The Great Divide (30 page)

When Marcus emerged from the house it was to find Amos Culpepper standing with Darren next to an unmarked car. The two were in the process of shaking hands, a sight that warmed Marcus as much as breakfast.

Amos said in greeting, “Looks like we’ve managed to clear up that misunderstanding with the local police.”

Marcus stowed his load of papers in the Jeep. “This is very good news.”

“My visits over at New Horizons haven’t done much but ruffle a few feathers. They claim they don’t have a single Lonnie on staff, and they’ve never heard of anybody fitting the description of your gray attacker. Felt the need to deny that before I even finished my description.” He squinted down the street as he asked, “What’d you think of the New Horizons reception area?”

“Very cold, very New York.”

“Seems kinda strange how they need to have two armed bruisers guarding a textile company’s front office.”

“They’ve got a lot of celebrities coming and going over there.”

“Maybe so.” Amos started toward his car. “Thought I’d ride along with you, hang back a ways, see if that pickup makes another appearance.”

The drive was uneventful. Amos walked him to the courthouse
door and handed him over to Jim Bell, the judge’s receptionist. The retired patrolman clearly took the attack on Marcus during his watch very seriously.

Charlie was there and waiting for him, making quiet conversation with Alma Hall. “Austin teaches class this morning,” Alma said in greeting. “He wanted to come but I told him to go on to school.”

“Whatever you two feel is best.” Marcus turned to Charlie. “We need to talk.”

Charlie reached over and patted Alma’s arm. “You remember what I told you, now.”

Marcus led him over to the empty jury box. “What were you saying?”

“Not a thing you need to worry over. She’s scared, she’s not sleeping, she’s got strategies that’d wake a plucked goose. I heard her out and then told her to trust you.”

“When did all this happen?”

“Last night and again this morning. Fine-looking young lady they got staying with them, by the way.” The man sounded ten years younger and had a kick to his heels. “I assume you know who I mean. Blond, slender, smart as a whip, most remarkable eyes I ever did see.”

“It’s a shame she won’t give me the time of day.”

“Now that’s strange, seeing how she fair hung on every word I said about you.”

Marcus could not tell if the old man was joking, so he handed over the folder and said, “I’ve gone through and made a list of today’s and tomorrow’s witnesses. You have one key question for each witness. Take your time, establish each one carefully, hammer that one point home as much as you like.”

Charlie scanned the morning’s work and surmised, “Past practice.”

“Exactly.” Past practice was a legal jungle, with hundreds of rulings on either side. “Hopefully the judge will allow us at least to suggest this was not an isolated case.”

“The defense will be all over this with bazookas.”

“I know. Can you handle that?”

“I’m feeling a mite peckish this morning. Wouldn’t mind taking a bite or two out of a fancy-suited lawyer.” He closed the folder. “You think they did this to young Gloria Hall?”

“I’m more convinced with every passing day.”

“Then vile and treacherous don’t even begin to describe them.” Charlie nodded to where the bailiff was holding open the door to the judge’s chambers. “Let’s get to work.”

Charlie followed the order and the strategy with a veteran’s ease. Marcus sat and rested and grew stronger, and marveled at the old man’s ability. Charlie Hayes limped badly, his dentures clicked occasionally, his eyesight was mostly absent. But he remained a master in the courtroom. His timing rivaled that of a Shakespearean actor. The jury followed his every move.

The first witness was a local labor expert. Charlie walked him through his testimony on the textile industry’s employment structure, detailing how textile companies preferred economically struggling regions because they hired large numbers of low-skilled workers. Such areas paid premiums to have the companies come, offering grants in the form of free land and tax subsidies and low-cost loans. Charlie paused at that moment, then slipped in the question Marcus had intentionally not raised at deposition. “If such companies don’t require highly skilled workers, wouldn’t it be easier for them to leave?”

The expert’s surprise was evident. “Leave?”

“Sure, just pick up sticks and walk away. Go somewhere else willing to bribe them, soon as they’ve got trouble on their hands.”

“Objection.” The word did not come from Logan Kendall, but rather from one of the firm’s young associates. “Irrelevant.”

“Sustained.”

“No further questions.” Charlie headed back. “Your witness.”

