The Witnesses Read online

  “I’ll say a blessing,” Lenny said, bowing his head.

  “Could I do it?” Frank said before Lenny could begin.

  Both Lenny and Mattie stared wide-eyed at Frank.

  “I guess so,” Lenny replied.

  “And I want to do it in German first and then in English.”

  Lenny and Mattie exchanged a look.

  “We won’t understand a word of the German, but God will,” Mattie said.

  They bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Frank took a deep breath and tapped into the intimate level of expression where only heart knowledge of a native tongue can go. He referred to God as Grandfather, which he knew wasn’t exactly true, but it made the most sense to him. He thanked his heavenly Opa for what had happened at the church and the peace it had brought to Frank’s life. He expressed gratitude to God for his friendship with Lenny and Mattie and prayed a blessing over their household and their children. He turned the words he’d spoken to Mattie about Chris into a prayer. Finally, he asked God to guide the steps of each person sitting at the table. He paused and switched to English.

  “Thank you, God, for this good food. Amen.”

  Lenny and Mattie were staring at him.

  “That wasn’t equal time,” Lenny said.

  “I recognized a few words,” Mattie said. “Opa is what Parker calls you. And I recognized our names along with Chris’s, who isn’t here. What were you saying?”

  Frank didn’t answer but took a bite of stew. He swallowed it and licked his lips. “Something good, I hope, but not as perfect as this stew. Pass the bread, please.”

  Greg was the last person to return to the conference room.

  “I’m going to leave and make a phone call,” Parker said when his boss returned.

  “Who are you going to call?”

  “I need the car keys so I can go back to the office,” Parker answered evasively.

  “You may conduct your cross-examination of the witness,” Tompkins said to Blocker.

  Greg leaned over to Parker. “You can walk and don’t bother coming back!” he hissed. “You’re nothing but a distraction here.”

  Grabbing his notes, Parker left. It was normally a ten-minute walk from the courthouse to the law office. He cut the time to eight minutes.

  “How’s it going?” Vicki asked when he appeared at the top of the stairs. “Did you forget something?”

  Ignoring her, Parker went into his office and shut the door. Logging on to the Internet, he located a business phone number for a Burt Woodlawn in Charleston, South Carolina. Then, taking a deep breath, he called Woodlawn’s office. A woman answered.

  “What is your fax number, please?” Parker asked.

  After a brief pause, the woman gave it to him.

  “I’m trying to reach Mr. Woodlawn,” Parker continued. “Is he available?”

  “May I ask who is calling?”

  “Is he in the office?” Parker asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m a lawyer in New Bern who is going to send him a fax in the next five minutes.”

  Parker hung up and went to Dolly’s desk. “Prepare a notice to take a deposition in the Mixon arbitration case for a man named Burt Woodlawn. Set it for next Tuesday.”

  “Is the arbitrator going to leave the record open for a deposition?” Vicki called out from her desk. “They usually don’t do that.”

  Parker watched as Dolly rapidly hit the keys on her computer. After less than a minute, the document rolled out of her printer.

  “Here you go,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Parker said as he took the piece of paper and handed it to Vicki. “Fax the notice to Woodlawn at this number with a cover page asking him to call me. I’ll be in my office.”

  “What is going on?” Vicki demanded.

  Parker didn’t have the will or energy to explain or argue. “Just do it, or I’ll start yelling like Greg on his worst day.”

  Vicki’s eyes got big, and she turned around to the fax machine behind her desk. Parker returned to his office and sat in his chair to wait. He tried watching the dog in the next-door neighbor’s yard, but there weren’t any squirrels tormenting the little animal that lay in the sun on the back deck. He picked up the picture of him and his grandfather and studied it. Vicki buzzed him, and Parker grabbed the phone.

  “It’s Mr. Woodlawn.”

  Parker pushed the Receive button. “This is Parker House.”

