The Witnesses Page 8

  “It wasn’t Catelyn,” Frank said as he refilled his own cup of coffee. “They haven’t dated in months.”

  Lenny veered off onto another subject, the dating adventures of Chris, his youngest son who had followed in his father’s footsteps as a firefighter. Lenny liked Chris’s current girlfriend, but Mattie wasn’t so sure. Frank and Lenny went out to the shed and began putting together the tackle for the day. Frank let Lenny talk, which allowed him to keep his mouth shut.

  “I have a couple of rods in the back of my truck,” Lenny said. “Including a stiff stick in case we go after any larger drum still hanging around.”

  They loaded everything into the back of Lenny’s truck. It could be windy on the water even on a clear day, and Frank brought an insulated windbreaker. Leaving the house, they stopped at a bait shop that also sold prepackaged sandwiches, which nobody but a fisherman would eat. They filled their cooler with ice and fresh mullet and shrimp for bait and drove to the dock.

  “So, who did Parker bring to supper last night?” Lenny asked as he lifted the cooler from the rear of the truck. “You never did tell me.”

  Frank put on the floppy hat he used to protect his head from the sun and leaned against the side of the truck. “A man I knew during the war.”

  “Really?” Lenny raised his eyebrows. “I want to hear about that.”

  Parker spent his morning grinding out research in one of Greg’s cases and proofreading a commercial lease for Dexter. Shortly before noon, he heard Greg talking to Vicki. Getting up to stretch his legs, Parker stepped from his office and went up to his boss, who was standing at the receptionist’s desk flipping through messages.

  “How did the motion hearing go in the Mitchell case?” Parker asked, referring to litigation for which he’d written the brief.

  Greg glanced up but ignored him while he read two more messages. He handed one of the slips back to Vicki.

  “Call Mr. Chet Ferguson and schedule an initial appointment as soon as possible,” he said, holding up one of the slips of paper. “I don’t want to miss a chance to grab his case if he’s going down a list of lawyers to interview.”

  “Already done,” Vicki replied with satisfaction. “He’ll be here at one o’clock.”

  “Nice,” Greg replied with a smile before turning to Parker. “Would you like to sit in on the interview? This could be huge.”

  “Sure. What’s it about?”

  “Wrongful death of his wife. She was hit by a drunk driver.”

  “Any kids?” Parker managed.

  “A daughter, age eight, was in the backseat,” Vicki replied. “She was banged up but not seriously injured.”

  “Except for the psychological trauma of seeing her mother killed,” Greg added. “You can see why I want to get the father in as soon as possible. Every personal injury lawyer from here to Raleigh would salivate over a claim like this.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Frank and Lenny anchored at the mouth of a small creek and ate lunch on the boat. A breeze blowing up from the Sound kept the insects at bay and served as free air-conditioning on their faces. Lenny took a long drink of water.

  “So would you like to give the Sound a try?” he asked.

  “Yeah, we brought the bait and tackle. And it can’t be worse than our luck this morning.”

  They’d caught a few small fish that they threw back to grow bigger. Lenny pinched off a piece of bread and dropped it into the water. It floated away in the current until it was about fifteen feet from the boat and then disappeared as a fish swirled to the surface and inhaled it.

  “Maybe we should switch to dough balls,” he said, pointing to the ripples left by the fish.

  “That’s what I used to do with Parker when he was little,” Frank replied. “He’d be extra careful to mash the bread around his hook to hide it. He’s always wanted to do things perfectly.”

  Lenny took a bite of his sandwich. “Who’d he get that from?” Lenny asked with a smile.

  Frank grunted. “May he only inherit the little good that’s in me and none of the bad.”

  Sitting in the boat as it gently rocked in the current, Frank watched the sun sparkle on the water.

  “Tell me more about the fellow who ate supper with you and Parker last night,” Lenny said.

  Frank’s chest suddenly tightened. He put his hand on his heart and took a deep breath, but the pressure didn’t go away.

