Silent Justice (23 page)

“Have you used it in the last five years?”

“Uh … yes.”

“I see.” Ben was glad to hear it—especially since the last piece of paper he’d retrieved from his notebook was an interoffice memo discouraging employees from spending too long in the bathroom. “So it’s possible that some of these solvents could have been included in your waste product.”

Turnbull glanced unhappily at Colby. “I … suppose it’s possible.”

“Tell me how you dispose of the waste.”

“Well, of course, I didn’t do it myself.”

“The workers under your supervision, then.”

“Basically, we collect it in plastic bins placed beside every worktable in the area. When they start to get full, we carefully dump the contents into steel drums. The drums are placed out back, until they’re taken away.”

“Do the drums ever leak?”

“Oh, no. They’re made of steel.”

“But perhaps if the lids are not placed securely?”

“That never happens.” His eyes darted one way, then the other. “We’re very careful.”

“Where are the drums taken?”

“I forget the name of the place, but it’s an approved disposal site somewhere in the southern part of the state. Near Texas.”

“How often is this done?”

“Every two weeks.”

“Without fail?”

“That’s correct.”

“Was there ever a time when this procedure was not followed?”

Turnbull’s hands were shaking so much that he lowered them out of sight and sat on them. “No.”

“Not to your knowledge?”

Turnbull glanced over at Colby. “Never. I would’ve known. The procedure was always followed.”

“You’re sure about this?”

His voice squeaked slightly. “Absolutely positive.”

Ben leaned thoughtfully back in his chair. He hated to leave the matter like this, but his current approach was getting him nowhere. He needed to try something different.

“Mr. Turnbull,” he said eventually, “do you have any children?”

“Yes. Six.”

“Six?” Ben blinked. “That’s quite a family these days.”

He looked down shyly. “My Carrie Sue and I love kids.”

“Good thing.” Ben pushed out a map of the city of Blackwood. “Sir, do you and your family live in the Well B region?”

“Objection,” Colby barked. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Objection noted,” Ben said. “The witness will answer.”

“No,” Turnbull said. “We’re over here.” He pointed on the map. “In the newer part of town. The Well D area.”

“Lucky for you. Do you know anyone who lives in the Well B area?”

“Again I must object!” Colby said. “This is absolutely of no relevance.”

“But the witness must still answer the question. Please answer, sir.”

Turnbull cast a nervous sideways glance toward Colby. “Sure. I know lots of people in that part of town.”

“Did you know any of the children who died?”

“This is outrageous!” Colby said, slapping his hand down on the mahogany table. “Irrelevant—and abusive!”

Ben didn’t blink. “But the witness still must answer the question, regardless of how hard you slap the table. Mr. Turnbull?”

Turnbull cleared his throat. “I—did, yes. That boy—Billy Elkins. My Becky knew him. They both sang in the church choir together. Before he died.”

“Why do you think Billy died?”

“I’m warning you, Kincaid.” Colby was on his feet now. “If you continue in this abusive manner, I will take the witness and leave.”

“The witness will answer the question,” Ben said calmly.

Turnbull began to stutter. “I—I guess he died of leukemia.”

“And what do you think caused the leukemia?”

Colby objected again, but Ben ignored him. He kept his eyes trained on the witness. “Please answer.”

“N-no one knows what causes cancer.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“That’s it, Kincaid,” Colby shouted. “This deposition is terminated.”

Ben kept going. “I wonder how you would feel, Mr. Turnbull, if you had lived in the Well B region. If your Becky had started developing strange rashes. A cough that wouldn’t go away. Bruises that appeared for no reason.”

“It’s over, Kincaid!” Colby shouted. He pointed at the court reporter. “Pack up your stuff. Stop taking this down.”

“I wonder if your testimony would change if Becky had been the one who died. Died for no good reason, simply because someone somewhere was careless or negligent and didn’t care who got hurt as a result. I wonder what you would say then.”

Colby jerked Turnbull up by the arm. “Come along, Mr. Turnbull. We’re leaving.”

Colby dragged Turnbull out of the conference room, but Ben never broke eye contact with him, not the entire time he remained in the room.

