Savannah Law

by William Eleazer

  “Come on, Denis. That’s a stretch, and you know it. Besides, the Library is more than one hundred yards from the campus,” said Barron.

  “Not from my calculations. The east parking lot, the one Geraldine would name the ‘George Bush’ lot, is within a hundred yards of the Library’s small parking lot on its west side. But you don’t have to take my word for it. If you agree with me that this would be a serious violation, then vote with me on my motion. Let me read it: ‘That Savannah College of Law hire a licensed surveyor to measure the nearest distance from our campus property to the Library Bar and Grill, and if said distance shall be within the distance proscribed by the Savannah Alcoholic Beverages Licensing Regulations, the school shall take such legal action as necessary to have the Alcohol Beverage License of the Library revoked.’ That ends my motion.”

  Winston stood and moved to the lectern. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress a frown. “Is there a second?” he asked.

  “Second!” It was Geraldine Polanski. “I’ve never thought that business should be there in the first place. It’s quite wasteful—two large waste bins in the alley behind it, and it seems trucks are hauling them away full every day. Just think of the environmental problems it brings to our community. And now when I think of our possible liability—the lawsuits that Denis mentioned—we should move fast on this.”

  “There is a motion on the floor, and a second,” said Winston. Slowly head tops were being replaced with faces as the back-row crowd abandoned their puzzles. “Any discussion?”

  “Could you repeat the motion?” came a voice from the back row.

  Winston asked Denis to repeat his motion. Denis complied.

  “What a bunch of bull crap! Excuse me, Dean.” It was Barron again. “That Library and its bar have been there as long as we’ve been here without a problem. That so-called distance problem would have been taken care of by the city years ago. We have no business meddling in this. And as far as our liability for injuries resulting from the Library’s beer sales—that’s bogus. No court has ever stretched any dram shop law that far. And I don’t want to sit here and hear a lot of BS argument on it. I move the previous question.”

  Winston was not surprised at the argument against the motion, but the “motion for the previous question” was unexpected. That motion closes debate, and there had been little debate. There was a quick second.

  Off to one side, Denis was still standing. He appeared more surprised than Winston, with his hands outstretched, palms up, as if to plead. “Wait, Dean, there’s been very little discussion on my motion.”

  “And there won’t be any more if this motion carries,” said Winston. “All in favor, please raise your hand.”

  “But what are we voting on? My motion is still before the faculty.”

  “We aren’t voting on your motion. If this motion passes with a two-thirds vote, we will vote immediately on your motion. Now, all in favor, raise your hand.”

  All hands went up except those of Denis, Geraldine, and a few on the back row who had returned to their puzzles.

  “Since the motion carried, we will now vote on the motion on the floor—the motion by Denis. No further discussion is permitted at this point. All in favor, say ‘aye.’”

  Only two voices were heard.

  “All opposed say ‘no.’”

  A cacophony of “noes” and “nays” and plain howls filled the room. Then a lone but clear voice from the back row: “Motion to adjourn.”

  The third faculty meeting of the semester was quickly ended, and the faculty departed to the dining room for their weekly treat of cheese, crackers, and wine. Except for Denis. He remained seated, staring at a wall. This was certainly no vote of confidence for a deanship.

  Denis waited until all had departed and then slowly walked to his office. As he opened the door, he heard his phone ringing. He tried to ignore it, but it kept ringing. The persistent ringing was annoying, so after a dozen rings, he picked up. “Hello, who is this?” An emphasis underscored his irritation.

  “It’s Max! I’ve been trying to reach you for half an hour.”

  “I’ve been in a stupid faculty meeting. I hope you have some good news from the Cemetery Board.”

  “No. The Cemetery Board is holding firm in their opposition. I’m through with phone calls, letter writing, and threatening lawsuits. My team plans some Chicago-style persuasion. But that’s not why I’m calling. I need your help.”