  “Burt Woodlawn in Charleston. Before I call my lawyer, what’s behind this notice to take a deposition that landed on my desk a few minutes ago?”

  Parker sat up and cleared his throat. “Have you ever gone on a fishing trip with a stockbroker named Robert Lipscomb? I think you caught a nice blue marlin.”

  There was a brief pause. “Do you mean Bobby Lipscomb?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve never heard anybody call him Robert,” Woodlawn replied. “A mutual friend invited him to join us last year on a three-day trip to Roatán. That’s where I caught the fish.”

  Parker looked at the clock on his credenza. “Lipscomb has been sued by our clients, an elderly couple who lost a bunch of money in Chesterfield Consolidated based on his recommendation to buy.”

  “So did I. What does that have to do with me?”

  Parker swallowed nervously and tried to steady his voice. “That’s what I want to ask you about in the deposition, but I’m not going to bother if you’re going to plead the Fifth Amendment.”

  CHAPTER 17

  There was silence on the phone for a few seconds. Parker could only hope he’d set a hook that would extract information from Woodlawn without scaring him into ending the call and telling Parker to talk to his lawyer.

  “Why would I want to plead the Fifth Amendment?” Woodlawn asked, his voice getting louder. “Does Lipscomb claim I did something wrong?”

  “If he did, what would you say about it?”

  “That he’s a liar!”

  “So you didn’t give him any insider information about the company?”

  “Of course not. Whatever Lipscomb recommended to your clients wasn’t based on any information from me. It came from someone else.”

  “Do you know who that might be?”

  Woodlawn was silent for a moment. “I have a good guess.”

  “Do I have to take your deposition to find out?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Mr. Woodlawn, are you still there?” Parker asked.

  “Yes, but unless you agree to let me record this conversation and promise not to use it in a court proceeding, I’m not going to say another word.”

  Parker tried to come up with a reason to disagree with the demand but couldn’t. There was a slim-to-none chance that the arbitrator would leave the record open for a deposition, and even if he did, there was no guarantee the witness would provide something useful.

  “Agreed, if I can record it too,” Parker said. “Just so I don’t misunderstand what you’re saying.”

  “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  Woodlawn made Parker identify himself and state his consent not to use the conversation in court.

  “One night on the fishing trip to Roatán, we all stayed up late drinking. Bobby told me that he had an opportunity to score some stock options in Chesterfield and wanted to know what I thought about investing in the company. I’m not stupid, and as a director I refused to comment. One of the other guys on the trip told me a few months later that Bobby bragged about collecting side commissions in the form of options from an officer at Chesterfield for recommending purchase of stock. My guess is Bobby thought he was going to make money for himself and everybody else. What he didn’t know was that the company was having a serious liquidity problem due to an overseas manufacturing expansion that didn’t work out. When that came to light, the stock tanked. The core business is solid, but it may take years to dig its way out.”

  “Who would have been in on this at Chesterfield?”

  “My be
st guess is Brad Flanagan, the former CFO, and that’s one reason why you can’t quote me. I don’t want to get sued for slandering him if I’m wrong. Anyway, he’s no longer with the company. He was fired for padding his expense account way beyond what’s normally allowed, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he and Lipscomb came up with something crooked that created a conflict of interest for both of them. If you want hard facts, you’re going to have to go after Flanagan, not me.”

  “Okay, thanks for talking to me,” Parker said with relief.

  “What about this notice to take a deposition?” Woodlawn asked. “If you come to Charleston next week, I’m not going to be here. I’ve been planning an anniversary trip with my wife for months. We’re going to be out of the country visiting Machu Picchu in Peru.”

  “I’ll withdraw the notice.”

  The phone call ended. Parker left for the courthouse.

  When he slipped into the arbitration hearing, Thomas Blocker was questioning Mrs. Mixon. Greg turned sideways in his chair for an instant but then ignored Parker.

  “Isn’t it true that you obtained a degree in economics from Davidson College?” the lawyer asked Mrs. Mixon.

