The Professor (32 page)

“What is it, Counselor?” Cutler asked, clearly irritated at being ignored.

“Your Honor, yesterday we were presented with this document.” Tom handed the bill to the judge. “It is the bill of lading for Dewey Newton’s gasoline delivery the day of the accident. Apparently, one of the loaders, Dick Morris, who is now deceased, had kept it at his home, and his cousin found it. We have given a copy to defense counsel and plan to introduce the document as part of our rebuttal.”

Cutler scanned the document quickly, looking unimpressed. “OK, so let’s get on with it. I got a jury waiting, Professor.”

“I understand that, Judge, but we just obtained the document and need more time to get a witness in court to authenticate it. Could we have a short recess? Maybe till after lunch?”

“Your Honor, I object,” Tyler said. “They’ve had plenty of time to get a witness here to testify. Besides, all we’ve seen of the document is a copy. If all they have is a copy—”

“Looks like blue ink on the signature and initials,” Cutler interrupted, handing the bill Tom had given him to Tyler.

“Even so,” Tyler said, reading as he talked, “we would object to a recess.”

Cutler sighed, looking back at Tom. “I have a feeling this trial would have run a lot smoother if you hadn’t shown up, McMurtrie. I’m gonna allow the recess.”

Yes
, Tom thought, feeling an adrenaline surge.
There’s still a chance.

“It’s eleven now, so you have two hours. We’ll start back at one o’clock.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Tom said, and started to walk away.

“McMurtrie.”

Cutler’s voice stopped him, and Tom turned around. The judge motioned him forward.

“Tell me something,” Cutler said, leaning over the bench and talking in a low voice. “Is that Lee Roy Jordan in the back row?”

Tom creased his eyebrows in surprise and slowly turned his head, finally letting himself look at the crowd. Up until now he had blocked everything out. He saw a lot of the same faces as yesterday. Former students, Will Burbaker, Rufus, the dean, the Cock. But when his eyes reached the back row, his stomach almost dropped. Lee Roy was wearing a blue blazer, white shirt, and a crimson tie. He was now a successful businessman in Dallas, and it had been years since Tom had seen old number 54, whom most viewed as the greatest middle linebacker in Alabama football history.

Next to him was Billy Neighbors, who had anchored the offensive
and
defensive line on the ’61 team and was now a stockbroker in Huntsville. From Tom’s view, he counted eight more. All wore blue blazers, white shirts, and crimson ties just like they used to for ball games.

It was a show of solidarity. From men who knew what loyalty was all about. The 1961 national champions. Tom caught Neighbors’s eye, and he nodded. Tom nodded back.

Win.
It was unspoken but it showed in Neighbors’s eyes. As it did in Jordan’s and the rest’s. Like Tom, they had learned at the foot of the Man.

“Yes, sir,” Tom said, turning back to the judge. “That’s Lee Roy.”

“Jesus aged Christ,” Cutler muttered. “You’ve turned my courtroom into the damned Bryant Museum.”

He banged his gavel and turned toward the jury box. “Members of the jury, we will be taking a recess for lunch. Please return to the jury room by one o’clock.”

Rick grabbed Tom by the arm on the way back to the counsel table. “What if Faith doesn’t show by one o’clock? I still haven’t heard—”

“Faith’s not our only option,” Tom said, placing the bill on the table and pointing at the middle of it. “The truck was loaded by two people.”

“I know that, Professor, but Mule is dead and Willard Carmichael was a dead end. He didn’t remember any—” 

“He’d remember his initials, wouldn’t he?” Tom asked, placing his hand on the page where Willard Carmichael had scribbled “WBC” in blue ink next to his name.

Rick squinted at the page and his eyes widened. “I . . . can’t believe I didn’t see that before. Is that enough to get it in?”

Tom shrugged. “If Faith doesn’t show, it’s all we’ve got. Willard states that this is his handwriting and that he normally initials all bills and gives them to record keeping.”

“Won’t he also have to say that it was made and kept in the normal course of business by Ultron?” Rick asked.

Despite the stress he felt, Tom smiled with pride. “Glad you paid attention in class. Yes, those are the buzzwords, and we’ll have to think of a creative way of proving them without confusing Willard. But first we have to get him here.” Tom looked at his watch. “We’ve got an hour and fifty-five minutes.”

“I’ll get him here,” Rick said, taking out his cell phone and running for the double doors.

