Unclean Hands, page 7
Rick slammed the report onto his desk and pulled out his phone. He clicked the number for the cop.
"Parker," the voice called out. Rick pulled the phone away from his ear. "Hey, it's Rick Waterston, you got a minute to talk about the report you sent over?"
"Sure buddy. What about?”
"That ridiculous write-up–did you read it?"
"I glanced over it, but it's not my report. Not my rodeo, so it's none of my business."
"I hear you. What I don't understand is, how he can write, 'Justified detention. Suspect caught shoplifting and then attacked store employee legally attempting to detain him. Suspect struggled after detention causing the employee to request assistance. Shoplifter died by the time officers arrived. Appears to be justifiable actions of the store employee?'"
"I read it. I guess he thought the guy should have cooperated."
"Cooperated? He was slammed to the ground, and they sat on him until he died. Your cop friend used the word 'shoplifter' eighteen times in the report. A bit of overkill, don't you think?"
"I guess. Like I said, he was the investigating officer, not me. Mitinger took a while to write this up. Most of the time, we shoot these out in two to three days. It took him a couple of weeks. Another cop told me he talked to some people from the company before he finished. When he testified at the preliminary hearing, he played it down the middle. Maybe he's being pushed to one side now. Find a copy of the testimony from the prelim. I bet it'll give you a better picture of what he thought."
"That's helpful. I don't like this report. To me, he's gratuitously slamming the dead guy. No reason for it."
"Call me if you need anything else."
"I will." Rick tossed his phone at the end of the conversation. He wondered why a cop wanted to screw over a dead man.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The tidy home with red siding sat next to the church in a tiny plot, almost in the middle of nowhere. Welcome to the boonies, Rick thought, as he eased his truck in front of the house.
The police report identified the two individuals who assisted the store manager with "detaining" Jerry Hawkins–one man and one woman. Rick wanted to get their stories before the store talked with them. In Rick's experience, even witnesses who wanted to tell their story as honestly as possible, imperceptibly shaded their testimony towards the side which contacted them first. He wanted any potential witness who might slant their testimony to tilt it in his direction.
Michael McGarrity greeted Rick with an engaging smile and introduced himself as 'Mick,' the part-time pastor at the Church of the Redeemer, the small brick building less than thirty yards from his front door. Rick's first reaction to the gregarious man in his sixties built like a linebacker was a jury will love this guy.
Rick called McGarrity after reading the police report asking to talk about the incident in the parking lot. His next stop would be with the woman who also assisted in killing the husband of his client.
The man he most wanted to talk to was the assistant manager, Morgan Askew. He brought suit against him, so ethically he couldn't talk to him without the company's approval, which wasn't happening. He would have to wait until he took his deposition before sizing him up.
"Come in," McGarrity said, leading Rick into the home. "You want coffee, or a beer?"
Rick declined. "I don't want to take up too much of your time, so I'll jump right in. I wanted to hear from you about how you got involved in the situation at the B & D."
The pastor glanced downward at his clasped hands as leaned forward on the edge of the dark gray couch. "Mr. Masterson, my wife died too early. We were in our thirties, and after she passed, I decided to become a man of the cloth. I needed to move closer to the Lord and since, well, this is where I spend my time." He spread his arms.
Rick sat silent, wondering where this was heading, not wanting to interject, not even to make sure the pastor remembered his name.
"I have learned the Lord is mysterious and why He brings us to where He chooses is His business." He paused, making sure Rick maintained eye contact. "That afternoon, He brought me to that parking lot because it was His plan–a plan where I would help Him ease suffering and root out problems infecting our society."
Despite about fourteen more questions pinging in his head, Rick kept quiet, letting the pastor continue. Rick ignored the man’s aftershave which hung over the room.
"I was walking towards the store and a voice rang out, 'I need help. I need help.' I didn't recognize where it came from, but it spoke to me. In my bones, I knew it was my responsibility to assist. This is what the Lord teaches." The pastor sat up straight continuing to stare at Rick. "I witnessed the man, the one who the Lord took, punching the manager from the store–hitting him hard. The manager needed my help."
Rick nodded and took some notes on his yellow pad.
"I ran over, and the manager got on top of the thief. I pinned the man's arms on the ground, and we waited for the police to arrive." He bowed and shook his head. "When they showed up, the man had passed. It was the Lord's decision."
Rick jotted a couple of notes. "Sir, thank you for telling me your story, but I have additional questions to try to fill in the gaps."
McGarrity squinted his eyes and leaned back. "Fill in the gaps?" he huffed. "I believe I told you everything about what occurred. I can still see it as if it's happening right now." The pastor stood. "There is nothing more to add. I’m sorry you find 'gaps' in my recollection."
Rick stood dumbfounded, but understood the pastor wouldn't expound on what he had said, but still wanted to give it a try. "Sir, do you remember anyone else with you while you waited for the police?"
