The Witnesses

by Robert Whitlow

  “You win,” Parker responded. “But there’s nothing wrong with wanting you to have a nice, safe place to live.”

  “It’s not that bad. A police officer and his family live in the apartment across the hall from me. It helps that his car is usually parked out front.”

  “Do you want to stop for breakfast?” he asked as he turned onto a street that led to one of the highways that crossed the Neuse River on a long bridge.

  “A sausage biscuit would be nice,” Layla answered.

  “Really?”

  “Or a slice of fresh quiche with fruit on the side. Your call.”

  Parker glanced sideways at Layla’s face for a clue as to her preference. He knew they would pass a coffee shop that served a morning quiche on their way to the bridge. And nearby was a locally owned restaurant that offered the best sausage and biscuit in the area. He turned into the parking lot for the sausage-and-biscuit spot.

  “You guessed right,” Layla said.

  “I did?”

  Layla patted him on the arm. “I would have been happy either way, but I wanted you to choose for me. It’s a tiny way of letting you know I don’t have to control every minute detail of my life.”

  “That’s good news,” Parker replied, thinking about her father’s comment.

  “And that I trust you,” Layla continued. “Baby steps.”

  Parker licked his lips. Five minutes later they were back on the road with a cup of coffee each and two sausage biscuits. Layla made several contented noises as she ate her food.

  “I didn’t picture you as a sausage-and-biscuit girl,” Parker said, glancing sideways at her.

  “I’m constantly full of surprises.”

  They crossed over the river and twenty minutes later arrived at the dock. Parker took a cooler and a plastic bag of snacks from the trunk of his car, and Layla secured her camera strap over her shoulder.

  “I brought drinks and a few things to munch on,” he said. “I thought we would find a place on the river to eat lunch.”

  “I may not be hungry after that sausage and biscuit.”

  They walked down the dock to the boat. After they hopped aboard, Parker untied the immaculately clean skiff, started the engine, and backed into the river. The sky was overcast, but the edges of the clouds hinted at sun, not rain. As soon as they were in the river, Parker opened the throttle, and the boat rose higher and cut through the water. Layla stood in the bow. The wind blew her hair behind her in a tangled swirl that she made no effort to control. Parker took in deep breaths of air tinged with a taste of spray. He liked going fast on the boat and was glad the water was smooth enough that Layla wasn’t unsteady on her feet. He divided his time between watching the scenery on the bank and admiring Layla’s wild hair.

  They ran wide open down the river for forty-five minutes before Parker backed off the throttle and headed toward shore. Layla took a hat from her beach bag and crammed it on her head.

  “I loved that,” she said as the sound of the wind rushing across the boat decreased. “Even if my hair didn’t.”

  Parker eased the boat next to a small marshy area and dropped the anchor. They were a hundred yards out of the main channel and completely alone. The boat rocked a few times before it became still. Parker left the stern and sat on the gunwale. Layla took several photos of the river, the marsh, and the scrubby trees along the shoreline.

  “What’s special about this place?” she asked, lowering her camera.

  “That you’re here with me.”

  He knew his words were at odds with what he was going to have to tell her later in the day, but during the boat ride his confidence that he could persuade Layla to change her mind increased. What was the point of being a lawyer in the first place if he couldn’t convince her about something that should be obvious?

  “Nice,” Layla said with a smile. “And what makes it better is that I believe you. Would you be willing to tell me why you feel that way?”

  Parker went back to the first day he saw her in the courtroom and told Greg to leave her on the jury.

  “My head knew you needed to be on the jury, but it took me awhile to realize my heart was also interested. That started when I saw you at Chip and Kelsey’s wedding. You were both professional and graceful at the same time. But I backed off when you analyzed Greg’s performance at the trial.”

  “Why?”

  “What man can be around a woman that smart?”

  Layla laughed.

  They spent a leisurely couple of hours watching the hidden activity of the marsh unfold before them. Several blue herons were fishing in the reeds nearby. Layla had her camera ready, and when one caught a fish, she captured several images as the bird speared the fish with its bill, then skillfully flipped it into its mouth for a final wiggling journey down the heron’s neck and into its stomach.

  “That bird didn’t have a problem eating what it caught,” Parker said as he watched Layla scroll through the images.

  “It didn’t look into the fish’s eyes.”

  “So you’d do better if you fished blindfolded?”

  “I think a better solution for me is to go to the fish market.”

  The tide went out, exposing several spots of black soil inhabited by villages of miniature crabs that scurried in and out of tiny burrows.

  “There are tons of larger crabs on the bottom,” Parker said. “Did you ever catch crabs by luring them to a net with chicken necks tied to string?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you cook and eat any of them?”

  “A few times, but I hate the sound they make when you drop them alive into a pot of boiling water. It sounds like a scream.”

  “You’re going to make a vegan out of me before you know it.”

  Around 11:30 a.m., Parker pulled up the anchor and restarted the boat’s motor. They continued downriver along the edge of the marsh at a much slower pace. Layla left her place in the bow and stood beside Parker at the console, which gave him a chance to study her long, graceful fingers.