  “Are you okay?” Lenny asked.

  Frank took a couple more deep breaths and sighed three times. The tightness finally lifted.

  “I think so,” he replied. “It felt like there was a band wrapped around my chest for a few seconds.”

  “Let’s go back,” Lenny said, quickly screwing the top on his water bottle. “We don’t need to go all the way to the Sound. It’s not a good idea to—”

  “Be too far from the hospital in case I keel over with a heart attack,” Frank said, finishing the thought. “We’re already pretty far from civilization, but I’m going to be okay.”

  Lenny didn’t look convinced, so Frank pulled the key from the ignition and put it in his pocket.

  “There, we’re only going where I want to go,” Frank said.

  “If the pain comes back—” Lenny began.

  “I’ll let you know and you can drive the boat.”

  “Okay.” Lenny settled back in his seat.

  Frank took another sip of water. “My visitor was a private assigned to my unit toward the end of the war. He grew up in Kiel, a coastal city in northern Germany on the Baltic.”

  “And he came all the way from Germany to see you?” Lenny’s eyes widened.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted to thank me for saving his life.” Frank briefly told Lenny about the wartime advice he’d given Mueller.

  “War is hell, and I’m not pretending to be a good guy,” Frank said as he finished. “People watch documentary shows on TV or go to movies and think they have an idea what it was like.” He stopped as he remembered the fiery barn and distant screams. “But they don’t.”

  “You don’t have to convince me,” Lenny replied. “I know exactly what you mean, especially when it comes to the smells.”

  The two men finished eating their sandwiches in silence. Lenny reached over and put the wrapper from Frank’s sandwich in the small trash bag they kept in the boat.

  “For years, what bothered me the most about my time in Vietnam was a nagging fear that I’d killed one of my own guys by mistake in the middle of a firefight when bullets were flying everywhere and people were running all over the place. I don’t know for sure that it happened, but I couldn’t shake the thought that it did. You know, a man who’s been in combat can go nuts if he lives it over and over again.”

  “Do you still think about the battles?” Frank asked.

  “Not the same way.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve asked God to forgive my sins, even those I’m not sure I committed. When the old guilty thoughts dance around the edges of my mind, I tell them to beat it. Ultimately, the power of life and death isn’t in my hands anyway; it’s in his.”

  Lenny spoke with conviction, but his words didn’t make sense to Frank. Sometimes German logic and American reasoning didn’t follow the same path.

  “I’m not sure,” Frank replied, shaking his head. “And I don’t want to try to convince myself of something unless I know it’s true.”

  “You’re making it depend on you,” Lenny replied gently. “It doesn’t work that way. God reaches out; you respond. It’s a lot like keeping your hook in the water even if the fish haven’t been biting. Just be ready when they do.”

  Frank didn’t say anything. He took the key from his pocket and placed it in the ignition. Starting the motor, he turned the boat into the wind.

  “Let’s run down to the Sound,” he said.

  Most days Parker didn’t go out for lunch but worked while eating at his desk. Today he spent the time before the
scheduled meeting with Mr. Ferguson reviewing the possible causes for a wrongful death action in a drunk-driving case. He’d received nothing from the death of his parents. The man who hit them didn’t have insurance and lived in a dilapidated shack in a poor part of town.

  Vicki buzzed Parker’s office. “Mr. Ferguson is here,” she said.

  Parker took a last glance at the photo of his parents on his credenza. Beside it was a picture of Parker and his grandfather on the Aare. The photo was taken the summer after Parker graduated from high school when he worked as a deckhand on the boat. It had been a time of bonding in common grief for both of them, and an opportunity for salt breezes to touch their faces and the winds of healing to blow over their souls.

  “Let’s go,” Greg said when Parker approached Vicki’s desk. “Don’t say anything. I only want you there to give the impression that Ferguson is hiring a law firm, not just a lawyer.”

  “Just be pretty,” Vicki said with a smile.

  “That comes naturally,” Parker replied with a wink.