  “My help? That’s a twist. What’s up?”

  “I’m involved in a criminal case here in Savannah. It’s going to be a big case. You’ll hear about it on the news tonight. I need you for local counsel. You are a member of the Georgia Bar, aren’t you?”

  “Illinois and Georgia. But I haven’t really practiced in Georgia. Took the bar right after graduation. My dad expected me to join a local firm, but... I think you know about that.”

  “But you have an active Georgia license, right?”

  “Sure, but all my litigation experience was in Chicago, and none of it actually went to trial. You know I’m not a trial lawyer. Why would you want me to assist with a big criminal case? I don’t know anything about criminal law. The most I could do is find the courtroom.”

  “That’s all I want you to do. Just be local counsel of record. File your Notice of Appearance and show up in court. And stay out of the way. I’ll take care of trying the case. My team is flying in tonight. I’ll even have them prepare the Notice of Appearance—all you have to do is sign it. The trial starts next Monday.”

  “You have a team flying in tonight? Aren’t any of them a member of the Georgia Bar?”

  “Hell, Denis, they aren’t members of any bar! At least not anymore. I’ve got three who were disbarred years ago and one who was never admitted, although he graduated from law school at the top of his class. Had a felony conviction he ‘forgot’ to list on his bar application. But they are all super-smart and experienced. I pay them well, and I depend on them. I do all the trial work, and they prepare my witnesses. It’s expensive, but it works, if you know what I mean.”

  “Of course. Who’s your client?”

  “Senator David Harrison.”

  “What trouble is he in? I’ve heard nothing about it.”

  “He’s not in any trouble. It’s his son, John Harrison, who is charged with armed robbery at a convenience store here in Savannah.”

  “Haven’t heard about that either.”

  “Neither had Senator Harrison until this weekend. He hadn’t seen his son in years. They had a falling out. The son took off and disappeared. Now he’s here in Savannah and going to trial Monday, and I’m going to defend him. But I need a local attorney. It will pay well. I can bill you out at $500 an hour.”

  “Trial lawyers get that kind of money?”

  “No, I get more. You are not a trial lawyer; you get less. Besides, Denis, you’ve got more money than my ex-wives.”

  They both laughed. Gordon’s marital failures were legend. His alimony payments rivaled Johnny Carson’s.

  “How about it. Let’s say $500 an hour for pretrial work and $700 an hour at trial. The senator will pay whatever I bill.”

  Denis responded with a slow whistle and added, “Sounds good. But why stop there?”

  “Denis, you are one greedy bastard; that’s why I love you. Now, how about it? I need this favor. Desano is going to boot me tomorrow if I don’t have local counsel. This is big, easy money, and I want you to have a slice.”

  Gordon’s jovial voice had turned into a plea. He needed a local attorney ASAP—hopefully, a lazy, trial neophyte, incurious and content to remain out of the way. Gordon knew Denis was not lazy, but he hoped the other qualities would apply.

  “It’s not money I need, Max. It’s action on the Bonaventure project. The architects are finished, and I’ve lined up a construction team for the monument. This has been dragging on for months.”

  “I understand, Denis. Join me on this case, and when it’s over, we—my team—all
of us, will devote full time to it. We have a sure way of dealing with bureaucrats. It may be a bit expensive, but it never fails.”

  “OK, it’s a deal,” said Denis. “By the way, Gordon, I’m having a function out at my beach house this Friday. If you are still in town, you’re invited.”

  “I’ve got a hearing in Pittsburgh Friday, but if I can get back in time, I’ll be there. Send me an e-mail with time and place.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Wednesday, September 6

  Jennifer sent a text message to Scott’s cell phone Wednesday morning: “Witness practice tonight at 7. But let’s grab a bite at the Library early—5:30?”

  Texting was now their usual means of communication: convenient, silent, quick. Jennifer was much better at it than Scott; she could text on her cell phone as fast as Scott could type on his computer. Scott’s reply was a simple “OK.” She knew texting was not his strong suit, but she had hoped for a bit more enthusiastic response.

