The Witnesses

by Robert Whitlow

  Frank retrieved the camera from the console. “We’ve taken twenty-two photos, which means two are left,” he said. “I think we started using this camera on the trip when we caught a bunch of speckled trout.”

  “That was last year!” Lenny exclaimed. “The camera may be waterproof, but salt water eventually gets into everything. Give it to me, and I’ll pay the developing fee. I also want to have proof to back up my bragging about the flounder I hooked a few months ago near the rock jetty.”

  “Suit yourself,” Frank replied, handing the camera to his friend. “But I’ll recognize the fish I caught. The flounder I landed at the sandbar near Little Creek was the biggest one of the season.”

  “That was a fantastic fish,” Lenny admitted. “I’ll get double prints. I want to put my hand on the photo of your flounder and ask the Lord to let me catch a bigger one.”

  Frank handed the gear from the boat to Lenny, who stood on the dock. After they loaded everything into the bed of Lenny’s truck, they drove to Frank’s house.

  “Do you want me to help you put away the tackle in your shed?” Lenny asked as he pulled into the driveway.

  “No thanks. I’ll take my time and do it myself,” Frank replied.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay. Seeing you catch that big drum was medicine to my soul.”

  “If you decide you want to go to church Sunday for a real dose of soul medicine, let me know,” Lenny said. “Mattie will let you come to the house for Sunday dinner as a reward.”

  “That’s tempting,” Frank answered. “If I decide to come, I’ll let you know.”

  Parker sat across from Greg’s desk and steeled himself for the explosion he knew was coming. He was about to find out how he would react when his boss yelled at him. Greg stared at him for several seconds and let him inwardly squirm.

  “Well done,” Greg said after several more moments passed.

  “What do you mean?” Parker managed.

  “You convinced Chet Ferguson to trust us faster than I would have thought possible. From here on out, he’ll go along with my recommendations without raising a whimper.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Parker asked, mystified.

  “Give me some credit for experience and instinct,” Greg replied, pointing his finger at Parker’s chest. “Time will prove me right.”

  “You’re not mad about having to take the liability claim on an hourly basis?”

  “For about two seconds. One essential trait of a trial lawyer is the ability to adapt in the moment. We had to pivot, and capturing the dramshop case was the reward. What made you think about that?”

  “It came to mind during lunch. Have you handled one before?”

  “No, so there will be a learning curve for both of us. But it’s not that complicated. Ferguson likes you, so I’m going to keep you in the center of the storm. Begin by drafting a demand letter for policy limits from the driver’s insurance company. I bet they’ll roll over and surrender without a fight. We’ll make sure Mr. Drew isn’t independently wealthy before we cut him loose. I’m glad you picked up on my signal to put our highest hourly rate in the contract. Your input for the jury in the Nichols case was on target. Now this. We’re beginning to flow together.”

  Five minutes later Parker left Greg’s office not sure if he felt good or bad about getting in the flow with his boss.

  Even though it was Saturday, Parker went into the office early to bill a few hours before leaving for the wedding of a friend from high school. The word weekend wasn’t in an associate attorney’s vocabulary, and he worked diligently through lunch until he put memos on both Greg’s and Dexter’s desks. After straightening up his office, he returned home to shower and put on a suit and tie. The wedding was at a popular waterfront location on the Neuse River. Parker saw Creston Keller entering the lot and waited for his friend to pull in beside him.

  When they were in high school, Creston had been a track star. Now, in addition to teaching math, algebra, and geometry, he coached the boys’ and girls’ cross-country teams at their alma mater. Shorter than Parker, he had a lean, wiry build and closely cut black hair. The largest muscles in his body were his heart and his calves.

  “Where’s Catelyn?” Creston asked when they got out of their cars. “I thought you were going to invite her to the wedding so you could reignite her romantic feelings for you.”

  “We’re done by mutual agreement,” Parker replied. “Now my only goal in life is to be your wingman.”

  “Unselfish is your new middle name. But you’re too late to protect me. I have a date tonight with a woman I met the other day during a training run with the boys’ team from school. She was very impressed that I wanted to invest my life in molding young men.”

  “What impressed you about her?”

  “Her 1600-meter time, of course. I took her word for it, but I’m looking forward to timing her myself.”

  They walked along a short path to a large open-air pavilion surrounded by lush grass and flowering plants. Rows of white chairs were set up for the guests, and an arch covered with fresh flowers embellished the front. A massive three-tier wedding cake rested on a round table in the middle of a gazebo to the right of the pavilion.

  “That’s a bigger cake than the one at Chip’s first wedding,” Creston said in a low voice, pointing it out to Parker.

  “Yeah, I hope this marriage will last.”

  “That wasn’t Chip’s fault. Hillary left him.”

  Parker had heard other reasons for the breakup, but to talk about it at the moment seemed like bad luck.

  “Anyway, Chip is happy,” he said. “And Kelsey is a cool girl. We hung out a few weeks ago at his aunt’s place on the Intracoastal Waterway. Kelsey is laid-back, which is what he needs. Hillary was as amped up as Chip.”

  “If opposites attract, does that mean I shouldn’t ask out a girl who’s a runner?”

