He'd started talking when they passed the breakwater. It took twenty minutes to maneuver the boat back to its slip. In that time she found out that Michael was an army brat. Ten schools by the time he was fifteen. High school was spent in Germany. He loved Germany. He loved the chance to learn and do anything new. The world was just full of opportunities no one took advantage of. His father was a desk jockey, his mother a housewife. His parents had an extraordinary marriage, especially considering they were a military couple. There had been a brother, Michael's twin. His name was Charlie and he'd been killed in Vietnam.
Kathleen helped secure the boat while Michael analyzed the differences between his brother and him. Charlie was more outgoing and adventurous, Michael more intellectual. Michael was a thinker who sought out experiences; Charlie took them as they came. Charlie was a ladies man; Michael liked a commitment. He had been engaged once but never married. He couldn't really explain why. Perhaps they hadn't been right for one another; perhaps he had waited too long and analyzed the situation too fully. Marriage was an important step, but maybe he should have tried it out instead of letting it die on the examining table. He wanted it to last forever. His caution perhaps made his intended feel like the courtship would last forever. He couldn't blame her. There was also the risk factor. His posting in Vietnam with the Special Forces wasn't an idyllic one. Even Kathleen understood the implication of that piece of news. Michael Crawford was the best of the best, the most courageous of men in America, a man of impeccable credentials. And she, a woman from the desert who had lived her whole mundane life on the cautious edge, had accused him of taking the easy way out.
Michael stopped long enough to let her get back into her shoes and stockings before he leaped onto the dock where he held his arms out for her. She had gone into them without a second thought and, in a movie moment, the sun seared red and gold as it sunk behind the horizon before he put her down. They walked toward the marina and a small Mexican food restaurant. There they found cold Margaritas, hot salsa and a back booth.
''My parents are still living. They're retired in Palm Springs.''
''I spent my life in Banning, not too far from there,'' Kathleen said.
''I know where it is.'' Michael nodded and had the decency not to comment further.
''Do you see them often?'' Kathleen asked.
''I confess to being the perfect son. I see them as often as their schedule allows. They're pretty active. I think the happiest day of my dad's life was retiring from the service.''
''What about you? I would have thought that the service for someone in the Special Forces would be an ideal life.'' Kathleen rested her arms on the open menu. The waitress had been over twice and had finally figured out they probably wouldn't be ordering any time soon.
''I really loved the military. I went in with my eyes open and I served well, but I was ready for something different. I wanted to live like the rest of the world. Heck, maybe I just wanted to see how I looked with longer hair.'' Michael shook his head back like a fashion model and Kathleen laughed.
''Fine.''
''What?''
''You look fine with longer hair. More than fine.'' Kathleen took a chip and too much salsa. Thankfully the spice brought tears to her eyes. When she looked back she couldn't see him clearly. It would have been awful to find her compliment wasn't welcome.
''Thanks.'' There was a scarlet tinge to his skin that could have been a trick of the light or a blush of pleasure. ''Anyway, Tysco was there waiting in the wings. I was snapped up and put in the computerized weaponry division, international contracts. My business card was pretty neat.'' He chuckled and she knew it was at himself for being so impressed by something like that. Kathleen looked at the table. They shared a failing. She didn't think he ever failed.
''I bet you wore a suit and everything.''
''Very astute.'' Michael dipped into the salsa, but it dripped back, his chip forgotten as he continued. ''I was on that fast track, Kathleen. I was interfacing with the military, making huge bucks -''
''The boat?''
He put the chip aside and raised his salt encrusted glass to toast the lady.
''You think an auditor could manage that?'' Michael grinned but there was sadness in his hindsight. ''Anyway, I found out I had been signing contracts that weren't viable. The products that were being delivered weren't up to contractual specs. Tysco was cutting corners and what they were shipping was dangerous. I went through channels. I protested. I did my homework and wrote extensive reports, and then I was patted on the back and told not to make waves.''
''So what did you do?''
''I blew the whistle.'' The pride in his voice was shaded with regret. ''I went to the military, explained the situation to men I thought would understand the situation for what it was. They didn't. Those men were bureaucrats. They said they would look into the problems. For all I know they did. But that's where their interest stopped. The men on the line, those guys like me, weren't in a position to do anything about it. The equipment being shipped was substandard. They might be killed by it, or because of it, but they couldn't do anything to stop the corner cutting.'' Michael took a long drink, stabbed a new chip into the salsa and ate the whole thing. ''I went to the press, but Tysco had a great PR machine.'' He shook his head. ''Poor Lionel if he went the same route. I wish he'd asked me before he did anything.'' There was no pain when he looked back at her. He'd dealt with that long ago. ''Anyway, the stories were buried. Nothing ever happened except that I'd rammed my head into a brick wall. It was almost terminal.''
''I can't believe they didn't fire you.'' Kathleen was all ears and disbelief.
''You're the lawyer. Think I would have had a great discrimination case? That would have gotten a heck of a lot more press than what Tysco is really doing.''
The waitress was back. This time she wasn't leaving without an order. Kathleen looked at the menu, ordered a burrito. Michael did the same. Anxiously she leaned close.