  “Do you play the piano?” he asked.

  “No, but I can juggle five tennis balls. Anything over three is tough.”

  Parker burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I knew you were a juggler the first time we went to dinner. I’d love to see a demonstration.”

  They continued along the marsh until a larger tributary spilled into the Neuse. Parker turned into the side water that was moving slightly faster than the main channel.

  “There’s a resort a few miles upriver where we can eat lunch. The restaurant is open to the public.”

  “Does it have tennis courts?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Maybe I can borrow a few old tennis balls and give you a juggling exhibition.”

  They coasted into the small marina for the resort. There was a mixed assembly of motorboats and sailboats. Parker found a place near the gas pump. A young man in his twenties came out of the main resort building as they approached.

  “If I fill up with gas, can I tie up while we eat lunch at the restaurant?” Parker called out.

  “Yes, let me swipe your card, and I’ll have a receipt ready for you when you leave.”

  They reached the main building for the resort, a single-story stucco-covered structure that seemed to grow out of the sandy soil. The light brown building was surrounded by dune grass, palmetto trees, and an array of fall flowers. Layla snapped a few pictures.

  “I need to learn more about the flowers that grow around here,” she said. “It’s more fun to know what I’m photographing.”

  The restaurant was close to the water and featured a row of picture windows on the side facing the river. A hostess seated them so they could see the marina. They each ordered a seafood salad. While they ate, Parker learned that in college Layla had auditioned to be the school mascot at football games.

  “I would have made a terrible eagle,” she said. “The costume didn’t fit me at all.”


  “Your legs are perfect.”

  “I don’t think that’s a compliment.”

  “Hey, there’s a guy on my boat!” Parker said, looking out the window.

  Layla turned in her chair. “And he has a gas nozzle in his hand. Maybe he works for the marina.”

  “Yeah.” Parker nodded his head. “I shouldn’t be paranoid about it, but Opa is so particular, and it’s a big deal that he trusts me enough to take the boat out on my own.”

  “It’s okay. I know what violation of trust looks and feels like.”

  And with that, Layla launched into a comprehensive explanation for the breakup of her marriage. Parker was immediately uncomfortable, and when he realized she was being vulnerable, he felt even worse.

  “My father sent Mitchell on the road to take depositions and try cases all the time. There would be stretches of seven to ten days or longer when I wouldn’t see him. Mitchell kept reassuring me it was only temporary and necessary to advance his career. I felt abandoned. When I complained to my father about it, they both got mad at me for butting my nose into business.”

  “Maybe it really was just temporary.”

  “I knew better,” Layla replied. “It’s the same thing my father did to my mother, and every lawyer in his practice racks up tons of frequent-flier miles. I know what a big deal it is for other firms to associate my father on their cases, and that’s never going to stop. Just because he’s thinking about opening an office in New Bern doesn’t mean he’s going to be spending much time here with me or anyone else. It’s just another place from which to send people out. Did he tell you that when he talked to you about a job?”

  “No,” Parker replied truthfully.

  “He should have. But it wasn’t just all the hours away that killed my father’s marriage to my mother, and my marriage to Mitchell. That—”

  “Layla,” Parker jumped in. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “Why?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Do you already know?”

  “No.”

  Layla blinked her eyes several times as she studied him for a moment. “Have you already accepted the job?” she asked.

  Parker shifted nervously in his seat. “I haven’t signed an employment agreement.”

  “But you told him you’ll accept,” she finished flatly.

  “We visited the new office on Pollock Street, and it was as if I’d already been working there for years,” Parker replied, trying to sound calmer than he felt. “It’s hard to explain, but I knew it was a step I was supposed to take.”

  “Supposed to take,” Layla repeated with emphasis. “Or were you just seeing yourself doing something that you wanted to do and convinced yourself it was the right thing?”

  Layla’s question stopped Parker in his tracks. “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

  “Well, I am,” Layla said. “I want you to take me home.”

  “But Mitchell and I are different men—”

  “Of course you are, but my father isn’t, and I’m not willing to risk tearing my heart in two again.” Tears appeared in the corners of Layla’s eyes. “I can’t sit at home waiting and worrying about whether the man I love is cheating on me with a woman he meets in one of the cities where he’s cooped up in a hotel room night after night. That life destroyed my mother, and I deceived myself into thinking it wouldn’t happen to me.”

  “I’m sorry—” Parker started.

  “But it did.” Layla spoke like a freight train that couldn’t be stopped. “With God’s help, I’m finally getting back on my feet, and I’m not going to go down that road again with you or anyone else!”

  CHAPTER 34

  During the return trip to New Bern, Parker ran the boat wide open. Layla stayed in the bow with her back to him. This time her hair swishing in the breeze was a symbol of how the day had ended up completely out of control. By the time they reached the dock, Parker hoped she would be willing to talk. After all, they were at the beginning of a relationship, not on the verge of marriage. Recognizing that distinction should make a difference. The boat slowed. As soon as it touched the dock, Layla jumped out.

  “Hey, I could use a hand here!” Parker called after her, but she didn’t turn around as she walked rapidly toward the shore.

