T. Bunn - Winner Take All

“I have three daughters of my own. The youngest has just turned two.”

Hamper resumed his seat. “Your witness.”

Marcus’ natural curiosity overcame the desire to distance himself. “Sir, did you happen to find any evidence of the fire being deliberately set?”

“Nothing that first night. When we returned the next day, Mr. Steadman had already called in workers. Mr. Steadman said he would cover the cost of reconstruction himself, rather than wait for us and the insurance people to sign off on our investigation.” His tone expressed clearly what he thought of the whole process. “Said he wanted to have the place ready when his daughter returned. Which is why I decided to come and testify.”

“No further questions.”

“You may step down, Mr. Warner.”

“Your honor, I call Russell Dermont to the stand.”

Dermont was an oddly assembled man. He matched Marcus’ six-four frame, but draped it with an additional hundred and fifty pounds of pure lard. His chin was lost in the pouch that obliterated the knot of his tie. His silver hair formed a waxed wave over a very large dome. His palm-sized ears were so flat they looked webbed to his skull. Delicate lips appeared stolen from a smaller woman.

“You are chairman of Dermont Industries, is that not correct?”

“Yes.”

“You also served three terms as president of the Wilmington Chamber of Commerce.”

“That’s right.”

“We are indeed most grateful that you would take the time to join us today, sir.” Hamper rose and began pacing. Each foot was lifted with exaggerated care, his knobby knees bunching beneath the shimmering suit. “How long have you known Dale Steadman?”

“Ever since he was the star fullback at the University of North Carolina at Wilmington. Met him a few times, usually when he was invited to some city function or another. He’s come and gone several times over the years. The first I knew about him showing up in town again was when he bought that island off Towles Road. Paid a ton of money from what I heard.”

Even the witness paused in anticipation of Marcus’ objection to the evident hearsay. But the impetus was not there.

“You say he paid over the odds,” Hamper Caisse prodded.

“That boy just spent and spent and spent. Place has got a six-car garage, boathouse, poolhouse, and his very own old-timey plank bridge. Word is, the bridge alone cost him half a million dollars. Spent almost four million more on the house. Had two architects and three contractors working on it at one point or another. I know on account of how one was my cousin. Had to have the best of everything. Got this one room just for a piano. Thing cost four hundred thousand dollars, I know that’s a fact on account of how it was in the papers. Boy was plain crazy. Spent his money like a drug king.”

This time, even Judge Sears turned and waited for Marcus to speak up. When he remained silent, Hamper drew his little two-step closer to the witness stand. “What does the local business community think of Dale Steadman?”

“They don’t think any more of him than they have to.”

“Now that is a strange thing to my ears. I mean, here you’ve got Wilmington’s only former pro football player. A homegrown hero like that, I’d expect you to say he’s been ushered into the top echelon.”

Dermont had the restless quality of a man dealing with a deep-seated irritant, one he could not entirely suppress. He kneaded the chair arms, shifted his weight to emphasize the end of each sentence, crossed and uncrossed his legs, straightened his tie, pulled at the skin that ticked by his right eye. “When he came back to town, there were folks who invited him and his new wife just about everywhere. He was offered a chance to join the alumni committee, the local clubs, you name it. He turned them all down flat. Those of us who remember the first time he came back, we just held our peace.”

“Why is that?”

“Because Dale Steadman is a shyster and a flimflam artist. You can’t believe a word the man says.”

This time Marcus felt forced to say, “Objection.”

“Withdrawn.” Hamper Caisse did not bother hiding his satisfaction. “What can you say about his home life?”

“Lady found out he was a crook and a cheat. She left him. Word is, he beat her something awful.”

“Objection.”

Hamper did not wait for the judge to sustain. “There has also been mention made of his drinking.”

“All the time.”

“Were there drugs?”

“Lot of it going around.” Dermont used both hands to adjust his belt, girding himself for the main assault. “Not long after he started his little textile company, Steadman got himself into a serious financial tangle. He’d maxed out at the bank. Went hat in hand around the local community, begging for a handout. Nobody wanted to help him, of course. Why get involved in a company that’s going under? Just be throwing good money after bad. So we were all watching and waiting for the ax to fall, when suddenly the guy is flush again. There was some rumor of an old buddy from England bailing him out, but Dale never bothered to explain it to a soul. Which makes you wonder if it wasn’t another source, if you see what I mean. Man had to have gotten his money from someplace.”

Hamper’s return to his table was a triumphal march. “Your witness.”

Marcus lingered over the cage he was drawing upon his legal pad. To not respond was to declare himself uninvolved. Which was tempting. But that would leave Dale Steadman unsupported and defenseless. Which was something Marcus would not do to a panhandler. Much less a father, no matter how poor a father he might be.

Judge Sears broke into his reverie with the warning “Mr. Glenwood, I see no reason at this point not to proceed with a custody ruling.”

Marcus rose to his feet, certain now he was hooked, hauled in, gutted, and descaled. “Your honor, as I stated in the beginning, I merely intended to apply for an ex partae order.”

“Do you have any questions for this witness?”

“How am I supposed to, your honor, when this character assassination has hit me utterly out of the blue?”

She turned to the witness. “You may step down, sir.”

Hamper waited until the Wilmington official had stepped through the barrier and seated himself in the front row to declare, “Your honor, Marcus Glenwood is not the star of this show, much as he would like us all to believe otherwise. This is about protecting a child.”

“The child your client abducted,” Marcus pointed out.

“She had no choice,” Hamper shot back. “None.”

“The same child,” Marcus continued, “Ms. Brandt previously abandoned.”

“She did not abandon the child, your honor. That is a misconception fostered by her ex-husband. The custody agreement proves this. The person who deviated from the plan was the husband.”

“My client denies this, your honor.”

“Let me get this straight. This is the same client who denies ever abusing her?”

“Absolutely.”

“Or the baby?”

“Your honor, I object to these baseless accusations.”

“Oh. Wait now.” Hamper paused long enough to cast Marcus a malicious glint. “This objection is being made by a man who couldn’t even protect his own children in their hour of direst need?”

The judge revealed a serrated edge to her Southern cadence. “You will apologize to counsel, or you will be censured by this court.”

“Of course I apologize, your honor.”

“Not to me.”

“Marcus, excuse me. I simply got carried away by the concerns of this moment.”

“Mr. Glenwood, do you have a motion that you wish to place before this court?”

Marcus recognized the offer of an out. “Only that this matter be carried forward until next week so that I might have time to prepare.”