The Burning Man (2 page)

"What's wrong?" Mrs. Elliot asked. Since the accident, she could move only her head, which bobbed toward her left shoulder as she spoke in the halting, of the defenslurred speech that was another product dant's negligence. -I'll fill you in after I confer with the judge," Peter answered with a reassuring smile.

"Well?" Judge Pruitt asked impatiently.

Peter spoke quietly, so his voice would not reach his client.

"Your Honor, my father had a heart attack just as we were leaving for court."

Lyle Compton looked stricken and the judge's hardbitten demeanor disappeared. Both men had known Richard Hale for more than twenty years. Though judge Pruitt was brusque with all who appeared before him, he had the highest regard for Richard. Richard and Lyle Compton had been friendly adversaries in countless courtroom battles.

"Is he going to be all right?" Pruitt asked with genuine concern.

"I don't know."

"Well, I'll adjourn court and we'll reconvene tomorrow so you can bring us up to date," the judge said.

Peter had been afraid the judge might try to stop the trial on his own. "There's no reason to adjourn," he said, hoping he did not sound as anxious as he felt. "I won't be able to see my father for hours."

judge Pruitt's brow furrowed. He looked at Peter as if he was certain he had misunderstood him.

"You don't plan on continuing the trial, do you?" the judge asked.

"Oh, certainly. After all, our case is almost over and there's Mrs. Elliot to consider. It would be awfully hard for her to go through a second trial."

"Yes, well that may be, but your father is lead counsel," the judge said.

Lyle Compton was short, bald and rotund. He usually had a disarming smile on his face. He represented insurance companies for a living, but he was sympathetic to plaintiffs and was fair and charmingly nonadversarial until he was forced into the courtroom.

"Peter, it wouldn't be right to make you continue this case," Compton said with sincerity.

"Mrs. Elliot has a right to be represented by the best. If you move for a continuance or a mistrial, I'm not going to object."

Peter kept control of his facial expression, but he was seething. He believed Compton was trying to sucker him into moving for a mistrial so he could save his case. And that crack about Mrs. Elliot deserving the best ... Peter's heart hardened. He would show Compton what it was like to really go up against the best.

"I appreciate your concern, Mr. Compton, but I'm prepared to continue."

"Do you feel that you're ready to do that, Mr. Hale?" the judge asked. "You've never been lead counsel in a case this complex, have you?"

"No, Your Honor, but I worked on this case from the beginning. I prepared the witnesses, wrote the pleadings and the legal memos. In all modesty, I believe I know the ins and outs of Mrs. Elliot's lawsuit as well, if not better, than my father."

"Is this what your client wants?" the judge asked.

"I haven't had an opportunity to confer with her. She doesn't know what happened."

Judge Pruitt looked troubled. "Well, why don't you take a few minutes to confer with Mrs. Elliot. But before you do, I have to tell you that I think you're making a big mistake if you go ahead. You should be with your father in the hospital. I know you're thinking of your client's interests, which Is commendable, but I can't imagine how you're going to be able to focus on this case without knowing that your father has pulled through."

Peter felt a brief flash of elation. The trial was going to continue and he was going to try it by himself. Then, as Peter walked over to his client, a moment of selfdoubt assailed him. Aside from his mistrust of Peter's abilities, was there some other reason why his father had ordered Peter to ask for a mistrial? Peter remembered how upset his father had been just before his heart attack, had that been about) Some witness and papers. As Peter sat down next to Mrs. Elliot, he tried to review every , thing he knew about the case. He could think of no witness who needed to testify other than the two who were scheduled for this morning and no papers that had to be introduced.

Before he could consider the matter further, Mrs. Elliot swung her wheelchair so she could face Peter.

"Where's Mr. Hale?" she asked fearfully.

Peter promptly forgot about the mystery witness and said, "Mrs. Elliot, I want you to stay calm. I have some news for you that may be a bit disturbing."

"Plaintiff rests,". Peter declared in a voice that conveyed to the jury the confidence he felt in his case. His last two witnesses had been terrific and Peter could not conceive of a juror who was not convinced that Nellie Elliot should be awarded millions to compensate her for the negligence of Northwest Maritime's driver.

