The Great Divide (53 page)

“Gloria could not let anyone know about Gary’s death. Perhaps she just sensed this in the beginning. Or maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe early on all she wanted was not to have the world try and fit her sorrow into some little box they found comfortable.” Marcus could not be certain how much of this Kirsten was catching. It hardly mattered, for her tears and her trembling were lessening, as though the sound of his voice was fortifying enough. He said, as much for himself as for her, “The defense would have crushed us immediately if they knew Gloria had done this for any reason tied to love and loss. They would have shouted it from the rooftops, and the case would have been dismissed out of hand.”

She looked at him then. As Marcus held her and gazed at her tearstained face, he felt as if he were able to see her truly for the very first time. He used two fingers to wipe cheeks soft as the clouds of childhood dreams. She did not move, did not protest, did not draw away. One of her hands clenched the back of his jacket even tighter. So he lay an entire hand along the length of her face, and felt the nerves beneath his skin etch her form into a memory deeper than his mind.

He said, “I don’t want you to go back to Washington.”

“All right.” The words were a whisper, nothing more. But the hand still clutched his jacket, and when she blinked, she pushed out another tear. One Marcus felt might just be for some reason other than mere sorrow.

“M
R
. G
LENWOOD
, you may now conclude your closing remarks.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Marcus walked over in front of the jury box, picked up the podium, and moved it to one side. He now stood open and defenseless before the gathering of twelve. Behind and to his right stood two easels, one holding the photograph of Gloria Hall laughing in her evening dress, the other displaying the blowup made from the video, of the same woman tied and beaten and drained of life and hope.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I will not take long. This is not
the time for histrionics. Nor is it the time for mourning. Not yet. The memorial service for Gloria Hall cannot begin until her body is recovered.”

“Objection! Those comments are the worst sort of inflammatory—”

“Overruled.”

Marcus continued, “The judge in her instructions will charge you with regard to the specific legal issues. You will also have certain factual questions called interrogatories spelled out. These you will answer yes or no. We believe there is substantial evidence justifying a yes vote on each and every one of these questions. After you have answered these questions, you will be asked to assess damages.

“We shouldn’t be swayed by glib apologies. The defense’s claims of ignorance have come only after their earlier strategy of denial did not work. The judge will instruct you that ignorance is not an acceptable defense, not if they had the means to know. Which New Horizons most certainly did. They could have made a difference. They could have stopped this series of actions long before Gloria Hall ever traveled to China. They chose not to. Instead, they
empowered
their partners.”

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

“They empowered General Zhao with their willful ignorance.”

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

“We therefore ask that you find
all
these defendants liable. All of them.” Marcus looked toward the defense table for the first time since beginning his arguments. “Those present and those not present.”

“Your Honor, I protest.”

Judge Nicols showed a genuine reluctance to even turn his way. “Mr. Kendall, do not even begin to go down this road.”

“What road might that be, Your Honor?”

Her voice grated with irritation. “The road,” she replied, “of thinking you can disrupt the plaintiff’s arguments with unnecessary objections. Try it and I will find you in contempt.” She did not even wait to see if he took his seat again. “Proceed.”

Marcus had stood inspecting his shoes throughout the exchange. When he glanced up, he could see by the look in their eyes that the jury agreed with him on some very deep level. This time he sensed
that these were not people who needed further convincing. So he dropped everything he had planned to say except, “We must address the issue of damages. That’s really all I feel I should do at this point. Anything more would only detract from what you already know.”

To his left stood a third easel, this one holding a white drawing board. As he turned toward it, he caught sight of Judge Nicols glaring down at Logan, holding him in his seat. He picked up the grease pencil and wrote the single word
actual
. “We are just going to assign a number here because we have to. How anyone could set a dollar value on the life of a young woman so full of joy and intelligence and promise is beyond me, so I’m not even going to try.” He wrote out the number, and said as he did, “So we’ll just say one hundred thousand dollars.”

