T. Bunn - The Great Divide

“Happens all too often.”

“What about well-intentioned parents who are genuinely concerned about their children’s welfare?”

The witness followed Logan’s example and avoided looking toward the Halls. “As I said, it happens all too often.”

“Why do they contact the FBI, Mr. