The doctor was an interesting older man, a pulmonologist by trade who had been treating Charlie’s client for over a year since he’d been overcome by ammonia while working at the liquefied natural gas processing plant just outside Cleveland. Had he been an employee, this would have been a worker’s compensation case, but Mr. Santos worked as a laborer on site for a maintenance contractor. This was a very common practice these days, since the refinery could pay contractors much less than they did their employees without having to hassle with things like the Affordable Healthcare Act or other niceties. That was the contractor’s problem, after all. Unless someone got hurt, like Mr. Santos.
The oil company operating the refinery proved to be old hands at dealing with these kinds of claims, after decades of handling the nightmare that was asbestos litigation. To Charlie’s surprise, their in-house counsel had taken an enlightened approach once they had determined the accident was a legitimate injury and one caused by the failure of the aging machinery in their plant. But, Charlie still had to earn his pay and show that given the extensive scarring in his airways, Mr. Santos was actually never going to be able to work again.
The deposition lasted all day, with Charlie’s firm providing sandwiches from a local deli and sodas from their small kitchenette. He ate lunch with Dr. Hammar in his cramped little temporary office, and they chatted about everything but the case at hand. For Charlie, he was extremely pleased by the morning session, as the good doctor never wavered from the findings in his voluminous medical file. Hammar might be old as dirt, Charlie thought, but the old bird still had his claws and his mind remained razor sharp as well.
“So, Charlie, what do you think about this water bill Congress just passed?” Dr. Hammar asked as he slid away the paper plate holding the decimated remnants of his turkey on wheat. Charlie, fastidious as always, quickly policed up the slightly soggy disposable containers and tossed them into his wastebasket. As another holdover from his military days, Charlie tended to wolf his food down like someone was waiting to steal the last bite from him. Given the pranks Robbie liked to pull, that wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
“Water bill? Sorry, Doc, you got me there,” Charlie replied as he used a squirt of hand sanitizer to clean his hands before wiping them on his last napkin. “I haven’t seen anything about a new water bill. Is it something they are considering in the State House? Those guys in Columbus never seem to stop poking at things.”
Doctor Hammar chuckled, and then cleared his throat.
“No, Charlie, not here. In Washington. I heard mention of it on CNN last night, but when I looked this morning, I couldn’t find any details about it online. Just that a House bill had been passed and that the Senate had a similar one being considered. Nothing about any debate, or frankly any details, other than it would be directed at ensuring safe public water.”
Charlie shrugged. “Sorry, Doctor, this is the first I’ve heard of this new bill. But after what happened in Flint and then in that little town outside Phoenix, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
Flint, Michigan had been a cluster from the get-go. An example of politicians playing ‘the blame game’ and manipulating the press to the point that by the end of the fiasco, no one could be 100% sure of the facts, or who had dropped the ball. Then, it had faded from the public perception as the infotainment industry had moved on to tout some new celebrity love triangle.
The cholera outbreak in the small community of Dana, just on the outskirts of Phoenix, AZ was a different story. A private water provider, one operating a small fleet of water delivery trucks to water tanks in the near desert community, was eventually found by the EPA to have been using water reclaimed from an unapproved source. This finding came too late for seven locals, including three children under the age of five, who had succumbed to the ancient bacterial killer. With another sixty-odd seriously ill victims overwhelming local hospitals, the media once again found something to preach about besides the actual news.
“Well, as a physician, I am hopeful this effort will prevent more senseless deaths, but I am puzzled why the federal government isn’t making more of an effort to make political hay out of this,” the doctor said, then paused for dramatic effect. “You know, clamoring to get in front of the camera and claim to have invented safe drinking water?”
Charlie had to chuckle at that one. Leave it to the nation’s elected officials, Charlie thought to himself, to make the craziest claims to the American public, and then backtrack and obfuscate on the few occasions where they get called for their bull.
The afternoon session rolled on to nearly four o’clock before the last question was posed, and the court reporter was busy packing up her kit while Charlie saw the doctor out before he sat at his desk to respond to the dozens of e-mails accumulated while he’d been in deposition. He sat drinking the latest cup of coffee while composing his e-mail report to Billy and the client file, regarding the just-completed examination.
Charlie knew some lawyers spent most of their time in deposition working on their phones or other mobile devices, but for Charlie, listening to what was actually being said by the witness seemed a better use of his time. He’d lost track of how many times he’d corrected opposing counsel for misstating prior testimony, simply because they’d been typing on their keypads when the information had been previously solicited.
While he was busily responding to yet another email from his paralegal back at the main office, Charlie paused when he heard the muted hum of his cell phone. Not in his pocket and not on the neat work surface, he discovered the phone in the top drawer of the desk on what he thought was the fourth ring. Barely beating voicemail, Charlie thumbed the answer icon on his phone and didn’t even think about the number being an unfamiliar one. In his job, Charlie took a lot of calls from many different people, but he did note the number was a Texas area code.
