Savannah Law

by William Eleazer

  Winston rapped sharply on the lectern to bring the meeting back to order. “Any further discussion on the motion?” he asked.

  Professor Nathan Bedford Forrest Lee raised his hand. Lee was one of the original faculty members, having come to Savannah Law in the twilight of a notable career at Yale where he was Nicholas Debevoise Distinguished Professor of Constitutional Law. He left the cold confines of New Haven for health reasons, agreeing to teach at Savannah Law for a couple more years. In Savannah, his health greatly improved and he remained. As at Yale, he was genuinely and universally admired by both students and faculty. Lee was one of the few conservative faculty members at Savannah Law, as he had been at Yale. And he was one of only three registered Republicans on the faculty.

  Lee did not often speak at faculty meetings. When he did, it was something profound and important that had been missed by other faculty members, or something wry or ironic. Winston recognized Lee to speak, and he rose with an impish grin.

  “I urge a vote in favor of this motion,” he said. “Although I must admit it would be a bad policy and present an arduous task to implement, it has one salient, positive feature that cries out for a favorable vote. And that is a pitiful, distant, sandspur-filled field will become the ‘George W. Bush Parking Lot.’ This is historic—the first and, likely, only time that any member of our faculty has ever proposed any building or place on our campus to be named in honor of a Republican president.”

  There was good-natured laughter as Lee took his seat, and Winston called for a voice vote. Only one voice was heard in favor, and that was from Professor Lee, who shouted his “yes” vote with a broad smile on his face. Geraldine looked apprehensively around the room for signs of support and, finding none, remained silent. The “no” vote followed, and it easily carried. After a quick motion to adjourn, the faculty members retired to the Faculty Dining Room for their weekly libations. Savannah Law had survived another meeting of the faculty.

  CHAPTER 25

  Jennifer arrived back in Savannah Tuesday afternoon. She had missed two whole days of classes but had made arrangements for a catch-up session at her apartment with Nicole. Scott and Jennifer played telephone tag Tuesday, and the sun had set before Scott finally heard her live voice. She was at her apartment. He wanted to tell her that he really wanted to see her now and spend some time together, but he knew that Nicole was already there. Thus, he merely asked, “When can I see you?”

  Without hesitation, Jennifer answered, “Now! Can you come right now? Say ‘yes’!”

  “Yes, but isn’t Nicole there now?”

  “She is,” answered Jennifer. “And we’re just getting started, but Scott, please come. I’ve missed you. You don’t have to come in. Park outside and I’ll come out. I won’t take much of your time.”

  Take all the time you want, thought Scott. All night would be just about right. But he just said, “I’m on the way.”

  Jennifer saw his car pull up and park. Turning to Nicole, she said, “I’ll be back shortly,” and rushed out the door.

  She saw Scott getting out of his car and rushed to him. In the darkness, Scott could not see the tears that were welling in her eyes. He put his arms out to welcome her in a firm embrace. Scott held her until he felt tears slowly rolling down her face.

  Scott stepped back but still held his hands around her waist. “What’s the matter, Jennifer? You’re upset.”

  How right he was. The roadside terror of Friday night was replaying in her mind. It had been bottled inside for almost four days. She had told no one. She had planned to tell Scott about the ordeal when she saw him in person. Now she was conflicted by the joy of seeing him and being held in his arms and the image of the monster that she faced on that darkened South Carolina highway on Friday night.

  The tears continued, but she managed to say, “Scott, I’m just so glad to see you. It’s been a long four days. I’ve got... we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Nicole was kind enough to help me tonight. Can I see you tomorrow night? I’m out of my last class at five. Can we meet at the Library then? Say ‘yes’!”

  Jennifer’s demand to say “yes” was easy for Scott. He hoped it really was that she wanted to see him, to spend some time together. But he was not at all sure that the tears were because she was so glad to see him. He wondered if they were caused by the pressure of school or her father’s illness, or perhaps both.

  As he said “yes,” he leaned over and gave her a kiss. Jennifer responded with the same intense passion as the last time: Friday night under the outdoor stairway at her apartment—which now seemed months ago to both of them.

