The Rainmaker (59 page)

She grew increasingly irresponsible, and her termination was inevitable. What about her sexual escapades?

Pellrod and Great Benefit have to be careful here because this topic will be discussed again on another day in another courtroom. Whatever is said here will be recorded and preserved for future use. So, instead of making her a whore who readily slept with anybody, Drummond wisely takes the higher ground.

“I really don’t know anything about that,” Pellrod says, and scores a minor point with the jury.

They kill some more clock, and make it almost until noon before Pellrod is handed to me. Kipler wants to break for lunch, but I assure him I won’t take long. He reluctantly agrees.

I start by handing Pellrod a copy of a denial letter he signed and sent to Dot Black. It was the fourth denial, and was based on the grounds that Donny Ray’s leukemia was a preexisting condition. I make him read it to the jury, and admit it’s his. I allow him to try and explain why he sent it, but, of course, there’s no way to explain. The letter was a private matter between Pellrod and Dot Black, never intended to be seen by anybody else, certainly not in this courtroom.

He talks about a form that was mistakenly filled in by Jackie, and about a misunderstanding with Mr. Krokit, and, well, hell, the whole thing was just a mistake. And he’s very sorry about it.

“It’s a little too late to be sorry, isn’t it?” I ask.

“I guess.”

“When you sent that letter, you didn’t know that there would be four more letters of denial, did you?”

“No.”

“So, this letter was intended to be the final letter of denial to Mrs. Black, correct?”

The letter contains the words “final denial.”

“I guess so.”

“What caused the death of Donny Ray Black?”

He shrugs. “Leukemia.”

“And what medical condition prompted the filing of his claim?”

“Leukemia.”

“In your letter there, what preexisting condition do you mention?”

“The flu.”

“And when did he have the flu?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I can get the file if you want to go through it with me.”

“No, that’s okay.” Anything to keep me out of the file. “I think he was fifteen or sixteen,” he says.

“So he had the flu when he was fifteen or sixteen, before the policy was issued, and this was not mentioned on the application.”

“That’s correct.”

“Now, Mr. Pellrod, in your vast experience in claims, have you ever seen a case in which a bout with the flu was somehow related to the onset of acute leukemia five years later?”

There’s only one answer, but he just can’t give it. “I don’t think so.”

“Does that mean no?”

“Yes it means no.”

“So the flu had nothing to do with the leukemia, did it?”

“No.”

“So you lied in your letter, didn’t you?”

Of course he lied in his letter, and he’ll lie now if he says he didn’t lie then. The jury will see it. He’s trapped, but Drummond’s had time to work with him.

“The letter was a mistake,” Pellrod says.

“A lie or a mistake?”

“A mistake.”

“A mistake that helped kill Donny Ray Black?”

“Objection!” Drummond roars from his seat.

Kipler thinks about this for a second. I expected an objection, and I expect it to be sustained. His Honor, however, feels otherwise. “Overruled. Answer the question.”

“I’d like to enter a continuing objection to this line of questioning,” Drummond says angrily.

“Noted. Please answer the question, Mr. Pellrod.”

“It was a mistake, that’s all I can say.”

“Not a lie?”

“No.”

“How about your testimony before this jury? Is it filled with lies or mistakes?”

“Neither.”

I turn and point to Dot Black, then look at the witness. “Mr. Pellrod, as the senior claims examiner, can you look Mrs. Black squarely in the eyes and tell her that her son’s claim was handled fairly by your office? Can you do this?”

He squints and twitches and frowns, and glances at Drummond for instructions. He clears his throat, tries to act offended, says, “I don’t believe I can be forced to do that.”

“Thank you. No further questions.”

I finish in less than five minutes, and the defense is scrambling. They figured we’d spend the day with Reisky, then consume tomorrow with Pellrod. But I’m not wasting time with these clowns. I want to get to the jury.

Kipler declares a two-hour lunch break. I pull Leo to one side, and hand him a list of six additional witnesses.

“What the hell is this?” he says.

“Six doctors, all local, all oncologists, all ready to come testify live if you put your quack on.” Walter Kord is incensed over Drummond’s strategy to portray bone mar
row transplants as experimental. He’s twisted the arms of his partners and friends, and they’re ready to come testify. “He’s not a quack.”

“You know he’s a quack. He’s a nut from New York or some foreign place. I’ve got six local boys here. Put him on. This could be fun.”

“These witnesses are not in the pretrial order. This is an unfair surprise.”

“They’re rebuttal witnesses. Go cry to the judge, okay.” I leave him standing by the bench, staring at my list.

AFTER LUNCH, but before Kipler calls us to order, I chat near my table with Dr. Walter Kord and two of his partners. Seated alone in the front row behind the defense table is Dr. Milton Jiffy, Drummond’s quack. As the lawyers prepare for the afternoon session, I call Drummond over and introduce him to Kord’s partners. It’s an awkward moment. Drummond is visibly unnerved by their presence here. The three of them take their places on the front row behind me. The five boys from Trent & Brent can’t help but stare.

The jury is brought in, and Drummond calls Jack Underhall to the stand. He’s sworn in, takes his seat, grins idiotically at the jury. They’ve been staring at him for three days now, and I don’t understand how or why Drummond thinks this guy will be believed.

His purpose becomes plainly obvious. It’s all about Jackie Lemancyzk. She lied about the ten thousand dollars in cash. She lied about signing the agreement because there is no agreement. She lied about the claim denial scheme. She lied about having sex with her bosses. She even lied about the company denying her medical claims. Underhall’s tone starts as mildly sympathetic but becomes harsh and vindictive. It’s impossible to say these horrible
things with a smile, but he seems particularly eager to trash her.