“This is Charlie Tucker. How can I help you?” he answered, smiling inside at the memory of Randy busting his chops the first time he’d given that greeting. For years, Charlie had the habit of answering with a terse, “This is Book. Go.” Even Kristi stopped commenting on his method after a while. But then there was that one time when Judge Greeley had called him personally, a rarity up there with Sasquatch sightings, and upon hearing those words, “This is Book. Go.”, and thinking he’d dialed a wrong number, Judge Greeley had immediately hung up.
“Mr. Tucker, this is Joan Norgren,” came the reply, and Charlie felt himself sitting up straighter in his seat. He could still detect a faint accent in her voice. Texas, he finally decided. After all the time he’d spent in San Antonio, he should have picked up on the accent sooner.
“Ah, Miss Norgren. A pleasure to hear your voice. Remember, please call me Charlie.”
“Okay, Charlie. I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?”
“No ma’am. Not at all. Just responding to some emails that can wait. What can I do for you?” Charlie replied. He wanted to ask how she’d gotten his cell number but decided to hold that thought for the moment.
“Oh, that’s great,” she said, and then the long pause that followed made Charlie wonder if the call had been disconnected. That’d been happening more often, and Cody insisted it was because the infrastructure was rapidly losing the race to keep up with the demand. Robbie, for his part, had said it was the NSA hanging up on calls they found too boring for all involved to continue.
“Ms. Norgren, are you still there?”
“Yes, and please, call me Joan. I was just wondering how to ask this next question without sounding like a stalker.”
“I think you will find me refreshingly forgiving of such an offense, Joan. But what makes you say that?”
“Because I’m sitting outside your office right now,” Joan replied with a bit of a catch in her throat that made Charlie want to smile.
“Well, that is a bit of a problem, since I’m not downtown today,” Charlie responded, wondering what her reply would be to that tidbit, but Joan laughed nervously before sp
eaking again.
“I know. Hence the stalker comment, since I’m in the parking lot of your office in Parma.”
Charlie had to laugh then. An attractive young woman stalking him sounded like one of Robbie’s ‘no shit’ stories, but now he would be able to hang in there the next time they started one of their bullshit sessions.
“Well, as long as you don’t mean me any harm, Joan, you might as well come on in,” Charlie said. Despite the odd nature of the call, he didn’t feel threatened by the idea. In fact, when he’d first met the woman less than a week ago, he’d gotten the feeling she wanted to ask him something. Maybe today she would work up the courage to verbalize her question.
“Well, as long as I’m not imposing,” Joan replied carefully, “then I’ll be right in.”
With that, she terminated the call and Charlie finished packing up. The office manager here, in practice a glorified receptionist and paralegal working for Brian Neff, Carpenter & Associates’ one-man estate planning department, left at three p.m., so it was up to Charlie to shut down the office when his deposition ended. Fortunately, he had a key to the small suite so once he had all the lights off except for the one in the reception area, he was ready to go.
Charlie was seated in one of the overstuffed office chairs when he saw Joan’s figure darken the smoked glass panel of the front entry door, so he jumped to his feet before Joan had the door open. He’d told Billy once how the glass insert made the door much more vulnerable to forced entry, but the old man had merely laughed and asked, “Who’s going to break in, Charlie?”
Billy had a point. The quiet office park located near Parma Community General Hospital wasn’t exactly a high foot traffic area, but even after all these years, Charlie looked to see what could be done to improve security. Hell, bad enough Billy insisted on posting his offices as gun-free zones, though Charlie had little qualm about breaking that rule from time to time, like every time he walked through the door.
“Oh,” Joan said as she stepped into the quiet entryway, and her piercing blue eyes scanned the deserted professional space quickly before setting on Charlie. If he could read her reaction, he would say she appeared shocked, but not frightened by the empty state of the satellite office.
“I didn’t realize…” she started, and then stopped again.
“Welcome to the Carpenter & Associates Parma office,” Charlie announced, spreading his arms in a grand show before stifling a small chuckle and continuing. “This place is just a glorified conference room, Joan. Melba left at three to go pick up her kids, so I’m all that’s left to lock the place up.”
“Gotcha,” Joan responded, clearly recovering from her surprise. “I didn’t realize there wasn’t anybody else here. Not a problem. Look, do you have time to talk?”
Charlie didn’t bother to consult his phone or the heavy watch on his wrist. His day was officially over at this point, and all he had to look forward to was a quiet dinner back at his condo.
“All the time you need, Joan. You want to sit out here or in one of the offices?”
“How about the conference room you mentioned?”
Charlie nodded. That would work, and he was curious to see what this attractive woman wanted with him anyway. Unlike Robbie, who they considered a walking gland, Charlie knew he wasn’t God’s gift to the ladyfolk. Some of his friends generously attributed his failed relationships in recent years to his devotion to Kristi and the kids, but Charlie knew. It was staring back at him, every time he looked in a mirror.
Once inside the wood paneled conference room and with the lights turned back on, Charlie could see the tension in Joan’s face as she claimed a seat in the corner. Charlie, as was his habit, claimed a chair across from the woman where he could keep an eye on both doors. Not that he was armed of course, that would be breaking office policy. He just had access to a piece of machinery that could protect him.