  He followed Greg downstairs to the main floor where Chet Ferguson was waiting in the conference room. Before opening the door, Greg turned again to Parker and put his index finger to his lips. The potential client was standing at the end of the long table staring at a bookcase partially filled with legal books that were becoming obsolete with the advent of computer research.

  “Mr. Ferguson,” Greg said brightly when they entered. “I’m Greg Branham, and this is one of our associate lawyers, Parker House.”

  Chet Ferguson turned around. He was in his midthirties with sandy hair and blue eyes. His broad shoulders revealed a man who worked out at the gym. He pressed his lips together and stepped forward to shake their hands. His grip was firm, and he looked directly into Parker’s eyes in a way that was unsettling.

  “Have a seat,” Greg said to Ferguson. “Thanks for contacting our firm to discuss your situation.”

  “I have a stack of letters from scores of lawyers wanting to represent me,” Ferguson replied. He then pointed at Parker. “But doing my own research I saw that you were working here and remembered what happened to your parents several years ago. I figured you’d understand better than anyone what my family is going through.”

  Parker’s jaw dropped open. “I don’t remember meeting you,” he said.

  “You didn’t. But I was one of the EMTs that responded to the accident when your parents were killed. I wanted to come to the funeral, but I had to work and couldn’t get off.”

  Greg shifted his attention back and forth from Ferguson to Parker as they talked. He cleared his throat and spoke.

  “Uh, I’ve brought Parker in at this early stage because he’s uniquely qualified to assist in your case.”

  “I believe that,” Ferguson replied, opening a manila folder he had in his right hand. “Here’s a copy of the accident report.”

  Frank and Lenny had an uneventful run along the western edge of Pamlico Sound, which at eighty miles long and thirty miles wide was the largest lagoon on the East Coast. Most of the large red drum fish had already spawned and returned to the ocean on the other side of the Outer Banks, but there was a chance stragglers remained, and Lenny was a determined angler. After several hours, Frank stowed his rod and patiently waited for Lenny to give up.

  “One more cast to starboard, Captain,” Lenny said, reeling in his line. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

  Frank began putting items away in a storage bin. He glanced up as Lenny cast the bait, let it sink, and began his retrieve. Within forty-five seconds his pole suddenly bent sharply forward.

  “Fish on!” he cried out.

  Frank stopped and watched as the fish stripped line off Lenny’s reel. The Sound had a reputation for the best red drum fishing in the world, and a skillful angler could catch a fish over forty inches long and weighing fifty pounds or more. Frank peered across the water and then examined the bend in Lenny’s rod.

  “It’s a big one,” he said.

  “My arms are telling me that,” Lenny responded, leaning backward against the pull of the fish. “Can you fire up the boat and help me out a little bit?”

  Frank started the motor and slowly maneuvered the boat to keep steady pressure on the fish. When there was a momentary lapse in the fight, Lenny managed to crank a few rounds on the reel. Twenty minutes later a swirl in the water beside the boat gave them their first glimpse of their prey. Frank reached into the bottom of the boat for a large net at the end of an aluminum pole.

  “Bring him back around to port, and I’ll try to net him,” Frank said. “But I’m not sure I can bring him into the boat without help.”

  “I need to do more push-ups,” Lenny grunted. “This is supposed to be fun, but my arms are about to fall off.”

  It took two tries to get the fish into a good position for Frank to scoop it with the net. Together they lifted the gleaming silver fish into the boat. It was a mature adult with only a hint of reddish color on its side.

  “Wow,” Lenny said. “Let’s measure and weigh him.”

  Lenny held up the fish, and Frank took out a tape measure. It was forty-three inches long. Suspended from a handheld scale, the fish weighed slightly over fifty-five pounds.

  “How old do you think he is?” Lenny asked.

  “At least thirty years old, maybe closer to forty,” Frank replied.

  Frank took several pictures of the fish with a waterproof camera they kept on the boat before they lowered the fish into the water. Lenny held it between his hands while the brackish water of the Sound washed over its gills. After a few moments passed, the fish swished its tail twice and moved away with easy grace.

