The Resurrection File (5 page)

“I understand,” Reichstad replied quietly but smugly. Sherman started to rise from his chair, but his client raised an index finger in the air.

“Just one final question, Mr. Sherman, before you go.”

“Yes?”

“Has our defendant been served with these lawsuit papers yet?”

Sherman looked to his associate, who glanced at his file and said, “Reverend Angus MacCameron was served by our process server last week.”

“Have we heard from MacCameron's attorney yet—do we know who he hired as his lawyer?” Reichstad asked as a follow-up question.

“That's
two
questions,” Sherman shot back sarcastically. Then he smiled at his law clerk and nodded for him to answer.

“Not yet,” the law clerk answered.

“We will get notice from his defense counsel in a week or so,” Sherman said blandly. “Some local schlepp, some country-bumpkin attorney, will probably give me a call, asking if I will agree to an extension of time to file their response to our Complaint for damages. And of course, I will be ever so courteous—and I will courteously tell him that I have no intention of granting any extensions in this lawsuit.” At that the law clerk and the associate snickered.

“No, I really don't think we should worry about who opposing counsel is going to be,” Sherman continued. “I doubt that this guy—this Reverend MacCameron and his little magazine,
Digging for Truth—
have libel/slander insurance. It's just too expensive for some little shoebox publication like this. So you're not going to see him defended by one of the big insurance defense firms. Here you've got this right-wing, fundamentalist pastor and his little magazine—which, by our estimate, has a circulation of a couple of thousand readers if they are lucky—so, who is a guy like that going to be able to get as his lawyer?”

“What about religious institutions, foundations—conservative religious groups?” Reichstad questioned. “Won't they offer to fund the defense of his case? Make this case a cause célèbre?”

Sherman chuckled a little. “We've investigated this MacCameron. He's such an oddball—even as fundamentalists go, he is on the fringe. He's on the outs even with the conservative Christian groups. He seems to have offended everyone in the evangelical camp. And the Catholics won't touch him with a hundred-foot pole because he's insulted them too. No, I don't see him getting any help from other groups. He's out on a gangplank, all by himself. Besides, whoever the guy gets to represent him, I don't think we're
too worried, are we, fellows?” With that, Sherman looked to the associate and the law clerk who were both smiling confidently.

The associate knew that this was his cue. He was now about to spread the final layer of gold-tinted public relations.

“There is a saying around town, Doctor, about Mr. Sherman as a trial attorney,” the associate explained proudly. “When Mr. Sherman goes to court, they call it ‘Sherman's March to the Sea.' You know, like setting fire to the crops, burning the homes, and laying waste to the enemy.”

Sherman smiled broadly at that, and then added, “Now Dr. Reichstad, when we've won this case and decimated the other side, you will have to answer one little question of my own.”

“Oh?” Reichstad responded. “What is that?”

“Well, it's your money—and believe me, you and your institute will be spending lots of it on this case…”—at that, Sherman's associates smirked—“but,” he continued, “I'm still not clear why you are suing an obscure, penniless eccentric like MacCameron. Really, why bother?”

“I'll answer that right now,” Reichstad snapped back, his eyes widening. “If I don't finally take a stand against the quacks like MacCameron, then pretty soon the scientific community starts to take shots at me as well. This lawsuit is designed to send a message, Mr. Sherman.”

J-Fox Sherman smiled agreeably, though he still doubted his client's explanation. He stood up from the table, shook hands with Dr. Reichstad, and paused a second to stare him in the eye—the last reminder of who would be controlling this case—who was the client, and who was the lawyer. And then Sherman walked out of the room. He glanced at his Rolex. He didn't want to be late for his lunch meeting on Capitol Hill.

5

W
ITH
W
ILL
C
HAMBERS OUT THE DOOR
and on his way to court, Betty Sorenson could finally catch her breath. She straightened her silver-and-black hair and lit a cigarette as Will's Corvette taillights disappeared from view. But she had barely taken her first puff before she noticed a small entourage coming directly toward her on the sidewalk.

In the lead was a slightly disheveled man who looked to be in his sixties, carrying an old, very tattered briefcase. He had thick glasses but a square-jawed, handsome face with a fair complexion. Behind him was a strikingly beautiful woman in her mid-thirties, with dark hair and a flashy designer outfit. Following behind was a man in a dark suit with a small briefcase.

“Excuse me,” the older man in the lead asked, “is this attorney Will Chambers' office?”

Betty quickly tossed her cigarette down and smiled politely. “Yes, his office is on the second floor. I am his secretary, is he expecting you?”

“My name is Angus MacCameron,” the man said with an accent tinged by a subtle burr. “This is my daughter, Fiona. You may know her from her music and records. She's a famous Christian singer, you know.”

Fiona cut in, smiling. “Just like a father, he's always bragging on me! My father has an appointment with Mr. Chambers. My manager and I would like to sit in, if that's alright.”

Betty tried to smile and look detached and professional, but inside she realized that several more spinning plates in her boss's circus act were smashing to the floor.

“Won't you follow me?” she said, and motioned for them to follow her up the stairs, secretly hoping that Jacki Johnson, the assistant lawyer in the office, was free to meet with them—and somehow explain why Will Chambers wasn't.

The threesome was seated in the lobby. Betty then disappeared quickly down the hallway toward the rear. She poked her head inside a neat, well-furnished office. Jacki Johnson was dictating into the video desk recorder, but when she saw the look on Betty's face, she stopped in mid-sentence.

Jacki was a woman in her mid-thirties, with short, sculptured hair, large, pretty eyes, and smooth, coffee-colored skin. She was petite, but carried herself with the confidence of someone who could be tough and forceful.

She straightened her tailored suit as she swung around in her executive chair.

