Silent Justice (12 page)

He stopped just outside Colby’s office and knocked on the open door. “You wanted to see me?”

Colby peered through his tortoise-tinted wire-rimmed glasses. “Yes. Come in, Mark.”

Mark stepped into the office. He saw Colby was wearing his blue today, generally considered the warmer of the two acceptable lawyer fashion choices. He was glad he had done the same.

There were two high-backed plush chairs opposite Colby’s desk—but one was occupied. “Mark, I’d like you to meet Myron Blaylock. Myron, Mark Austin.”

Mark took the other man’s hand, which was like ice. He had a weak, unenthusiastic grip.

“Mark, as you probably know, Mr. Blaylock is the CEO and president of the H. P. Blaylock Industrial Machinery Corporation. His grandfather founded the business.”

Mark hadn’t known, but now that he did, he would never forget it. “Of course.”

“I’ve helped Myron with a number of cases over the years. Business litigation, mostly. Never anything like this.” He lifted a stapled document off his desk and passed it to Mark. “Mr. Blaylock received an unwelcome bit of news this morning. A lawsuit.”

Mark took the proffered paper. It looked like a standard civil-suit Complaint. He saw on the last page that the opposing attorney was someone named Benjamin Kincaid. Never heard of him.

“I’m going to need some help on this lawsuit,” Colby continued. “A lot of it, in fact. I heard you had some time available.”

“Of course,” Mark said, straightening. “I’m ready to start immediately.”

“Good. For starters, I’d like you to draft an Answer to this Complaint.”

“Sure.” The Answer was one of the simplest and most pro forma of all the pleadings in a suit. The defendant’s approach was easy: Deny everything. “I assume we have the standard twenty days. Forty if we ask for the automatic extension.”

Colby shook his head. “We want to file our Answer tomorrow.”

Mark blinked. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No. Of course not.” He concentrated on controlling his facial expressions. Had he already blown it? “I’m just … surprised. Normally, defendants—”

“Aren’t in a big hurry?” Colby glanced at Blaylock, almost smiling. “I don’t anticipate we’ll stray from that standard strategic approach much throughout the course of this action. But we contemplate the press being interested in this. They’ll run a story as soon as they learn of the Complaint. We want to be ready with our Answer. We can’t let these charges go unrefuted. Not for a day. Not for ten seconds.”

“I see.” Mark scanned quickly through the Complaint. Leukemia, TCE, perc. Wrongful death, negligence, punitive damages. He didn’t have time to soak in all the details. But it was apparent this was not your standard-issue business litigation. “May I ask what our … position is with respect to these charges?”

“We deny everything,” Blaylock said. His voice had a raspy quality reminiscent of the creaking of a door in a haunted house. He was an old man, in his sixties at least, possibly older. His frame was long and gaunt, almost skeletal. “These charges are outrageous.”

“No doubt,” Mark murmured.

“I’m appalled that anyone would even suggest that H. P. Blaylock engaged in improper waste disposal. H. P. Blaylock has been an exemplary corporate citizen, from my grandfather’s day to the present. We would no sooner poison the water wells than we’d poison our own watercooler. We employ over six thousand people in this state, and we take good care of them. To suggest that we are responsible for the deaths of children—it’s unconscionable!” His indignation was so intense Mark worried that he might froth at the mouth. “It’s outrageous. Libelous! Truly, Charlton, I feel the standard litigation responses are not enough. These people should be made to pay the consequences of these unjust and outrageous accusations. I think criminal charges should be considered.”

“Rest assured that we will consider every realistic option, Myron,” Colby said calmly. “And I can guarantee you that Mark’s Answer will include a counterclaim for libel. Right, Mark?”

Mark hedged for a moment, torn between his desire to flaunt a morsel of knowledge and his hesitance to oppose anything Colby suggested. “Actually, sir, you can’t bring a claim of libel against litigants based upon accusations made in a legal Complaint. They have qualified immunity.”

Colby waved his hand absently. “If these plaintiffs are prepared to make these claims in court, I’m sure they’ve already made them somewhere else.”

“But if we don’t know—”

“We’ll find out in discovery.”

“Then perhaps we should wait and amend our Answer when we know—”

“Put the counterclaim in now.” Colby still remained calm; only the slightest alteration in his intonation cued Mark that this discussion was over.

