“Well, promise you’ll let me know if you need me to drive you home or take you to the doctor.”
Frank held up his left hand. “I swear.”
“That’s the wrong hand, but I’ll accept it,” Lenny replied.
CHAPTER 27
Parker spent an hour preparing for his phone conversation with Thomas Blocker. He’d printed out his notes, which were now neatly organized on his desk. One of his biggest challenges would be to keep the sheets of paper from becoming a jumbled mess five minutes after the conversation started. His phone buzzed precisely at the appointed time.
“I’m ready, Vicki,” he said. “Put him through.”
“It’s not a him; it’s a her.”
“I can’t take the call. Thomas Blocker is—”
“I know. You’ve reminded me about it three times today. Once at ten thirty this morning—”
“Okay,” Parker cut in before she could go on. “You win, but take a message from the caller.”
“Even if it’s Layla Donovan.”
“Yes, especially if it’s Layla Donovan.”
“You don’t mean that,” Vicki shot back. “But I’ll let her know you’re busy. When should she expect to hear from you?”
“As soon as I finish talking to her father.”
Vicki was silent for a split second. “Thomas Blocker is Layla’s father? Why didn’t you tell me? Is that why he’s associated you on this case?”
“What do you mean?”
“So he can get a chance to check you out before you get tangled up in a relationship with his daughter.”
“No way,” Parker replied, but he immediately realized he wasn’t sure that was correct.
He hung up the phone. Thirty seconds later it buzzed again.
“Mr. Blocker is on line 2,” Vicki said. “And I told Layla that you’d call her back before you left the office.”
Parker waited a few seconds for the call to be transferred. Branham and Camp didn’t have the most sophisticated phone system on the market, but at least it was reliable.
“Hello, Mr. Blocker,” Parker said.
“I think it’s time you started calling me Tom,” the lawyer replied affably. “It will be a good habit to develop, especially when we’re interacting with other people about the case. I don’t want a witness or opposing counsel to get the impression that you’re not an important cog in the machine.”
“Thanks . . .” Parker hesitated. “Tom.”
“Good, now that that’s out of the way, I have some good news. Dr. Cavendish is on board as our accident reconstruction expert. Once I outlined the facts to him, he was confident there’s a strong case for liability. Where do you stand in the search for an expert to unravel the misfiring synapses of Walter Drew’s alcohol-soaked brain?”
Parker summarized his research regarding the three possible candidates.
“Who makes the final cut?” Blocker asked.
Parker stared at the sheet of paper in front of him for another moment before he spoke.
“I believe we should hire Dr. Cheshire, even though as a full-time professor her availability makes me nervous.”
“I would have graded her as a C-plus,” Blocker replied slowly. “At best.”
“I agree, but I believe she’ll go out on a limb with her opinion if that’s what we need her to do.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Her response to criticism of a technical paper she wrote on the effect of alcohol on the brain that was later slammed by some of her colleagues, including the professor who supervised her PhD program. She didn’t back down and continued to defend her analysis. I don’t know if she was right or wrong, but that’s the kind of moxie an expert witness has to possess.”
“Send me your research and I’ll see what I think.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and I’m coming to New Bern on Saturday. Could we get together sometime late in the afternoon? Say, five o’clock at your office?”
“I guess so,” Parker said slowly.
“But only if we can talk in private. I don’t want to involve Greg Branham in our conversation.”
Something about the way Blocker spoke made Parker’s stomach suddenly knot up. “Do you want Chet Ferguson to be here?”
“No, that’s not necessary.”
“Okay,” Parker said with relief. “I’ll have to check Greg’s schedule to see if he’ll be here. He usually works a full day on Saturday.”
“Do it. And be discreet.”
Parker hung up the phone and stared out the window into the neighboring backyard for a moment. Greg was naturally paranoid and had zealously cultivated that tendency for years. The likelihood that Greg would blow up if he found out Parker met with Blocker a second time behind his back for any reason was extremely high. Parker thought about calling Blocker back and suggesting a place to meet other than the office. Parker swiveled in his chair and clicked open the task list on his computer. It was already 4:00 p.m., and it would be tough to finish what he needed to do before going home for a late supper. His phone buzzed again.
“Yes,” he said after pushing the button to talk to Vicki. “You’d better hold my calls for the rest of the afternoon. I’ve got to get through the first draft of a set of interrogatories that have been glaring at me from the corner of my desk for over three days.”
“It’s Greg.”
“Okay.”
Parker accepted the call.
“How full is your plate?” Greg asked.
“Overflowing,” Parker answered and told him what he had on his task list.
“You have to learn to work faster and smarter.”
“I know,” Parker said, glancing up at the ceiling. “What do you need me to do, and I’ll find a way to work it in.”
“I’m going out of town through the weekend and need you to do the prep work for the depositions scheduled next week in the Calypso case.”