The pastor straightened. "All I remember is the Lord's presence the whole time. He wanted me to assist, yet His plan was to take the young man into His realm. I cannot think of anything else to say."
McGarrity grabbed Rick’s arm and led him to the front door. "Thank you so much for coming today," McGarrity said as he gave Rick a nudge forward. "I hope this helped."
Rick turned as the door closed. He stood on the stoop shaking his head.
This has only been weird. Time to go talk to the other witness and find out if the strangeness continues.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The café teemed with activity with so many people crammed at the various tables and booths it made finding the one person Rick wanted to spot difficult. He stood in the middle of the chaos turning in a circle when he spotted a waving hand from the booth at the back.
"I'm Rick," he said, extending his hand as he approached, "I hope you're Deandra."
The short, beefy woman half-stood and took Rick's hand. "Guilty as charged," she said in a husky voice.
Rick slid into the booth and placed his yellow pad on the table. He flipped to a clean sheet, but wanted to engage in a little small talk, unlike his previous encounter with the pastor. "Can I buy you some coffee?"
Deandra nodded and Rick flagged down a waitress.
"I'm sorry I made you come here," she said. "I sounded a little freaky on the phone, but I live alone and I never met you."
"Understood." Rick threw his hand forward and laughed. "I wouldn't want some strange man coming to my place to interview me. Don't worry. This is perfect."
She sat back in the booth so the server could place a cup of coffee on the Formica table-top. The clanking of dishes reverberated as all booths were occupied. Rick picked up his pen to signal he wanted to begin. "What happened in the parking lot, not what you were expecting, was it?"
"Never. Not in a million years." She blew out a huff of air and her shoulders eased down.
"Tell me your last name again."
"It's Bortz. Deandra Bortz. It's my married name, but I got divorced three years ago. No kids. Simply a forty-two-year old woman living by herself–except for my golden–and princess, the stray cat I found last year."
Rick flinched at the deluge of information received from just asking for her name. She's going to have a lot of work to do if she's wants to be a strong witness. He put the thought aside. "Tell me what happened when you got to B & D."
Deandra raised her eyes and tried to formulate her words. It took a few moments before the thoughts gushed out. "I'll never forget how quickly the events unfolded. How scared I got and how concerned I was for everyone in the parking lot with so much commotion. So much screaming. I didn't have any idea what to do. I did like I was told until the police showed up. Then the guy didn't respond. Never thought that might happen."
Rick tried to put together Bortz's word salad, but couldn't make much sense out of it. "Let's take this a little slower. Did this happen before you went into the store or after you finished your shopping?"
"Oh, I didn't get a chance to do my shopping. I didn't know what I wanted, but I love the store. They sell everything. I think I needed to buy some underwear and some shoes, but I never got to go into the store."
"Other things got in your way." Rick smiled. He dealt with many types of witnesses, and realized you don't pick them, you deal with whoever happens to witness an event. Some are able to tell their stories. Some have more difficulties, but ultimately, he only wanted people who told the truth as best they could.
"So what happened after you got out of your car?"
"Turns out, I parked close to where the fight broke out. I was in my car putting on some lipstick, but I didn't observe anything. I got out and saw the manager holding down this man. I didn't want to be involved, but he yelled he needed help and this guy was going to hurt him."
"So what did you do?"
"I went over. I kind of stood frozen. He told me to help pin him down."
"Did you?"
"Of course. He screamed at me to help, so I didn't think I had much choice. I sat on his arm. Then this older gentleman came over and held down his other arm. The manager kept telling the guy not to struggle and saying to us not to let go because he was trying to get up. I listened to the manager. He was in charge."
"Was the guy struggling?"
"I guess. He kept jerking around."
"Did he say anything?"
"Once or twice he said he couldn't breathe, but the manager kept saying he wanted to escape and for us not to let go. So we didn't. Finally, the police came and the man didn't respond. I can't tell you how horrible this is."
Rick shook his head and tried to picture the scene at the parking lot. He had only talked to two witnesses so far, and already everyone was giving conflicting stories. They said enough for him to piece together a credible story for his client, but a lot would depend on what these witnesses testified to during the litigation.
Deandra went through her story with Rick three times who noticed some significant detail alterations in each version. This wasn't unusual, but he couldn't evaluate whether she would make a believable witness or one who might sink his case. At least by the end he thought he had a better understanding of the events which led to Jerry Hawkins' death.
He wanted her to sign a witness statement, but also realized drafting one she agreed to might prove difficult. After broaching the concept of signing a statement, Bortz's discomfort returned, and she indicated she didn't want to sign anything, obviating any concern about what language to include.
They talked about their respective neighborhoods and jobs, leaving Rick confident of her likability – a person with real problems who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
As Rick left the diner, he couldn't evaluate how meeting with the two witnesses today had affected his case. One was a crazy pastor summoned by god and, the other, a sweet woman who had difficulty giving her name in less than one hundred words. Whatever he thought of them, they were the only identified independent witnesses of the death of Jerry Hawkins.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The stack of papers dropped onto Rick's desk as if it was Manna from heaven– which it wasn't.