Below that he wrote a second word,
punitive
. “Punitive damages are damages in addition to the actual damages. Here there can be some differences in culpability. You can ask yourselves: Who acted in a malicious manner? Who was more directly responsible for Gloria’s kidnapping and imprisonment and torture, and is therefore subject to the more substantial punitive damages?

“You may decide that the U.S. company merely colluded in making this happen. I suggest to you that the evidence has shown otherwise. I propose that their attitude has been very consistent. Whenever anything appeared to threaten their market share or profits, their response was
whatever it takes
. They have never objected in any way to the actions of their partners. They are and always have been concerned with one thing only—their bottom line. No concern was given to the people who suffered at their hands, directly or indirectly.”

Beside the first word he wrote
New Horizons
. “Their annual statement shows that the company’s turnover last year was just over one billion, eight hundred million dollars. Their profit before taxes was about three hundred and twenty-seven million. They have had a run of several good years, and they currently hold over two hundred million dollars in cash and other liquid assets.” He wrote these figures on the board, then stepped back, giving them all a chance to ponder what they meant.

He then stepped up to the easel and wrote
China
. “This morning’s
Wall Street Journal
stated in a front-page article that U.S. financial institutions currently hold frozen Chinese government assets to the tune of eighty-one billion dollars.”

“No!”
The sound tore through the silence like a sword. All eyes turned to where the general stood behind the defense table, his fist held like a gun aimed straight at Marcus. It was the first time Marcus had ever heard the man speak. Only he was not speaking now. He roared the words over the sound of Judge Nicols gavel. “You cannot do this! It is against international law! You must be stopped!” He turned to the judge and shouted, “You have power! Stop this insane man!”

“You sit down!” When the man merely dropped his arm, she pointed the gavel at a uniformed officer. “Bailiff, if he won’t be seated, cuff him to the chair.”

“Ah, you are crazy.” He rammed himself down, muttering furious incantations.

Marcus returned to his board, started to speak, shook his head. He turned back to the jury and merely said, “Thank you.”

Judge Nicols allowed the moment to linger, as strong a courtroom accolade as Marcus could ever recall receiving. She then turned to Logan and said, “All right, Mr. Kendall.”

He sprang up as though ejected from his seat, and strode to center stage with Suzie Rikkers in fretful attendance. Together they dismantled the easels and stowed the photographs. Logan did not wait for Suzie to resume her seat before launching into his rebuttal. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the question now is the same question we started out on. That question is: What in the world are we doing here? What in the world have my clients done to justify this circus?”

The silver pen was out and waving like a sparkling baton, but the jury had the look of a band not certain which tune they should be playing. “These guys have drawn up some charges and thrown them against the wall to see what sticks. But you mustn’t forget, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that they have a serious credibility problem here. They have no reliable witness tying anybody to the alleged incident. Remember that. It is crucial.”

He paced toward the empty witness box, made a fist and planted it softly upon the railing. He said a final time, “No credible witness. No one to tie the abuses you have seen to my clients.”

He then lowered his head a fraction and bulled forward. “I have a story I could tell you, a tragic tale about a factory with conditions so bad it would make you weep to hear about them. Only this factory
was not over in China. No. It was here in North Carolina, and the case against this particular factory was tried just twenty-three years ago. Here in our beloved state, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Less than a quarter of a century ago, we ourselves had factories that were run like prisons.”

He raised his gaze to meet theirs. “Yes, China is behind us in some things. But they are working hard to catch up. And what is more important still, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what is absolutely critical here, what you must never forget, is that these conditions have nothing whatsoever to do with this case. Nothing. We are here because a woman has gone missing. Remember that. This is what has brought us together. The rest is just smoke. Don’t let the plaintiff’s attorney cloud your vision by blowing smoke at you. Don’t you dare let him.”