  “Yes, but that was a long time ago.”

  “And that you graduated with honors?”

  “Yes.”

  “In fact, you graduated magna cum laude, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Blocker lifted a sheet of paper from the table and held it up in his hand. “Mrs. Mixon, do you remember the topic for your honors thesis?”

  “Uh, I’m not sure. That was forty years ago.”

  Blocker stepped forward and handed the sheet of paper to her. “Are these the courses you took at Davidson?” he asked.

  Parker couldn’t believe the defense lawyer had a copy of the sixty-two-year-old witness’s college transcript.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Please tell the arbitrator the subject for your honors thesis.”

  Mrs. Mixon studied the sheet for a moment. “It’s not listed.”

  “And you don’t remember?”

  Mrs. Mixon looked sheepishly at her husband. “It had something to do with equity risk analysis.”

  Blocker returned to the table and picked up another sheet of paper. “Was the title ‘Simulations, Decision Trees, and Scenario Analysis: Probabilistic Approaches to Risk’?”

  “Yes, something like that.”

  Blocker shook his head. “I’m a small-town lawyer. Can you explain to me what in the world that means?”

  “Uh, stocks.”

  “Would you agree that you conducted research about risk analysis in the equity markets?”

  “That would have been part of it.”

  “Along with a whole lot more, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  Blocker looked at the arbitrator. “No more questions of the witness.”

  “Any redirect?” Tompkins asked Greg.

  “No.”

  “We’ll take an hour break for lunch,” Tompkins said. “Please return by one thirty.”

  Parker could tell that Mrs. Mixon was on the verge of tears as she stood up and approached her husband.

  “I’m sorry,” she began.

  Parker didn’t wait to listen. Instead, he stepped over to Thomas Blocker, who was talking to Lipscomb.

  “Excuse me,” Parker said to the lawyer. “When you finish, could I speak to you for a moment?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Wait for me in the hallway,” Blocker said to his client before turning his attention to Parker.

  “Did Mr. Lipscomb tell you about the stock options he was promised in Chesterfield for recommending that clients invest in the company?”

  Blocker eyed Parker curiously. Parker continued, “And if he didn’t, ask him about his relationship with Brad Flanagan, the former CFO with the company.”

  “And what’s that going to prove?” Blocker asked.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Parker saw Greg approaching as Mr. and Mrs. Mixon left the room.

  “Our case. And if we’re successful, this is going to end up costing Lipscomb his career and your client a lot of money,” Parker said.

  “Parker!” Greg said sharply. “What are you doing?”

  “He’s forecasting his view of the evidence and asking me to consider it,” Blocker replied smoothly.

  The defense lawyer left, and Greg turned to Parker. “What did you tell him?”

  Parker summarized his conversation with Burt Woodlawn. As Parker talked, Greg’s hostility lessened.

  “I wish we’d known about this before,” he said. “But it may not matter. You heard the tail end of Mrs. Mixon’s testimony. We’re in trouble. Based on her college thesis, she’s the definition of a sophisticated investor.”

  “We’ll just have to see if what I said to Blocker worries him and Lipscomb more than Mrs. Mixon’s testimony does us.”

  At lunch, Parker was too nervous to do more than nibble a few potato chips. Greg didn’t seem to have any problem wolfing down a footlong sub sandwich with extra meat and cheese.

  “How can you eat like that during a trial?” Parker asked.

  “When I’m in a fight, I have to eat,” Greg replied. “I hated having to make a certain weight when I was a wrestler in high school. At least when we go back to the courthouse I’m not going to have to step on a scale to see if I can continue.”

  “What is Thomas Blocker doing right now?”

  “Shaking in his boots about the next curveball you’re going to throw him in this case.”

  “Really?”

