Impact (53 page)

“Jack's able to use the bathroom himself?”

“With difficulty. As I said, he's incontinent from time to time. At night I usually put on his catheter.”

“What would you do differently if you had more money?”

She smiles. “He should go to a rehabilitation facility soon. That costs five thousand a month, and we don't have it. There's some equipment that would be nice—software for his computer, Nautilus machines for physical therapy, and … there's just a lot of stuff that would help, I think. And you have to try, you know? You can't live with yourself if you don't try as hard as you can.”

The videotape grinds to a halt. He rewinds it, removes it from the recorder, and returns it to his briefcase. He finds he cannot look her in the eye. “You'll be up first thing on Monday. You'll do fine.”

Her look is rigid. “I'm glad you think so.”

“Any questions?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you need anything?”

“No.”

“I should talk to Jack,” he says finally.

“I'll see if he's awake.”

She hurries down the hall, glad to be rid of him. He wanders to the window and looks out. In the corner of his eye he sees Spitter riding up the drive on a bicycle. He goes to the door and asks him how it's going.

Spitter drops his bike to the ground. “Okay.”

“Do you like your job?”

“It's all right.”

“Mr. Donahue is going to go to San Francisco late next week, to testify in court. I'll be sending an ambulance here to pick him up, and I'd like you to go along with him and help, if it's okay with you.”

“Sure.”

“And Spitter?”

“Yes, Mr. Tollison?”

It is the first time he can remember that Spitter has said his name. “Two things. Be sure to put his wheelchair in the ambulance. And be sure he has plenty of exercise that morning. He may have to sit in his chair for a long time, and we don't want him stiffening up, so get him up early and really give him a workout. Can you remember that?”

“Sure, Mr. Tollison.”

As he closes the door and turns toward his client's bedroom, Keith Tollison wonders if, after his long ordeal is done, he will ever subdue his conscience.

JURORS TO DELIBERATE

In the jury room it is your duty to discuss the case in order to reach an agreement if you can. Each of you must decide the case for yourself, but you should do so only after considering the views of each juror.

You should not hesitate to change an opinion if you are convinced it is wrong. However, you should not be influenced to decide any question in a particular way simply because a majority of the jurors, or any of them, favors such a decision.

HOW JURORS SHOULD APPROACH

THEIR TASK

The attitude and conduct of jurors at the beginning of their deliberations are very important. It is rarely helpful for a juror, on entering the jury room, to express an emphatic opinion on the case or to announce a determination to stand for a certain verdict. When one does that at the outset, a sense of pride may be aroused, and one may hesitate to change a position even if shown that it is wrong. Remember, you are not partisans or advocates in this matter. You must be impartial judges of the facts.

CHANCE OR QUOTIENT VERDICT

PROHIBITED

The law forbids you to determine any issue in this case by chance such as the flip of a coin, the drawing of lots, or by any other chance determination. For example, if you determine that a party is entitled to recover, you must not arrive at the amount of damages to be awarded by agreeing in advance to determine an average and to make that your verdict, without further exercise of your independent consideration, judgment, and decision.

CONCLUDING INSTRUCTION

You shall now retire and select one of your number to act as foreperson who will preside over your deliberations.

You will return a verdict first on the issue of liability. Only if five or more of you find that one or both of the defendants are liable to the plaintiff are you to proceed to determine the amount of damages to he awarded the plaintiff under the instructions previously given.

As soon as five or more of you have agreed upon a verdict on the issues of both liability and damages, you shall have it signed and dated by your foreperson and shall return with it to this room.

FIFTEEN

Dressed in his disreputable best, Alec Hawthorne fumed on first one and then another corner of Market Street, in a futile effort to flag a cab. Finally, he was forced to walk. As he cursed Keith Tollison for leaving him to wait in vain for their meeting to chart the balance of the trial, the homeless horde regarded him as one of its own.

By the time Hawthorne squeezed into the throng that filled Courtroom 12 to capacity, court had reconvened and Laura Donahue was on the stand. As attracted by her tidy figure as by the tale she had to tell, the admiring faces in the audience glowed like a convocation of full moons. Clearly, the crowd expected nothing less than soap opera.

As the lights dimmed, the congregation wriggled toward a better view. A moment later Keith Tollison produced what to Hawthorne was the most potent evidence he had. As the tape began its crawl, Hawley Chambers was still laboring to block its use.

Enhanced by the visual aid, Laura Donahue was riveting. Her mute labors over the body of her husband were an immaculate blend of the pitiable and heroic and made her worthy of beatification. The jurors were rapt; two were soon in tears. By the time Jack Donahue emerged from his stupor and spoke some therapeutic mumblings from within the holy glow of the TV screen, it seemed a resurrection.

When the tape had run its course, Judge Powell called a break. As the crowd murmured its analysis, Hawthorne sidled toward the room in which he and Tollison normally held their rendezvous. Five minutes later, only Martha had showed up.

“I have good news and bad news,” she said as she closed the door behind her.

“What's the good?”

“I know who pulled Donahue out of the plane.”

“Who was it?”

“A priest. The guy was a real John the Baptist out there—waded into the wreckage at least a dozen times, fishing out survivors.”

Despite the news, her expression did not spark optimism. “I take it there's a problem.”

Her grin was twisted. “Turns out the guy isn't a priest at all, he's a paralegal for Scallini. A plane goes down, he puts on his cassock, rushes to the site, and steals ID from as many victims as he can so Vic's people can get hold of the family and sign them up as clients.”

“Jesus. Do you know where this character is?”

“No. But I can probably find out.”

Idly, Hawthorne wondered how, then remembered Dan Griffin's efforts to recruit Martha for his partnership with Vic. “We don't dare use him though, do we?”