  Parker cut off the engine and tied the boat to a weathered post. He methodically went through the process of preparing the skiff for its next outing. He knew Layla was waiting at the car, but he wasn’t ready to face her. He hoisted the gear onto the dock and lugged it to his vehicle. Layla was nowhere in sight, and the thought shot through Parker’s mind that she’d decided to hitchhike to town. He quickly threw everything into the rear seat of the car and jumped behind the wheel. Looking up, he saw Layla emerge from behind a large clump of dune grass along the edge of the parking lot. She walked over and got in.

  “Were you going to leave me?” she asked as soon as she was seated.

  “No, I was worried you might have started hitchhiking back to town.”

  “Hitchhiking? Do you think I’m crazy?”

  “No, it’s just—”

  “Please take me home and don’t try to talk to me. I need to be alone as soon as possible.”

  After Parker dropped Layla off in silence, he trudged up the steps to his apartment as Bosco settled down to munch on the treat Parker had tossed to him. Following a hot shower, Parker tried to relax, but his mind was churning faster than the prop on his grandfather’s boat at full throttle.

  Turning on his laptop, he checked his e-mail. Toward the top of the queue was a message from an unknown name; however, the subject matter grabbed his attention: “Cases for Immediate Review.” He clicked it open. It was from one of Tom Blocker’s assistants, a woman named Sandy Stumpf. Attached was a list of six cases, each summarized in two or three paragraphs with a specific question at the end. She’d sent a copy of the e-mail to Blocker and directed Parker to send his responses to both of them before 9:00 a.m. on Monday morning.

  Needing something to distract him from thoughts of Layla, Parker read about the first case, a lawsuit against the manufacturer of autopilot devices for yachts. He was familiar with the sophisticated equipment that could plot a precise course from New Bern to the Bahamas. The autopilot in question linked to a sonar system intended to keep the big boat from running aground or into another vessel. Blocker’s client left the wheelhouse for a few minutes one evening and the boat plowed into a smaller yacht, causing several million dollars in damage. Parker’s first thought was that the owner of the yacht was contributorily negligent because he left the wheelhouse and trusted the system. But that wasn’t Blocker’s question. He wanted advice about the best expert to analyze the autopilot’s software system. All he gave Parker was a list of six names. No credentials, no summary of each person’s experience.

  Parker spent the next hour trying to track down the candidates on his own. He was able to locate four of the six and learn a few basic facts about their training, but two eluded him. Of the four he found, nothing stood out in a way that caught his attention. He raised his head and looked up at the sharply sloping ceiling. This was random guesswork, not legitimate research. Glancing down, he saw the name of one of the candidates, Pamela Pyke, PhD, who had worked for a few years at a Silicon Valley start-up before branching out as a software consultant. He clicked on a small picture associated with her online bio. Then he suddenly saw her sitting in an office with an autopilot navigation device on her desk while she ran some sort of scan on her computer. Parker blinked his eyes. The scene dissolved. Parker stared again at the photo and with a surprising level of confidence answered the question: Pamela Pyke, PhD.

  Over the next four hours he worked his way through the other cases. The questions included whether to depose a former company officer in an intellectual property dispute and whether a defense lawyer in a large personal injury action was bluffing when he claimed he could contradict several key elements of the plaintiff ’s claim. Parker concluded it would be a bad idea to depose the
former officer because the man would provide information the company’s lawyer didn’t know about that would hurt the lawsuit. Parker believed the defense lawyer wasn’t bluffing in the personal injury action; however, the witness he was going to rely on could be impeached because he had several felony convictions in the remote past and had been a client of the lawyer when the defense attorney first started practicing law.

  When he finished, Parker sat back and rubbed his tired eyes. He then reviewed his responses for typos and grammatical errors and prepared to send the file to Ms. Stumpf and Mr. Blocker. Suddenly he stopped and studied the computer screen again. His eyes went to what seemed like the most straightforward case in the group, a lawsuit involving the breach of a contract between a computer equipment manufacturer in Alabama and a well-established Belgian company. The Alabama company shipped the equipment and didn’t receive payment. Blocker wanted to know if it would be better to sue in the United States or in Belgium. Parker didn’t attempt to engage in a crash course on Belgium’s laws and immediately chose the US as the best venue. Now he wasn’t so sure. He deleted his previous response and typed in “Belgium—The judge assigned to the case will have prior knowledge of the company and its dealings and will be favorably disposed to our client’s interests.” Both intellectually and emotionally exhausted, Parker pressed the Send button and crawled into bed.

  Parker woke Sunday morning, groaned as he recalled the previous day with Layla, and finally rolled out of bed. He went to the playground for an hour of intense exercising. The workout helped clear his mind.

  After returning to his apartment, his BlackBerry rang and an unfamiliar number appeared.

  “Good morning, Parker. This is Tom,” a male voice said. “I hope I didn’t wake you up after you stayed up late working on the memo Sandy sent you.”

  “No.” Parker sat up straighter in his chair. “I’ve already spent an hour exercising and fixed a cup of coffee.”

  “I wanted to touch base with you on your responses.”