  For a moment, Scott thought of telling her that their meeting the next day would have to be brief because he had much work to do on the Vandera trial set for Thursday. But he knew it would not be brief. He would stay with her Wednesday night as long as she would let him.

  CHAPTER 26

  Wednesday, August 30

  When Jaak arrived at work Wednesday morning, Juri was already there, as usual. “Got something for you, Jaak,” he said, motioning Jaak over to a table where he had the marked Rider Back cards displayed. “I think I found another clue.”

  Jaak gazed down at the deck of cards. Juri had them arraigned in three stacks, face down.

  “It took me a while because I was concentrating on the fancy design around the edges, and the circles within circles, and the big wheel in the middle. But I found it where I least expected it, and I guess that’s the trick of designing marked cards. It’s not easy to see unless you know what you are looking for. Look where the hands of the cherub, or whatever is riding that bicycle, are placed on the handlebars. Look at those handlebars. What do you see?” asked Juri.

  Jaak peered closely at the back of the cards. After a minute or two, he stood and said, “Juri, I looked at those cards Sunday night and Monday morning until my eyes hurt. I saw nothing then, and I see nothing now.”

  “Look at the left end of the handlebar—the small oblong white mark—apparently the handlebar grip,” Juri said, pointing to a card on the stack on the right side of the table. “Now look at the left end of the handlebar in the center stack. The small white grip is missing.”

  Jaak took another look, and after a moment, he just stood there nodding his head. He saw it clearly. It was so cleverly done— just a short white oblong mark on the end of the handlebar. It blended so well. Jaak could not help but admire the simple, but elusive, design. “I see it, Juri. What’s in the third stack?” asked Jaak.

  “The same mark, but on the right handlebar. There are three different designs in the scheme. Mark on right handlebar, mark on left handle bar, and no mark on either. That’s the key.”

  “The key? How?”

  “Look at the top row—the stack with all aces, 2s, 3s, and 4s. Those cards have no marks on the handlebar grip. And the middle row—5s, 6s, 7s, 8s, and 9s. That row has the mark on the right side. And the bottom row—the row with 10s, jacks, queens, and kings— the mark is on the left grip.” Juri turned to Jaak with a grin, inviting a comment from Jaak.

  Jaak didn’t speak. He picked up a 3 from the top row. He recalled from his examination on Monday morning that all the 3s had three of the small sea gulls in the lower part of the circle. Then he picked up an 8, which he recalled also had three gulls in the lower part of the circle. Next, he picked up a king—also with three gulls.

  And it came to him. It was so uncomplicated yet so shrewd. Just add five if the mark is on the right grip. Add ten if the mark is on the left grip. And add nothing if there is no mark on either side. He picked up a card, with the mark on the right grip from the second row. It had three gulls. The math is easy. Add five. Jaak turned the card over. An 8.

  Jaak was pleased to know the entire code, but it really made no difference, for the cards would never be placed in action again. He would just keep them somewhere as a visible reminder. But a reminder of what? Man’s greed, deceit, guile, double-dealing, duplicity? Or perhaps it was none of these but, instead,
a man’s excessive pride and the embarrassment from being the sheep that was sheared every Sunday night. Jaak would neither guess at nor judge the motive behind Denis’s deception. He would just confront him with the evidence and terminate his welcome at the Sunday-night poker table.

  CHAPTER 27

  It was a few minutes before five when Scott arrived at the Library to meet Jennifer. The evening crowd had not begun to arrive, and the Numark system was playing some of Juri’s favorite jazz. Scott took a seat at the bar, and he and Juri began a lively conversation about their favorite subject and team—specifically, baseball and the Atlanta Braves. And, as usual, it involved the Braves’ dismal play in recent weeks. Their chances of making the playoffs looked dim.

  “Slim to none,” Juri complained. “Philadelphia and the Mets look strong and are getting stronger. The Braves can’t hit, and they can’t pitch. Stick a fork in ’em, they’re done.”

