“Am I boring you?” Mike asked anxiously. “A bored jury is dangerous.”
“No, but I need a baby nap.”
Mike looked at his watch. It was 4:00 p.m.
“I’ll call the DA’s office.”
Melissa Hall came on the line.
“Do you have the checks?” he asked.
“No, but a courier is bringing them over from the bank early Wednesday morning.”
“Where can my expert examine them?”
“At our office with a member of the staff present. Early afternoon will be fine.”
“Set it at one-thirty. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”
Mike confirmed the appointment time with Darius York then prepared a subpoena for production of the bank’s IBM typewriters at the same time and place. He’d already sent out subpoenas for Dick Bunt and Troy Linden to the states where they resided to be signed by a local clerk and served by a deputy sheriff. Their presence wasn’t essential at the trial, but he hoped to tag at least one of the men. Mike filled in a number of witness subpoenas. At the law firm, he’d used a private process server to deliver local subpoenas. Without that luxury, he drove to the bank himself.
The Bank of Barlow County had an imposing gray marble facing on the front with the name of the bank chiseled in large letters across the top of the building. However, marble covered only the front. The sides and back of the block-long structure were plain red brick. Prosperity in Barlow County was often only surface-deep.
Mike entered the lobby, a large open space with a two-story ceiling. Internet banking hadn’t yet dented the market in Shelton, and a row of teller stations stretched across one end of the lobby. On busy Fridays, all eight tellers would be in place ready to receive payroll checks. Late afternoon on a Monday, only two teller spots were open.
To the left of the lobby was a bull-pen area for customer service representatives and junior loan officers who handled car financing, small personal loans, and applications for residential mortgages. A vice president in a glass-walled corner office supervised the floor operations. More significant business was always sent “upstairs.”
The second-floor business area could be reached by a broad staircase or an elevator. Mike took the stairs. He and Peg didn’t have an account at the bank, and he’d not been to the second floor since he and the church treasurer arranged the financing for the new sanctuary at Little Creek. At the top of the stairs, there was a reception area with leather chairs and several sofas. Two women routed people to the appropriate individual or department. Mike could serve the subpoena on any bank officer. He approached the younger of the receptionists and introduced himself.
“My mother visited your church,” the receptionist replied in a chipper voice. “She liked it, but she moved to Nashville to help my sister who had triplets.”
“I’m glad she enjoyed the service. Is one of the bank officers available? I have something to deliver, and it won’t take long.”
The woman glanced down at a sheet of paper.
“Actually, Mr. Hatcher finished a meeting a few minutes ago.”
Mike smiled. “That will be fine.”
He watched the woman dial Jack Hatcher’s office and tried to read the reaction to the news that Mike was in the building. She hung up the phone.
“He’ll see you,” she said. “Do I need to take you to his office?”
“No thanks. I know the way.”
Jack Hatcher’s office suite covered an entire corner of the building. From his desk, the president of the bank could look out large, floor-to-ceiling windows and keep an eye on Shelton. Mike opened the door to the outer office where Hatcher’s personal assistant worked. The carpet in his outer office was noticeably nicer than the floor covering. The same woman had worked for the bank president for many years. She nodded in greeting to Mike.
“Good afternoon, Reverend Andrews. You can see Mr. Hatcher now.”
Mike stepped into the banker’s office. Hatcher rose from behind his desk and came around and shook Mike’s hand.
“Good to see you. Been on any more bike rides?”
“No, I’ve been staying close to home.”
“Have a seat,” the banker said, gesturing. “What can I do for you?”
Mike opened his briefcase. “I have two subpoenas to give you.”
He handed the documents to Hatcher, whose genial expression evaporated at the first glance.
“You want me to appear at Miller’s trial?” he blurted out.
“Yes, sir. Along with the bank’s IBM typewriters. The machines have to be delivered to the district attorney’s office before one-thirty on Wednesday. Your subpoena is day-to-day next week depending on when the case is called for trial. If you provide a local contact number, I won’t object to the judge allowing you to be on telephone standby.”
Mike watched the muscles in Hatcher’s face twitch as the banker tried to formulate a response.
“Of course, the bank wants to cooperate with the legal process, but I’m a busy man. Can’t a more junior officer provide the information you need?”
“No, sir. You have unique knowledge about the facts and circumstances that makes you the only witness competent to testify.”
“What are you talking about?” Hatcher’s attempt to maintain his composure cracked.
“Sam Miller. That’s why I’m here.”
“I don’t know Miller! The man embezzled money from one of our depositors. What can you ask me about beyond the records turned over to the district attorney’s office? I don’t know what your client told you, but if you intend on putting the bank on trial in this case, you’re making a serious mistake.”
Mike hesitated. “Mr. Hatcher, I appreciate your willingness to discuss this with me, but you might want to consult your lawyer.”
“Don’t patronize me!” Hatcher’s eyes flashed.
Mike narrowed his eyes. “Would you let me finish?”
Hatcher nodded.