And to his surprise, Turnbull never stopped looking at him, either.

A few minutes later, Christina entered the conference room and slid into a chair beside Ben. He seemed lost in thought.

“Well, I don’t know what you did in here, but whatever it was, you sure worked Colby up into a froth.”

“Thanks, Christina. That makes me happy.”

“He’s screaming about calling the magistrate, getting a restraining order to prevent you from taking more depositions.”

“Bluster from a blowhard. He can’t do any of those things. He’s just trying to impress his client with what a hardball player he is.” He turned slightly. “Christina, call Loving. Tell him to start concentrating his efforts on a man named Archie Turnbull.”

“You think Turnbull is lying?”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. But something is bothering him.”

“Is that a surprise? No one likes being deposed.”

“Yeah, maybe. But I had the sense … there was something else. What’s more—I got the impression that Turnbull is basically a good person. That he actually has a conscience.”

“What—in this day and age?”

“Yeah. And if we have any hope of success, it will be thanks to people like that. So have Loving contact him. See if he can get anywhere.”

“Will do.”

“And quickly. Colby will be filing his summary judgment motion soon, now that he’s decided to show how tough he is. And if we can’t prove Blaylock caused the well contamination—we’re going to be blown right out of the courtroom.”

Turnbull was surprised when Colby asked him to remain in his fancy skyscraper office after the conclusion of the deposition, but he was even more surprised when he saw his ultimate boss, Myron Blaylock, enter the room. He jumped to his feet, as if he were being received by royalty. In all his years at the plant, Turnbull had never actually met Blaylock, only passed him a few times in the corridor or the cafeteria.

“Archie,” Blaylock said, extending his hand. Turnbull was stunned that Blaylock even knew his name.

“Mr. Blaylock,” Turnbull said. He grabbed the elderly man’s hand and pumped it like a madman.

“Call me Myron.”

Turnbull was speechless.

Colby took a seat casually behind his desk and propped his shoes up on the edge. “Archie, I asked Myron to step in so I could tell him what a fine job you did during your deposition today.”

Turnbull blinked. “I did?”

“Yes.” He adjusted his gaze toward Blaylock. “He held the line, Myron. And let me tell you—some of the questions that bastard Kincaid asked were downright dirty pool. That man will stop at nothing. But Archie didn’t let it get to him. He did H. P. Blaylock proud.”

“Indeed. I’m glad to hear it.” He faced Turnbull. “You know I need someone like you in the executive suite, someone I can trust.”

Turnbull’s tongue felt like cotton. “The executive suite?”

“And why not? Who have I got now? A bunch of college graduates, more interested in their stock portfolios than in serving my company. I need men like you—men who know what hard work is.” He leaned closer. “Who know the meaning of loyalty.”

“That’s what I like to see,” Colby said. “A man rewarded for his loyalty.”

“I thought I’d create a new position for you. Vice president of floor management. We’ve needed someone who has hands-on knowledge about the way the plant works. I think you will be an invaluable asset.”

“I-I’d like that,” Turnbull managed.

“Of course you’ll have the usual perks. Company car—I see you as a BMW man. Am I right?”

“T-That would be fine.”

“Increased vacation time. Increased medical. Could be quite a help with a brood like yours, Archie. And of course, increased salary.” He scribbled a number on a scrap of paper. “How would that be, just for starters?”

Turnbull couldn’t believe this was happening. “That would be … twice what I make now.”

“And long overdue.” Blaylock slapped him on the back. “I don’t want to see a man like you slip away.”

“There is one thing,” Colby said. His voice had the laconic tone of one who has suddenly recalled a trifling detail after his third mint julep. “I know you think that since your deposition is completed this is all over for you … but it isn’t necessarily so.”

“It isn’t?”

“It’s entirely possible the plaintiffs—or their representatives—will attempt to contact you. Try to get you to change your testimony. Say things that aren’t true. Persuade you to spill confidential secrets. It’s important that you not be suckered into any of that.”

“Loyalty,” Blaylock said. “That’s what’s important to me.”

Colby nodded. “You wouldn’t let the plaintiffs lure you into anything like that, would you, Archie?”

“I—I certainly wouldn’t lie to them.”