  Juri enjoyed discussing baseball with Scott. Scott had been involved in the Braves’ organization for two years after graduating from Alabama. As a third baseman, he had been selected “All SEC” in his senior year. He had applied for admission to the law school at the University of Alabama, but he also had major league aspirations, and his college coach encouraged him to “go for it.” His tryout with the Braves organization in the spring of his senior year was successful, and upon graduation he was sent to the Danville Braves of the Appalachian League. After a year, he was promoted to the Rome Braves in the Class A South Atlantic League. And that was as far as he went. Eventually, he recognized that although he was an exceptional fielder, he wasn’t exceptional at the plate. After two years in the minors, he knew that baseball wasn’t going to be his career. He applied to several law schools, but with his aunt promising a free apartment and Savannah Law offering a partial scholarship, his choice was clear.

  Scott looked at his watch. It was ten after five. Jennifer said she got out of class at five, so he knew that she would be there soon.

  “Who’s the jazz singer?” asked Scott.

  “You don’t recognize that voice? That’s Amy Winehouse. ‘October Song’ from her 2003 album, Frank. Do you like it?” asked Juri.

  “Not especially, but an interesting name for an album, Frank. Is that some guy she’s singing to?” asked Scott.

  “Nope. ‘Frank’ is Frank Sinatra—her idol when he was singing jazz. So maybe she is singing to him. Some people think that the name came from her lyrics being so ‘frank,’ but that’s not true, although some of them are pretty raw. I don’t play them when the family dinner crowd is here—but on a slow, late afternoon like today, I put her on. She’s got some voice. Too bad she needs constant and perpetual rehab.” Juri paused a few moments and then added, “Scott, speaking of ‘constant and perpetual,’ you keep looking at your watch. What’s up?”

  “Jennifer’s meeting me here after her last class. She’ll be here soon,” said Scott.

  “Well, you’ve got time for a couple stories,” said Juri.

  He always used ‘story’ instead of ‘joke,’ but Scott knew what was coming and began to smile.

  “Guy walks into a lawyer’s office, says, ‘If I give you five hundred dollars, will you answer two questions?’ The lawyer says, ‘Sure, what’s the second question?’”

  Scott laughed, and Juri continued.

  “I guess you heard about that band of terrorists who took a busload of lawyers as hostages. They called a radio station with a list of demands and added that they were going to release one lawyer every hour if their demands weren’t met.” As usual, Juri laughed heartily at his own joke.

  Scott laughed along with him but added, “Juri, you know you’re not supposed to tell lawyer jokes. I heard Jaak tell you that.”

  “Right. And speaking of Jaak, I better get that Winehouse CD off the player. The next couple of songs are a bit raunchy.”

  Juri replaced the CD with another jazz singer. When he returned, he said, “That’s Billie Holiday’s ‘Body and Soul’—she was another tragedy. Seems like the great jazz and blues singers carry the same curse. And if Amy Winehouse doesn’t get her life together, she’ll end up like Holiday and Janis Joplin.”

  “And how’s that? I know about Winehouse, but Holiday and Joplin? I’m not a jazz historian.”

  “Early death from drugs and alcohol—must be part of the profession. Holiday had a history of drugs and died of cirrhosis of the liver. She was forty-four. Janis Joplin—a hell of a blues and jazz singer—died of a heroin overdose in a Hollywood hotel room. She was a member of the Twenty-Seven Club.”

  “Twenty-Seven Club? Come on, Juri, quit talking in code. I told you I don’t know jazz history.”

  “Oh, it’s just for famous musicians who died at age twenty-seven. Joplin was twenty-seven. Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Brian James, and Kurt Cobain are also members of the club, and there are a dozen or so more. Most, but not all, drug connected. And Amy Winehouse is headed that way if she doesn’t get some serious rehab. And she’s just twenty-three.”

  Another customer came in, took a seat at the bar, and Juri went over to take his order.

  Scott checked his watch again. It was almost five-thirty. Maybe he misunderstood the time. He stepped down from the bar stool and headed for the alcove to give Jennifer a call. As he did, Jennifer came hurriedly through the doorway. She had a backpack filled with books and a large envelope in her hand.