“No questions at this time, Your Honor.”

Charlie scanned the sheet Marcus held out for him, said, “Plaintiff calls Weldon Smith.”

Smith was the director of industrial development for eastern North Carolina. Charlie had him describe the difficulties in attracting a company to invest in Edgecombe County. The man was only too eager to explain how important New Horizons was to the local economy. Thirty-nine hundred jobs. New national headquarters. Great free publicity for a depressed area. Tax revenue. Boost to local businesses. New incoming suppliers.

“You mentioned taxes earned from the company.” Charlie limped over to where Marcus had a page ready. “Do you have any idea how much in taxes New Horizons has paid?”

“How could I? That’s none of my concern.”

“I submit that it is very much your concern, since you arranged a ten-year tax exemption, and have offered them a further ten-year exemption for this new expansion of theirs.” Charlie headed toward the witness stand. “They haven’t paid one plug nickel in state taxes, now, have they?”

“Objection, Your Honor, this case is supposedly about some incident at a Chinese factory. It has nothing to do with local tax records.”

“Sustained.”

Charlie pressed on, “Is it not also true that the New Horizons group has been a headache from day one, and there are currently five outstanding legal actions the state has itself brought against the company?”

“Objection!”

“Sustained.”

“No further questions.”

“Defense, your witness.”

A young associate rose to his feet. “Your Honor, I cannot ask questions of the witness since the plaintiff has failed to show any connection to the case we are here to try!”

“The witness may stand down.” Judge Nicols gestured to both tables. “Counsel approach the bench.”

Marcus stayed where he was, and noted how Logan glanced his way before doing the same. The young associate went forward to argue with Charlie. Marcus found tight satisfaction in the fact that Logan was planning strategy as well, matching him move for move. If Marcus was holding back, so was he. It meant Logan was treating the case seriously. This was the best sign of all.

F
RIDAY CONTINUED
in the same vein, with Charlie questioning and the same young associate defending. Judge Nicols allowed evidence on the issue of past practice, but with stern reservations: She might withdraw support if Marcus did not supply proof of a connection with the Chinese factory.

A local pastor testified to New Horizons’ maltreatment of migrant Hispanic workers. A young labor activist described the difficulties she had faced trying to organize an in-house union; her car had been bombed, her sympathizers ferreted out and fired. On cross-examination, however, she was forced to admit that she had no concrete proof to tie the company to these misdeeds.

An aging union VP was brought to the stand after vigorous objections by the defense. The New Horizons factory he had attempted to organize, located outside Tulsa, had been using Mexican immigrants and paying them half the promised salary. They had been housed in unsanitary conditions, forced into debt by buying from a company store, fired at whim, paid no overtime, harassed, and abused. Objections continued to rain down.

That afternoon Charlie called both available company vice presidents to the stand. His tone was quietly mocking as he had first one and then the other go down the entire list of board members and senior directors, asking only where each one was. The answers were all the same. Geneva, Switzerland. Charlie asked how much responsibility either man had for overseas factories. The answer was the same from both: none.

In cross-examination, the young associate asked about ties to Factory 101. Both men had been well-schooled. They described how the North Carolina distribution center accepted goods from twenty-seven different countries. Was China among them? Of course, since China was the world’s largest producer of finished textiles outside of the United States. Every major company in the business imported from China. Twice Charlie asked Marcus quietly if he should readdress the issue that neither man had anything to do with international operations. Marcus declined with a shake of his head. Either Ashley came up with the goods, or the case was almost done.

His day’s greatest delight came after the court had adjourned, in the form of a man of mismatched parts. His bulbous head was fitted to a scrawny neck and a potbelly. His checked jacket and yellow pants seemed selected to mock a frame he disliked too much to clothe well. “Mr. Glenwood, I’m Floyd Sneede with the
Raleigh News and Observer.”

Marcus noticed Boomer Hayes waiting by the rear doors, then returned his attention to the reporter. “Yes.”

“ ‘Vile and treacherous.’ Isn’t that how Mr. Hayes described New Horizons in his opening statement?”

“You’ll have to ask Charlie, but I believe that’s correct.”