  They arrived at the Library at the same time. There was a small crowd gathered at the tables in the Study Hall, but the seats around the bar were almost empty. Juri saw them enter and waved them over.

  “Jaak was just asking about you two guys. Said he hadn’t seen you lately. What have you been doing?”

  Scott was about to tell Juri about their weekend at Hilton Head when he noticed the TV on the wall behind the bar. There, in living color, was Max Gordon holding a news conference and detailing his involvement as defense counsel in the upcoming Harrison case.

  “Listen,” said Scott, pointing to the TV. “That’s a case I’m helping with.”

  The three of them listened as Gordon spoke of his role as defense counsel for Senator Harrison’s son, “the great system of justice where the defendant is presumed innocent,” and how the citizens of “the great state of Georgia” would “come to know the real truth next week.” Scott recalled Judge Desano’s warning about not trying the case in the media. But what would one expect from someone who enjoyed the nickname “Sneak”?

  Juri turned to Scott and asked, “That’s your case?”

  “No, I’m just a small player in it. Meg Flanders, my new supervising attorney, will be the prosecutor. But I’ll be there. Should be pretty exciting with that guy on the defense.”

  “I’m sure of that,” said Juri. “I saw him being interviewed a couple of weeks ago by Greta ‘what’s-her-name.’ It was about the trial of that Hollywood actor who killed his wife. I don’t recall the details, but there was a not-guilty verdict—a big surprise because the guy had confessed.”

  A couple took a seat at the bar, and Juri turned to wait on them.

  “We’ll talk later, Juri. Jen and I are going to a quiet table,” Scott said.

  He and Jennifer walked to a table in the back area.

  “We better get a menu and get our order in fast,” said Scott. He motioned for a waitress, and they placed their order.

  “You have practice at seven?” asked Scott.

  “Yes. Thomas Courthouse. This will be our first time for the direct exams. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Well, I’m glad you are, but it’s going to get more time consuming as the competition gets closer. And you’ll miss two, maybe three days of classes while in Atlanta.”

  “Don’t start that, Scott. I thought you agreed to let me make my own mistakes and pursue my own opportunities. How many first-year students get this opportunity?”

  “None, and for good reasons. You are the first, as far as I know. I still think Professor Nolan should know better. I don’t think he’s doing you any favor.”

  “And I think your problem is with Professor Nolan. You really don’t like him, do you?”

  “Not especially. I have my reasons, but that’s a separate matter. And you are correct—you do have the right to make your own mistakes. So, let’s change the subject. How’s your study group going?”

  “Great. We met last night for a couple of hours. Now you tell me about the case coming up Monday. Do you think it will be on TV?”

  “No way. The judge on the case—Desano—is not going to let it turn into a media circus. And he’s going to be really angry if he hears about tonight’s interview.”

  “If he hears? You aren’t going to tell him?”

  “I don’t think so. It was mostly about Gordon, not about the facts of the case. So, no big thing. But I’ll let Meg know what I saw. She’s in charge of the case.”

  “You said you were just a small player. But you are a player. What will you be doing?”

  “Meg’s going to let me make the opening statement and examine one of the investigators. We are trying to get a witness in from Colorado—one of two eyewitnesses. Not sure we can get him here in time for the trial, but if he shows, I’ll be examining him, too. He was sitting in his car in the parking lot outside the store when it was robbed. We’re hoping he can ID the defendant.”

  Jennifer smiled at Scott. “Doesn’t sound like you are a small player to me. Maybe I can get to the courthouse for some of the trial.”

  “Good. Expect a crowd. I hear Max Gordon usually draws a full courtroom.”

  The food arrived, and they continued their conversation until Jennifer had to leave for her witness practice. They left the Library and walked together to the fountain in front of Thomas Courthouse.