“I asked for access to documents generated by your internal investigation, but the information Mr. Forrest provided didn’t even include what I’d already uncovered on my own. That let me know there hasn’t been full disclosure, and I intend to use every legal avenue available to get to the truth. My job is to represent my client. This case has already caused me considerable personal and professional hardship, and I don’t intend on backing down now.”
Hatcher waved his hand to signal the end of the interview. “Then you’d better talk to Maxwell Forrest if you want anything from us.”
Mike stood. “He knows my number.”
Mike returned to the waiting area and thanked the young receptionist for her help.
“Is Butch Niles in the bank?” he asked.
“No.”
“When do you expect him back?”
The woman looked at her computer screen. “He’ll be in the office all day Wednesday.”
MIKE RETURNED HOME TO A BLINKING LIGHT ON HIS ANSWERING machine. He pushed the button and listened to the familiar voice of Maxwell Forrest. The older lawyer sounded calm, but Mike knew anger boiled beneath the surface.
“Jack Hatcher notified me about the subpoenas served on him. I’ll file appropriate responses with the court. Copy me on anything else you deliver to the bank or its officers.” There was brief pause. “And I expect you to comply with my instructions not to have contact with anyone at the firm about this matter.”
Mike made several quick notes on one of his legal pads. Powerful businessmen like Jack Hatcher were often surprisingly easy targets on the witness stand. Used to dominating meetings and browbeating underlings, they didn’t adapt well to the controlled environment of the courtroom where the judge reigned supreme, and the rules of engagement allowed an attorney to dictate the topic to be discussed.
He nodded in satisfaction. Whether Hatcher was in a church pew or on a witness stand, he would be in Mike’s domain. And Mike would know what to do with him.
Twenty-six
AFTER SUPPER, HE PH
ONED SAM MILLER. “I NEED TO GO OVER your testimony,” Mike said. “Can you come to my house tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yep,” Sam replied. “But I’ve given my testimony so many times that I don’t need to practice it. I can tell you quick what happened. I was in darkness and sin until the Master set me free and brought me into the light. I’ve got a longer story that I use sometimes in a church meeting—”
“I’m talking about the questions and answers in court,” Mike interrupted, with a silent plea for help directed toward the ceiling. “As a criminal defendant, you don’t have to testify in court, but with the evidence against you, I don’t see any way around it. We need to rehearse what you’ll say so you won’t get sidetracked or confused in front of the jury. I’m going to write out every question and answer. We’ll go over them, then Muriel can help you memorize the responses. I’m also going to write out questions I think the district attorney is going to ask and ways to answer that won’t make you look guilty.”
“What time? I have a couple of yards that need cutting.”
“Three o’clock?”
“That should work.”
PEG HAD TAKEN JUDGE OUTSIDE FOR A BRIEF WALK IN THE evening air. Mike joined her. They skirted the edge of the woods and around the side of the house.
“Do you want me to pretend that I’m Butch Niles when we go inside?” Peg asked.
“Maybe later. I’ve been going hard all day and need a break.”
“You didn’t say two sentences during supper.”
Mike took her hand. “Sorry, my mind is crunching all the possibilities. With all the subpoenas going out, it’s impossible to completely hide what I intend to do, and I’m still working it out myself.”
“Did you serve subpoenas on the men who live out of state?”
“Hatcher didn’t mention it today, so I’ll need to check tomorrow.”
Peg stopped while Judge sniffed the edge of an azalea bush.
“Are you concerned the bad guys might have organized-crime connections?” she asked.
“The thought crossed my mind when I found out Linden bribed a public official in New Jersey,” Mike admitted. “But that happened ten years ago. I think the current deal is probably simple greed.”
“Should I be worried?”
Mike looked in Peg’s eyes and saw anxiety.
“It’s probably the baby,” she continued. “My body is telling me to be careful and protect the life I carry. I know it’s nonsense, but my imagination has gone down a few scary paths while I’ve been lying in bed.”
Mike squeezed her hand. “Try not to worry. I’m just a lawyer doing his job. We’re not living in a third-world country.”
“I know, and I want you to defend Sam, but don’t turn this into a big crusade. Some of the questions you read to me today sounded more like a U.S. Senate hearing than the defense of a small-town criminal case.”
“You should have told me.”
“I am.”
“That’s a hard line to draw. At first glance, the evidence against Sam looks so convincing that it will take a big target to cover it up.”
THE FOLLOWING DAY, MIKE DEVOTED THE ENTIRE MORNING TO Sam’s testimony. He cut it up into bite-sized pieces he hoped his client could digest. During a mid-morning break, he confirmed that both Bunt and Linden had been served with subpoenas. If Mike used all the witnesses on his roster, his estimate that the case would last a day and a half would be a gross underestimate. He could already envision keeping Jack Hatcher on the stand for most of a day.
Shortly before lunch, the front doorbell chimed. Mike opened the door to a young man in a suit.
“I’m from Forrest, Lambert, and Arnold,” he said. “Are you Mr. Andrews?”
“Yes.”
The man handed him a thick envelope. “This is from Mr. Forrest.”
Mike took the packet and closed the door. He weighed it in his hand, already suspecting what it contained.
