by MJ Rodgers
“Yes, but none of them receive any compensation,” Pechman quickly added.
“After voting in three-fourths of a million for Dad, what would they need it for?”
“Your Honor, I object,” Lyton said again, this time getting to his feet. “Mr. Pechman has every right to receive a salary commensurate with his very important and demanding duties as president of the Boys’ Ranch. Mr. Truesdale has no right to attack this witness on such matters.”
“Save your speeches for the summation, Mr. Lyton,” the judge said. “Objection sustained.”
“Mr. Pechman, you said earlier that you didn’t want to expose the troubled youth to the rigors of winter at the ranch and that is the reason you were not bringing them there at this time, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And that is the only reason that the troubled youth on the streets of Seattle will not be coming to the ranch this winter?”
“Yes. Of course.”
Marc strode back to the defense table and whipped out a circular that he held in his hands as he once again approached his witness.
“Mr. Pechman, would you please read to this court what this circular says?”
Pechman’s face went from pasty pale to beet red. His voice was a croak. “Winter skiing resort. Excellent slopes for advanced and beginners alike. Come to Big Baby Mountain in eastern Washington. Brand-new facility with lift, instructors and horse-drawn sleigh rides to and from the mountain. Opens Halloween. Special romantic weekend rates over the holidays. Make your reservations now.”
“Mr. Pechman, did you have this skiing resort circular printed and distributed to Seattle businesses to advertise the facilities you have been representing to this court this morning as the Boys’ Ranch?”
“Yes, but I can explain.”
“Please do. I’m sure the jury is as eager as I am to hear why you are using the Boys’ Ranch as a winter ski resort.”
“Since the boys couldn’t be expected to spend the winter there, it seemed only right to find a way to utilize the facilities. Our accountant agreed it’s a financially sound decision.”
“You’re saying it was a financially sound decision to build a ski lift and gift shop and hire instructors to cater to paying guests this winter?”
“Our accountant can show you all the figures.”
“And when you used the facilities and stock and staff to cater to paying guests all this past summer and fall, was that also a financially sound decision?”
“Absolutely. We showed a good profit.”
“But showing a good profit isn’t what you promised David Demerchant you would do with his donation of land and money, was it?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand. Three years ago you convinced David Demerchant to fund a ranch for troubled boys. You gave David your word that you would use the land and money he gave you to help the troubled youth from Seattle streets.”
“But I do plan to do that! I do!”
“When, Mr. Pechman? At the rate you’re going with dude ranches and ski resorts, the only way one of Seattle’s troubled youth will ever see Big Baby Mountain is if they get adopted by one of your yuppies.”
“Your Honor, I object!” Lyton said, rising to his feet.
“Object all you want,” Marc said. “It won’t change the facts. I’m finished with this witness.”
Remy was very glad she was not Brian Pechman at the moment. Pechman slunk back to the plaintiff’s table, looking every bit the money-grabbing opportunist who had sold out the troubled boys he was supposed to help.
Lyton quickly asked for a ten-minute recess and got it. He ushered both of his clients out of the courtroom.
Remy and Marc stayed at the defense table. She leaned closer so her question wouldn’t be overheard. “Did you know that Pechman wasn’t living up to his word to David all this time?”
“No, not until A.J.’s people went out to the ranch a couple of weeks ago and found out what was going on.”
“You never thought to check on him sooner?”
“No point to it. David didn’t have me put any restrictions on the money he earmarked for any of the charity gifts he had me include in his trust. Technically, it doesn’t matter what Pechman and Voyce do with the funds.”
“Do you think Lyton knew about what Pechman was doing with David’s money?’
“I’m certain he knew. He should have also known I would find out, even in the short amount of time the judge gave us.”
“This is bothering you, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s not like Lyton to underestimate me or to be this sloppy. Not like him at all.”
Remy was silent through the rest of the break. She didn’t like the idea of letting Pechman get away with helping himself rather than helping Seattle’s youth, but it seemed the only way to stop him was for Marc to prove Nicholas was David’s bona fide beneficiary. She didn’t like that thought, either. More and more she was becoming confused about this whole case.
* * *
“I NEXT CALL NORMA VOYCE to the stand,” Lyton said after the recess was up and court had reconvened.
Norma Voyce took the stand puffed up like a feather pillow. She agreed in a raspy voice to tell the truth.
“Ms. Voyce, would you please tell this court what you do?”
“I’m president of the Seattle Greenleaf Society.”
“How long have you been the president?”
“Nearly four and a half years.”
“And what does the Greenleaf Society do?”
“We preserve endangered plants indigenous to Washington.”
“How do you do this?”
“One of our main vehicles used to preserve the endangered plants is to create greenhouses throughout the state for them, much like zoos for endangered animals. In these greenhouses, the plants are protected from harmful pesticides, predators and the relentless encroachment of man.”
“How is your society funded?”
“Ninety-nine percent of our funds come from David Demerchant’s estate.”
“How did you meet David Demerchant?”