“Do you know anything about this pissant attorney who signed the Complaint?” Blaylock asked, keenly agitated. “This Kincaid?”

“In fact, I do,” Colby said. His voice, his entire manner, was supremely dismissive. “Believe it or not, Kincaid actually worked here at Raven, for about ten minutes. Till we ran him out on a rail for gross incompetence. He’s small potatoes. Solo practitioner. Probably hoping for a quick and dirty nuisance settlement. We have greater resources, more talent, and more money.” He shrugged dismissively. “We’ll bury him.”

“I expect nothing less. I want you to spare nothing, Charlton. I want this case prosecuted to the fullest extent. Do whatever it takes. Everything you can think of. Don’t let these bastards come up for air. I want them to be sorry they ever heard of H. P. Blaylock.”

“I understand.”

Mark imagined that he could hear those old bones creaking as the scarecrow pushed himself out of his chair. “Keep me informed, Charlton. I want to know everything that happens in this suit, from now till the day we drive a stake through its heart. And everyone associated with it.”

“Of course.” Colby rose, removing his glasses. He walked to the door, exchanged a few more remarks with Blaylock sotto voce, shook his head, and bid him good-bye.

Colby returned to the office. Mark was still in the chair, waiting to hear what the man had to say next.

“Do I have your complete attention?” Colby asked. He walked to the window and gazed out at his view of Bartlett Square.

“Of course.”

“From now until the day this case ends, your ass is mine.”

“Completely, sir.”

“Good.” He turned, facing his new amanuensis, and inhaled deeply. “Do you smell what I smell?”

Mark was flummoxed. He didn’t smell anything. Should he try to fake it? For some reason, he took the safer route and admitted his ignorance. “No, sir. What do you smell?”

A smile creased Colby’s placid face. “Money.”

C
HRISTINA MARCHED INTO BEN’s
office and let a flurry of pink message slips flutter down onto his desk. “Word is officially out.”

Ben scanned the tops of the slips. Channel Two. Channel Six. Channel Eight. A couple of channels he didn’t know existed. And the
Tulsa World.
“What do they want?”

“They want to talk to the man,” she answered. “And you’re the man. For the moment, anyway. They want to hear your plan for bringing one of the largest corporations in the state to its knees.”

Ben frowned. “Pass.”

Christina slid into the nearest chair. “Ben, I think you should consider talking to them. Just make a brief statement.”

“No way. Only sleazebags try their cases on television.”

“You don’t have to deliver closing argument. Just tell them what it’s all about.”

“The Rules of Professional Conduct strongly disfavor lawyers talking to the media about pending cases. Judges don’t like it. And neither do I.”

“Ben, think for a moment.” She reached out across the desk. “Once the public gets wind of this suit, the media will be all over Blaylock, trying to find out if they really poisoned the water supply in Blackwood. That’s not going to be good for their public relations—or their stockholders. If you put the heat on them, they’re much more likely to give you a favorable settlement.”

Ben considered. “A generous early settlement would be nice. I’d give about anything not to have to try this sucker.” He paused. “But I don’t think it’s going to happen. And I won’t do it, in any case.”

The interoffice phone buzzed. “Very insistent reporter from Channel Two on line one,” Jones said via the intercom.

Reluctantly Ben picked up the receiver. “I’m not giving interviews.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before the male voice on the other end of the line spoke. “Oh, I don’t want an interview. I just need a spot.”

A spot?

“Yeah. You know, ten seconds. Twenty, tops. Just tell us succinctly why you think Blaylock contaminated the Blackwood water supply and what you intend to do about it.”

Ben pursed his lips. “You’re looking for a sound bite.”

“Not a sound bite. A spot.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Sound bites are cheesy and uninformative. This’ll be a first-class feature. It’ll just be short, that’s all.”

“Sounds like a sound bite to me.”

“Obviously, you’re not in the industry. I only do spots.”

“Well … out, out, damned spot.” Ben started to hang up the phone.

“Wait!” the reporter shouted. “Don’t you at least want to respond to Colby’s accusations?”

“Colby?” Ben felt his blood quickening. When he had been at Raven, the other lawyers had referred to Colby as “the King.”

“Accusations?”

“Sure, haven’t you heard? Don’t you watch television?”

“Actually, no.” Not entirely true, but there was no reason to confess his secret passion for
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
to this jackal.

“Well, turn it on. It’ll run again on the noon news.”

