Missing Witness (10 page)

At that, Judge Gadwell exploded with laughter and slapped the top of his bench as he sat down. When the Judge's mirth had subsided, the court clerk called the court into session.

“In re: the estate of Randolph Willowby—a special proceeding relating to the devise of a certain island known as Stony Island. Counsel, please identify yourselves.”

Virgil MacPherson jumped to his feet and announced his appearance on behalf of his client, Terrence Ludlow.

Will rose with Jonathan Joppa and explained his recent retainer in place of Boggs Beckford, who had been incapacitated due to his automobile injury.

“Now, Mr. Chambers,” Judge Gadwell began, “you're going to need a local address here in the Outer Banks area for mailing purposes, for delivery of pleadings, for court notices to be sent to.”

“Your Honor, Boggs Beckford has kindly made his office available to me. All notices can be sent to me in care of his office. Mr. Beckford's partner, Giles Norton, is to appear with me as local counsel, if necessary.”

“Very well,” the judge continued. “The court will recognize you as counsel of record for Reverend Jonathan Joppa. Now this case is on the docket today for a pretrial conference. The history of the case is known to everyone here. This is an ancillary proceeding to the last will and testament of Randolph Willowby. The devise of certain real estate, consisting of an island known as Stony Island, was contained in Mr. Willowby's will. The condition was that Reverend Joppa, the devisee of that land, would have to prove the existence of certain historical facts about the innocence of one Isaac Joppa as a prerequisite to taking the devise of that real estate.”

With that, Gadwell smiled broadly. “So here we are. Reverend Joppa, you've indicated that you are willing to take that devise of property subject to the condition—in other words, that you are ready to proceed with counsel to try to prove the necessary condition—namely that Isaac Joppa was innocent of any piracy with which he was charged in an indictment that was filed in the year 1718. Is that correct?”

Jonathan Joppa nodded, and Will Chambers rose to his feet.

“Your Honor, we are willing to assume that burden and prove that condition.”

“Very well. We're going to set this down for trial. This case has been going on for quite a while. I've been meaning to expedite it. I would think that, by the end of this summer, we ought to be able to try this case.”

Judge Gadwell bent down to his clerk and they whispered something back and forth, then he addressed the courtroom.

“My clerk advises me that August twenty-fifth is available. We will clear an entire week for that trial. Is that acceptable to all counsel?”

Both Virgil MacPherson and Will Chambers voiced their agreement.

“Now, boys,” the judge continued with a smile and a wink, “I don't want any unnecessary arguments here in court, or motions flying back and forth about discovery problems. Mr. Chambers, I'm going to tell you right now that Virgil MacPherson, down here from Raleigh, is an accomplished litigator. I'm sure he will be quite compliant with any reasonable requests for discovery. Do I make myself understood?”

“Perfectly,” Will replied, musing to himself that Judge Gadwell was one of those jurists not likely to be misunderstood—primarily because he had all the subtlety of a flashing highway construction sign.

The judge adjourned for the morning and disappeared into his chambers with the clerk and the bailiff, laughing loudly over some indistinguishable amusement. Virgil MacPherson swept over to Will's position and shook hands with him.

“Mr. Chambers, it's a pleasure having you here down in the Outer Banks. I hope you have a pleasant stay and a wonderful vacation here in the splendor of North Carolina's ocean front. Now, if there's the least little thing you need, you give me a call. You're going to find me a most friendly and reasonable opponent.”

With that, MacPherson returned to his client.

Will packed up his briefcase and walked down the main aisle of the courtroom with Jonathan Joppa at his side. As he approached the rear of the courtroom, Blackjack Morgan lowered his cane like a railroad-crossing gate across their path.

“Well, Reverend Joppa, congratulations on hiring your new lawyer here. Sad, though—I don't think it's going to do you much good.”

“Move your cane, Morgan,” Joppa snapped, “or you might just find yourself limping on both legs, rather than one.”

Morgan threw his head back and roared with laughter.

Joppa stood firmly in front of him, and after a half a minute, his laughter subsided. Then his eyes locked with Joppa's.

“Tell me, Mr. Morgan,” Will said, breaking the tension, “you're not a party to this lawsuit. Exactly what is your interest in this case?”

“Well, I'll tell you, counselor,” Morgan said with a synthetic grin. “Terrence Ludlow here is one of my employees. He's my bartend at Joppa's Folly. And what concerns my staff, concerns me. I'm here, you might say, for moral support.”

“I'm sure that's it,” Will said. “Because if you aren't here for moral support—then that would raise some interesting questions, wouldn't it?”

Morgan glared at Will and then pulled his cane out of the path of Joppa and his lawyer.

Outside the courtroom Will asked his client a simple question.

“There is obviously some bad blood between you and Morgan. What's going on?”

But Joppa wasn't ready to talk about it. He simply answered, “Some other time.” Then he extended his hand to Will, shook it, and walked off to his car.

As Will strolled to his Corvette, he thought about Joppa's reluctance to speak openly about Morgan.

But one thing was becoming clear. The mysteries Will had to solve in order to win his case might involve more than issues of piracy along the North Carolina coast.
The personal history between the current players in this legal drama,
Will thought,
may prove to be every bit as intriguing.

14

A
T THE
J
OPPA
'
S
F
OLLY TAVERN
, Virgil MacPherson and Blackjack Morgan were seated at a corner table. MacPherson's suitcoat was hanging on the back of the chair and his tie was loosened.

The attorney glanced at his wristwatch. “It's getting late. The drive to Raleigh is a long one—I'd better get going. Do you have my check?”

