(2014) The Professor

by Robert Bailey

  Dawn shook her head. “No way. This has to be a subtle way of him trying to help us.”

  “But why?” Rick asked. “Why would Hank Russell want to help us?”

  “I don’t know. But why else would he give you a card with Ms Bulyard’s name and number on it? The newspaper articles I read said that Faith Bulyard worked in... record-keeping, I think. Oh, my God, maybe she knows something.”

  Rick pondered the possibilities, and knew Dawn had to be right. Hank Russell had seemed perturbed throughout the meeting with Willard Carmichael. Ms Bulyard’s name and number had to be his way of throwing a bone their way.

  “Read the number out to me,” Rick said, taking out his cell phone.

  “You’re going to call her now?” Dawn asked.

  “No time like the present.”

  Dawn slowly read each digit of the phone number out loud, and Rick entered it in his phone. Then he waited. After six rings and no voice message, he ended the call.

  “Just have to keep trying,” Rick muttered, setting the phone in the console between the seats. “We need to get on finding Dick Morris too. Carmichael said Morris has family in Faunsdale, and my friend Powell has some connections there. I’ll check with him if you’ll do an internet search.”

  “Will do. What about Ms Bulyard?”

  Rick started to answer, but then his cell phone started vibrating. He picked it up, and the caller ID was the number he’d just called. “It’s her,” he said, his heart pounding.

  “Hello,” Rick answered, trying to sound calm.

  “Yes, did you just try to call me?” A female voice.

  “Yes, ma’am. Is this Faith Bulyard?”

  “It is. Who is this?”

  Rick’s eyes darted to Dawn, whose eyebrows were raised in anticipation. He nodded at her.

  “Ms Bulyard, my name is Rick Drake. I’m a lawyer in Tuscaloosa and I represent a woman whose entire family was killed back in September in a trucking accident with a Willistone Trucking Company driver who was hauling Ultron Gasoline. I spoke with Hank Russell in Montgomery this afternoon, and he gave me your number as someone I should call.” Rick shrugged his shoulders at Dawn, and she gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Jesus Christ,” Ms Bulyard said. Then, barely audible, she muttered, “Why can’t people just mind their own business.” She sighed and the irritation in her voice was palpable. “Look, I remember that accident, but only because my husband...” There was a pause, and Rick heard coughing on the other end of the line.

  “Ms Bulyard...”

  “... my husband died the night of that accident. He died in a fire.”

  “I know, ma’am. And I’m so sorry.” Rick stopped, not sure what to say next.

  “What do you want, Mr Drake?”

  Rick sucked in a quick breath. “I want to meet with you, ma’am. Just for a few minutes, if that would be OK? I know you worked in record-keeping at Ultron, and I wanted to ask you a few questions.” Rick crossed his fingers and held his breath, while the other end of the line was silent for several seconds.

  “I don’t know...” Another sigh. “I...”

  “Fifteen minutes, Ms Bulyard. I doubt I’ll need longer than that.”

  More silence. Then, finally, Faith Bulyard cleared her throat. “OK, but we are out of town this week on the boys’ spring break. Why don’t you call me again next week, and we can meet at the house.”

  It was all Rick could do not to scream out loud. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  When Ms Bulyard said “Bye,” Rick pressed “End” and looked at Dawn. “She’ll meet us next week.”

  Dawn’s squeal must have lasted a full five seconds, and the sound was so genuinely happy that it warmed Rick’s whole body. It doesn’t mean anything yet, he told himself, trying to calm down. Just because she’s agreed to meet you doesn’t mean she knows anything helpful.

  Still, it was a success after a day full of failures, and Rick wasn’t ready to throw water on it yet. He looked at Dawn. “Hey, are you hungry?”

  “Starved,” she said, leaning forward.

  “Then let’s go somewhere and get something. What do you say?”

  When Dawn didn’t immediately answer, Rick’s spirits sank. Nice work, Drake. Next time your instincts say do something, just do the opposite.

  “We don’t have to–” Rick began, but Dawn cut him off.

  “I’d love to, Rick, but I really need to get home. My daughter...”

  “Your daughter?”