"You're going to love these," Audrey said as she leaned on the desk using her arms to support her body and inching her head over the papers.
Rick, who was looking out the window at passing traffic, turned to face six inches of documents with Audrey's eyes hovering just above. "What fun did you bring me this morning?" Rick reached a cautious hand towards the pile, but avoided touching it.
"They came in the mail today from your two favorite cases: 'Tiger vs. Tiger' and 'Death in the parking lot."
Though his assistant's nomenclature for his cases often amused him, today he wasn't in the mood for her hijinks. He waved her away, and she turned with a dramatic huff to leave.
She said over her shoulder as she headed to the door, "You got lots of work in both cases. I'll need some overtime if you want me to work on them."
Rather than responding, Rick heaved a pencil in her general direction, which fell at her feet. She left with a satisfied expression etched on her face.
Rick scooped up the daunting stack of papers and placed it in front of him. The top grouping was from the Billy Blevins litigation. First, a set of interrogatories–written questions which Billy would answer with Rick's assistance.
Next a series of requests for production of documents. Rick thought Thomas Rohrspot, the attorney for Billy's partner, Frank Francisco, was "sweet" to limit his requests to only forty-five. These would compel Billy to spend hours compiling contracts, emails and anything else he conceivably might possess. Rick would have to review the documents and remove any containing privileged information before drafting legal responses to the interrogatories and requests for documents.
Lastly, there was a set of requests for admissions–fifty-two of them which Rick and Billy would answer either admitting to some fact, or denying its truth, while supplying an explanation why the alleged fact was in dispute. Under the court's rules, he must complete this chunk of work in the next thirty days.
The second set of papers was similar to the first. Under the signature of Virgil Spencer, the defendants in Emily Hawkins’ case served a set of interrogatories, requests for production of documents and requests for admissions.
They would not have to gather as many documents because Emily was an individual and not a business like Billy Blevins' animal park. Emily had no prior experience with litigation and this would prove to be a difficult undertaking for her—one would involve Rick’s active participation throughout the process.
"Damn, no more computer games. I got a lot of work to do in a short amount of time," Rick said in a whisper, turning to face the window. Considering the amount of work both sides would need to complete the Tigerland cases, Rick continued to think out loud. "With all of this discovery flying between the parties, perhaps Francisco would be interested in talking settlement also."
He jerked and yanked his phone off his desk. He grabbed the front page of the document from Blevins' case to find the phone number of his opponent's lawyer.
"Thomas Rohrspot, just the man I want to talk to," he said once they connected. He identified himself and thanked him for the mounds of discovery which had just dropped on his desk.
After a few pleasantries, he shifted to the purpose of the call.
"Tom, I got a call on another case where the defendant's attorney suggested mediation. He reminded me there's always a chance to resolve a case if the parties are in the same room. Once I got your papers, I was thinking now might be the right time for us to discuss settlement. I talked to a couple of mediators, and we might save some money if we use the same one for both cases. Take a half day for each and I'm sure we can negotiate a reasonable fee. Any interest?"
Ten minutes of a mixture of flattery and arm twisting convinced Rohrspot of the benefit for their clients to be in the same room trying to talk out their differences. The parties hadn't spoken for weeks and with three separate pieces of litigation, perhaps a smart mediator would help them sort out their differences. Rohrspot agreed they both had odd clients and sitting through trial with either of them would be unpredictable. He played coy for a few minutes prattling on about how early mediation was a recipe for failure, not to mention the wasted costs. With a modicum of prodding, he agreed, pending his client's approval, that mediation might bear fruit.
He wouldn't commit, however, unless Rick promised to provide responses to all the discovery requests before the mediation took place. Rick reluctantly agreed to provide responses, and agreed to mediate the case in the next month.
Once the call ended, Rick stared down at the stack of documents and opened up to first interrogatory to begin drafting responses. He bit down hard on his lip as he typed on the computer, aware he would be working on these late into the evening, but not despairing because he had no plans to do anything else.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rick threw open the door to Tusk's. The restaurant's clientele appeared almost identical to the last time he met Arnie McBride there. A similar din hung in the air and a gathering of lunch drinkers crowded the bar trying to put down a couple before lunchtime was over.
Arnie waited in the same booth they ate in for their last encounter, so a sliver of deja vu zipped through Rick's head when he slid in opposite to Arnie. He shook his head as Arnie wore the same suit and tie combination as the last time they met.
They stashed their menus next to their plates, a sense of anticipation swirling for their impending discussion. For the past two years, Rick never worried about having too much work. In a few hours, with the receipt of a some discovery and an increase in activity in a couple of previously dormant matters, his anxiety level over whether he had enough time to handle the influx of work had risen to a point where his chest felt tight every time he took a breath.
