Impact (58 page)

If the answer to question five or six or both of them is yes, please proceed.

Punitive damages against SurfAir Coastal Airways
  #1,
000,000
.00  

Punitive damagss against Hastings Aircraft Corp
  #
1,000, 000.00
  

Dated:
  
April 1, 1988
   

Signed:
  
James L. Ashford
      

Foreperson

The jury has been dismissed. Judge Powell has left the bench; the crowd has drifted off to home or tavern. his adversary has extended a grudging hand and threatened to take the battle to a more lofty venue. But within an hour of its advent, the thrill has begun to fade. In the well of the empty courtroom, Keith Tollison ponders the flags of state and nation that flank the bench, symbolic of might and conquest and the attendant pomp that should fit his state but don't. Far less jubilant than melancholy, he tries to think of a place to go where he will be welcome.

Tollison is wondering why neither Martha nor Alec has bothered to share the moment—why, as the foreman rose to read the verdict, he had faced him all alone—when he hears a noise and turns. An attractive young woman strides toward him with a purposeful pace, extending a gilt-edged card, giving him no alternative but to take it.

The engraving is brief and to the point: Victor A. Scallini, Attorney and Counselor-at-Law. “Mr. Scallini has asked me to compliment you on the verdict,” she says when he is finished reading.

“Thanks.”

“And to ask if you would be willing to come to Los Angeles next Thursday to meet with him.”

From where six weeks of strain have put him, Tollison asks, “Why?”

“I believe he wants to offer you a job.”

“Why?”

Impatient with the flaw in his reply, she retrieves the card from where he has dropped it. “He believes you could benefit from a future association.”

“I don't think I want to work for anyone right now,” he manages. “Myself included.”

“Mr. Scallini understands that you will want time to unwind. He has asked me to say that he will put you up at the Beverly Hills Hotel and introduce you to some of his friends in the film community if you agree to see him. He is very anxious to discuss the SurfAir case, as well as other matters. He can make you an attractive offer,” she concludes, allowing him to believe that she might be part of it. “You'd like it down there,” she adds, speaking her own mind for the first time since she entered the room. “I mean, at least the sun shines, you know?”

“I probably would,” he agrees.

“So you'll be coming on Thursday?”

He shakes his head. “I don't think so.”

“But—”

“I go fishing on Thursdays.”

“I see. Well, perhaps when you've rested you will change your mind.”

“Perhaps.”

She leaves him with a breath of lavender and what he has decided is a far less fragrant opportunity. A moment later Alec Hawthorne—looking like himself—supersedes her.

His approach is oddly courtly. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest.”

Hawthorne pulls back Laura Donahue's long-vacant chair and lowers himself into it. “You did what you had to do,” he murmurs in the heavy silence.

“It seemed that way at the time.”

“Well, I can't say you were wrong—that's a great result, Keith. Fantastic, under the circumstances.”

“Thanks.”

“This case will have ramifications, you know. Airplanes will get a little safer. Every air traveler in the world owes you a debt.”

“More you than me. By a lot.”

Hawthorne shrugs. “What did Chambers say?”

“He solemnly swore to appeal, after he cursed my morals and my lineage. He'll never know how right he is,” Tollison mutters after a moment.

“You might want to consider a deal—knocking off half a million if Chambers will dismiss the appeal.”

“I'll give it some thought.”

Hawthorne nods, then seems at a loss for words. “It made me feel young again,” he muses finally, “seeing you wing it like that. Reminded me of when the only way I knew how to try a case was to beat up on everyone in sight.”

Tollison meets his gaze. “On everyone except the client.”

Hawthorne nods.

Tollison suddenly is in need of endorsement. “That's the way it works, right? Sacrifice everything but the client?”

“Sometimes,” Hawthorne agrees, but doesn't pursue the ethic to its end. “Why do you suppose Chambers's detective couldn't come up with someone to testify about Donahue's love affairs?”

Tollison shrugs. “People don't like to speak ill of the dead. Maybe in Altoona that includes what's become of Jack.”

“What were you going to do if someone popped up and said she'd slept with him a dozen times?”

“I was going to say that a man has a right to know if he's a saint or a sinner, but the crash had taken even that away from him.”

“Clever, counselor.”

Tollison closes his eyes. “Then why do I feel so shitty?”

Hawthorne chuckles, seems his old suave self for the first time since they had begun to prepare for trial. “Postlitigation depression,” he declares. “At this level, the distinction between winning and losing gets a bit opaque.”

“I thought that was only true of drunk-driving cases.”

“If it's true in life, it's true in court.”

“You know what
really
makes me feel lousy?” Tollison says after a minute.

“What?”

“Vic Scallini just offered me a job.”

Hawthorne's look is impenetrable for an instant, then he grins. “Try to get your draw in cash.”

They sit quietly, amid echoes of the trial. “So how did you keep Chambers from asking Laura who she was sleeping with?” Hawthorne asks finally.

“I told him if he made her answer the question, I was going to have to withdraw from the case. Then I showed him a form for substitution of attorneys that replaced me with Ed Haroldson.”

“The phone number.”

“Right.”

“I'm surprised Ed was willing to take it on. He hates it out here.”

Tollison looks at the vacant bench. “I never got through to him. I guess I forgot to mention it to Chambers.”

Hawthorne chuckles warmly. Tollison remembers conversations long into the Berkeley nights, when that laugh had been his most reliable relief from the tedium that was law school. “How'd you know, by the way?” he asks.

“About you and Laura? I suspected as much when you brought her to see me. Then your girlfriend pretty much confirmed it.”

Tollison is about to inquire about the shape and density of Hawthorne's relationship with Brenda when the door opens at the rear of the room. Martha joins them in six long strides.

When she extends a hand to Tollison, he takes it. Her fingers are straight and smooth, her gesture for the first time giving him the sense that he has just taken a giant step.

“The boys in the office were betting against you,” she begins.

“You mean him.” Tollison points left.

Martha smiles and nods. “So how are you going to celebrate?”

“I hadn't thought about it.”

Her look jostles his mood. “How about a trip to Spokane?”

Too tired to decode, Tollison thinks he has misheard.

“What's in Spokane?” Hawthorne asks.

“A midair.” She looks at each of them. “DC-9 and a private plane. Just came over CNN.”

Hawthorne nods. “Better get Ray on his way.”

“He's in Baja fishing, so I thought I'd go myself. And I thought your friend might enjoy the ride.”

They look at him. “Maybe you want to check in with Altoona first,” Hawthorne says when Tollison remains silent.

“I know everything I need to know about Altoona.” The statement seems to entail an epiphany.

Hawthorne stands and begins to pace, as if Tollison and Martha are jurors about to judge him. “I've been thinking about making some changes in my practice,” he says on his second pass. “One of them is the name of the firm.”

When Martha doesn't speak, Tollison inquires for her. “Why?”

Hawthorne shrugs. “Because Tollison and Crenshaw has a nice ring to it, I guess.”

Tollison frowns. “Who the hell is Crenshaw?”

“Me.”

In her normally forbidding countenance, Martha's smile is a votive candle. “And Crenshaw and Tollison rings nicer.”

Tollison closes his eyes. “I can't deal with this right now, Alec.”

“Why don't you think about it on the way to Spokane,” Hawthorne suggests. “We'll talk when we get back.”

“What are
you
going to be doing?” Martha asks.

“I've got a date in Maui.” Hawthorne gestures toward the rear of the room. Beyond the open door, a stylish woman is standing in the hallway. As they look her way, she waves, then beckons for Hawthorne to join her.

“Who's that?” Martha says.

“My first ex-wife. We're going away for a week. Or a year, depending on how it goes.”