  They looked at each other, and Rick came to the harsh realization that he really didn’t know anything about Dawn. She’s a mom?

  “Yes,” Dawn finally said. “My daughter. Julie. She’s five and my mother is watching her, but–” Dawn looked at her watch “–it’s almost 9, and I’d like to be there to tuck her in before bed. I wasn’t able to last night when we went to Boone’s Hill, and she didn’t sleep well.” Dawn stopped, and Rick could see that she was frustrated. “I’m sorry, I really wish I could...”

  “Don’t apologize,” Rick said, his mind working overtime to try to find a solution. Then, like an oasis in the desert, the yellow and red lights of Taco Bell emerged in the distance.

  “I think I know how we can fix this,” Rick said, smiling.

  Fifteen minutes after going through the drive-through at Taco Bell, Rick pulled into Riverview Apartments, a small complex right outside of downtown Northport.

  They walked to the second story of the first unit, and Dawn pulled out a key from her purse. “Here we are,” she said, opening the door to Apartment 124.

  As they walked in, Dawn whispered, “Let me go check on Julie. Be right back,” and she disappeared down a short hallway. Rick sat down on a couch and waited. The room carried a pleasant, fruity scent, and Rick breathed it in. Smells like her, he thought.

  A few moments later, Dawn returned, gave Rick a thumbs-up sign and plopped down on the couch next to him. “Asleep,” she said, letting out a sigh of relief. She was now wearing a pair of plaid flannel pajamas, and she smiled sheepishly at Rick. “I hope you don’t mind, but I had to get out of those clothes.”

  “Not at all,” Rick said, feeling a slight jump in his stomach. Just like in all outfits he’d seen her wear, Dawn looked good in pajamas. “I like your place,” he said, forcing his eyes away from her.

  “Thanks,” Dawn said, getting up and beginning to put the food on a couple of plates. “We like it, but sometimes things can get pretty cramped. My mother...” She stopped for a second and looked up from the plate, her face red with embarrassment. “I live with my mother.”

  “Oh,” Rick said, trying not to sound surprised but failing. He had assumed that Dawn’s mother had just come over for the night to keep Julie.

  “Lame, huh?” Dawn asked.

  “No... not at all,” Rick stammered. He fought to think of something to say that would ease the awkwardness of the moment. “I’m sure it’s nice having help with Julie.”

  Dawn smiled. “It is nice. But still... a few years ago, I would never have expected I’d be living with my mother with a five year-old to care for.”

  “And I would never have expected I’d have my own law office. I thought I’d be at Jones & Butler, bringing in eighty Gs, driving a sports car and living in a bachelor pad in Homewood. Hamming it up with Julian Witt and standing in line to kiss Jameson Tyler’s ass. Instead, I live in the same apartment I lived in while I was in law school, and I barely make enough to cover the bills. That’s just–” he stopped, knowing he’d probably said too much “–that’s life, I guess.”

  “So what’s the deal with you and Tyler anyway? Did you clerk at Jones & Butler or something?”

  “Both summers,” Rick said. “After my first and second years, and got an offer after the second, which I accepted. And then...” Rick squinted at her. “Come on. I’m sure you’ve seen the YouTube video they were talking about.”

  “Sure, I’ve seen it,” she said. “But there’s gotta be more to it than that, right? I mean, the
way...” She stopped, and Rick looked away, feeling heat on the back of his neck.

  “I’m sorry,” Dawn said, and Rick felt her touch his shoulder. “I can tell it’s a sore subject, and it’s none of my business.” She shrugged. “Curiosity got the cat.”

  Rick again looked over at her, wanting to tell her but feeling a twinge of fear. He liked Dawn. In just three days of working together, he already felt a connection with her. She was smart, funny and easy to be around. Everything you could want in a law clerk.

  “You really want to know?” Rick asked.

  Dawn looked at him, her eyes kind. She nodded. “But only if you want to tell.”

  Rick looked down at the floor. He had never told this story to anyone, not even his parents. He saw the hallway in his mind, and felt the heat behind his eyes and on the back of his neck. He had been so angry. If the Professor had just let him get out of there...

  Rick sighed, feeling that terrible mixture of disappointment, failure and anger again. Then he started talking.

