The Witnesses

by Robert Whitlow

  “Yes, sir. I tried to do what you asked. There wasn’t much to go on with some of the questions, so I’m sure you’ll need to do some additional research and give thought to other options that might be—”

  “Actually, that’s not necessary,” Blocker said. “It would be a waste of time at this point in the litigation.”

  “A waste of time?” Parker asked with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “Yes, all those cases are closed files. They’ve either gone to trial or settled.”

  “Then why did you ask me—” Parker stopped as he suddenly suspected Blocker’s motive. “It was some kind of a test.”

  “Yes, and you did quite well if three out of six is a passing grade with one unclear. Do you want me to run down the list?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Good news or bad news first?”

  “Uh, I’m curious what you mean by ‘unclear.’ ”

  “That was the choice-of-jurisdiction question between the US and Belgium. I retained local counsel in Alabama, and we filed suit in Birmingham. There was a prolonged fight over preliminary matters, and my client got tired of the hassle and expense of litigation and settled for an amount that barely covered its cost of goods sold. So we’ll never know if you were right about the favorable judge in Belgium, but it was an intriguing perspective.”

  Parker heard Blocker clear his throat and say something he couldn’t hear to someone else who was apparently in or near the room.

  “You were right on the money with Dr. Pyke,” Blocker continued. “She was the key witness in the auto-navigation litigation. Once she testified about a serious glitch in the software, the insurance company for the manufacturer made an offer at trial that my client accepted. You whiffed in the intellectual property case. I deposed the former corporate officer and obtained crucial information; however, it was a gutsy call on your part to recommend caution. A knee-jerk response would be to depose everyone in sight and sort it out before trial.”

  While Blocker talked through the cases, Parker pulled up the e-mail and his responses on his computer so he could follow along.

  “Finally,” Blocker said, “you nailed what happened with the defense lawyer’s supposed key witness in the personal injury case. By the time I finished unpacking the guy’s criminal record and links to the defense lawyer going back twenty years, the man’s credibility was completely blown. The jury threw out his testimony and returned a very nice verdict. Overall, your performance was impressive.”

  “But nothing that careful research couldn’t have uncovered,” Parker replied. “Except, I guess, for the Belgian judge. It wouldn’t be possible to investigate him until the suit was filed and he was assigned to the case.”

  “But pointing me in a potentially fruitful direction is very valuable,” Blocker responded. “I’m looking forward to you firing your gun with real bullets in a live case. We’ll talk again tomorrow after you meet with Greg Branham and give him the news. Don’t mention the Ferguson case. We’ll address that issue later.”

  “What if he asks me about it? I’m sure it will come up.”

  “Think of something creative. Oh, I have a trip coming up to Spokane in a couple of weeks, and you’re joining me.”

  “Spokane, Washington?”

  “Yes, beautiful area. You’ll like it.”

  The call ended, and Parker looked down at his phone.

  Frank arrived at the church early and picked a row with several empty chairs. He kept looking over his shoulder as the music began. When Layla arrived, he raised his hand to get her attention.

  “Good morning,” he said in German when she came up to him. “Is Parker coming?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied in English. “I didn’t talk to him about it.”

  Layla sang with her eyes closed, and a couple of times Frank saw her wipe them with a tissue. When the music ended and they sat down, he leaned over to her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She simply nodded. Frank suspected something was wrong, but he didn’t know what it might be. Eric got up to speak. He opened his Bible and the words of Matthew 16:24–25 appeared on the screen: “Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.’ ”

  The minister looked over the congregation for a moment before he spoke.

  “These words in virtually the same form appear five times in the New Testament,” Eric said. “Which makes them the most often quoted statement Jesus made during his earthly ministry. I believe there’s a reason for that.”

  The minister launched into a description of the Christian life as a journey marked by self-denial, not self-effort. He also emphasized daily cooperation with what it meant to be a new creation in Christ Jesus. As Eric talked, Frank recalled faint whispers of similar statements by his grandfather during the home meetings in Dresden. Then, the words had sounded esoteric and beyond the comprehension of a small boy, but now they came forth with undeniable clarity. Frank touched his chest as if awakening his spirit to listen and learn. The time flew by, and he was disappointed when Eric delivered the closing prayer.

  “Wow,” Frank said to Layla when the service ended. “That was amazing.”

  Layla studied him for a moment. “I believe you because your eyes are shining,” she said, “but I’m not exactly sure why.”

  Frank was disappointed that the message hadn’t transported Layla to the same place he’d gone. He paused for a moment.

  “I’ve seen death, and at my age I’m a lot closer to natural death than you are, but this was about a different type of death that isn’t the end of life but rather the doorway to the kind of life God intends us to live. It blew me away.”

  Layla smiled. “Maybe you should be a preacher. You summarized half the sermon in one sentence.”

  They left the church together. Frank lingered with Eric for a moment at the door to let him know how meaningful the message had been to him. The minister listened and politely nodded, which left Frank with the odd sensation that he might have received more from the sermon than the man who delivered it.