"May I confer with Mr. Hale for a moment?" Lyle Compton asked judge Pruitt.

"Why don't I send the jury out for lunch, Mr. Compton. As soon as you're finished talking to Mr. Hale, you can make any motions you may have. We'll start the defense case after lunch."

"That would be fine, Your Honor."

When the jurors were gone, Compton motioned Peter to join him out of earshot of Mrs. Elliot. Peter felt he was on top of the world as he crossed the courtroom.

During a phone call to the hospital, he had been assured that his father would make a full recovery, and he was on the brink of winning his first million-dollar verdict.

"Peter," Compton said in a low voice, "I'm prepared to recommend a settlement of 1.5 million. I think that's a fair offer."

Peter's chest swelled. Compton was on the roes and he knew it. The offer was a last-ditch attempt to save his client the several million dollars more Peter was confident the jury would award.

"Sorry, Lyle, but I don't think that's enough.

Compton seemed uneasy. "Look, Peter, I feel very uncomfortable about the way this case is proceeding. You shouldn't have continued to try this matter. You're too inexperienced.

"Oh," Peter replied, fighting hard not to smirk. "Why don't we let the jury decide that."

Compton looked down. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

"I probably shouldn't do this, but I don't want to take advantage of you. I respect your father tremendously and, because of that, I feel compelled to tell you that you have problems with your case. Under the circumstances, this is a very good offer

Peter wanted to laugh in Compton's face. Problems with his case, indeed.

Did Compton think he would fall for this transparent attempt to prey on the insecurities of a young lawyer trying his first big case? He felt great seeing one of the best insurance defense attorneys in the state squirming like a worm on a hook.

"Lyle, I appreciate your concern, but it's no go."

Compton looked distraught. "All right. I tried, Peter, but I have a client, too."

As soon as the lawyers were back at their respective tables, Mrs. Elliot asked, "What happens now?"

"Mr. Compton will probably move for a directed verdict. It's nothing to worry about. It's routine. The defense always does that after the laintiff rests. He's going to argue that we haven't produced enough evidence to let the case go to the jury. He has to make his record. "He won't win?" she asked anxiously.

"of course not," Peter answered with a confident smile. "To rule against us, the judge would have to find that there is no reasonable interpretation of the evidence that could support our position. It's an almost impossible burden to meet."

"I have a motion for the court," Compton said, sounding almost apologetic.

"What Is the basis for your motion, Mr. Compton?" judge Pruitt asked.

"Your Honor, plaintiff's complaint alleges that Northwest Maritime is a corporation registered in the state of Oregon. It is in paragraph one of the complaint."

Peter looked down at the pleading that had been filed a year and a half before to formally put the case before the court. Mrs. Elliot's complaint alleged that Northwest Maritime was a corporation doing business in Oregon, that a truck driven by one of its agents had caused her injury and that the driver was negligent in the way he drove. It was a simple, straightforward court document.

"Our answer denied each and every allegation in the complaint," Compton went on. "When a defendant does that, it becomes plaintiff's duty to prove each and every allegation in the complaint. I kept track of the evidence and I submit that Mrs. Elliot has failed to prove the existence of the corporation."

Peter did not hear anything else Compton said. It was as if the engines on a plane in which he was flying stopped suddenly and the plane began plummeting downward at a dizzying speed. Peter had assumed that his father had entered the corporate documents on one of the occasions he had been in the law library researching legal issues. Now, it looked as if the evidence had never been produced.

Suddenly, Peter remembered Ned Schuster, the mystery witness who had been in the accident. The man who was bringing the documents his father was so up set about, right before he'd had his coronary. They must have been the documents that would prove that Northwest Maritime was a corporation. That's why Richard had implored Peter to move for a mistrial.

".. . to dismiss the case against Northwest Maritime and grant a directed verdict for my client," Compton concluded.

judge Pruitt looked very upset. He turned toward Peter, who was rereading the complaint as if, somehow, he could will the words to change. "This point that Compton had raised was such a little thing. A technicality. Everyone knew Northwest Maritime was a corporation. It owned huge buildings and declared its existence from signs with fat red letters. The missing document was so small. A notarized paper that took up no space at all.