85

“What do you mean, ‘piss in the wind’?” Tyler asked, slamming the bill of lading into Jack Willistone’s chest. “This document fucks us. I mean it fucks us up the ass with a sledgehammer.”

Tyler was on the edge of control, having lost every battle of the morning. Tom got Batson’s lay testimony in. Then he got his recess. If he were to authenticate the bill, then the whole complexion of the case changed. The bill would be the smoking gun that Willistone was negligently supervising Newton and forced him to speed to make the delivery. In other words . . .
We’re fucked.

“Old Yoda’s really putting you through it, ain’t he?” Jack said. “Well, let me ask you, how does he get this document into evidence?” Jack stuffed the bill back into Jameson’s chest.

“Best way would be to call the records custodian who signed the bottom. Faith . . . Bulyard it looks like,” Tyler said, squinting at the page. “He might also try bringing in one of the loaders, but Morris is dead.”

“So his only options are Faith Bulyard and Willard Carmichael?” Jack asked, his chuckle turning into a full-bore laugh.

“Right. Is that funny to you? If either one of them shows up, then—”

“Relax, Darth,” Jack said. “Yoda’s all out of options.”

86

Rick hung up the phone and walked in a daze through the doors and toward the counsel table, not even noticing as a reporter snapped a photograph of him.

When he reached the counsel table, the Professor quickly rose from his notes. “What is it? Did you fi— ?”

“He’s gone, Professor. According to Hank Russell, Willard Carmichael didn’t report for his shift last night. He’s not answering his cell phone or his landline, and his wife doesn’t have a clue where he is. He’s . . . disappeared.”

Rick sat down, feeling numb. Another dead end.
He turned his head to search for the man he knew had to be responsible. Jack Willistone was seated at the defense table, looking right at him, and . . .

You son of a bitch
, Rick tried to convey with his eyes.

. . . smiling.

87

“Counsel, please approach,” Judge Cutler said as he walked into the courtroom at 1:00 p.m. sharp.

The judge appeared wired and anxious, clearly growing weary of the publicity the trial had generated.
He’s in no mood to hear our excuses
,
Tom knew, cringing as a jolt of pain went through his groin and abdomen. The pain was getting hard to ignore. He would ask for another recess, but even if Cutler allowed it, what would that buy them? They had no idea where Faith had gone, and Willard was missing.
And I doubt I can make another day of trial
, Tom thought, grabbing his side as another jolt of pain hit him.

“Are we ready to proceed, Mr. McMurtrie?” Cutler asked.

“Your Honor, during the break we learned that Willard Carmichael didn’t report to work last night and is believed to be missing. Mr. Carmichael was one of the witnesses we planned to call to authenticate the bill of lading. The other witness, Faith Bulyard, is out of town and we’ve been unable to locate her. Given these circumstances, we’d ask for the trial to be recessed until at least tomorrow morning.”

Cutler started shaking his head before Tom finished. “I’m not going to do that, McMurtrie. This jury’s been patient and so have I, but we can’t postpone this case indefinitely while you search for a witness. You should’ve gotten your witnesses in line prior to trial.”

“With all due respect, Your Honor, we just received this document yesterday and have done all we could do to find the two witnesses. If you would just—”

“I gave you two hours. I’m not going to do any more than that,” Cutler snapped. “Now do you have any further witnesses, McMurtrie?”

As the question hung in the air and silence engulfed the courtroom, Jameson Tyler could almost taste victory. If the bill of lading didn’t come in, Tyler knew he had the edge heading into closings. Watching his mentor squirm,
Tyler felt a swell of pride.
You’ve tried every trick, Professor, but you can’t beat me.

Jack Willistone was also about to burst. Once Yoda said he didn’t have any further witnesses, all of Jack’s actions would be rewarded. The fire. The deal with Wilma. Taking out Mule. Blackmailing Faith. Last night’s game of
Fear Factor
with Willard.
It will all be worth it
, Jack thought as he closed his eyes and waited to hear the magic words.

The word “No” was almost out of Tom’s mouth when a loud crashing sound broke through the silence, causing Tom to stop cold. Tom, Rick, and everyone in the galley turned to look at the back of the courtroom, where the sound had rung out.

“Oh my God,” Rick said.

A woman and two teenage boys stood just inside the double doors. The woman was dressed elegantly, wearing a black blouse over a crème-colored skirt.

“It’s her,” Rick said, his voice cracking with relief as he walked toward the woman.

Tom didn’t have to ask who “her”
was. He turned back to the bench.

“Your Honor, the plaintiff calls Ms. Faith Bulyard.”