  “You’re weird enough that any girl is going to be your opposite.”

  Creston laughed and punched Parker in the arm. Two other high school classmates joined them, and they made their way to seats on the groom’s side of the gathering. Chip had a lot of relatives, and the space was filling up rapidly.

  The wedding music, provided by a violin, flute, and cello trio, began and the crowd grew quiet. Chip, his best man, the minister, and four groomsmen stepped to the front. To the left of the group, Parker saw the wedding photographer, crouching down to take pictures.

  It was Layla Donovan.

  The blond photographer was wearing gray slacks and a light blue top. Her hair was pulled away from her face in a long braided ponytail. She held a large black camera in her hands with another slung over her shoulder. The designer-frame glasses she’d worn during the trial were gone. Parker watched as she moved gracefully across the front of the pavilion snapping photos of the groom’s party. If she wasn’t so attractive, she would have blended into the background. The music shifted, and the bridesmaids began to walk down the aisle. Parker nudged Creston.

  “Do you see the blond photographer?” he whispered.

  “Uh, yeah. Who hasn’t been eyeing her?”

  “She was on the jury for a case our firm tried this week.”

  All conversation ended as they stood for the entrance of the bride. Parker had a good view of Chip’s face, and his friend looked down the aisle with the excited anticipation reserved for grooms at the altar. Parker didn’t get a good look at Kelsey as she passed, but her father was a large man with a thick neck and a full head of gray hair. Layla Donovan snapped pictures until the bride reached the flowery arch. She then slipped to a corner where she still had a clear view of the couple over the minister’s shoulder.

  Since he’d graduated from high school, Parker had been to so many weddings that he considered himself an expert. He liked this one because it wasn’t drawn out with a bunch of extra songs, the minister’s remarks were succinct, and the wedding vows stuck to the traditional script. Throughout the service, Parker k
ept glancing at Layla Donovan until she moved to the rear in preparation for the newly joined couple’s walk down the aisle.

  “When you come to a wedding, do you think about what you’d like to include in your ceremony?” Creston asked Parker when everyone stood.

  Parker eyed his friend suspiciously.

  “That’s all I need to know,” Creston said and held up his hand. “The answer is yes.”

  They made their way to a large open area behind the chairs that would soon become the dance floor after a band finished setting up. The wedding party and the photographer returned to the front of the room for more pictures. Parker left his friends and eased over to a spot where he could watch. Layla Donovan orchestrated the group like a conductor, which didn’t surprise him since she’d done the same thing with the jury. Completely focused on her work, Layla didn’t notice Parker watching her. When she finished and the wedding party moved toward the open area, Parker approached her as she was scrolling through her pictures.

  “Hi,” Parker said, clearing his throat.

  The photographer looked up, and Parker saw her eyes had a greenish tint. Her fingernails were the same bright red as on the day of the trial.

  “I’m Parker House. I was one of the lawyers who represented Benjamin Nichols in the case against the lumber company. You’re Layla Donovan, right?”

  “Yes.” The photographer eyed him closely. “But I don’t remember you.”

  “I’m an associate and was only there for voir dire. But I told the partner trying the case to make sure he left you on the jury.”

  “And you want me to thank you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “I made twenty-five dollars sitting there all day when I had four hundred photos to edit sitting in my computer for a job that was past due.”

  “No, no. I want to thank you. And I’m sorry about the inconvenience, although having you on the jury made a huge difference for our client.”

  “He deserved justice, even if your boss did as much to hurt his case as he did to help it.”

  Parker cringed. He didn’t automatically feel the need to defend Greg, but it hurt to hear a sharp, stinging critique.

  “I’d like to hear what worked and what didn’t.”

  “And you want me to tell you now?”

  Parker suspected the photographer had a strong personality. However, he had a persistent streak of his own.

  “I know you’re working now, but the jury reached a verdict so quickly that I’m sure you have insights that would be helpful to hear.”

  The photographer eyed him a second time. “Fair enough. Are you going to stay until the bride and groom ride off in a limo for a lifetime of marital bliss?”

  Parker had planned on leaving sooner but immediately changed his plans.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

  Layla moved to the side of the pavilion and began snapping pictures of the guests. Parker returned to his friends.

  “What’s up with the photographer?” Creston asked.

  “Remember, I told you she was on a jury in a case our firm handled earlier this week. I’m doing follow-up research. We’re going to talk later.”

  “Research?”

  “Yes, that’s what lawyers do with jurors so we can learn what works and what doesn’t.”

  “Right,” Creston replied with a skeptical look and moved away toward the food table. “I’m going to hit the shrimp before the other sharks start a feeding frenzy.”

  As with most weddings, the celebration dragged on much longer than the ceremony. Thankfully, the hors d’oeuvres were top-notch. Creston could consume an enormous quantity of shrimp. Parker preferred tiny crab cakes with rémoulade sauce. Together with their other friends, they plowed diligently through the food offerings.

  “My grandfather uses shrimp as bait,” Parker said when Creston returned carrying a third plate of pink shrimp with a large dollop of cocktail sauce in the middle.