Parker barely knew anything beyond the exotic name of the lawsuit and that it involved a contentious fallout between two men who jointly owned several restaurants. Parker furiously took notes while Greg rattled off information. The depositions were scheduled to start on Tuesday and last through midday on Thursday.
“That sounds like the whole case,” Parker said when Greg finished.
“Except for the fat lady singing. Pull the file while I’m on the phone and take a quick look so I can answer any questions you have. I’m going to be out of pocket for a few days after this phone call.”
Parker left his office and approached Vicki’s desk. “Greg is on the phone and wants to talk to me about the Calypso case.”
“I have it,” Dolly said, raising her hand. “I’m putting together our responses for some overdue requests for production of documents that Greg wants mailed today.”
Dolly handed Parker an expandable folder that was shockingly thin for litigation that undoubtedly involved a considerable amount of financial records. Parker returned to his office. He found the file marked “Depositions.” The contrast with Tom Blocker’s work product couldn’t have been more dramatic. Greg had scribbled five or six pages of barely legible notes based on interviews with the client and the primary witness, an accountant.
“Got it,” he said to Greg when he returned to his office.
“Do you see my notes?”
“These handwritten sheets of paper?”
“Yes, what do you expect me to do? Set it up for you in a PowerPoint presentation? Those notes will get you started in the right direction. Dolly has the financial records from our client. Unravel them. I want to review everything early Monday morning when I return to the office.”
“All right.” Parker turned one of the sheets of paper to the side and read a sentence written down the margin. “Have a good time in Freeport.”
“How did you know I was taking a quick trip to the Bahamas? If Vicki spilled the beans—”
“No, no,” Parker said, wondering where he might have heard about an impending t
rip. “Didn’t you say something a few weeks ago about wanting to fly over there for a long weekend?”
“Yeah, but that was to Dexter. I don’t remember you being there.”
“Anything else on the Calypso matter?” Parker asked, changing the subject back to the case.
“Uh, not now, but I may think of something later.”
“I’ll be at the office all weekend,” Parker replied.
Parker hung up the phone and tried to recall if he had really overheard a conversation between Greg and Dexter about the Bahamas. Pushing the thought to the side, he knew his task list had just blown up. He would have no option but to work faster and smarter. However, there was at least one flower on the mountain of work that faced him. He wouldn’t have to worry about Greg barging into the middle of his meeting on Saturday with Tom Blocker.
Exhausted, Parker was about to leave the office later when he remembered that he hadn’t returned Layla Donovan’s phone call. He stood up to stretch for a second before dialing the number.
“Are you still at the office?” Layla asked.
“Yes.”
“Working on the case my father associated with your firm, I bet.”
“No, Greg is way more effective at dumping stuff on me at the last minute than your father could ever dream of doing.”
“I doubt that. If I called Tom on his cell phone right now, I could almost guarantee he’s at the office.”
“Tom?”
“Hasn’t he used that one on you yet? Asked you to call him by his first name so you’ll feel like part of the inner circle?”
“Yes,” Parker admitted. “I tried it, but it felt kind of weird. I’m as much a part of his inner circle as Neptune in the solar system.”
“Good. The gravitational pull if you get too close to the sun can be hard to handle. Listen, do you have time to grab a cup of coffee? I have something important I want to talk to you about.”
“What?”
“Your grandfather.”
“Only if it’s important,” Parker sighed. “If you’re looking for a two-way conversation, I’m too beat to do much more than grunt.”
“That works.”
Layla named a popular place on Middle Street.
“It’ll be crowded,” Parker warned.
“I’ve done some photography work for the owner. If I call him, he’ll clear a table for us.”
“You took pictures of coffee?”
“With a live black bear in the background. Check it out on their website. I think it turned out great.”
“Okay. Fifteen minutes.”
On his way out the door, Parker stopped by the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. When he looked at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes betrayed fatigue.
Regardless of the day of the week, parking on Middle Street could be a challenge. There were a limited number of spots along the curb, and Parker had to walk a couple of blocks to the coffee shop. Along the way, he passed an ice-cream parlor that was always crowded regardless of the season of the year. As soon as he entered the noisy café, he saw Layla seated at a small round table against the rear wall. She was wearing a fancy blue dress, and her hair was styled into two braids that crowned her head. Parker straightened his tie that had drooped down the front of his shirt.
“You look nice,” he said when he sat down.
“Thanks. I’ve been taking pictures at a fancy corporate cocktail hour down on the river.” Layla pushed a stray strand of blond hair away from her face. “I worked fast. Candid shots of people who are intoxicated usually aren’t very flattering, so it’s best to photograph them near the beginning of a party. What would you like to drink?”
“I’m not sure.” Parker glanced over his shoulder at the list of drink offerings on the wall. “I don’t want anything to keep me awake or put me to sleep.”
A young waitress with green and purple hair came over to them. Layla ordered a complicated-sounding concoction. Parker listened.
“Does that have any caffeine in it?” he asked the waitress.