Martha shook her head. “But how important is he? We've got Ryan's version of what caused the injuries. Seems to me the lung problems give you the fire and fabric testimony. And we know his head got bounced around by
something.”

“But we don't know his seat came loose. That's the best evidence of recklessness we have, but the link is only circumstantial. Powell could still nonsuit us.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Talk to the survivors. See if any of them saw a woman knitting with red thread. If they did, find out where she was sitting, who she was, what happened to her. It won't nail the seat problem, but it might help.”

She made a face. “The survivors are pretty messed up. I don't think the families are going to want me grilling them about knitting needles, for Christ's sake.”

“Haroldson says his stewardess came out of it okay. Talk to her.”

Martha shouldered her purse. “I saw Art Ely out in the hall,” she said as she walked to the door. “He didn't look happy.”

“That's because Hawley's going to tear him to shreds.”

“What happens to Donahue's lost earnings if Ely gets blasted?”

“Down the tubes, along with the rest of the case. I should never have let him
near
the courtroom.”

“Art?”

“Tollison.”

Marth a raised a brow. “He had a client. How could you have kept him out?”

“If I hadn't agreed to be his tutor, he wouldn't have
dared
take this on.”

“I'm not too sure of that.” Her face was a mix of pride and irony. “Why are you so angry, anyway?”

“My old pal Keith has staged a coup d'état.”

“What does
that
mean?”

“He's taken over. I couldn't reach him all weekend, and he didn't show for our meeting this morning. We haven't talked about Laura's testimony or the defense witnesses or even the summation. All he wanted to know was Ed Haroldson's home number. Which seems to make me excess baggage.” Hawthorne swore. “He always
was
an independent bastard. Well, if he wants any more help from me, he's going to have to beg for it.”

“You're good at getting people down on their knees, as I remember.” Martha's leer tried but failed to be bawdy, which seemed to make her sad.

Hawthorne kissed her cheek. “When this thing's over, remind me to thank you for taking up the slack at the office.”

She smiled for a merest moment, then opened the door. “Coming?”

He glanced at his watch. “I'd better stay till Art goes back inside. The Farnsworth woman is prowling around, too. I don't want my cover blown at this late date. Not that it would matter,” he concluded bitterly.

Martha started to leave, then stopped. “Speaking of strange women, someone who claims her name is Hygiene has been calling you about twenty times a day.”

“Any message?”

“Just that it was personal. Is that really her name?”

He nodded.

Martha tugged at her skirt. “How personal is it, do you suppose?”

His shrug implied fewer stirrings than he felt. “Ex-wife number one.”

“Do you find it odd that given the time we've been together, I don't even know the names of the women you've been married to?”

Her expression defied analysis, softened her so extensively that for a moment he wished their time had not passed by.

He looked at his watch again. After extracting a promise that she would come by his house that evening to bring him up to date on the office, Hawthorne shooed her back to work. When he thought everyone had returned to their seats, he eased back into to the courtroom.

Laura Donahue was still on the stand. As the questioning continued, it became clear that instead of acting as her guardian, her attorney had become a thug.

“How would you describe your relationship with your husband at the time of the crash, Mrs. Donahue?” Tollison asked bluntly.

Laura's eyes bulged, the question clearly a surprise. From within the crowd, Hawthorne tensed. Tollison had violated the first principal of direct examination—never ask a question to which you don't know the answer—and worse, had discarded the first suggestion Hawthorne had tendered him—keep the marriage out of the case.

“I …”

Laura stammered to silence, desperate for a response that would comply with her oath while avoiding the airing of transgressions she had hoped to conceal. As she swirled in turmoil, Chambers got to his feet, frowned, and opened his mouth to speak. After a moment of silent posturing, he sat back down.

“Please answer the question, Mrs. Donahue,” Tollison prompted, suddenly near to hectoring. “What was the state of your marriage at the time of the crash?”

“I … Jack and I were having problems,” she managed finally.

“Arguments?”

“Silences, usually.” She took a breath. “Very long silences.”

“How long had these silences been going on?”

Her eyes drifted toward an expanse of ceiling that, though marred by dust and time, must have seemed far more flawless than her life. “For a couple of years.”

“Did you consider the problems serious?”

“Very.”

“A threat to your marriage?”

“Yes. Possibly.”

“Did your husband ever tell you he had fallen out of love with you?”

She looked at Tollison as though it was he rather than Hawthorne who had donned an absurd disguise. “He never put it in those words.”

“Did you draw that conclusion nonetheless?”

“Yes. I did. Eventually.”

Tollison advanced upon his witness. From where he sat, Hawthorne failed to find a sign in either of them indicative of anything more intimate than dismay.

“What steps, if any, did you take when you concluded your husband didn't love you anymore?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Let me put it this way.” Tollison's voice bore a tactless edge. “Did you have a love affair?”

Her look cried foul, then sought the judge. “Do I have to? …”

Frowning at the illicit hint, Judge Powell nodded sympathetically.

Tollison's gaze remained fixed on the woman who had become as much his victim as his witness. “Did you have an affair with another man when you thought your marriage had soured, Mrs. Donahue?”

She closed her eyes and inhaled what seemed to be a poison. “Yes. I did.” Seconds later, her eyes flew open and she regarded her inquisitor with an odd conceit.
“Two
of them, in fact.”

It was Tollison's turn to be surprised. As emotion warped his adversary's features, Hawley Chambers glanced at his investigator and received a heavy shrug. Hawthorne guessed at least part of the confession was news to everyone in the room.

Tollison struggled with his poise. “Were they brief flings or lengthy relationships?”

Laura Donahue remained defiant. “One of each.”

“Did your husband ever learn of either or both of these affairs?”

“One of them. The lengthy one.”

Tollison nodded. “How did he react?”