  “Which is why it would be a mistake to invite me on a fishing trip. I’d eat the bait.” Creston ate a plump shrimp and a blissful look crossed his face. “If Kelsey’s father has another daughter, I’d like an invitation to her wedding too. He knows how to do it right.”

  The band began to play, and after the obligatory dances by the newlyweds and their parents, the younger guests crowded onto the dance floor. At one point, Parker ended up facing one of Chip’s cousins, an eight-year-old girl with braces on her teeth who was amazingly coordinated. Once, when he spun her around, he glanced up and saw Layla Donovan snapping their picture. Finally, Chip and Kelsey received a send-off in the early evening through a tunnel of sparklers.

  “Ready to go?” Creston asked Parker. “I have a stack of papers to grade before going out on my date, but you could talk me out of it with just about any suggestion for something to do.”

  “Remember, I’m meeting with the photographer to talk about the jury.” Parker gestured toward Layla, who was getting a few last shots.

  “How long is that going to take?”

  “I don’t know.” Parker smiled. “But if you need an excuse to take the rest of the day off, I can certify that anyone who sweats like you do when you dance is in no shape to grade math papers. You’ll need to take an extra-long shower before picking up Runner Girl.”

  Creston put his finger on Parker’s chest. “Next wedding, I’m going to challenge you to a dance-off.”

  Creston left, and Parker held back while Layla continued to take pictures. When she finished, he walked over to her. She was standing beside a round table covered with dirty plates.

  “Would you like to go someplace and talk?” he asked. “There’s a coffee shop not far—”

  “No, let’s sit here,” she cut in. “A piece of wedding cake is calling my name.”

  Parker sat down and moved some plates out of the way. Layla returned with a thick slab of wedding cake on a clear plastic plate.

  “It’s crazy, but I love this stuff,” she said, plopping down in the chair. “I usually max out my quota of sweets for the week in one sitting if I have a wedding on the books.”

  The photographer seemed more relaxed now that her work was complete. She took a big bite of the cake that Parker had found dry.

  “Do you want something to drink?” he asked. “A water?”

  Her mouth full, Layla nodded. Parker went to an ice bucket and grabbed one of the last remaining bottles of water and handed it to her. She opened it and took a long drink.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I got a good photo of you dancing with the little girl. Who is she?”

  Parker told her. Layla took another bite of cake that she chased with a sip of water.

  “Was the cake this dry when you ate it?” she asked.

  Parker nodded. Layla sighed and pushed her cake plate next to the other dirty dishes.

  “All right,” she said. “You want to know the secret to persuading a jury to rule in your favor?”

  “Not exactly. I’m not expecting you to—”

  “Remember how you felt when you were dancing with the little girl?” Layla interrupted.

  “Huh?”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  Parker paused. “Making sure she was having fun.”

  “Were you self-conscious because you were dancing with a child?”

  “No.”

  “I agree, and the camera, which doesn’t lie, will confirm it. You were acting naturally while focused on someone else, not yourself and your performance. That’s what will work with a jury. The jury knows you’re there to represent your client. You don’t have to convince them of that. But if they think your goal is to help them understand the case so they can do the right thing, it will go a long way toward building the kind of trust you want them to feel toward you and, vicariously, your client. Greg what’s-his-name spent so much time preening and strutting around the courtroom that it became almost laughable. However, the defense lawyer was so snooty and arrogant that it was a draw as
far as the lawyers were concerned.”

  Parker realized his mouth was hanging open, and he quickly closed it. Layla was brutally accurate in her analysis of Greg.

  “You’re right about Greg,” he said with a shrug, “but I don’t think I can put that in a memo to him.”

  “Too bad. He’s got a bulldog personality that could work if he channeled it as a humble champion.” Layla paused and checked her watch. “Anything else you want to ask me?”

  “Yes. How did you convince the other jurors to go along with you so quickly? I know you took notes during the trial.”

  “I didn’t bully them, if that’s what you’re asking. I did the same thing I’m suggesting to you. I came in with an attitude to help, and they appreciated it. Once we decided who was most likely telling the truth, the result was clear, and everybody signed off on it.”

  Listening to her, Parker realized that the insightful photographer could be a helpful resource for the law firm in the future.

  “Would you be willing to critique the lawyers in our firm and evaluate our witnesses when we’re preparing for trial in the future? Kind of a one-person mock jury. You’d be paid, of course.”

  “No,” Layla said as she shook her head. “If I wanted to be involved in the courtroom on a regular basis, I would have gone to law school.”

  Layla stood up and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. Confident he could pry more information from the photographer, Parker wasn’t ready to part ways.

  “Would you like to go out to dinner with me?” he blurted out and then watched Layla’s eyes widen in surprise.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Uh, I know a place that has really good cake for dessert.”

  CHAPTER 11

  As he prepared for his date with Layla Donovan, Parker tried to decide if the meeting was more professional or personal. There was certainly more Layla could reveal about the inner workings of the jury, and he hadn’t given up hope that she might reconsider serving as a low-level consultant for the law firm. Greg needed the help. On the other hand, the blond photographer was very attractive, and even if a dominant, opinionated woman wasn’t normally his type, Parker was interested in learning more about her.