“No,” she said, giving him a look that reminded him of the reaction he’d received from a doctor to a question during a medical deposition less than a month after Parker started practicing law. The doctor didn’t try to hide his condescension that Parker could pose such a stupid, juvenile inquiry.
“Then give me the same thing,” he said.
“Have you ever had one?” the waitress asked.
“No, but I’m feeling wild and crazy tonight.”
The waitress rolled her eyes and left.
“Why did she give me that look?” Parker asked Layla, who was grinning at him.
“I’m not sure, except that I ordered mine with a shot of a liquefied herb designed to promote better hair and nails and a few drops of an extract that helps control a woman’s mood swings.”
“Well, in a few minutes this is going to be a happy table,” Parker replied with a grin.
Layla laughed.
“Okay,” he said. “What’s this important topic related to Opa? Is he confiding in you instead of talking to me?”
“No, I haven’t talked to him since I saw him in church. What I wanted to talk to you about was the chatter I discovered on the Internet about him.”
“What sort of chatter?”
Layla leaned forward.
“After we went on the boat trip to Oriental, I was curious to find out more about him. I wasn’t trying to be nosy,” she explained and then paused. “Actually, I was snooping around because he’s such an interesting man, and I wanted to find out anything I could about his background without bugging him about it.”
“He wouldn’t tell you,” Parker replied. “He’s very reserved, and I’ve always respected his privacy.”
“Anyway, I knew he’d been in the army, and he told me that he’d been a hauptmann in Army Group G stationed in southern Germany in 1944.”
“He did?” Parker didn’t try to hide his surprise.
“Yes, it was during one of our talks in German.”
Before Layla could continue, the waitress brought their drinks. Parker took a sip. It was bitter, and he wrinkled up his face.
“This is going to make me happy?” he asked.
“It’s an acquired taste,” Layla said, noticing his expression. “Don’t give up on it.”
“How did you get my grandfather talking about the war?”
“The two of us were standing at the back of the boat, and you were fishing off the bow. He smiled and said you looked a lot like he did when he was in the army. I asked him where he’d served, and he mentioned his last assignment. Do you know how the war ended for him? He deserted and fled to Switzerland, right?”
Parker took another sip of the bitter drink before he answered. “Yes. I think he swam across the Rhine in the middle of the night, or something like that. Anyway, he lived in Switzerland until the war ended, then immigrated to the US and settled here, where he met my grandmother. He doesn’t like to talk about those days, and I hope you’re not going to drag it up. He really likes you, but it would bother him regardless of the reason.”
Parker remembered his own futile efforts to research his grandfather’s background after Conrad Mueller’s visit. He couldn’t exactly criticize Layla for doing the same thing. Her proficiency in German enabled her to understand what she was reading; however, he still felt a strong responsibility to protect his opa.
“I’d never want to do that, but I think I should let him know what I found out. All of the information was in German, of course, and it was like a puzzle trying to figure it out. At first I thought your grandfather was some kind of spy or secret agent, but it turned out he was an officer on the staff of a general named Berg. Your grandfather even had a nickname—the Aryan Eagle.”
“Aryan Eagle?”
“He was almost legendary. The whole reason behind the interaction about him on the Internet relates to insight that he provided to his superiors for battles from the beginning of the war until he
fled to Switzerland. It was like he knew where the enemy was going to be before they did anything.”
“We were the enemy.”
“I know, but not from his perspective at the time. Because he was considered a traitor, nobody in Germany was interested in him for years and years. However, men who served with him during the war mentioned him to others, and his name came up in connection with a reunion of veterans from his unit. Now people are trying to track him down and learn more about his role. I guess his desertion happened so long ago that it’s no longer an issue for folks interested in finding out more about who he was and what he did. I wrote an e-mail to a journalist named Gerhardt who very much wants to interview him before, you know, your grandfather dies.”
“That’s morbid.”
“I know how it sounds,” Layla replied. “And I admit that I got caught up in what I was reading and lost sight of the fact that your grandfather is a man with feelings and a right to privacy. But I exchanged e-mails with Gerhardt, who was super excited when I told him I believed I might know the man he’s looking for.”
“Did you tell this Gerhardt guy where my grandfather lives?” Parker asked.
“No, no. All he knows is that I’m in the US and may be able to help. Gerhardt doesn’t even know your grandfather changed his name from Franz Haus to Frank House.”
Parker shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s true. A man named Mueller who served with my grandfather recently made a trip over here from Germany to thank Opa for saving his life. It had something to do with advice my grandfather gave that convinced Mr. Mueller not to request a transfer to a unit that ended up decimated in a battle near the end of the war. If Opa didn’t want to meet with Mueller, I can’t imagine him wanting to speak to a journalist who’s going to pry into things my grandfather wants to forget.”
“Well, I think it should be his choice. And I wanted to run it by you first.”
“Are you going to tell him even if I don’t think it’s a good idea?”
“No,” Layla responded immediately. “If you tell me to drop it, I will.”
They sipped their drinks in silence for a minute.
The Witnesses Page 22