  “Sorry I’m late, Scott. Professor Nolan left a voice message on my cell to check with him after my last class. He gave me the case file for the Daniels Trial Competition. He wants to meet with the witnesses tonight at seven in his office. Also wants us to have read through the file by then, especially the witness statements. That’s what’s in this envelope.”

  Scott took the envelope in one hand and Jennifer’s hand in the other and led her to a nearby table in the Study Hall. Jennifer removed her backpack, and they sat side by side.

  “Not much notice,” said Scott. “He wants you to have read this by tonight, and you pick it up at five?” Scott opened the envelope and flipped through the file. “Ninety-six pages—that’s two hours or more.” He was irritated, and it was showing. And he knew it was showing.

  “Sorry, Jen, if I seem miffed. But I was really looking forward to seeing you tonight. I hadn’t expected to share that time with some professor, especially Nolan.”

  “Neither did I,” said Jennifer. She noted the “especially Nolan” comment but ignored it. She was as disappointed as Scott. This was to be a special night, and she had a lot to tell Scott. But it wasn’t shaping up to be very special.

  Scott was about to ask her how Professor Nolan knew her cell phone number when he recalled that she had supplied it the first time they met in Thomas Courthouse. And that irritated him even more.

  “Looks like our night is planned for us, not by us,” said Scott. “I think we should get a quick bite to eat right here so you can have a few minutes to look at that case file before your meeting.”

  Jennifer had hoped to tell Scott about her Friday night trip. She was still seeing that hand shaking and splattering blood on her windshield. She needed to get it off of her mind. But again, it wasn’t the time or place.

  They ordered sandwiches and talked. She had spoken with her mother earlier in the day. Her dad was continuing to improve. She and Scott made small talk about school, her classes, and Scott’s case scheduled for the next morning. They made a date for Thursday, same place, at six.

  Scott walked with her to the Savannah Law library where she would have about an hour to read the case file before the team meeting with Professor Nolan.

  As she entered, she asked herself, “Just what are you getting into?”

  Scott was in a somber mood as he drove back to his apartment. It had been a disappointing evening, and he still had work to do on the Vandera case, scheduled for nine the next morning. And he was concerned about the work piling on Jennifer. Professor Nolan was doing her no favor, but he had been unable to convince her
of that. Now that she had started, he knew she would not back out. The good part, if there was one, was that the competition would be over in early November, and she would have the rest of the semester to concentrate on her classes, and maybe some time to spend with him. Now, though, he had a long night of trial preparation. At seven sharp, Jennifer knocked on Professor Nolan’s office door and was quickly invited in. Nolan was seated at his desk. As she entered, he immediately got up and walked to greet her.

  “Hi, Jennifer. Please be seated.” He pointed toward a light-tan leather sofa.

  Jennifer looked around at the large office and its impressive furniture. An L-shaped wooden desk and credenza occupied the space in front of the picture window overlooking the courtyard. Floor-to-ceiling wooden bookcases were on both side walls, perfectly matching the color and wood of the desk and credenza. Jennifer could not be sure, but it all appeared to be Brazilian rosewood. What she was sure of was that she had never seen such expensive office furnishings in any faculty office at Savannah College of Art and Design. In addition to the leather sofa and its matching club chair, there were two intricately carved Chippendale-style arm chairs. A large Persian rug, with a distinct Tabriz geometric pattern and multicolored silk highlights, extended from the entryway to the desk. On the wall near the doorway were framed diplomas and certificates of admission to the Illinois and Georgia Bars. The credenza held two 8×10 photo frames. An LCD monitor sat on the desk. Other than that, the desk, credenza, and walls were bare: no other pictures, books, papers, or clutter. A very neat office, Jennifer thought, as she took her seat on the sofa.

  Nolan took a seat in the leather chair next to the sofa. “We’ll be working together for the next few weeks, so I thought this would be a good time to get to know you a little better. Today I called Nate Grant, the coach, to ask about the practice schedule, but he was in court and hasn’t returned my call. I’m really looking forward to working with you on this. I’ll also be going to Atlanta with you and the team. It will be a lot of work, but maybe we can have some sightseeing time, too. Atlanta’s an exciting town—we should have some fun.”