“Judging by the look on your face, I'd say you need my help,” Jacki said.

“We've got a couple of new clients in the lobby expecting to see Will.”

“Oh. And of course Will isn't here, I suppose?”

“Naturally.”

“You want me to handle it?” Jacki asked calmly.

“Look I'm sorry to do this…again,” Betty said with exasperation.

“I'll be glad to meet with them. Do you have any idea what this conference is about?”

“Haven't the foggiest,” Betty replied as she walked with Jacki down the hallway. Then Betty stopped and turned to Jacki, and in a hushed and serious tone said, “I think you should also know that Hadley Bates was on the phone this morning, just before Will ran out the door.”

“And?”

“And, he didn't want to talk to Will. Not exactly.”

“What did he want?”

“Well,” Betty continued in a whisper, “he wanted to know Will's schedule. And he wanted to know whether he was going to be
out
of the office all morning. So I told him that Will was scheduled to be in court all morning.”

“And what did our esteemed managing partner have to say?”

“He just said, ‘Very good.'”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah. He just said, ‘Very good.' You know how he does, in that ‘I'm HAL the IBM computer' voice of his.”

“So what was that all about?”

“I really don't know. I got the feeling that Hadley was glad that Will was going to be out of the office this morning. I've got to tell you, I have a bad feeling about today. Okay, so we all know that Will and Hadley have never gotten along. But I think Will has finally pushed him too far. Will doesn't return his calls. He never attends the partnership meetings anymore. I think that the other shoe is really about to drop. I've got really bad vibes about this.”

Jacki smiled and walked past Betty, straight to the lobby, where she shook hands warmly with the threesome. They introduced themselves and she invited them into the conference room.

Jacki explained that Will Chambers had been “detained” in court and that she was going to handle the interview. She offered them coffee but they declined. Jacki quickly sized them up as folks who were friendly and courteous—but who definitely wanted to cut to the chase.

The older man started first.

“Miss Johnson, I have to ask you a question before I get into my case. It may strike you as a bit odd. But, considering the unique aspects of my case, I absolutely have to ask. You see, my case—the reason that I am here—really deals with the most important question that has ever been asked in the last two thousand years. And even a bit more than that, this case is about a full-scale attack, a massive conspiracy, by the prince of darkness—against the church of Jesus Christ. So here is the question—are you a believer in God, Miss Johnson?”

Jacki paused. She was used to strange cases and strange clients, particularly after practicing law with Will Chambers for a while. Will had often remarked to her about that great paradox of the law: how the most profound civil-liberty issues often seemed to be wrapped around the lives of difficult, bizarre, and obtuse people. And working with Will, she had met a lot of them. Yet even in that, she had never heard a more audacious description of a lawsuit than the one just delivered by this man with the soft, friendly Scottish accent.

“Well, I was raised by my aunt to be a good Mississippi Methodist,” she answered. “Church on Sunday mornings, and Sunday evenings, and Wednesday nights. I won a couple awards for church attendance and Bible readings back then. Yes, Mr. MacCameron. I am a believer in God.”

“You see,” MacCameron continued, “I ask you this for a reason. The Bible says that ‘the fool says in his heart there is no God,' so I want to make sure that my lawyers are not fools.” MacCameron's face lit up with an impish smile, and for a moment Jacki couldn't tell whether this old man was pulling her leg. She studied him closely and concluded that beneath his warm and infectious smile he was deadly serious.

“Which brings us to Will Chambers,” Fiona MacCameron said. “Because he is the senior lawyer in this office, we are interested in some of his background. I assume that Mr. Chambers would be the one primarily handling this case. My father is very interested in hiring Mr. Chambers. But to be honest, I have some—well—some questions.”

“What kind of questions?” Jacki asked.

Fiona sat poised and attentive, and waited for a moment before responding. Jacki recognized the line of clothes—strictly New York fashion. Fiona's makeup and hair had the touches of an expensive salon. As she folded her left hand over her right hand and rested them on the conference table, Jacki noticed the French-manicured nails. She also observed that there was no wedding ring on Fiona's hand.

“I've read some background research that Bob, my manager, provided to me about Mr. Chambers,” Fiona continued. “I was impressed and certainly intrigued. Will Chambers is a fascinating and obviously a very talented man. But our questions have to do more with his personal life.”

“The truth is, we have heard some unsettling things about Mr. Chambers,” the man in the dark suit stated. “Since I am Ms. MacCameron's business manager, when she found out that her father seemed intent on hiring Mr. Chambers, she contacted me. I, in turn, contacted some people in the legal community to check up on him. I know that in the past Will Chambers handled some high-profile cases. But the word I've received is that the man now has some serious personal issues. In point of fact—that he is an alcoholic and his days as a trial lawyer may be over.”

Jacki's eyes flashed with irritation. Controlling herself, she began to explain.

“Folks, let me tell you something. I came to this law firm because of Will Chambers. I was a law student at NYU. And I probably would have stayed up in New York to practice after law school. But I read an article in a magazine about this attorney down in Virginia. How he took on a case on behalf of a young Hasidic Jewish boy and his family up in the Bronx. The Jewish boy had been beaten up, set on fire, and left for dead by some neo-Nazi group in New York. Somehow he survived, miraculously, but he was terribly burned.

“Now, two of the thugs who did this horrendous thing were caught, tried for attempted murder, and convicted. But the ringleader was never caught. Will Chambers filed a lawsuit for the Jewish family against the owner of a trucking company in the Bronx who was suspected of being the driving force behind this racist Nazi group. One of the two convicted guys had tipped Will off to the fact that the trucking company owner was the guy who gave the order to ‘be sure and burn a Jew tonight.'