  “Did you and Parker have fun on the boat yesterday?” Frank asked as soon as he and Layla were outside in the sun. “It was cloudy, which should have been good for taking pictures.”

  “No, we didn’t,” Layla replied.

  Frank, who was walking beside her toward his car, stopped and faced her. “Would you like to tell me what happened?” he asked.

  “No.” Layla pressed her lips together tightly and shook her head.

  “Are you sure?” Frank persisted.

  “He’s your grandson, and I’m barely more than a stranger,” Layla answered. “It wouldn’t be right—”

  “That’s not how I feel about you,” Frank replied forcibly. “In fact, I want you to start calling me ‘Opa.’ ”

  Tears suddenly burst from Layla’s eyes. She turned away and ran to her car. Frank stood still and watched her leave the parking lot. Deeply troubled, he drove by Parker’s apartment to talk to him, but his grandson’s car wasn’t in its usual place along the street.

  The following morning Parker lingered longer than normal at home to make sure Vicki arrived at the office before him. He didn’t want to face Greg alone in the office. He paced back and forth in his apartment while drinking three cups of coffee. His phone rang. It was his grandfather.

  “What happened between you and Layla on the boat?” his grandfather asked as soon as Parker answered.

  “Did she call you?” Parker asked.

  “No, I saw her at church. She wouldn’t tell me anything except that it hadn’t been a good day.”

  “That’s true.”

  Parker told his grandfather about his decision and Layla’s reaction. He considered leaving out her personal history but couldn’t because the story wouldn’t make sense.

  “That’
s where it is,” he said when he finished. “I’m sorry I hurt her feelings, but if she’s not going to change her mind about my working for her father, it’s better for us to part sooner rather than later. Not that I wanted it. I still hope she’ll come around, but it’s up to her to open the door since she slammed it in my face.”

  He heard his grandfather grunt on the other end of the line.

  “Opa?” he asked. “Did you hear me?”

  “Oh yes. I heard every word, and you sound like the man who used to work on my fishing boat when he described a hydraulic leak. I thought you were going to let me meet Layla’s father before you made a decision about working for him.”

  “Yes, but it didn’t work out. I’m sure you’ll meet him soon.”

  “Bye.”

  Before Parker could say anything else, the call ended. He looked up at the ceiling. Now he had to deal with his opa being upset with him too. He pushed that thought aside and called Vicki at the office.

  “Hey,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, “what time will Greg be getting into the office? I know he has a luncheon appointment with Quentin Cutler because he mentioned it the other day.”

  “He’s here now, and he’s been bugging me about what time you’re going to get here. Some fire has flared up regarding discovery in a case he should have been keeping tabs on, and you’re the fireman who’s going to put it out.”

  “Which case?”

  As Parker listened, he remembered asking Greg about the requests for production of documents at least a month earlier and pointing out that it was going to be tricky deciding what was subject to discovery by the other side and what could be withheld because of trade secrets not relevant to the litigation.

  “I’ll put you through to him,” Vicki said.

  She transferred the call before Parker could stop her. In a moment of split-second panic, he abruptly ended the call, then turned off his phone. He left his apartment and quickly descended the steps to his car. During the short drive to the office, he ran a stoplight, then checked in the rearview mirror to make sure a cop didn’t see him. Parker’s brain was a jumbled mix of caffeine overload and multisource anxiety. He took the stairs two at a time to the office.

  “What’s wrong with your fancy phone?” Vicki asked. “We got cut off and neither Greg nor I could reach you.”

  “Is he available now?” Parker replied, hoping his eyes didn’t look too wild.

  Vicki glanced down. “Maybe.”

  Parker knocked on the closed door and entered before Greg responded. Greg was sitting behind his desk and gave Parker a startled look.

  “I’m glad you’re finally here,” he began. “Vicki has the discovery file in the—”

  “I’m not going to be able to help you,” Parker said. “I’ve accepted a job offer from Tom Blocker beginning immediately. I cleaned out my desk Friday evening before I left.”

  Parker paused to take a breath. Greg was staring at him with a shocked expression on his face.

  “Why would Tom Blocker offer you a job?” he asked.

  The condescension in Greg’s voice reinforced Parker’s resolve that he’d made the right choice.

  “He’s opening a branch office in New Bern and bought the newly renovated house on Pollock Street,” he replied in a calmer tone.

  “I heard a rumor last week that the place was under contract,” Greg said, shaking his head. “But I had no idea Blocker was the buyer. They say it’s a real showcase.”

  Greg stopped talking but continued shaking his head. Parker waited and braced himself for the impending explosion he knew was around the corner.

  “Well, I can’t blame you,” Greg said without looking at Parker. “I don’t know what he’s going to pay you in salary, but the upside to linking your car to his train is way beyond anything Dexter and I could offer you here. I knew it was a mistake to bring him in on the Ferguson case and let him treat you like his own associate. He’s too smart not to see your potential and snatch you up for himself.”

  Parker felt like he was listening to someone talk about him as if he weren’t there. He cringed at the mention of the Ferguson case but didn’t have the courage to tell Greg that Blocker had the upper hand in that as well.