  Jennifer took both his hands in hers, and said, “I’m going to Hilton Head Saturday to check on my dad. I’d really like you to come along. I’m coming back Sunday morning.”

  “I’m sorry, Jen. You know I would love to, but I’ll be pretty much occupied until this trial is over.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. He gave her a soft kiss on her cheek. They looked into each other’s eyes, smiled, and lingered silently for just a moment before Jennifer walked into the courthouse.

  CHAPTER 37

  Friday, September 8

  Jennifer drove to the party alone. She got the invitation on Tuesday. It read simply:

  Denis Nolan invites you to a

  “September Evening on the Beach”

  Friends, food, good conversation, and music

  Seven p.m., Friday, September 8th Informal

  There was a slip enclosed with directions to the house on Tybee Beach, but there was no RSVP request and no phone number to call. She was curious as to why she had been invited to her professor’s party on the beach, but she quickly decided to go. She discretely checked with her friends to see if anyone else would be going, so that they could share a ride, but no one else had received an invitation. She had planned to tell Scott about the invitation when she saw him Wednesday, but after he expressed such a negative feeling about Professor Nolan, she decided not to mention it.

  Jennifer was a bit miffed that she had not heard from Scott since Wednesday night. She still recalled his last words: “I’ll be pretty much occupied until this trial is over.” That seemed such strange language: occupied. She thought back to the previous Saturday night at Hilton Head—that beautiful, romantic evening they spent on the beach. She remembered his fingers gently wandering through her hair and the sensation of his lips across her body. And she remembered every whispered word in her ear. She hadn’t heard any words then like “occupied.” Was he so occupied that he could not give her a phone call? Or a text message?

  It took her longer to drive to the party than she had anticipated, and it was a bit after eight when she arrived. Her main concern was that she was appropriately dressed. She wasn’t sure of the meaning of “informal” at a “September Evening on the Beach,” but she was wearing the most formal of her informal dresses: a silk, ankle-length, floral sheath. She would rather be overdressed than underdressed. An attendant opened the door and invited her in. Jennifer immediately saw that it wasn’t a beach house; it was a beach mansion. It wasn’t simply a living room, dining room, and kitchen but rather a ballroom, banquet hall, and banquet preparation room. The tables in the banquet hall were filled with food, and there was a large built-in bar tended by
two red-vested bartenders and surrounded by several guests. Soft jazz could be heard from a small band on the patio.

  Denis Nolan spotted her as soon as she entered and came immediately to greet her. “I’m so glad you could come, Jennifer.” He stepped back two steps and looked at her intensely. “My, you look beautiful.”

  There was a pause as Jennifer tried to think of a response. “Well, thank you, Professor” was all that came to her.

  “Not Professor. Off campus, Jennifer, it’s just Denis. Let me show you around.” He placed his hand on her shoulder, gently steering her toward a group of guests at the far end of the room. “This way. I want to introduce you to some special friends.”

  The members of the group turned their attention to Denis and Jennifer as they arrived.

  “Jennifer, I want you to meet Ben Sterner, vice chairman of the Board of Trustees. And Wilbert Tebeau, another board member. This is Jennifer Stone.”

  Each extended a hand to Jennifer as they were introduced.

  “And Bruce Bechtel, our vice dean and Professor Marjory Hoffman. You probably have already met them.”

  She had not, but she smiled broadly, and they also extended their hands.

  “Jennifer is in her first semester at Savannah Law,” said Dennis, “but is not new to Savannah. She’s a graduate of Savannah College of Art and Design, architectural history major.”

  Jennifer was surprised that Denis knew her major. She had never mentioned it in any of their previous conversations.

  “Wonderful school. Wonderful school,” said Ben Sterner.

  “I agree,” said Wilbert Tebeau. “My granddaughter graduated from there last May with a fine arts degree. Majored in photography. Whitney Tebeau. Perhaps you knew her.”