88

As the door slammed behind her, Faith just stood there a moment. Her entire body shook with nerves and exhaustion. She had not slept since her afternoon nap the day before. After dinner in Little Italy she had broken down and listened to her messages. Then she had understood why Jack had called. She knew exactly what she had to do. She would not live the rest of her life in fear of Jack Willistone. He was a bully. You couldn’t negotiate with a bully and you couldn’t just ignore one.
I have to fight back.
And the only way to fight was to go to Henshaw. But first she had to tell her boys the truth.

It had been the hardest thing she had ever done, but she did it. After two hours of anguishing over what to say and how to say it, Faith told Junior and Danny everything. That their father was gay, that he had cheated on her with other men, and that he had probably killed himself because Jack Willistone had threatened to reveal his sexuality. Now Jack was threatening Faith with the same stuff and it had to stop.

Both boys had cried, but Junior’s sadness had turned to anger. It was as if he had aged a decade in fifteen minutes. “Nobody is ever going to threaten my momma,” Junior had said, hugging her as tightly as he ever had in his life.

Now here they were, at the Henshaw County Courthouse, surrounded by hundreds of people, all of them staring at them.

Am I in the right place?
Faith wondered.
Why are there so many people here?

From the front of the courtroom, a young man walked hurriedly toward her. He wore a smile of relief, and Faith recognized him as the boy who came to her house.

“Ms. Bulyard,” he said, grabbing her hand and shaking it. “Thanks so much for coming.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” she said. “It was all we could do just to get here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his eyes moving past Faith to the boys.

“These are my two sons. Buck Jr. and Danny.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Rick Drake,” Rick said, shaking their hands.

“Are you ready?” he asked, turning back to Faith.

“Right now?” she asked, feeling her heart rate jump.

“Yes. You’re our last witness.” He looked her in the eye. “Are you ready to testify?”

Faith didn’t blink. “That’s why we came.”

Jack Willistone could not believe his eyes. He had sent this bitch to New York fucking City.
Why the hell would she come back?
Behind Faith were two teenaged boys. Jack had never seen the younger one, but he recognized the older one right off. Buck Bulyard Jr. Again, Jack couldn’t believe his eyes.
What is this crazy bitch thinking?
Jack stood, wanting Faith to see him as she walked past. But she just stared straight ahead. He was helpless.

This cannot be happening.

Faith kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, walking tall with her boys at her heels. She knew Jack was somewhere watching her, but she’d deal with him later. When she got to the front, two men rose from their seats and let Danny and Junior sit down. Then a tall, stately looking man gestured toward the bench, and Faith stepped forward, seeing the judge for the first time.

“Raise your right hand,” the judge ordered, and Faith did so. “Do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

Faith sucked in a deep breath. “I do.”

“Ms. Bulyard,” Tom began, forcing himself to ignore the shooting pain in his groin.
You can’t pull up lame, old man
, he told himself
. Not at the finish line.
“On September 2, 2009, where were you employed?” Tom asked, looking at the jury, then to the back of the courtroom, where Powell Conrad and Bocephus Haynes stood side by side behind the members of the 1961 team. Powell and Bo had left their seats so that Faith Bulyard’s sons could sit down. Tom wiped his forehead and met Bo’s eye, then glanced down to Billy Neighbors. Another flare of pain nearly brought Tom to his knees, but he steadied himself by grabbing the counsel table.

“The Ultron Gasoline plant in Tuscaloosa, Alabama,” Faith said.

Tom nodded and cleared his throat, and another shooting pain sent his hand to his knees.

“Professor McMurtrie, are you all right?” Cutler asked.

Tom blinked several times, trying to gather himself. His legs shook, and for a minute he thought he was going to fall. Feeling a hand on his arm, he looked up and saw Rick Drake’s blurry face.

“Professor? Do you want me to take over?” Rick asked, and the words came out contorted, as if spoken through a piece of paper.

Tom almost nodded. He almost said yes. Then, forcing his eyes to move, he again looked to the back of the courtroom.

When he saw Neighbors, goose bumps broke out on his arm.

His old teammate on the defensive line was standing. As were Lee Roy and the rest of the team. They were all standing, and as if the voice were speaking right to him, Tom heard words from long ago:
Men, there’s gonna come a day in your life when things aren’t going too well. Your wife has left you or died, your house has burned down, you’ve lost your job, and you ain’t feeling too good about nothing. When that day comes, what are you gonna do? You gonna quit?