Tollison glances at Martha, who might not have heard a word. “Great,” he mumbles.

“Think about it,” Hawthorne says, and slaps him on the back and leaves the building on the arm of the woman Tollison thinks he has just called Hygiene.

Their eyes nudge above the table. “What the hell,” Martha says after a minute. “What have you got to lose?”

He shrugs. “Everything or nothing, I suppose. Maybe by the time we get back I'll have figured out which it is.”

She helps him shove his papers into his case. “There's one thing I can't figure,” he says, looking at his copy of the videotape that was his best exhibit.

“What's that?”

“How did the guy who pulled him from the plane know Jack Donahue was still alive?”

“The answer to that is walking around disguised as a priest,” Martha says on the way to the door. “If he runs true to form, we'll see him in Spokane and you can ask him.”

He follows her into the hallway. Long past quitting time, it is as deserted as his wits. For a moment it seems the residue of a disaster he is unaware of, one that will engender more plaintiffs and defendants, judges and juries, lawyers and their clients.

He is about to enter the elevator when he hears the sharp rap of high heels coming down the hall. When Martha sees the source of the interruption, she tells Tollison she'll meet him in the lobby. The elevator doors steam closed, removing her.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“It's finally over,” Laura says softly when she has reached his side.

“Yep.”

“You won, just like you always do.”

“You
won,” he corrects. “By the skin of your teeth.”

She twitches to dismiss his amendment, then grasps his arm. “I just wanted to thank you, Keith. I know how hard this was for you.”

He tries to smile. “Just so you're not going to forgive me. I wouldn't want you to forgive me, Laura.”

She refuses to oblige him. “Are you coming back to Altoona?”

He shakes his head.

She frowns. “Where are you going?”

“Spokane.”

“What on earth for?”

“To look at another plane crash.”

“With her?” She gestures toward the groaning elevator.

He nods, then leans against the marble wall and slides down its solid coolness till he is sitting on the floor. “I didn't think I'd see you again after what I did,” he says as she sits beside him and curls her legs and leans against his arm.

“I was hurt, Keith. I won't pretend I wasn't. I've never been through
anything
like that—you made me feel like some sort of monster. But I understand why you did it—I think I knew even when I ran out of there, but I just couldn't get myself together in front of all those people, knowing what they were thinking about me, so …” She shrugs. “Anyway, I just wanted to say there's no hard feelings.”

“How's Jack?”

She seems disappointed by the question he has chosen. “He doesn't seem the worse for wear. He's quite perky, actually. Thanks to you, he's got a lot to be perky about.”

For an instant he has no idea what she's talking about. “When I saw Spitter wheeling Jack down that aisle,” he says finally, impelled to confess at least a portion of his crimes, “I thought, the son of a bitch finally got what he deserves. He really was a jerk, you know.”

“I know.”

He laughs, beyond gallantry or restraint. “You know what the best part of all this is?”

“What?”

“As close as I can figure from listening to Chambers's experts, there's a chance that sooner or later he's going to be a jerk again.”

He expects her to scold him, but she giggles. “I imagine you're right.”

“You know what the worst part is?”

“What?”

“I can't wait that long.”

She takes his hand and presses it to her breast. “What if I leave him? What if I put his money in the bank and hire some help and let someone else take care of him?”

He leans his head against the wall. “You need to be needed, is what I finally figured out, and when you came to Altoona, I needed you more than anyone in town. But Jack needs you more than I do now. You can't leave him; not completely, not until he's as well as he can get.”

“But what about what you said? About waiting the rest of your life for me?”

He finds her eyes. “I loved you even before I realized how virtuous you are, Laura. You may even be a saint. But I can't sit around and watch you do whatever it is saints do, because I'm not virtuous at all.”

“Yes you are. You're my champion.”

“Champion was a horse.” He removes his hand from its warm nest. “I loved you, Laura.”

She sighs. “I loved you too.”

“But I've given you all I can.”