  “Was it a successful day on the water?” Lenny asked, looking up.

  “Yes.” Frank nodded.

  “Like I said earlier, sometimes you have to leave the hook in the water a long time before you catch the big fish,” Lenny said with a grin.

  Parker made two trips up and down the stairs to bring paperwork for Chet Ferguson to sign.

  “What if the insurance company for the driver agrees to pay the policy limits without having to file suit?” Ferguson asked after reading the standard form contingency fee contract Greg placed in front of him. “Will you still charge a twenty-five percent attorney fee if all you have to do is send a demand letter?”

  “We never know what’s involved in a case,” Greg replied confidently. “The contingency fee protects you from paying us a bunch of money if things get complicated and we have to spend hundreds of hours on the file. You don’t get billed for that time.”

  Ferguson pushed the agreement away from him. “I’ll take my chances on an hourly rate up to the point of filing suit, then switch to a contingency fee if the insurance company refuses to pay the policy limits.”

  Parker could see the veins in Greg’s neck stand out.

  “There’s also the possibility of a dramshop claim,” Parker interjected. “From what you told us, Mr. Drew admitted to the officer on the scene that he left the Calloway Club fifteen minutes before the accident. If it was obvious that Drew was intoxicated, the bartender should have stopped serving him liquor.”

  “I can sue the tavern?” Ferguson asked.

  “Yes, that’s a possibility,” Greg replied, cutting his eyes toward Parker. “But those cases can be hard to prove.”

  Ferguson paused for a moment. “Why don’t we do that case on a contingency basis and the claim against Drew’s insurance company on an hourly basis?”

  Greg hesitated for a moment. “Are you prepared to pay a five-thousand-dollar deposit in the case against the driver’s insurance company?”

  “Yes. Jessica had a small life insurance policy, and the company sent me a check last week.”

  “And if there’s anything left, that money can help defray out-of-pocket costs in the dramshop case,” Parker added.

  “That sounds fair to me,” Ferguson replied.

  “It will take more than that to finance the lit
igation against the Calloway Club,” Greg said, shaking his head.

  “Just let me know so we discuss and make a wise decision,” Ferguson responded. “I want to be fair to you and Parker.”

  “Okay,” Greg replied and then turned to Parker. “Take the agreement upstairs to Dolly so she can modify it to include the dramshop claim.”

  “What hourly rate shall I put down for the liability case?” he asked.

  “The usual for both of us,” Greg answered, pointing his thumb toward the ceiling.

  Five minutes later Parker returned with the modified documents, which Ferguson signed. The firm was now representing Chet Ferguson and the Estate of Jessica Ferguson against both Walter Drew and the Calloway Club.

  “This will also cover the claims of your daughter, Candace,” Greg said as Ferguson signed the documents.

  “Does Josiah have a case?” Ferguson asked, referring to his ten-year-old son, who was at home with his father when the wreck occurred.

  Greg glanced at Parker, who gave him an imperceptible shake of the head.

  “No,” Greg replied.

  “That would occur only if you and Jessica were divorced and the court didn’t allow you to proceed on behalf of your wife’s estate,” Parker added. “In that case, another person like a grandparent might take over.”

  Ferguson didn’t react, but Parker knew he’d touched a sensitive nerve.

  “Thanks for coming in,” Greg said, standing up. “We’ll get right to work.”

  “I’ll drop off a check for the five-thousand-dollar deposit tomorrow afternoon,” Ferguson replied.

  After Ferguson left, Greg and Parker went upstairs in silence.

  “Come into my office,” Greg said when they reached the landing.

  Not sure what to expect, Parker followed the senior partner into his office.

  CHAPTER 10

  Lenny tied off the boat when they reached the dock.

  “How many pictures are left on that camera?” he asked. “That red drum grew bigger and bigger in my mind on the way back from the Sound, and I don’t want my head to explode.”