Final Exam: A Legal Thriller (49 page)

Back in the office, the team worked to make those words a reality.
 
With a week to go before the commencement of jury selection, Ben felt they had done just about all they could to prepare the case the best way they knew how.
 
On the Thursday before Labor Day, Stan
Disko
walked casually into a large lecture hall at the Chicago College of Law, interrupting Angela Harper’s first Constitutional Law lecture of the semester.
 
“Angela Harper?” he said in a booming voice.

“Yes, what is it?
 
Who are you?”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out an envelope and with a dramatic flourish handed her the subpoena.
 
“Consider
yourself
served,” he said.
 

44

Friday, August 30th dawned hot and sticky and then got worse.
 
Ben broke out in a sweat simply by walking into the office from the parking lot.
 
The day had that last day before a long holiday weekend feel to it.
 
Nobody wanted to get much work done and everybody was looking forward to the office closing early.
 
The office of Schulte &
Luckenbill
typically followed the same general procedure.
 
Phil would invariably get a jump on the long weekend first.
 
He would be gone by noon if he bothered to come in at all.
 
Today, he wasn’t coming in.
 
Everybody figured he was out playing golf somewhere.
 
He would, however, call in just to make sure that the rest of the office hadn’t abandoned ship.
 
At some time after two, usually with heavy prodding from Nancy and Dianne Reynolds, Phil would say that they should close the office at three and people could go home.

Ben went upstairs and stuck his head in Nancy’s office.
 
“What do you think?” he asked.
 
She turned in her chair and said.
 
“LOI.”
  
Meaning lack of interest.

“Can’t argue with that,” Ben said.
 
“When are we closing up today?”

Nancy shrugged.
 
“Don’t know yet,” she said.
 
“But I’m not
gonna
be here past three o’clock unless you absolutely, positively need something.”
 
She spoke the last words slowly and with emphasis giving him a look that said you better not.
 

Ben shook his head.
 
“That’s fine.
 
You can probably leave at noon for all I care.
 
I certainly don’t anticipate anything.”

After lunch, Ben convened a meeting of the trial team in the garage.
 
Mark, Brad Funk and Dan Conlon sat around the conference room table, while Ben stationed himself in one of the barber chairs.
 
This meeting was designed to explain how they would conduct the trial in the courtroom.

“No matter what,” Ben said, “we will be professional in that courtroom at all times.
 
We will be as cool as the other side of the pillow.
 
Nothing that happens, good or bad, will ever show up in how we conduct ourselves.
 
Not in our facial expressions or in our mannerisms.
 
Nothing bothers us.
 
We are unflappable.
 
If at any point a juror looks over at any of us, that juror will conclude that everything is going exactly as planned, even if somebody testifies that they saw our client beating Greenfield over the head with the baseball bat.”
 

Ben next spoke about the organization of the files.
 
“We will look like a well-oiled machine at every moment.
 
The defense table and our files will be neat and organized at all times.
 
Dan and Brad, whichever of you is in the courtroom on a given day, will be in charge of the files.
 
Mark, you will be in charge of the table.
 
That means you’ll be on your best behavior,” Ben said pointing a finger at him.
 
Ben knew of Mark’s propensity for disorganization and sloppiness.
 
This wasn’t the first time they had talked about it.
 

Mark nodded with a laugh.
 
“I know, I know.
 
I’ll do the best I can.”

“No,” Ben said, “you’ll do better than that.”
 
Then Ben pointed to a stack of index cards on the conference room table.
 
Half the cards were green, the other half red.
 
“These cards,” Ben said, “are the way we communicate during trial.
 
I do not want us talking to each other while Court is in session.
 
It doesn’t look good in front of the jury and I can tell you Judge Wilson will not appreciate it.
 
That’s what the cards are for.
 
If you have something you need to tell somebody, put it on a card.
 
When one of us is conducting a direct or cross-examination, the cards are the way we communicate from the table to the person conducting the examination.
   

“If everything is going well and I haven’t missed anything or left anything out, then you should have a green card showing at the end of the table, kind of like the green light on a stop light.
 
That way, I can glance over periodically and if the card is green, I know that you don’t have anything you need to tell me.
 
On the other hand, if there is a point I missed or that you need to tell me about, you write it on a red card and put it on the end of the table.
 
Then I will know to walk over and take a look at the card to see what you wanted me to know.
 
We need to make sure a green card is sitting there at the end of every witness.
 
Any questions?”
 

They spoke for another twenty minutes or so about trial strategy and tactics.
 
Then Ben looked at his watch - five minutes after two.
 
He sighed and leaned back in the barber chair, his hands behind his head.
 
“Look, I know I’ve been difficult at times over the past couple of months or so and I’ll probably be difficult during the trial, but you should know I feel real good about our preparation.
 
I’m confident that we’re on top of things and that this is going to go as well as it can.
 
Now is not the time to let up, but I think we’ve done a good job and should be proud of ourselves and remember,” he said, breaking into a big smile, “this isn’t the Bataan Death March.
 
This isn’t supposed to be torture.
 