  “The good side for me is that this opens the door for ongoing cooperation between the two firms on major litigation,” Greg said, thinking out loud.

  “Blocker has had a chance to see you in action,” Parker said noncommittally.

  “And you’re not going to work out a notice?” Greg’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you care that you’re leaving me completely in the lurch without any backup? I’m staring down three or four gun barrels at the same time.”

  “I asked if I could give you another two weeks, but Blocker nixed it. I have responsibilities at the new office beginning today.”

  “Yeah,” Greg replied with resignation in his voice. “I’d do the same thing if the shoe was on the other foot.”

  “Thanks for understanding.”

  “Oh, I understand. I have no choice if I don’t want to burn any bridges for the future. Are you going to tell Dexter?”

  “If you want me to.”

  “No, he never wanted to hire you in the first place. And I’ll break the news to Vicki and Dolly.”

  Walking down the stairs to the main floor, Parker’s primary emotion was relief. No one knew what he’d put up with at Branham and Camp, not his grandfather, not Layla, and it was nice to be free. Getting in his car, he didn’t look back as he drove out of the lot on his way to Pollock Street.

  CHAPTER 35

  Parker pulled his car into a courtyard finished with paving stones behind the house on Pollock Street. Taking out his phone, he called Tom Blocker. The receptionist put Parker on hold while she transferred the call.

  “Have you had a busy morning?” Blocker asked when he came on the line.

  “Yes.”

  “Give me a condensed version. I only have a few minutes before I need to leave for a motion hearing.”

  Parker summarized his conversation with Greg as succinctly as he could.

  “Did you advise Greg about the status of the Ferguson case?”

  “No, and he’s already angling for ongoing interaction between the two firms on future cases. As he would say, he’s ‘trying to make lemonade out of lemons.’ ”

  Blocker laughed in a way that reminded Parker of Layla. “And what do you think about that?” he asked.

  “It would have to be on a case-by-case basis.”

  “Can you give me an example of the type of litigation in which you’d recommend associating Greg because of his particular skill and expertise?”

  Parker thought for a moment. “No,” he said.

  “That’s what I thought. And don’t worry about the Ferguson matter. I’ll take care of it in a way that won’t be any harder on Greg than a trip to the dentist.”

  Parker wasn’t sure how painless that would be, but he was relieved to have the burden off his shoulders.

  “Oh, and there’s a new laptop in your office. Sandy is going to send over a packet you need to complete so we can set you up on the firm payroll and for medical insurance, benefits, et cetera. You’ll also receive a memo later this morning about a research project. And this one won’t be a theoretical exercise.”

  “I never received the employment agreement.”

  “That will be included as well.”

  Parker had the building to himself. He wandered through the rooms and noticed many details he’d overlooked during the quick inspection the previous week. He ran his fingers along the chair rail molding in the conference room and imagined what it would be like taking a deposition beneath a shimmering brass chandelier while sitting at a long wooden table with a top that glistened. It was impossible to absorb.

  Climbing the broad steps of the curving staircase to the second floor, he couldn’t help but contrast it to the narrow steps at Branham and Camp. He was surprised to find that furniture had already been delivered to hi
s office. In place was his new desk, a massive piece of wood the size of a small aircraft carrier that had an inlaid leather top enhanced by an embossed design around the edge. The leather chair reminded him of the one Judge Murray used in the main courtroom, only Parker’s was a bit higher and had more shiny brass buttons. He opened the new laptop that he immediately recognized as one of the newest, fastest models on the market. While he waited for the computer to boot up, he decided this wasn’t a desk he’d ever prop his feet up on—at least for the next five years.

  Frank and Lenny had been out on the water since shortly after 7:00 a.m. They had four poles in the water, hoping to convince a big flounder to suck in the live shrimp bait. There was a twitch on the end of one of Lenny’s rods. He was pouring a cup of coffee from a thermos and didn’t notice.

  “You may have one,” Frank said, pointing to the rod.

  Lenny picked up his rod, held it lightly in his hand for a few seconds, and then jerked it up sharply.

  “Got him!” he cried out as he began reeling in the fish.

  In a couple of minutes, Frank scooped up the fish in his big net and placed it on the deck.

  “I think he’s a keeper,” Lenny said, peering into the net.

  “We’d better measure to be sure,” Frank replied. “If we don’t, the game warden will.”

  Frank laid the fish on top of a cooler with a measuring scale printed on its surface. The minimum length for a keeper was fifteen inches.

  “Sixteen and one-quarter inches,” Frank announced.

  “And it’s a fat one,” Lenny added. “If such a thing can ever be said about a flounder.”

  Lenny picked up the fish and put it in the live well they’d filled with water from the Sound earlier in the morning.

  “Mattie will be happy,” Frank said. “She’s been over the moon ever since Chris and Sally announced their engagement.”

  “Engagement?” Frank replied. “That was quick.”

  “You shouldn’t be surprised. You’re the one who said they should get together in the first place.”

  “I didn’t know—” Frank started to say but stopped before he told a lie.