  27

  “I was on the trial team at Alabama. The Professor’s team. I never dreamed I’d make it, much less be one of the advocates. My second year of law school, I was a bull in a china shop. My best friend, Powell, was much smoother, and when the Professor teamed me and Powell together, that sort of relaxed me. Let me be myself. I don’t know, it just worked. I started coming into my own. We cruised through all our practice matches and Regionals was a breeze. We killed Stetson in the finals in New Orleans.

  “Then in the spring, we competed for the National Championship in Washington DC. We won our first four matches easily, and faced Georgetown in the semis.

  “To this day, I can’t say what really happened. I know the judge was awful. From the get-go, he seemed to overrule all of our objections and sustain all of Georgetown’s. And I couldn’t stand that team – they had two girls, and one was very annoying. Red hair, freckles, a little hefty, and a nasal voice that made you cringe, but the judge adored her.

  “At one point, he sustained one of her hearsay objections. I argued that the statement I was trying to get in – essentially a confession by the defendant to the crime – was an admission by party-opponent, which is one of the recognized exceptions to hearsay. He said it was hearsay and sustained the damn objection. He was so obviously wrong, and it was going to cost us the trial. We were the prosecution that round, and we had to have the defendant’s confession as part of our case in chief.

  “I just lost it. I told the Judge that I was astonished. Then I accused him of favoring the other team and asked that he recuse himself from the trial. The Judge stared at me for a long time. I looked at Powell, and his face told me all I needed to know. I had blown it.

  “Anyway, the Judge threatened to hold me in contempt if I had another outburst. I quickly apologized and went on. The rest of the trial was uneventful. I actually thought my closing was the best I had ever done. But in the end, all five judges voted for Georgetown, each reminding me that a good lawyer had to keep his cool. Judges make honest mistakes all the time, and my outburst would have cost me a real trial. They just couldn’t send us on.

  “I was inconsolable. Powell tried to talk to me, but I couldn’t handle it. I’d let him down. Let everybody down. I just wanted out of there. The Professor yelled something to me as I opened the door, but I didn’t stop. When I got out in the hallway, I felt someone grab my arm, and it was, well, sort of instinctive. I was... so... mad. I’m not even sure my eyes were open when I swung the punch. I hit him, but he didn’t even look fazed. His face turned red, and all he said was... I’ll never forget it... he said, ‘You’re a hothead, Drake. A liability in the courtroom.’”

  “There’s no sound in the video.” Dawn said, breaking the silence that had engulfed the apartment when Rick had stopped talking. “You said something back, didn’t you?”

  “I told him to go fuck himself,” Rick said, looking sheepish. “The next day, Jameson Tyler called and terminated my contract with Jones & Butler. Said that the firm was embarrassed by the incident, and that they didn’t have room for a hothead who couldn’t control his emotions. I tried to get another job somewhere else, but no one would touch me. Hanging up a shingle was the last resort, in case you were wondering.”

  Dawn ate a chip and looked at her plate, trying to take it all in.

  “Have you talked to the Professor since?”

  “Just once,” Rick said, shaking his head. “When he referred me Ruth Ann’s case.”

  “It’s a good case, isn’t it?”

  Rick shrugged. “It’s not a guaranteed win, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “But he could’ve referred it to anyone, right?”

  Rick nodded. “Sure. What’s your point? Oh, let me guess. You took Evidence from the Professor and worship the ground he walks on like everyone else.”

  Dawn’s face turned pale. “I... uh... I did have Evidence with him, and...”

  Something’s wrong, Rick thought. Dawn looked visibly upset, like she might cry.

  “... I did like him,” Dawn continued. “I thought he was a good teacher.”

  She’s just worried you’re going to be mad at her for liking him, Rick realized, feeling guilty.

  “No worries,” Rick quickly recovered. “He was a good teacher.” For a moment, he paused. When he spoke again, his words were soft, just above a whisper.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Don’t do this, Rick tried to tell himself, but it was no use.

  “Sure.”

  “Why do you do it? Working for me, I mean. You’re smart, beautiful. Grades are fantastic. You could be working for someone who could afford to pay you. Why this job? Why me?”