“What’s up?” he finally asked as Joan continued to watch him. She was worried about something, clearly, and it wasn’t him.
“Well, I don’t know how to say this, and I really don’t know who else to talk to. I just moved to town a month ago after landing a job as briefing attorney at the Northern District,” she explained. “I have to admit something first. I didn’t bump into you by accident at the club. I heard you liked to work out in the early morning and I set my alarm clock, so I could see you the other day.”
Charlie had a good poker face before the fire, and his expression remained unreadable as Joan made her admission. He merely waited for her to continue.
“Sally Birdsong mentioned you,” Joan said, picking up the thread of her explanation. Charlie did offer a nod at this, remembering the woman. She’d worked at Carpenter & Associates for a few years as a legal assistant before receiving her certification as a paralegal and taking a job at the Federal Courthouse. They’d overlapped by a few months, but Charlie could scarcely recall more than a name.
“She said you…she said you were in the Army, and that you were in Afghanistan.”
Now that part made Charlie look pointedly at the speaker, as he never remembered mentioning anything of the sort to the plump, forty-something woman while they’d worked together.
“Why would that matter?” Charlie asked evenly, his voice pitched down low as he watched Joan squirm in her seat for the first time.
“I wanted to talk to you the other day about something. Something not work-related. Correction, I wanted to talk to somebody, and Sally suggested I talk to you. She’s the one who told me about your gym membership, Charlie. She said you were a good listener, and you might be willing to answer my questions.”
“Well, you now have my full attention, Miss Norgren,” Charlie replied, and the use of her last name wasn’t lost on the woman.
“Charlie, it’s still Joan. And I wasn’t going to ask you about anything…look, I had an older brother, Sean. He was in the Army, over there, and I just had some questions. I was still trying to work up the nerve to call you, about those questions, but that’s not why I called you today.”
Joan seemed to run out of steam at that point, and Charlie felt like an ass for putting her on the spot. Clearly, Joan had more than something minor truly troubling her. And, Charlie clearly caught the past tense when referencing her brother.
“Joan, just spit it out, okay? Just tell me why you came over here today first. We can talk about the other later. When you feel up to it. Now, what happened today?”
Charlie’s words, slow and careful, seemed to break through whatever barrier the younger attorney had erected.
“All right. All right,” she began, “like I told you, I recently started work at the Federal Courthouse as a briefing attorney. Money sucks, but the experience is great for a young lawyer. Anyway, there was a meeting this morning. Unscheduled, or at least, not on the agenda I saw.”
Charlie shrugged, clearly not getting it.
“Which judge?”
“All of them. All of the District Judges, and the Magistrate Judges as well,” Joan explained, and Charlie started to get a bad feeling as Joan continued.
“I didn’t get an invite, but the meeting started at ten o’clock and these men in black suits, you know, like the Secret Service or the FBI agents wear, went to each office and escorted each judge back to that lecture hall-sized conference room they have on the sixteenth floor. Just the judges were allowed inside. They had armed security manning the doors, keeping everybody out.”
Not liking anything he was hearing, Charlie leaned forward, his face set in hard lines that made his scarring stand out even more. “Who manned the doors? Was it the guys in the black suits?”
Joan shook her head in the negative before answering. “Federal Protective Services, but not our local guys. Or at least, none of the longtime local staffers I spoke to recognized them.”
“Please tell me you didn’t draw any attention to yourself when you were asking around,” Charlie said, more of a statement than a question.
“No, I di
dn’t. That was Reggie who did all the talking. He’s an old bird, and he handles Judge Seaver’s court as his coordinator. He was really pissed. Anyway, they were in the meeting for over two hours, and afterwards, I saw some of the judges just after they walked out. Judge Huntley was as pale as a ghost, and old Judge McNamara looked like he was five kinds of pissed-off. After that, the coordinators canceled all business in the courthouse and sent us home.”
“You got any idea what they talked about in there?”
Kneading her hands as they rested on the table, Joan shook her head again. “Not a clue. I know Judge McNamara a little bit, since I’m working on a project for him, but he wouldn’t even look me in the eye when I asked if there was anything I could do to help. I swear, Charlie, he looked scared, and I thought nothing in the whole wide world could do that.”
Charlie thought about what Joan had described and he felt the beginnings of a headache starting behind his eyes. Like Joan, Charlie knew that Federal District Judges were literally a law unto themselves. The new American ruling elite, with individually more power than any single legislator.
With lifetime appointments and powers only limited by their own brethren in the appellate courts, and ultimately the Supreme Court, these few men and women wielded the might of the federal government in their courtrooms. Some federal judges maintained a strict interpretation of the Constitution while in recent years, many had taken it upon themselves to expand upon a living document. Essentially, they put on their ‘Founding Fathers’ thinking caps and ruled on what they thought the law should be. Sometimes this was to address an issue unimaginable when the Constitution had been written and other times, this judicial legislation came to pass when the judges found the need to reverse some past injustice.
Stolen Liberty: Behind the Curtain Page 9