Ben hung up the phone and walked out to the reception area where Jones kept a small thirteen-inch TV. He switched to Channel Eight and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long. Not five minutes later, the talking head announced the lawsuit filed against “corporate giant H. P. Blaylock by eleven Blackwood parents.” Then they cut to counsel for the defendant, Charlton Colby, for comment.

Colby was sitting in a law library, back by shelves of impressive-looking legal tomes in matching colors. His face was calm and handsome, but his voice was one of moral indignation. “These charges are utterly baseless. An unscrupulous lawyer is taking advantage of the vulnerability of grieving parents and manipulating the media to blackmail one of Oklahoma’s finest corporate citizens and line his own pockets. We will not let this happen. We will fight this to the fullest extent.”

Ben checked his watch. Not bad. Colby pretty much covered all the bases—and he managed to do it in less than fifteen seconds.

Christina whistled softly. “He really is the King.”

Ben nodded. “The King of sound bites, anyway.”

“You see what he’s trying to do, don’t you? He knows that most people’s natural sympathies will go to the parents who lost their children. He’s trying to turn that around by casting them as innocent victims of a crooked lawyer who bullied them into bringing baseless claims.”

“With me in the starring role.”

“Yeah.” She punched him on the shoulder. “Shame on you for being such a bully.”

Jones called out from his desk. “You’re very popular for a crooked bully, Boss. Another call on line one.”

“Take a message.”

“No … I think you’ll want to take this one yourself.”

That sounded ominous. Ben crossed over to Jones’s desk and grabbed the phone. “Yes?”

“Please wait for Charlton Colby.”

Ben’s teeth set on edge. In all the world, there were few things he hated quite so much as assholes who were so damned important they couldn’t even dial the phone for themselves.

“Colby here.”

Ben tried to suppress his irritation. “Kincaid here.”

“Yes, Ben. Good to talk to you. How have you been?”

Ben couldn’t believe it. Did the man actually think they were going to engage in amiable small talk just after he’d called Ben a crook on television? “I’m okay.”

“Glad to hear it. Don’t see much of you these days, since you left the firm. We should get together sometime, play eighteen holes. Nothing I enjoy as much as spending an afternoon with fellow professionals. Perhaps out at the club.”

“I’m not a member of any club. I don’t play golf. And if you’re going to spend any time with a lawyer, I’d recommend a libel lawyer.”

There was a soft chuckling on the other end. “I guess you’ve been watching television.”

“I guess so. And I didn’t appreciate it.”

“Now, Ben. You know it’s all part of the game.”

“I’m not playing a game. I’m representing eleven parents who lost their children because your client couldn’t keep its waste in the trash can.”

“Now, Ben, I must warn you, if you continue to make accusations of that nature—”

“Warn somebody who cares. Was there a point to this phone call?”

“Uh, yes. I’m afraid so.” He released a soft exhalation of air, which Ben supposed was intended to indicate regret, although he didn’t believe it for a moment. “I’m calling to inform you that I’m filing a Rule 12(b)(6) motion to dismiss, as a courtesy.”

As a
courtesy?
“What kind of crappy tactic is that?”

“It’s no tactic, Ben. Your Complaint is groundless.”

“You’re just trying to run up the bill and spin us around. Make things difficult.”

“Litigation is never easy, Ben. That’s why we get paid the big bucks.”

“That’s why you do, you mean. You get paid for pleasing your corporate masters by making life miserable for anyone who has the audacity to sue them.”

“Ben, please. This is all too trite. I just wanted to give you the heads up. I expect a hearing will be set within a week’s time.” He mumbled a few more platitudes, then rang off.

Ben slammed the phone back into its cradle.

“What was that all about?” Christina asked.

“Colby’s coming after us. Motion to dismiss.”

“Son of a bitch.” She fell soundlessly into a chair. “What kind of game is he playing?”

Ben could answer her with a single word. “Hardball.”

Everyone had their own standards, Mike supposed, when it came to evaluating who they liked in this world and who they didn’t. His father, for instance, God bless his soul, never trusted any man who had voted for Nixon—and would cop to it. His pal Ben Kincaid never trusted any man who liked to do a lot of hugging. His ex-wife, Julia, née Kincaid, had never trusted anyone who used a calculator to compute tips. And Mike himself? He never trusted anyone who was just too damn friendly.