''So they kept you on and -''
''And made life miserable for me ever since.'' Michael munched another chip, taking his time with a story that had obviously been long lived. ''That was three years ago. In that time they have transferred me four times. Finally I ended up in auditing. In the very unglamorous world of defense work, heading up the auditing division is about as bad as you can get. They took their time, but finally they put me in my place.''
''Lord, Michael, what on earth are you still doing there? How can you exist in a situation like this? How can you work for people like that?''
''How can I not?'' He said evenly, without a hint of the martyr. ''Every day I walk the halls of Tysco I am a reminder of their failings. They know what's in my head. They know they're the ones between a moral rock and a hard place. They've done the worst they can do. I still exist, so does the problem. Even if I never see the men who called themselves my peers, the ones who had given me not only the opportunity to do my work but the responsibility to do it well, they know I am still around. I'm a watchdog that no one bothers to feed.'' Michael laughed, pushed the chips away and sat back. He eyed Kathleen casually. The outrage had flared then burned itself off like good cooking wine, leaving behind its essence. Few knew of his situation. Fewer still agreed with it, thinking his life wasted in a vain attempt to take a stand that would never accomplish much. Now he'd laid the problem in front of Kathleen Cotter, a woman he barely knew. Now he would know a little more. ''So, what do you think?''
She didn't hesitate. ''I think you're a very unusual man.''
''A stupid man?'' he asked.
''A brave man,'' she said.
Michael smiled. It was enough. All he'd ever needed to hear. ''I appreciate that. Unfortunately, this brave man is in no position to really help you. I'm nobody in a place that only reacts when you're somebody. I can't even get Lionel's old supervisor to call me back. The guy seems to spend more time out of the office than he does in.''
''That's okay. I have a feeling that if you're determined to get
in touch with him that's exactly what you're going to do.''
''And when I do?'' Michael asked, one finger trailing her hand lightly. ''Do you think you might be available to discuss it over dinner?''
''Just let me know when,'' she answered knowing she'd discuss physics sitting inside a cave at high tide with Michael Crawford.
CHAPTER TEN
''Ladies and gentleman, the evidence put before you today may seem minimal, but I assure you it is not. It is only powerful in its simplicity. There were no signs to indicate that my client had wandered into a loading zone. My client, who, I might add, is eighty-eight years old and unable to rush even if the devil himself were after her.''
Kathleen looked over her shoulder at Henrietta who was appropriately turned out in subdued gray suit and white suit gloves. She sat primly in the very, very big wheelchair she had rented for this solemn occasion. Henrietta believed it would make her look smaller and more vulnerable. All the world is a stage, she had intoned gleefully to Kathleen when she arrived in the monstrosity. Kathleen let her gaze linger just long enough. She was finally getting the hang of this jury thing thanks to Gerry's tutelage and her own blossoming talent. She raised her arms wide.
''There were huge rolls of carpet all around her. To anyone it would seem like an extension of the showroom. She was thinking about what color would look best in her home when, out of nowhere, a roll was flung in her direction by two men. As you heard from their own testimony, through the court's interpreter, they didn't look where they were throwing the bolt, they didn't call out in warning. The salesman on the showroom floor had stepped out for coffee because, as he testified, he assumed my client would soon realize she could not afford anything in the establishment.
''Well, of course that shouldn't even be a consideration when it comes to providing service, or simply being chivalrous to a woman of her years.'' Kathleen clucked as if they were all good friends who were chatting about the matter over tea. She dared to put her hand on the railing that separated her from the jury. The woman closest to her smiled. Kathleen smiled back. She bet the lady had a daughter just her age, unmarried no doubt. She'd seen enough of those smiles to know. ''So, what I'd like to do today is to ask you to find in favor of my client, a woman who was doing nothing more than browsing in a public place when she was struck by six hundred pounds of nylon plush in pony beige. Think of your own mothers and grandmothers. Think of their welfare and send a clear message to those who serve the public that the public's safety should be first and foremost in their mind. I ask that you award my client not only her medical fees but also punitive damages for pain and suffering in the amount of $50,000. I ask that you make your decision today so that Henrietta -'' Kathleen's gaze rested briefly but affectionately on her client, ''-when she is lifted out of her wheelchair tonight, she may rest easy knowing that, at least for now, her future is secure. Thank you.''
Another touch. Another smile, this time to a man in the third row who gave his shyly and then looked at the judge.
Kathleen returned to her seat and offered a pat on the hand to Henrietta who, in turn, gave her a surreptitious wink. A satisfied client was a lovely thing. If only Louise Booker could be equally amenable. Kathleen folded her hands and listened as the judge gave her instructions to the jury. The points of law were tedious and there was nothing in the instruction that would obstruct the verdict Kathleen hoped for. The fee would be wonderful, Henrietta would be satisfied and Michael Crawford would be calling one day soon. Life couldn't get much better.
Instructions over, there was a bit of a flurry as those in the courtroom rose and left through different doors. The jury went through the one on the side, the judge through one cut into the paneling behind the bench and Henrietta went out the back with Kathleen following. Kathleen was past the third bench when her stepped slowed. She didn't stop, but it took all her self control to walk through the door behind Henrietta and not turn to look behind.