He waved his pen again, and this time they followed. “They say that New Horizons Incorporated and General Zhao should somehow be held liable for the disappearance of a political activist whom they can’t find. What they seem to have forgotten is that you do not enter a courtroom without a case that is somehow founded upon
truth
. Law and fact, and nothing else, make up this truth. Law and fact. I submit to you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that they remain wide of the mark on both these vital issues. The law is against them. This remains a political issue that should never have entered this courtroom. And the facts are not with them. Remember what I said. No reliable witness.” He held them a moment longer, then swept the baton down and away. “They have failed to tie my clients to the alleged misdeed. Do not hold them responsible for what they have not done. I have said it before, I will say it again: Let us wrap this up and go home.”

T
HE JUDGE’S INSTRUCTIONS took an hour and a half. The written interrogatories were passed out, the final orders solemnly intoned, and the case handed to the jury.

As soon as the jury retired and the judge departed, Marcus returned his little group to the pair of rooms lent them by Jim Bell. The press had grown impatient and tried to break through the police barrier, but Darren and the guards were ready. Darren and Deacon brought coffee and sandwiches that no one touched. Marcus stared at the food, knowing he was hungry, knowing also he would not keep anything down. He had known such letdowns before, but nothing this complete. He was anxious to learn the verdict, yet he knew it would do little good.

Charlie opened the door and slipped inside. Somehow the man seemed to have drawn both years and energy from the tirade washing against the windows. “Your audience is waiting.”

“Not now.”

“Come on, son.” Charlie walked over and pulled on his sleeve. “I know how you’re feeling, and I’m gonna share with you the barest truth I can. It don’t matter.”

“Charlie, I don’t have a thing to tell those people.”

“Sure you do.” The second tug was more insistent. “You’re a lawyer. You’re paid to think on your feet and spout hot air.”

Kirsten leaned against the wall, watching them. “He’s right, Marcus.”

“ ’Course I am. Listen to that din out there. They’re waiting for you to come out and give them the word from on high.”

“They’ll eat me alive,” Marcus said, but nonetheless allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

“Naw. Take a little nibble here and there, that’s all.” Charlie unbuttoned the sleeve covering Marcus’ cast. “Roll that up and leave off your coat.”

“Charlie, this is absurd.”

“I’ll tell you what it is, old son. It’s a whole ton of solid gold, and they want to just plump it down in your lap.” The old man’s eyes sparkled like those of someone half his age. “That’s the sound of free publicity out there, and a sweeter song they couldn’t be singing.”

Kirsten walked over, said, “You want to give it all to Logan Kendall?”

“Exactly!” Charlie patted his back, urging him forward. “Listen to the lady, son.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he confessed.

She joined her hand to his, and said, “Tell them what’s on your heart.”

“You got a smart one here,” Charlie agreed, opening the door, then turning back to wink at her. “Believe I’d hold on to the lady if I could.”

“A
LL RISE
.” The judge swept in and seated herself. The jury paraded in and took their seats. Marcus felt the tension in the courtroom tighten around his chest like a titanium band.

Judge Nicols observed them solemnly, then asked, “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have, Your Honor.”

Marcus glanced at his watch, then the wall clock, saw Charlie do the same. Ninety minutes from the jury’s departure to their return. A bad sign. Very bad. Civil-trial juries tended to bring back swift verdicts only when they found against the plaintiff. Discussions about punitive damages alone took hours, sometimes days. Not a good sign at all.

“Very well.” Judge Nicols pointed the bailiff toward the slip of paper offered by the jury foreman. She accepted it, unfolded the sheet, read it carefully, shook her head once, handed it back. “The foreman may read the verdict.”

The rawboned man held the sheet awkwardly and said, “We find for the plaintiff on all counts.”

The court breathed a single sigh, one cut off by the sound of a man’s broken sob. The foreman stopped and looked down to where Austin was held by his wife. The foreman’s face was clenched up tight as a fist.