Morgan pulled out an envelope and pushed it across the table to MacPherson, who opened it, glanced at the check inside, folded it, and stuffed it into his top pocket.

“Just so we understand each other,” Morgan said in a low tone, “I want to know that you're going to outsmart this Will Chambers guy—and that I'm going to get that island.”

“One little technical point, Blackjack,” MacPherson said with an air of varnished politeness. “The island, if we win, goes to Terrence Ludlow. You keep talking about the assignment that he's going to execute, transferring his interest to you. But I still haven't seen it.”

“You mean Ludlow hasn't given it to you yet?”

MacPherson shook his head.

Morgan turned and looked at the other end of the tavern, where, behind the bar, Terrence Ludlow was reading
Monster Truck
magazine.

“Ludlow,” Morgan shouted, “I told you to sign that document and get it to Virgil. What's the matter with you?”

“I signed it already,” Ludlow said nonchalantly.

“Where is it?” Morgan growled.

“I got it with me.”

“Show it to me—right now.”

Ludlow tossed the magazine on the bar counter, reached under the bar, pulled out a piece of paper, and held it high so Morgan could see it.

“Bring it over here,” Morgan snapped.

Ludlow sauntered over to the table and laid the document in front of the two men.

“You can get back to the bar now,” Morgan said.

Ludlow paused for a minute, standing next to the table with his hands thrust in his jeans.

“You need a hearing aid?” Morgan barked.

Ludlow slowly turned and sauntered back to the bar.

MacPherson grabbed the document and quickly read over it. Then he looked at Ludlow's notarized signature at the bottom.

“All right. You've read it. So this transfers any interest he has in that island to me, if he wins the lawsuit against Joppa, right?” Morgan asked.

“Yes, I think this does it. This is the standard assignment-of-interest language. But it only recites that the monetary value securing this agreement between you and Ludlow is ‘valuable consideration'—and I'm really not sure what that is. Of course, any kind of money agreement—any kind of forgiveness of debt, or other monetary or financial consideration—would be sufficient to bind the agreement. Out of curiosity, what are you giving to Ludlow in exchange?”

Morgan's eyes narrowed, and he studied MacPherson carefully.

“Let's just say that Ludlow owes me some money. This assignment is a payoff of all those debts.”

“All right. So I think that closes the loop on your potential interest in this case. There's still another issue.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that I am still representing Ludlow as my client. Even though you're paying my bills and you have an interest in the island should we win the lawsuit—”

“
When
we win the lawsuit,” Morgan countered.

“Right.
When
we win the lawsuit…the point is that even if you're paying the freight on this case, I still represent Ludlow. I could only represent you in this case as well—and follow your instructions in addition to Ludlow's—if there was no actual conflict—or even potential conflict—of interest between what you're asking me to do and what Ludlow asks me to do.”

“Oh, there's no conflict there, Counselor MacPherson,” Morgan said with a smile. Then he turned and shouted over to Ludlow, who was back reading his magazine behind the bar. “There's no conflict between the way you want things run in this lawsuit and the way I want things run in this lawsuit—right, Ludlow?”

The bartender put down his magazine, glared at Morgan for a few seconds, and then answered reluctantly, “No, there's no conflict.”

Morgan turned to MacPherson. “See. No conflict. No problem. So you take your instructions from me. Ludlow and I have a complete agreement.”

MacPherson rose to his feet, slipped on his imported silk suitcoat, and smiled back at Morgan. “I'll give you a call.”

The lawyer walked past the trophy picture of the mammoth yellowfin tuna recently caught by one of Morgan's charter boats. “Nice catch. Keep reeling in the big ones.”

“Don't worry about that,” Morgan countered. “I always catch what I'm after.”

After MacPherson had left, Morgan leaned back in his chair.

“You're making a run for me tonight, Ludlow. Two
A.M
. Same pickup point.”

The other man cocked his head and chewed on the corner of his lip a little.

“You sure this is safe? I've been getting a bad feeling lately.”

“So,” Morgan mocked, “little boy's getting scared? You losing the cartilage in your spine? Maybe you've been snorting too much white poison.”

“If the stuff I'm snorting is no good—I've only got you to blame.”

“There's nothing wrong with the quality of the stuff I give you,” Morgan said in a reassuring tone. “On the other hand, maybe the good doctor here's got to change your prescription. Maybe…if you're very, very good…I'll cut you a sample of the stuff you're picking up tonight. Free of charge. Just because I'm that kind of guy.”

Ludlow set his magazine down and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his top pocket. He tapped the pack until a cigarette fell into his fingers. But as he tried to light it, his hands shook…it took him several tries.

Morgan stopped at the door of the tavern and turned back to Ludlow, giving him one last comment.

“Just remember one thing,” he said with finality. “About how good I treat you. Like you're one of my own children.”

And then Morgan was gone. The heavy screen door with the broken spring slammed shut with a bang behind him.

But Ludlow was not watching him. He was still staring at the cigarette in his hand…and the way his fingers were shaking uncontrollably.

15

T
HE APPOINTMENT WITH
F
RANCES
W
ILLOWBY
was set for midafternoon. Fiona maneuvered her pregnant frame awkwardly into her Saab convertible, moving the seat back to get a little extra space. Then she began the one-hour drive along the Outer Banks down to the Willowby mansion.

She had heard about the great house—Aunt Georgia had described it to her that morning at breakfast. But when she approached the Willowby estate, having taken the long ocean road, then turning into the gated acreage, she was stunned.