''I'm going to the coffee shop, Kathleen. Would you like to come? I'll buy even though we don't know if I've won my case.'' Henrietta winked. It was a charming invitation as always but Kathleen declined.
''Thanks, no. I'll wait out here just in case I've been so smooth the jury comes back in five minutes.''
''If they do, give me a holler. The way the elevators work around here it will take that long for one to call up. Come along.''
Henrietta tapped the mute Bo with her gloved fingers and they were off. Kathleen looked about. The hall was empty, which was not surprising since spectators had been few and it was close to three. Kathleen waited, counting the seconds as they ticked by. She'd give herself five more before she went back into the courtroom but she only needed three to be sure she had seen who she thought she'd seen. He came through the swinging door and looked directly at her as if he expected her to be there. The man never wasted a movement, or a thought, she was sure. What she couldn't fathom was what brought Richard Jacobsen to the very courtroom where she was arguing a minor personal injury case. Whatever it was, she didn't care. Kathleen stepped into the opportunity, heart pounding, wishing she had had time to redo her lipstick.
''Mr. Jacobsen, I thought that was you.'' Kathleen smiled and held out her hand. Lord it felt damp. He took it without comment and shook it without verve. His smile seemed faded under the fluorescent lights, but his eyes were sharp and on her.
''It's delightful to see you in action, Ms. Cotter. You have quite a way with the jury.''
Richard Jacobsen had somehow managed to back her into a corner between the wall and a concrete bench. Kathleen felt too tall, too big for the space and suddenly Richard Jacobsen looked properly proportioned, almost graceful.
''Thank you. I'm honored you stayed to watch.''
Kathleen's fingers suddenly ached. She'd been clutching her briefcase tight. She loosened her fingers. The word relax flashed in her mind. Richard Jacobsen was only another lawyer after all. A man. A rich man. A well known and powerful man. Her fingers tightened again. He'd stayed to see her perform. She felt sick. She smiled anyway. Even her dead mother's ghost rising from the grave wouldn't distract her from what she was about.
''Actually, I'd expected to meet a colleague, but it seems I had the wrong information regarding his whereabouts.'' Richard held out his small hands, fingers pointed toward her as if she could put the right information in them. Would that she could. ''But if you have to be somewhere else, Ms. Cotter, I shouldn't keep you.''
''Not at all. I'm delighted -.'' Kathleen paused and cleared her throat. Her sweet voice had risen an octave. She lowered it, rotating her neck as if she could twist out the knot of nervousness that had made itself at home. ''-delighted to run into you. I should have written you a note. I enjoyed our talk in your office very much. I wanted to thank you.'' She sounded like an advertisement. Her smile broadened and she tried desperately not to try too hard. Richard Jacobsen wouldn't stand for anything as crass as groveling. ''You were very kind to spend so much time with me.''
''It was truly my pleasure.'' Jacobsen moved and Kathleen followed. The sign of a true leader is that he moves the troops without a word or a look. He led her out of the corner and in front of the bench. ''I've actually been thinking about you.'' Kathleen almost fell off her pumps. ''That's why, when I realized it was you arguing I thought I might stop and watch. It's always good to see both sides of someone who has left an impression: the professional and the personal. You liked my art. That was enough to give you an A on the personal front.''
''And professionally?'' Kathleen asked.
''You did very well. But I must confess, I was hoping I would find you working on Mrs. Booker's case. It sounded truly unique.''
Kathleen laughed uneasily. He hadn't been impressed enough. He wanted to see her tackle something a bit more intricate than Henrietta's hip.
''We're on Judge Kelley's calendar. I could call you. . .''
''No, no. As delightful as that would be, I think I've seen what I need to see.'' He began to walk again, with short
thoughtful steps. Kathleen kept pace hoping he didn't hear the disappointing thump of her heart. There must be something she could do to keep his interest.
''When do you expect to wrap up your work with Mrs. Booker?''
''Six weeks,'' Kathleen blurted out.
''Do you feel confident, Ms. Cotter? Do you believe you'll triumph over the insurance company big as it is? I've known Bob Morton for years. Do you think you can best him?''
Kathleen stopped. This time he followed suit. ''Yes, Mr. Jacobsen, I think I will. I believe I can prove that Lionel Booker wasn't suicidal. I think, given time, I could probably prove that Mr. Booker wasn't even a drug addict. The more I hear of him, the more convinced I become that there is some mystery to his death.''
Richard Jacobsen's face changed. He was every skeptical teacher Kathleen had ever had.
''And now you'll become an investigator, not an attorney? That would be such a loss to our profession.''
Kathleen laughed uneasily. She'd never been able to please her teachers. ''No. That's not in my future. I'm just hoping to get All Life to consider a settlement.''
Richard tried to laugh. Kathleen thought he needed more practice. ''A challenge to say the least. Attempting to prove more than his state of mind, to prove there was no intent to take his life at the moment of his death, is a unique and risky strategy.''
Kathleen couldn't believe he'd been listening so carefully during the few minutes they had had together in his office. She was flattered beyond words.
Character Witness Page 17