It’s a bold and risky maneuver. The fact that this corporate thug would accuse anybody of lying is glaringly ironic. They have decided that this trial is far more important than any subsequent action by Jackie. Drummond is apparently willing to risk total alienation of the jury on the prayer of causing enough doubt to muddy the waters. He’s probably thinking he has little to lose by this rather nasty attack on a young woman who’s not present and cannot defend herself.

Jackie’s job performance was lousy, Underhall tells us. She was drinking and having trouble getting along with her co-workers. Something had to be done. They offered a chance to resign so it wouldn’t screw up her record. Had nothing to do with the fact that she was about to give a deposition, nothing whatsoever to do with the Black claim.

His testimony is remarkably brief. They hope to get him on and off the stand without significant damage. There’s not much I can do but hope the jury despises him as much as I do. He’s a lawyer, not someone I want to spar with.

“Mr. Underhall, does your company keep personnel files on its employees?” I ask, very politely.

“We do.”

“Did you keep one on Jackie Lemancyzk?”

“We did.”

“Do you have it with you?”

“No sir.”

“Where is it?”

“At the office, I presume.”

“In Cleveland?”

“Yes. At the office.”

“So we can’t look at it?”

“I don’t have it, okay. And I wasn’t told to bring it.”

“Does it include performance evaluations and stuff like that?”

“It does.”

“If an employee received a reprimand or a demotion or a transfer, would these be in the personnel file?”

“Yes.”

“Does Jackie’s have any of these?”

“I believe so.”

“Does her file have a copy of her letter of resignation?”

“Yes.”

“But we’ll have to take your word about what’s in the file, correct?”

“I wasn’t told to bring it here, Mr. Baylor.”

I check my notes and clear my throat. “Mr. Underhall, do you have a copy of the agreement Jackie signed when you gave her the cash and she promised never to talk?”

“You must not hear very well.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I just testified that there was no such agreement.”

“You mean it doesn’t exist?”

He shakes his head emphatically. “Never did. She’s lying.”

I act surprised, then slowly walk to my table, where papers are scattered everywhere. I find the one I want, scan it thoughtfully as everybody watches, then return to the podium with it. Underhall’s back stiffens and he looks wildly at Drummond, who at the moment is staring at the paper I’m holding. They’re thinking about the Section U’s! Baylor’s done it again! He’s found the buried documents and caught us lying.

“But Jackie Lemancyzk was quite specific when she told the jury what she was forced to sign. Do you remember her testimony?” I dangle the paper off the front of the podium.

“Yes, I heard her testimony,” he says, his voice a bit higher, his words tighter.

“She said you handed her ten thousand dollars in cash and made her sign an agreement. Do you remember that?” I glance at the paper as if I’m reading from it. Jackie told me the dollar amount was actually listed in the first paragraph of the document.

“I heard her,” he says, looking at Drummond. Underhall knows I don’t have a copy of the agreement because he buried the original somewhere. But he can’t be certain. Strange things happen. How in the world did I find the Section U’s?

He can’t admit there’s an agreement. And he can’t deny it either. If he denies, and if I suddenly produce a copy, then the damage cannot be estimated until the jury returns with its verdict. He fidgets, twists, wipes sweat from his forehead.

“And you don’t have a copy of the agreement to show to the jury?” I ask, waving the paper in my hand.

“I do not. There is none.”

“Are you certain?” I ask, rubbing my finger around the edges of the paper, fondling it.

“I’m certain.”

I stare at him for a few seconds, thoroughly enjoying the sight of him suffering. The jurors haven’t thought about sleeping. They’re waiting for the ax to fall, for me to whip out the agreement and watch him croak.

But I can’t. I wad the meaningless piece of paper and dramatically toss it on the table. “No further questions,” I say. Underhall exhales mightily. A heart attack has been avoided. He leaps from the witness stand and leaves the courtroom.

Drummond asks for a five-minute recess. Kipler decides the jury needs more, and dismisses us for fifteen.

THE DEFENSE STRATEGY of dragging out testimony and hopefully confusing the jury is plainly not working. The jurors laughed at Reisky and slept through Pellrod. Underhall was a near fatal disaster because Drummond was terrified I had a copy of a document his client assured him did not exist.

Drummond’s had enough. He’ll take his chances with a strong closing argument, something he can control. He announces after recess that the defense rests.

The trial is almost over. Kipler schedules closing arguments for nine o’clock Friday morning. He promises the jurors they’ll have the case by eleven.

Forty-eight

L
ONG AFTER THE JURY’S GONE, AND LONG after Drummond and his crew hurriedly left for their offices and what will undoubtedly be another dicey session of what-went-wrong, we sit around the plaintiff’s table in the courtroom and talk about tomorrow. Cooper Jackson and the two lawyers from Raleigh, Hurley and Grunfeld, are careful not to dispense too much unsolicited advice, but I don’t mind listening to their opinions. Everyone knows it’s my first trial. They seem amazed at the job I’ve done. I’m tired, still quite nervous and very realistic about what’s happened. I was handed a beautiful set of facts, a rotten but rich defendant, an incredibly sympathetic trial judge and one lucky break after another at trial. I also have a handsome jury, but it’s yet to perform.

Litigation will only get worse for me, they say. They’re convinced the verdict will be in seven figures. Jackson had been trying cases for twelve years before he got his first one-million-dollar verdict.

They tell war stories designed to boost my confidence.

It’s a pleasant way to spend the afternoon. Deck and I will work all night, but right now I enjoy the comfort of kindred spirits who truly want me to nail Great Benefit.

Jackson is somewhat dismayed by news out of Florida. A lawyer down there jumped the gun and filed four lawsuits against Great Benefit this morning. They thought the guy was about to join their class action, but evidently he got greedy. As of today, these three lawyers have nineteen claims against Great Benefit, and their plans are to file early next week.