“Through our cofounder, Audra Blane. Of course, we weren’t a truly functioning society at that time. Just a handful of hopefuls.”
“I understand. Please go on.”
“Audra was in charge of attracting wealthy sponsors, but she didn’t know much about the plants, so she invited me along to explain the specifics while she wooed them.”
“And one of the men she wooed was David Demerchant?”
“Yes. Subtlety was not Audra’s strong suit. She pressed him for a donation. He resisted. She was frustrated with his ability to put her off, but she told me it was only a matter of time before she wore him down. Only time ran out for her.”
“What do you mean, Ms. Voyce?”
“Audra took a corner too fast in her new sports car. She crashed. She was rushed to the hospital, badly injured. She died on the operating table.”
“What happened next?”
“A week later I received a check for a million dollars from David earmarked for the society. The letter enclosed with it said the money was in memory of Audra. May I read it to the court? It will explain why he sent it much better than I can.”
“Yes, please read the letter, Ms. Voyce.”
Norma dug into her large bag and came out with an envelope. She withdrew a letter from inside, unfolded it, paused to put her glasses on and then began to read it aloud.
Dear Norma,
I send you this check in memory of Audra. I intended she should have it while she was alive, but she pushed so hard to get it, I couldn’t bring myself to give it to her. It was the game that kept me around, and I knew the day Audra got the money, the game would be over. It was fun. I didn’t want it to be over too soon.
But it is over too soon.
I will always remember Audra. I had the distinct pleasure of keeping her guessing in life. Too bad she’ll never know how well her death has tu
rned the tables.
Take care of all our endangered green friends with the long Latin names that you always recall so well. I know they are in good hands. I will remember you all in my will, as they say.
Sincerely,
David Demerchant
“What did you do with David’s check, Ms. Voyce?”
“We had already collected seventy thousand. With David’s million dollars, I was able to begin constructing the greenhouses and stocking them with the endangered species.”
“Did you ever see or hear from David Demerchant again?”
“No. A couple of months after I received his check, I read about his death in that plane crash over the Pacific Ocean. Then Mr. Truesdale contacted me. He told me David’s estate had provided for the yearly stipend that’s kept us going ever since.”
“And without that money, could your society survive?”
“No. I believe David knew that. I believe that’s why he provided that money for the preservation of the plants. Like he said in his letter, he remembered us in his will. He knew what we were doing was important. He wanted it to continue.”
“Just one more question, Ms. Voyce. How much do you receive in salary every year as president of the Seattle Greenleaf Society?”
“Forty thousand dollars.”
“Nothing else? No expense account? No car?”
“Nothing.”
Lyton smiled. “Thank you, Ms. Voyce. That’s all I have.”
Having closely watched and listened to her evidence, Remy was impressed with Norma Voyce. She seemed genuine. And Remy knew that every scrap of information Marc had received about the greenhouses had attested to the fact that they were well constructed and their plants were being tended with great care. What’s more, forty thousand was all Voyce was taking in salary, despite the fact that she could have easily taken just about any amount she wished.
This woman would be much more difficult to challenge than Pechman. Remy leaned forward, eager to hear how Marc was going to do it.
* * *
MARC APPROACHED Norma Voyce slowly. He’d given her fair warning at the summary judgment hearing. Too bad she hadn’t listened.
“Ms. Voyce, earlier you told this court that Audra Blane was cofounder of the Greenleaf Society, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“But when you first applied for nonprofit status for your society four and a half years ago, your name was the only one on the application, isn’t that right?”
“Yes. I recruited Audra a little while after that.”
“You said she didn’t know anything about plants. Why did she join the society?”
“She understood the benefits of preserving our native plants.”
“Don’t you mean she understood the benefits of keeping half of all the money she brought in?”
Voyce blinked hard. “I don’t know what—”
“Careful, Ms. Voyce. Perjury is a criminal offense. Now, did you have an agreement with Audra Blane that she could keep half of all the money she wooed out of those wealthy men for your nonprofit society?”
Voyce swallowed uneasily. “That money was her salary.”
“Half of all she collected?”
“She earned it. She was a very good fund-raiser.”
“Don’t you mean a very good prostitute?”
Voyce’s eyes blinked like a disco strobe light.
“Your Honor, I object!” Lyton said, flying to his feet. “Defense attorney is defaming the character of a dead woman who cannot defend herself!”
“If Your Honor pleases,” Marc said as he approached the bench with a stack of papers in his hands, “defense places into evidence these eight police arrest reports on Audra Blane for prostitution over the five-year period immediately preceding her becoming a ‘fund-raiser’ for the Seattle Greenleaf Society.”
The judge took his time in reading the reports before ruling on either motion. “So ordered, Mr. Truesdale. Objection overruled. You may proceed.”
Marc returned to his witness.
“Ms. Voyce, you knew that Audra Blane was a prostitute, didn’t you?”
As Voyce began to shake her head, Marc quickly interrupted her forthcoming denial. “Before you say anything on the record, Ms. Voyce, I must warn you that on Audra Blane’s last arrest record, your name is shown as the person who posted her bail.”