Tom blinked back tears of pain as the words of the Man came back to him. It had been summer workouts, 1960. Blistering heat that made you want to puke—and some did. Gassers followed by push-ups followed by more gassers. Some quit.

But not Thomas Jackson McMurtrie. Not then. Not now.

Not ever.

Tom removed his hands from his knees and straightened himself. He looked at Ruth Ann, and she too was standing, her face showing worry and strength. Turning, it appeared that half the courtroom was now standing. Rufus Cole, Bill Burbaker, every former student in the room and, finally, the Honorable Art Hancock.

Tom steadied himself and faced the bench. “I’m fine, Judge. Ms. Bulyard, what was your position at Ultron?”

On wobbly legs, Tom walked toward the back of the jury box, holding the bill of lading in his hand.

“Records custodian.”

“And in your position as records custodian, did you keep bills of lading?”

“Yes, I did. When we received a bill, I would always sign at the bottom that I had received it and then I would file it away.”

Tom approached the witness stand, handing the bill to Faith. “Ms. Bulyard, I’m showing you what’s been marked as Plaintiff’s Exhibit 2. Do you recognize this document?”

“Yes, I do.”

“What is it?”

“It is a bill of lading for a delivery made by Willistone Trucking Company on September 2, 2009.”

“Is that your signature at the bottom of the bill?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Was this document made and kept in the normal course of business of Ultron Gasoline?”

“Yes, it was.”

Almost there
,
Tom thought, squeezing his fists together as another stab of pain hit him.

“Your Honor, we would offer Plaintiff’s Exhibit 2.”

“Any objection?” Cutler asked, and Tom followed his eyes to Tyler, who to Tom’s surprise remained seated.

“No, Your Honor.”

“OK, the document is admitted,” Cutler said.

Tom cut his eyes to Rick, but the boy was already moving, walking toward the defense table.

“Your Honor,” Tom said. “We’d like to show this document to the jury. Would it be possible to use the defendant’s laptop computer, as we do not have any of that equipment?”

Cutler shrugged and looked at the defense table. “Mr. Tyler?”

Tom turned also. “Jameson, could we please borrow your laptop for a few seconds?”

It was all Tom could do not to laugh. If Jameson refused the request, he would come off as a jerk, which in a case like this could be the difference between winning and losing.

“Certainly,” Tyler replied, the voice of compassion and courtesy.

“Thank you,” Tom said. Then he nodded at Rick, who inserted the flash drive in the laptop.

The bill of lading came to life on the screen to the right of the witness stand, in full view of the jury. Tom took a pointer and flashed the red light at the top of the bill. He had forgotten his pain in the adrenaline of the moment.

“What again is the date on this document?” Tom asked.

“September 2, 2009.”

“And I see there’s a blank for driver. What does that say?”

“Newton,” Faith answered.

“And the blanks for loaders?”

“Morris and Carmichael.”

“Can you tell on the bill where the load was going?”

“Yes, place of delivery is identified as Montgomery. Filling stations seven and eight.”

Tom lowered his pointer to the next blank, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. “And delivery time—what does that mean?”

“That is the expected time that the load would be delivered.”

“What was that time?”

“11:00 a.m.”

Tom lowered the pointer and looked at the jury. “What does pickup time mean?”

“That is the time the load is picked up from the plant. The loaders are instructed to stamp the time in that blank right after they’ve loaded the truck.”

Tom continued to gaze at the jury, all of whom were looking intently at the screen. “What is the time stamped in that blank, Ms. Bulyard?”

“9:57 a.m.”

Tom paused, letting the answer sink in.
Time for the grand finale.

“So, Ms. Bulyard, on September 2, 2009, driver Newton picked up a load of Ultron gasoline in Tuscaloosa at 9:57 a.m.” Tom made sure his voice carried to the far reaches of the courtroom.

“Yes.”

“And he was due in Montgomery by eleven?”

“Yes.”

Yes.
Tom looked at the jury, seeing several knowing nods. “No further questions.”

“Cross-examination, Mr. Tyler?”

Jameson Tyler stood, smiling at the witness and trying to maintain his cool. For the first time since he was a pup lawyer, he didn’t know what to do. His instincts said this witness was a landmine and that he shouldn’t ask her any questions.
But that’s not an option
, he thought.
I can’t let the jury’s last image of the trial be the bill of lading that shows we made Newton speed on the day of the accident. Even if I don’t score any points with her, maybe I can at least muddy the water a little.