George’s level of awareness surprised Randall, but he decided now was the time to use it, not question it. “I’ve got me a couple of ideas.”
The two men heard him out in silence. George accepted the suggestions with a single nod and the words, “I’ll see what we can do.”
“Whatever it is, it needs to happen fast.”
“I told you I’d look into things, Randall.”
He ignored the tone, and gave in to his curiosity. “Nice to know you folks over in the governor’s mansion are keeping such a close eye on things.”
“Don’t have much choice,” the aide responded, his gaze sharp and biting. “Not when the governor receives a Saturday-evening call from the White House. Somebody up in Washington asking about a little local nuisance case over the weekend, that’s enough to light the warning fires, wouldn’t you say?”
“Absolutely,” Randall agreed solemnly.
“You wouldn’t happen to know how this thing has reached all the way to Pennsylvania Avenue, now, would you, Randall?”
“No idea whatsoever,” he replied, hiding his pleasure with all his might.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Marcus arrived at his courtroom table to find a manila folder waiting for him. His heart surged lightly at the familiar writing, only to ebb when he saw that Kirsten had left no note. He tried hard to be pleased at the thin pile of minor explosions in the form of further photocopied documents. Alma watched him riffle through the stack, and waited until he reached the last page to say, “Marcus, we have to talk.”
He sighed and shut the folder. “I know we do.”
“Austin tells me I should let you be. But there are things we need to know.”
Marcus nodded acceptance. “I’ll try to make it by your place tonight.”
The tense set to her shoulders eased somewhat. “Thank you.”
“Where is Kirsten? I haven’t heard from her in days.”
Despite the courtroom and the week to come, Alma had to smile. “Now, that’s a curious thing. The lady spent all weekend going through the papers you see there and doing a dance around the phone. One step forward, another step back. Never did work up the nerve, though what’s holding her back I could not say.”
He had to ask, “You think she wanted to call me?”
Alma gave the low chuckle of one saddened yet vastly amused. “That is the only foolish thing I have ever heard you say.”
Charlie saved him by huffing up. “Sorry, folks, the old bones didn’t want to obey me today. You’re looking lovely as ever, Alma.”
The bailiff entered through the judge’s door and announced, “All rise.”
Marcus said in a soft aside, “I’ll be handling the questioning today.”
Charlie rewarded him with a grand smile. “You heard from that Washington lawyer feller?”
“Last night.”
“He supplied us with the goods?”
“The best I’ve ever seen.”
Charlie sighed and lowered himself down into his chair as Judge Nicols settled herself. “I always did love fireworks and things that go bang.”
As Judge Nicols bid the jury a polite good morning and inquired about their weekend, Marcus whispered, “I’m going to request a new witness be subpoenaed. If she grants it, you need to run out and phone this number.” He handed over a slip of paper. “Tell him to expedite the papers.”
Charlie noticed the area code. “Washington.”
“The process server should be standing outside the guy’s office at this very moment.”
Judge Nicols turned toward their table and demanded, “Mr. Glenwood, are you ready to proceed?”
Marcus rose slowly, noting that the judge’s eyebrows lifted in response. Logan stiffened ever so slightly in his seat. Marcus said, “Permission to approach the bench.”
“Granted.”
It was Logan who walked forward to represent the defense. Marcus did not need to glance over to know Logan was as keenly taut as he. “Your Honor, there has been unnecessary foot-dragging by the State Department with regard to our request for depositions from the New Horizons board members. Not even the first of these has taken place.”
“I object to both the tone and the content of this accusation, Your Honor,” Logan shot back. “The plaintiff’s counsel is taking what is a normal business situation, the annual general meeting of the company’s international divisions, and turning it into something sinister. Or trying to. Of course these depositions take time. These are busy men.”
“And this is an urgent matter, one that our embassy officials have clearly put on the back burner.” Marcus handed over the document containing the name supplied by Ashley Granger. “I have identified the man at State who is responsible for such matters. Grey Hadley is acting assistant director of the division of consular affairs. He is scheduled to be leaving the country the day after tomorrow. I hereby request a subpoena be issued immediately, so that we may have him testify prior to his departure.”
“Your Honor, this is preposterous!” Logan leaned both fists on the corner of the judge’s bench. “We’ve acted in good faith here, despite the fact that this is a case built out of thin air. Right over there are two senior vice presidents-”
“Of the North Carolina distribution center,” Marcus added. “Who have nothing whatsoever to do with international activities.”
“-who have already sacrificed a full week of their time just to be here and show the company flag.”
“They cannot answer for anything to do with the company’s ties to Factory 101, Your Honor. Which is all we are after. One single person who has the power to sign off on international activities.”
“Excuse me, Your Honor, but can’t you see the plaintiff’s strategy here? They’re trying to bring another chess piece into play. They conceal what they can. They shuffle the pieces around to confuse the viewer. When things get tight, they move in another piece. They distract your attention. They frighten you. They threaten with more smoke and mirrors. No doubt when this is over they’ll refile their claims, set up groundless appeals, tie up the courts with prevarication.”
Judge Nicols observed Logan Kendall with an onyx mask. “Are you just about done?”
Logan backed off a fraction. “Yes, Your Honor.”
She turned back to her inspection of the records, then handed them to the aide poised by her chair. “So moved. Have an affidavit drawn up immediately.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. I took the liberty of doing so this morning.” Marcus waited as she inspected the new pages, and he decided there would be no better time than this. “I have one other name I’d like to add to my original list, and for similar reasons.” He handed over the second document. “Hans Klein, of the Swiss embassy in Washington.”
She passed on it before Logan could frame a response. “So moved. Anything else?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Very well. Call your next witness.”
Marcus walked back to his table, knowing that it was not just his imagination that the courtroom air was now singed with compacted energy. “Plaintiff calls Marshall Taub to the stand.”
It was Logan who reached behind him, taking the file an assistant had ready to hand over. Several of the jurors moved slightly forward in their chairs. There was no change to the routine, except now it was the lawyer with the bruised and bandaged face and one arm in a sling who stood. All the same, the jury knew that the trial had taken a different tone.
To his lasting credit, Marshall Taub was not only sober, he was presentable. Nothing could be done about the Richmond lawyer’s pasty features or the broken blood vessels across his nose and cheeks. But his dark suit was neatly pressed, his hand steady as it reached for the Bible, his voice resonant and firm as he swore to tell nothing but the truth.
Marcus started off slow and easy, going over the more successful aspects of Taub’s career-his partnership with one of Virginia’s oldest firms, his holding of office in the state bar association. The defense remained silent throughout. Marcus then asked, “You are involved in a long-running dispute with New Horizons, are you not?”