  Dawn looked up, and her face was even paler than before.

  You moron, Rick thought. Can’t you just enjoy a good thing?

  “Like I said when we first met. I wanted to see the life of a plaintiff’s lawyer to get a broad view before making any long-range career choices. I think this is good for me. And I’m enjoying it. I’ve already done more for you this week than I did all last summer clerking for Tomkins & Fisher.”

  “That’s a good group,” Rick said.

  “I like working for you better,” Dawn said. The color had returned to her face, and her eyes radiated with warmth.

  “I like it too,” Rick said, holding his fist out, which she nudged with her own.

  Dawn watched from the window as Rick’s Saturn pulled out of the complex. “I have to tell him,” she whispered, looking down at the check she held in her hand. It came in the mail today and was for the agreed amount, written from what must be a personal checking account. At the top left corner was a Tuscaloosa address above which in bold letters was his name. “Thomas J. McMurtrie.”

  Dawn closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cold glass. “I have to.”

  28

  When Jameson Tyler walked in the door of his two-story townhouse in Homewood, he was too wired to go to sleep. The whole drive home he kept thinking of the young lady that accompanied Rick Drake to the Ultron Plant. Dawn Murphy...

  He knew he had seen the girl before, and her name had tickled a memory. But it can’t be, he kept telling himself. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling, and a few minutes later, he pulled up the folder entitled “Professor Investigation” on his computer. Then he clicked on the photographs and waited for confirmation.

  Well, I’ll be damned, he thought, smiling, as the first photograph popped up on the flat screen. It can be.

  Jameson had never met “Dawn” before, but he definitely knew who she was. As he looked at her perfectly shaped breasts poking through the wet T-shirt, he couldn’t help but laugh out loud. How in the hell did she end up working for Rick Drake? Jameson shook his head, but his gut immediately told him the answer. Same way Drake ended up with the Wilcox case. The Professor.

  “You can’t take back your sins, Tom,” Jameson laughed as he continued to admire Dawn Murphy’s rain-soaked body. Referring Dr
ake a case he can’t handle and getting your paramour a new job isn’t going to help them. Jameson clicked off the computer and began to whistle as he walked down the hall to fix himself a drink.

  It’s just going to make my life easier.

  29

  As the sun set over Henshaw County, Rick stood in the middle of the intersection of Limestone Bottom Road and Highway 82, drinking a twenty-ounce Sun Drop and waiting for the verdict. Next to him, a white-bearded man with a Black Stetson hat, also holding a Sun Drop, pointed east. “With the Honda right here when it started its turn and the rig a hundred yards out–” the man had placed an orange cone a hundred yards down the shoulder of the road “–the bottom line is...”

  Rick held his breath. He was paying two thousand dollars for this opinion.

  “... it’s just impossible to tell whether the driver of the Honda should’ve seen the rig before starting his turn.”

  Shit, Rick thought, glancing over to the edge of the highway, where Dawn’s expression registered the same thought. Shit...

  At seventy-five years old, Ted Holt had been reconstructing accidents for fifteen years, which was a retirement gig after he had spent most of his life working for the Swift Trucking Company in Fort Worth, Texas. Rick had gotten to know Ted during Rick’s time clerking at Jones & Butler, as Holt was Jameson Tyler’s go-to expert in wheels cases. Rick remembered Jameson saying that Ted was “the best in the business”, and that the affable Texan could make a jury eat out of his hand.

  When Holt had stepped out of his rental car to begin his inspection, looking ever the Texan with his jeans, plaid flannel shirt and black Stetson, Rick had smiled, knowing he’d gotten the jump on Tyler.

  Now, though, none of that mattered.

  “Honestly, Rick, I just can’t say,” Ted said, talking in his slow drawl. “At ninety-five yards, which is still in the dip, Bradshaw probably should’ve seen the rig. At a hundred and five yards, Bradshaw probably can’t see shit. But at a hundred–” Holt rubbed his chin “–it’s just too close to call. We’re talking a couple of yards and split seconds. I–” he scratched his head and walked out of the road as a car began to come towards them “–I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking the stand.”