“Who was at the door?” Peg called out from the great room.
“Someone with a present from Mr. Forrest. Do you want to open it?”
“Not unless it’s addressed to me.”
Mike went into the office. The envelope contained motions to quash the subpoenas for all the people he’d served except Brian Dressler, and objections to delivering any written or tangible evidence. A second batch of paperwork included motions for protective orders designed to prevent the type of broad-range fishing expedition Mike considered essential to defense of the case. A hearing on the motions was set for Thursday after the calendar call. Mike walked into the great room.
“Mr. Forrest wants me to call Sam and Brian Dressler as my only witnesses without any information from the bank or anyplace else.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Keep serving subpoenas.”
When he resumed work on questions and answers, Mike started humming.
Returning to the battlefield, he was like a warhorse that snorts in excitement at the smell of gunpowder. He worked steadily until Sam and Muriel arrived. They went into the kitchen.
“I don’t want you sitting in my recliner and leaving the planet,” Mike said. “We’ll set up the kitchen like a courtroom and work in there.”
Peg and Judge joined them.
“The judge is here,” Peg said.
Mike smiled.
“You know, animals see things people miss,” Sam continued. “We had a dog named Blue that knew when angels were in the room. Sometimes, he’d stare at the corner where Muriel sat to pray and read her Bible. I asked Papa about it, and He reminded me of a verse—”
“Okay,” Mike interrupted as he moved a chair to the side. “This will be the witness chair. Muriel, you’ll be the jury. I want Sam to look at you while he testifies. Eye contact with the jury is very important.”
“The eye is the lamp of the body,” Sam replied.
“That’s right. And I want the jury to see that there isn’t anything criminal in you.”
Peg joined Muriel in the jury box. Mike sat in a chair across from Sam.
“This isn’t like TV,” Mike said. “In North Carolina, the attorneys sit while asking questions unless showing evidence to the witness or the judge. As soon as you are in the witness chair, make eye contact with the jury.”
Sam looked at Muriel and Peg and smiled.
“Don’t smile,” Mike corrected. “This isn’t a time for levity.”
“What?”
“Look sincere and serious.”
Sam looked at the women again.
“That’s good,” Mike said. “The jury will be very curious about you and will pay close attention to the first minute or so you’re on the witness stand.”
“I’m still concerned about my dream that my enemies will be on the jury,” Sam said.
“We’ll be together during jury selection, and you can let me know if you spot any unfriendly faces.”
“It’s going to take more than man’s wisdom to know what to do.”
“Then ask God to give it to us so we can make the right decisions. All it takes is a couple of strong jurors in our favor to influence the whole panel. There may be twelve people on the jury, but most cases are decided by a few strong-willed individuals. You pray while I ask them questions.”
“Yep.”
“Raise your right hand.”
Sam complied. Mike administered the oath.
“The judge will do that when we’re in court.”
“Like he did the other day.”
“Exactly. Then I’ll ask you a lot of easy questions about who you are and what you do. Let’s get started.”
As they worked through the background questions, Mike was pleased with the relaxed way Sam projected his responses to the pretend jury, setting a tone of truthfulness that Mike hoped would carry over to issues central to the case.
“Tell the jury about the origins of your relationship with the Craig Valley Gospel Tabernacle,” Mike said.
Sam looked at Muriel and Peg. �
��I was involved in the beginning of the church, and although the color of our skin is different, many of the members are like sons and daughters in the faith. Over the years, I’ve ministered to the people on Sunday and cut the grass during the week.”
“What was your relationship with the deacons?”
“Mostly good, although there have been a few who didn’t agree with me about Papa’s ways. That’s never a happy situation, but—”
“Hold it,” Mike said. “Can you stop using the words ‘Papa’ and ‘Master’ when referring to God and Jesus?”
Sam gave Mike a rueful expression. “I figured that might come up.”
“I know it makes people think about God as a person who loves us and Jesus as the One who is in charge of our lives, but it’s a distraction. Without an explanation, I believe it will hurt your credibility with the jury. They’ll be scratching their heads trying to figure out if you’re sacrilegious instead of paying attention to what’s important.”
“I’m not sure what that big word means, but why can’t one of us give an explanation? I like the way you put it. You’ve got a way of speaking that would make me jealous if it wasn’t a sin.”
“Because you’re not the apostle Paul defending his faith before King Agrippa in the book of Acts. This is an embezzlement trial in an American courtroom.”
Sam looked at Muriel. “What do you think?”
“Do what Mike suggests. That’s why he’s helping you.”
“I’ll try,” Sam said to Mike. “But it’s such a habit with me that I might slip up.”
“If you do, I’ll ask a follow-up question that will let you explain.”
“I’m thirsty,” Sam said. “Can we stop for a drink of water?”
Peg fixed Sam and Muriel glasses of ice water then motioned for Mike to leave the kitchen. They stepped into the great room.
“What is it?” Mike asked.
“Isn’t your goal to make Sam look truthful and genuine?”
“Yes, but using those words could really backfire.”
Mountain Top Page 30