“The lawyers for New Horizons told me they’d sue the paper if I wrote that you were attacked by somebody associated with the company.”

It was the opening Marcus had hoped for. “I guess you’d better
pay attention, then. Your newspaper wouldn’t want to offend a big advertiser like that.”

The barb bit deep. “You’re saying they were involved?”

“Absolutely. I was told to drop the case or they’d be back to kill me.”

The pen scribbled busily. “You want to give me a quote about the case?”

“New Horizons has made its name through exploitation. They exploit the nation’s kids by suggesting that if they buy New Horizons’ overpriced products, the kids will all become sports superheroes. New Horizons makes these same products in factories that exploit and abuse workers in truly horrible conditions. A young local woman by the name of Gloria Hall set out to expose their pattern of corruption and degradation. They kidnapped Ms. Hall to silence her.”

The man’s grin was as misshapen as the rest of him. “You sure you want me to quote you?”

“If you want a real quote, go speak to the girl’s parents. They’ll blister the paint off the newsroom walls.” Marcus excused himself and walked over to where Boomer stood in a jacket and silk tie of Carolina blue. “What are you doing here?”

“Daddy sure is something, ain’t he?” Boomer’s tone was as low and respectful as he could get it. “Seventy-eight next month and not pulling a single punch.”

“You came to watch him try a case?”

“Partly. Wanted to tell you the old man’s been spending some time with the doctors. Hasn’t said a word to anybody, but Libby knows a nurse over at the hospital.” Boomer tried hard for brisk, almost succeeded. “Word is, Pop’s got cancer.”

Marcus felt the day rocked on its axis. “You’re joking.”

“Wish I was.” Boomer’s grin had escaped him, leaving his features puffy and very worried. “The nurse says it ain’t too serious, whatever that means for somebody carting around his weight of years. He’s supposed to start treatment next week, but he put it off for this case.”

Marcus turned back to where Charlie and Alma were giving the reporter an earful. “He hasn’t told me a thing.”

“Naw, that’d be his way. But Libby and I thought you’d want to know. She said to tell you that since he started working with you on this, the old Charlie was back again. Said she hadn’t seen much of him since your accident. Says it’s another reason we’ve got to be grateful.
If I were you, though, I’d keep this under my hat. Won’t do a bit of good to let on you know.”

“No,” Marcus agreed, “I don’t suppose it would.”

Boomer pointed with his chin to where Charlie was helping Alma sit back down as the reporter left. The old man took the chair beside her and draped one arm around her shoulders. “What’s he doing now?”

“Just seeing to his job,” Marcus said quietly. “Comforting the wounded and offering hope to the lost.”

A
LL OF SATURDAY was given over to a hospital visit. Marcus was prodded and questioned and blooded and scanned, and finally pronounced fit enough to depart.

Sunday morning was metallic in its sunny frost. Tall trees sheltering the road to church were graced with autumn finery. Though the sun seemed intent on bearing down hard by afternoon, there was a comfort in the chill and a rightness to the day.

Ashley Granger called at dusk. “Hope you don’t mind getting good news on Sunday evening.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Marcus carried the cordless phone into his office. “It’s either now or no case. We’re down to the wire.”

“Not anymore. I’ve got good news and I’ve got great news. The good news first. The Factory 101 compound is run by none other than General Zhao Ren-Fan himself.”

“First you need to spell that name,” Marcus replied. “Then you need to tell me who he is.”

“I’ll fax you the details later. Zhao is none other than the top dog of the Guangdong military region.”

“Sorry. I’m still lost.” But growing excited nonetheless.

“Provincial power in China is split between the local Communist Party and the People’s Liberation Army. They’re supposed to operate as one, but that almost never happens. The conflict is growing steadily these days. The top power holder in each province operates freely and openly. And in the Guangdong region, it’s the military. Has been ever since Tiananmen Square, when General Zhao’s troops were in the thick of things.”

“So the guy has power.”

“In China, there’s no difference between
business
power and
political
power. Power is power. The military operates its own businesses, factories, international licenses. Foreign firms who’re looking for clout in the local markets don’t just accept the need for high-level partners. They seek them out. They hunt them down. The best mark of success in China for a start-up company is the local partner’s standing.”