“Archie … I don’t want you to talk to them at all.”

“Loyalty,” Blaylock repeated to no one in particular. “Careers are made or lost on that factor alone.”

“It is important,” Colby continued, “that we maintain a strong defense. A firm resolve.” He peered across the desk. “We can count on you, can’t we, Archie?”

Turnbull swallowed. “Of course you can.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” He rose and shook Turnbull’s hand. “Thanks for staying late.”

“I’ll have my assistant meet you at the front gate tomorrow morning,” Blaylock explained. “To show you to your new office.”

Turnbull glanced again at the scrap of paper with the unbelievable six-digit figure on it. It was too good to be believed. It almost made him forget—

“Will that be acceptable?” Blaylock asked.

“Of course,” Turnbull said quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

After Turnbull was gone, Blaylock rose to his feet and began pacing back and forth across Colby’s office.

“I hope that satisfied you. Personally, it made me sick to my stomach.”

“Stay calm, Myron.” Colby smiled. “It was necessary.”

“I don’t see why. We didn’t do it for any of the others.”

“This man is different.” Colby’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I sense … a stirring inside him. The potential for trouble.”

“Damned high price to pay to avoid trouble.”

“The cost will be far higher if you don’t.” He slid his feet off the desk and sat up. “And it’s only temporary. Kincaid hasn’t discovered anything. I’m filing my summary judgment motion immediately. Once this case is dismissed, you can do anything with Turnbull you want.”

“That will be a happy day,” Blaylock spat out, as he grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door. “For more reasons than one!”

“R
EADY TO GO?” BEN
asked.

Cecily glanced at Christina, then nodded. Not an enthusiastic nod, but the best she could muster under the circumstances. “If I must.”

“Christina gave you the lowdown on what’s going to happen?”

“About a hundred times,” Cecily said sourly.

“That’s my Christina,” he replied. “Nothing if not efficient.”

He took Cecily’s elbow and led her to the corner conference room where the deposition would take place. As was traditional, when Ben wanted to depose Blaylock’s witnesses, he had to go to Colby’s skyscraper office, but when Colby wanted a shot at his witnesses, he had to come onto Ben’s turf. Ben tried to whisper comforting words as they approached the conference room, but he suspected his words accomplished little.

Colby was full of easy gentility when they arrived. “Mrs. Elkins,” he said, taking her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Cecily wasn’t sure what to do—shake hands with the Big Bad Wolf or run out of the room screaming. She took his hand.

“And before we begin, let me express my deepest sympathy for your loss. I have children of my own; I can’t imagine what you must’ve gone through.”

“Well … thank you.”

“I’ll try to make this as easy as possible for you. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.”

Cecily’s eyes widened slightly. Could that be true? Done before lunch? Ben could see her hopes elevating—a potentially dangerous development, since the higher they rose, the further they had to fall.

Colby began with the softball stuff—name and address, former occupations, college education. He spoke slowly and was more than accommodating. None of which put Ben’s mind at ease. It only reminded him of something his friend Mike Morelli once said. When the devil is stalking you, beware. But when the devil is making nice—run.

“You went to college at Rogers University, is that right?”

“Yes.” Ben could tell Cecily was amazed this was still so painless. Ben, on the other hand, was more concerned about how well-informed Colby seemed to be.

“You studied biology, I believe?”

“That’s correct.”

“Took you five years to get your undergraduate degree?”

“Well, you know how it is. I changed my major about eighteen times.”

Colby chuckled. “Yes, I know what you mean.” His smile gradually faded. “But that wasn’t the only problem, was it?”

“Uh—excuse me?”

“That wasn’t the only reason it took you longer than usual to get your degree, was it?”

“I’m … not sure what you’re getting at.”

“You had a problem with drugs, didn’t you, Cecily?”

The other shoe had dropped. The room was filled by a silence that seemed deafening.

It took a good while for Cecily to frame her response. “I … did a normal amount of experimenting. When I was young.”

“I feel I must remind you,” Colby said, “that you are under oath, and that you are subject to the penalties of perjury if you answer falsely.”

“That’s unnecessary,” Ben cut in.