"Mr. Hale," the judge stated quietly, "I've been expecting this. The answer does deny the existence of the corporation. That does put the burden on you to prove your allegation regarding the corporation. This morning, I looked up the case law in anticipation of this motion."

"The .. . the driver. Mr. Hardesty. I believe he said ... judge Pruitt shook his head. "No, sit. The question was never put to him."

"But Mrs. Elliot? What about her?" Peter asked pathetically. "If you dismiss the case against Northwest Maritime, only the driver will be left and he doesn't have the money to pay for Mrs. Elliot's bills. She's paralyzed. You know Northwest Maritime is liable."

Peter stopped. The judge could not look him in the eye and Lyle Compton looked sick, like a child who has played a successful practical joke and now feels guilty about it.

"Mr. Hale," judge Pruitt said, "there is nothing I can do in this case. You did not prove that Northwest Maritime is a corporation. No reasonable jury could conclude it was from the facts in evidence and the jurors may not go outside the evidence produced in court. If I deny Mr. Compton's motion, he will appeal and the court of appeals will reverse me. They have upheld motions of this sort in seven reported cases I have found.

My hands are tied."

judge Pruitt turned toward Lyle Compton and Peter sank onto his seat. His head was spinning. He had no idea what he should do. He thought he might be sick.

"I'm granting your motion, Mr. Compton. A verdict "II be directed for Northwest Maritime. The case wi against Mr. Hardesty will proceed."

Peter felt the wheels of Mrs. Elliot's wheelchair bumping against his chair. -What is it? What is she asked, her slurred voice trembling with panic and fear. With each repetition, Mrs. Elliot grew louder and more strident and everyone in the courtroom looked at Peter to hear the answer he would give to this poor, crippled woman who would not receive one cent for the anguish and horror she had been through. Peter wanted to answer her, but he could not speak. He could only sit, eyes staring straight ahead, as his world went up in flames.

After court, Peter staggered back to Hale, Greaves in a daze. Martin Strobridge was one of the most eloquent attorneys in the state of Oregon, but he was struck dumb by Peter's account of his attempt to try Elliot v. Northwest Maritime. When Strobridge recovered his senses, he issued an order that no one was to tell Richard what had happened for fear of sending him into another cardiac arrest. Then, he suspended Peter from all his duties at the firm until a committee reviewed his conduct. Strobridge had no idea how grateful Peter was for the opportunity to stay away from the firm where he would be the object of derision as soon as the office grapevine spread the news of his disgrace.

Peter drove directly from his office to the hospital. He was allowed into the intensive care unit for only a few minutes. Richard's doctor assured Peter that his fathers condition was not serious and that Richard would be out of the hospital within the week, but the shock of seeing his father hooked up to IV drips and blinking machinery was as great as the trauma of losing Elliot.

Though he had never seen him play, Peter's image of his father always involved football. He thought of Richard Hale as a man of boundless energy who crashed through lines and smashed into opponents. The Richard Hale who stared at him with heavy-lidded eyes was old and frail and his speech was barely coherent. Peter tried to smile. He made a few feeble attempts at conversation.

Then, he stumbled out of his father's room before his allotted time was up, grateful that the drugs his father had been given prevented him from thinking clearly enough to ask about the outcome of the Elliot case.

In the intervening days between his debacle and the inevitable summons to the offices of Hale, Greaves, Peter hid in his apartment trying to imagine a scenario in which his life would go on as before. Thankfully, Priscilla had flown off to some unknown destination leaving him alone with his despair.

Peter knew that there would have to be some consequences for his actions, but by the time the phone call came requesting his appearance at the firm Peter had created a fantasy in which he apologized and promised to never do anything so foolish ever again, and all was forgiven.

On one of Peter's visits to the hospital, his father had asked about Elliot and Peter had answered that everything, was taken care of. As soon as he entered his father's massive, corner office on the day he was summoned, Peter knew that someone had finally broken the news of Peter's disgrace to his father. The man who slumped down across from Peter behind the vast oak desk was tired. He studied Peter with weary eyes. He had lost weight in the hospital and his ruddy complexion was now pasty. After a moment, Richard shook his head slowly and sadly.