Sure, this is a big case, maybe the biggest case any of us will ever be involved in, certainly the most high-profile, but let’s enjoy the moment if we can.
 
Let’s enjoy the satisfaction of hard work and a job well done.
 
I know this is a shitty job sometimes.
 
There’s a lot of pressure and people don’t like you.
 
Despite all that, this is the best and most exciting part of our profession.
 
Let’s do our best, let’s enjoy it and most importantly, let’s win.”
 

Ben stood.
 
“Now I’ve got nothing really left to say.
 
If you need to come in over the weekend to feel more confident, do it, but as far as I’m concerned, you guys can all go home right now.
 
Try and have a good weekend.”
 
He turned to Funk.
 
“Hey Brad, I’m going to meet Karen
Tilly
for margaritas at about three-thirty.
 
You
wanna
go along?”

Funk shrugged.
 
“Now you tell me,” he said.
 
“I’m supposed to take the family to my Mom’s place in Indiana tonight, so I should probably get going.
 
We’ll be back late Sunday and I’ll be in the office here on Monday.”

Ben nodded.
 
“Fair enough,” he said.
 
“Have a good weekend everybody.”

Ben spotted Karen
Tilly
sitting under a green umbrella at a table at an outdoor Mexican café as he strolled up the sidewalk.
 
She saw him too and they exchanged waves.
 
A couple of minutes later, Ben had made his way through the interior of the restaurant and out into the Margarita Garden, as it was called.
 
“How’s it going?” he asked as he sat down.
 
“It sure is hot out here.”

She laughed.
 
“That’s why I got a table with a good umbrella.”
 
She nudged him playfully. “So I’m surprised you were available today with that trial coming up and everything.”

Ben shrugged and looked around the area.
 
It was only three-thirty and the place was beginning to fill up.
 
People getting a head start on the holiday weekend.
 
“I think we’re about as ready as we’re going to be,” Ben said finally.
 
“You can overdo the preparation sometimes.
 
I think it’s a good idea to get away from it for a day or two
right
before trial and try and refresh your batteries.
 
Besides, the prosecution goes first, so we have a little bit less to do right off the start.
 
Anyway, I’m surprised you were free too.
 
No big plans this weekend?”
 

She scrunched up her nose and shook her head.
 
“No, not really.
 
I’m just going out on Sunday to visit the folks.”
 
Karen leaned over and said in a low voice, “I think we need to get some margaritas in us as soon as possible.”
 

The aroma of grilled meat, vegetables and cilantro wafted out from the kitchen and Ben took a big sniff and looked around.
 
“Something sure smells good,” he said.

“I know,” Karen agreed.
 
“It’s making me hungry.”
 

The pitcher of margaritas came and hit the spot right away.
 
Ben and Karen talked a little shop, but not too much, then they gossiped about their co-workers.
  

At five, Ben poured the last of the margaritas into Karen’s glass. She took a sip, looked around and said, “So, without giving away any secrets, have you figured out who killed the guy yet?”

Ben shook his head.
 
“No, I haven’t.
 
We have some ideas, but right now they’re only ideas.”

“I thought for sure you were on to something when they attacked you.
 
By the way, everything looks pretty well healed now.
 
You can’t even really tell anymore.”

“When you’re ruggedly handsome, you can overcome a lot,” he replied.

In fact, Ben was feeling pretty good.
 
His ribs had basically healed, only a twinge now and then and you couldn’t even really tell that he had needed stitches or that his face was badly bruised and swollen.
 
A little time in the sun fixed that.
 
The only real remaining symbol of the attack was a slight discoloration on his left forearm which hadn’t fully disappeared.
 

“It’s funny,” Ben said shaking his head, “I swear I’ve got most of the pieces to the puzzle.
 
I just can’t get them to fall into place right.”
 

She nodded thoughtfully.
 
“I think sometimes you just have to look at things a new way, don’t get so caught up in, I don’t know, preconceived notions, I guess.
 
Maybe you should just look at all the facts without drawing any conclusions.
 
Don’t assume you know anything.
 
I think sometimes we can convince ourselves that something is true and then it becomes true, even though we don’t really know that it’s true.
 
Do you understand what I mean?”
 
Ben nodded.
 
She continued.
 
“I think that must have been true with some of those women you were telling me about.
 
They must have convinced themselves that there was something there with him, when there really wasn’t.
 
They just didn’t have the right perspective, that’s all.”
 

Ben took the last remaining nacho and stuffed it in his mouth, then took a drink of his margarita and thought about it for a minute.
 
Maybe she had a point.
 

Ben and Karen left the restaurant at about five-thirty and Ben got home around six-fifteen. Libby had the grill going.
 
“I’ve got small steaks for dinner,” she said.
 
Looking at him closely, she added, “How many margaritas did you have anyway?”

Ben raised his eyebrows.
 
“Not nearly enough.”
 

He went inside and Natalie ran up and greeted him with a big hug.

“Daddy, you’re home early.”
 

He picked her up and squeezed her tight.
 
“Did you miss me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.