Voyce’s puffed-up pomp deflated all at once like a punctured balloon. Her shoulders and chest sagged into her stomach. She rested her forehead against her hand as though her head had suddenly become too heavy to hold upright.
“For a whole year I tried to get funding. I begged and borrowed every dime I could to print up fliers. I stood on street corners in the rain and cold, handing them out, trying to warn people we were losing so many of our irreplaceable plants. And you know what I had collected in donations by the end of that year? Five hundred dollars.”
“How did you link up with Audra Blane?” Marc prodded.
“Audra had lived next door to me for several months. She always spoke well and looked classy—not common like you’d think a prostitute would. I never suspected until she called me one night and begged me to bail her out of jail. That’s when I finally learned what she really did.”
“And you got your new idea of how to raise funds?”
“Well, why not? Audra knew how to meet wealthy men and she was real good with them. I convinced her that she could use her talents as a legitimate fund-raiser. By the end of the next year, she’d pulled in one hundred and forty thousand dollars for us, never knowing a flower from a weed! Like we agreed, she took seventy, and the society got the other seventy.”
“And then Audra wooed David Demerchant.”
“He was the big fish. She did everything she could to try to get him to commit, but he was real stubborn. After Audra died in that accident, I thought I’d never hear from him again. But he came through.”
“Because you paid a prostitute to hook him?”
“You make it sound so dirty!”
“It was dirty, Ms. Voyce. And it was dishonest.”
“Your Honor, I object!” Lyton protested. “Defense counsel is not asking a question, he’s making a statement!”
“Withdrawn,” Marc said. “I have no more questions.” He turned away in unhidden disgust from Norma Voyce.
As Marc retook his chair and Voyce slunk back to the defense table, Remy realized from the looks on the jury’s faces that she wasn’t the only one reassessing her opinion of nonprofit societies this morning.
“As it is close to the noon hour,” Judge Swellen said, “court is adjourned until two this afternoon.”
Remy stood in preparation to leave, but Marc didn’t budge. He was too engrossed in reading a letter the bailiff had just brought to him.
Chapter Twelve
“Something in that note you received seems to have you puzzled,” Remy said as they drove away from the courthouse.
“That’s because I can’t think of who might have sent it,” Marc said.
“An anonymous note? What does it say?”
“It says that I might be interested to know that David donated blood for Audra Blane after her accident.”
“Who would have known that?”
“Norma Voyce, maybe. Although, it would make me uneasy to learn she sent the note. There’s enough other stuff going on in that courtroom that’s making me uneasy.”
“Like what?”
“The criminal record on Audra Blane is in the public record. Didn’t take much digging for me to find it. I can’t imagine how Lyton missed it.”
“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just hoped you would.”
“No, he knows me better than that. Or he should. Are you very hungry, Remy?”
“You want us to skip lunch and go check out this blood donation thing, don’t you.”
“Am I that transparent or are you just that smart?”
“Both.”
He laughed as he turned the steering wheel.
&
nbsp; * * *
THE YOUNG, BORED-LOOKING woman with the name tag that said Shari on her white uniform stared at her computer screen as they approached.
“Hi, Shari, I’m Marc Truesdale and this is Dr. Westbrook.”
Shari’s head came up with a start. She whooshed off her chair onto the soles of her orthopedic shoes as though she were a recruit coming suddenly to attention as the drill sergeant walked into the room.
Her tone was full of breathless wonder. “Attorney Marc Truesdale and his client, the mother of the billion-dollar baby. Here. I can’t believe it.”
Marc flashed the young woman one of his winning smiles. She looked like she was going to melt all over her computer.
Remy said nothing. The hospital clerk had barely looked in her direction, anyway. She continued to gush at Marc. “I’ve been following your cases since the Bio-Sperm trial. I’ve taped every interview you’ve had on television.”
“How would you like to help me in my present case, Shari?”
“You mean me? Really?”
“Three years ago, David Demerchant came to this hospital when a friend, Audra Blane, was brought in after an automobile accident. He donated some blood for her. Could you see if there’s still a record of his donation?”
Shari nodded and plopped back down in front of her computer, her fingers instantly flying over the keys. She munched on her lips, clearly disappointed at the results of her initial efforts. But she didn’t give up. She typed some more, squinted at the screen some more and munched some more. After several minutes, her abused lips lifted back into a smile.
“Yes! I have it.”
“Great. I need a copy of all the tests run on his blood.”
For the first time Shari hesitated. “A blood donation is confidential. If anyone found out that I—”
Marc leaned over her desk and rested his hand on her arm. “It’s all right. I’ll have a court order in your hands tomorrow morning covering anything you give me this afternoon. You can trust me.”
It was all Shari needed to hear. She hit the print button with the speed of light. Less than a minute later, Marc was reading the information as they walked back to the car. Remy watched his lips lift.
“Good news?” she asked.
“If memory serves me right, your blood type is A-positive?”
