing to the jury. “So you’re saying the entire fault lies with the surgeon and the patient?”

  Sarconi raised his chin, the folds around his neck unfurling like an accordion, so he could stare down his nose at Shane. “Yes, that is what I am saying. There are examples of others receiving the transplant that have done just fine, we even brought one in to speak with Tyler. He will be here tomorrow, I’m sure he will be happy to tell you the same thing.”

  A faint half smile rested on Shane’s face, every bit of his body language making Sarconi and the jury aware that he knew he was being lied to. He held the pose for several moments, mirroring Sarconi’s stare.

  “Yes, I’m sure he will. No further questions, Your Honor.”

  Shane walked back to the table, every eye in the court room on him, his gait even, his face drawn into thought, his eyes on the back wall. He didn’t hear Judge Lynch ask for a redirect, didn’t notice Reed turn down the invitation or even hear Lynch excuse Sarconi from the stand.

  All he focused on was Officer Murphy in the back of the room, staring right at him, making a small beckoning gesture with his index finger.

  Chapter Fifty

  It took six minutes for Judge Lynch to call the court into recess until the next morning and the jurors to file out, every last second of it ticking by in Shane’s head. He tried his best to maintain that the visit was just preliminary, even better that they had a suspect in custody. There was just no way to shake the overwhelming dread in the back of his mind that the officer was there to deliver more bad news though, his mind running through the short list of people that consisted of Christine and his mother.

  Everybody else was sitting within arm’s reach.

  The moment Judge Lynch slammed his gavel on the bench declaring the court done for the day, Shane leaned down, a hand resting on the edge of the table. “Tyler, Officer Murphy back there is asking for me. He’s the guy that’s been looking into Heath and Prescott’s attacks. I’m going to go talk to him and circle back with you later tonight.”

  “Yeah, for sure,” Tyler said, wheeling his chair around to look for the officer. Already the crowd was spilling into the aisle way, blocking him from view.

  “Abby, can you grab my stuff?” Shane asked as he walked by, motioning with his chin towards the rear wall. “I need to talk with Murphy back there.”

  “Is it about Heath?” Abby asked, rising to her toes and trying to peer over the crowd, her face shrouded in concern.

  “I don’t know,” Shane said, “but I’ll come get you if it is.”

  Abby nodded and went for the counsel table as Shane continued moving, ducking and weaving his way through the crowd. Around him people stared as he went, some even offering comments as he passed, ranging from advice to telling him to fornicate with himself. He let them all go without reaction.

  The spot Officer Murphy had been standing in was empty by the time Shane got there, his head twisting in both directions to try and find him. He stepped out into the foyer to see Murphy standing alongside Officer Ryan, both with hands on their hips, tucked away along the side of the room.

  Shane waited for a break in the torrent of people spilling from the court room before sliding across the space, coming to a stop just a few feet away from them.

  “What’s happened? Is somebody else hurt?”

  Officer Murphy held his hands up by his side, his face neutral. “No, nothing like that. We’ve come to talk to you about that message you left at the station last night.”

  Holding up a finger, Shane looked around and motioned with his chin towards the corner, further removed from the crowd still drifting by.

  “Can we step over there to continue this? There are a lot of people walking by right now that might be listening.”

  “Is that a problem?” Murphy asked, his eyebrows raised.

  “Seeing as how my team keeps getting picked off? Yeah,” Shane said, “I’d rather keep this conversation private.”

  Murphy made a show of rolling his eyes and motioned back towards the corner, Ryan and Shane both following him. The three walked the few paces in silence, Murphy putting his back close to the wall and staring out, a bored expression on his face. “This good enough for you?”

  “Thank you,” Shane murmured. “So what about my phone call?”

  “First of all, we don’t need you doing our job for us,” Murphy said. “We were aware, or would have soon been aware, of everything you mentioned.”

  Shane ignored the statement, chalking it up to residual anger from his overstepping boundaries. All things considered, he may have felt the same way in a similar situation.

  “Did it help at all?”

  Sliding the notepad back from his shirt pocket, Ryan held it out and flipped through the pages, coming to a stop about halfway through. His lips moved slightly as he read through his notes before finding what he was looking for.

  “Forensics was able to determine that the paint used was the same exact stuff, basic spray paint, green apple color, RustOleum, available at any of a hundred places in the greater Columbus area.

  “The bigger find was on your clue regarding the words. A handwriting expert was able to determine that the S and the T in both words were capitalized, which led us to believe your statement that the attacker was somebody affiliated with SynTronic.”

  “And boy you know how to pick your enemies,” Murphy said, opening a manila folder matching the one they had left in Heath’s hospital suite, extracting a photo from it and handing it to Shane.

  Shane looked at Murphy while accepting the photo, his gaze shifting down onto to it. Looking back at him was a man with brown hair buzzed short and a couple days of facial hair growth, a placard with the name U. Carbone and an inmate number written on it in block letters.

  “Carbone?” Shane asked, making a face. “Never heard of the guy.”

  “You sure?” Ryan ask
ed. “How about the face? Maybe you’ve seen him around?”

  Shane shifted his attention from the name to the face, studying every detail. For the most part it was a very unremarkable face, the kind of mug that most middle-aged men were walking around with. The only thing that jumped out at him were the eyes, jade green, a deviant stare in them as he looked back at the camera.

  There was no way he had ever seen them before, he would remember if he had.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Shane said, handing it back. “Who is he?”

  “One bad hombre,” Murphy said, putting the photo back in the folder and closing it tight. “Did two years for assault with a deadly weapon in ninety-nine, a nickel a few years later for armed robbery. He’s been out now for six years and laying low, employed the entire time by none other than the SynTronic Corporation.”

  “After your tip, we did a background check on everybody in the company. Most of them came back clean, but this guy jumped off the page. We did some digging to try and figure out what he does for the company, but nobody seems to know. His only listed job title is as a Special Consultant, and even that was almost impossible to track down. If not for the fact that he was listed on the payroll, we wouldn’t even know he existed.”

  Shane nodded, a deep frown on his face, turning to check the hall around them. Most of the foot traffic for the day had moved on, leaving a couple small pockets of people still milling about. Among them were the Bentleys and Abby, all glancing over every few seconds, concern on their faces.

  “What makes you think this is the guy?” Shane asked, nodding towards the folder in Murphy’s hands.

  Ryan turned another page in his notebook and said, “Just this morning a plane ticket was booked from Columbus to Kalispell, Montana in Carbone’s name.” He lowered the notebook. “We checked, Kalispell is two hours south of Canada by car.”

  The frown on Shane’s face grew even deeper, the fact that he now had a name and a picture to assign to whoever was assailing his team making it that much more harrowing. Again the images of Christine and his mother played through his mind, interspersed with Heath and Prescott lying in their respective beds.