  Greg shook his head. “No. You missed most of his performance. Blocker is the definition of smooth. He bludgeoned Mrs. Mixon with her educational background and toyed with Mr. Mixon before making him look like a bitter man who is looking for someone to blame for his financial problems. I didn’t know it, but Mixon was receiving a buyout from a former employer that filed for bankruptcy last year, cutting off a big revenue stream for our clients. Blocker got him to admit that without an increase in his equity portfolio, Mixon’s retirement would never sustain their lifestyle.”

  “That should help us,” Parker said, confused.

  “Not the way Blocker spun it. He made it look like Mixon needed to gamble in order to hit a home run and make up for his loss from his previous employer.”

  Parker ate a chip and took a sip of water. “Why didn’t we know about that?” he asked.

  “I don’t ask a client what he ate for breakfast last week.” Greg grunted. “And I don’t think you’re in great shape to criticize me for poor preparation when you’re scrambling eggs on evidence you should have brought to my attention as soon as you dove into the case.”

  Parker shut his mouth and watched Greg finish the rest of his sandwich. His boss took a final swig of sweet tea.

  “Okay, let’s do this,” Greg said.

  “Are you going to ask Lipscomb about his relationship with Brad Flanagan and the kickback scheme for stock options?” Parker asked.

  Greg looked Parker in the eye. “Would you do that without any evidence to back it up?”

  “There’s Burt Woodlawn.”

  Greg wiped his mouth with a flimsy napkin. “Who isn’t within 150 miles of the courthouse and made you commit not to use the information he gave you. Run your questions by me.”

  “Uh, Mr. Lipscomb, isn’t it true you had an arrangement with Brad Flanagan, the former CFO at Chesterfield, that resulted in your receiving stock options in the company if you convinced investors to buy common stock?”

  “He denies it. What next?”

  “A director of the company says you did.”

  “What’s his name? Oh, you can’t tell me. At that point, the arbitrator threatens to make me pay Blocker’s attorney’s fees for wasting everybody’s time. Anything else?”

  “No,” Parker conceded.

  They stood up.

  “It’s not a bad theory,” Greg said. “But next time you have a brilliant investi
gative idea, tell me before we’re in the middle of a trial. A general needs to know what lies ahead before the battle begins.”

  When they returned to the courthouse, Mr. and Mrs. Mixon were sitting in the hallway outside the courtroom.

  “It’s not going very well, is it?” Mrs. Mixon asked anxiously.

  “We scored some points,” Greg replied.

  “But they did too,” Mr. Mixon said. “It’s going to come down to what you can get out of Lipscomb.”

  Parker glanced at Greg to see how he would react to the client putting all the responsibility for the case on the lawyer’s shoulders.

  “I have plans for him.”

  “I want you to embarrass him like the other lawyer did me,” Mrs. Mixon said. She pressed her lips together tightly for a moment. “I couldn’t believe he brought up that paper I wrote in college. It was a group project with two other students. They did most of the work.”

  Parker stared at Mrs. Mixon and wondered why she didn’t emphasize that tidbit of relevant information while she was on the witness stand. Greg told them what Parker had uncovered.

  “What a crook,” Mr. Mixon spit out. “I’d like to nail him to the wall.”

  Thomas Blocker and Lipscomb returned to the conference room, and the defense lawyer stepped over to them.

  “Greg, may I speak with you for a moment in the hallway?” he asked.

  Greg turned to leave.

  “You too,” Blocker said, motioning to Parker.

  Greg glanced at Parker and nodded. They stood in a circle in the vacant hallway.

  “I’m not going to reargue my case and tell you the damage I’ve done to your clients during cross-examination, but before I begin my evidence, do you want to discuss settlement?” Blocker asked.

  Parker knew his boss settled a lot of cases before they reached the courthouse steps, but not often after a trial began. Greg so immersed himself in the fight that he had trouble objectively evaluating which way the winds of evidence were blowing. His confidence helped him weather adverse storms but could blind him to a favorable resolution.

  “What’s your proposal?” Greg asked. “I’ve not discussed the possibility with my clients. They’re ready to go to the mat.”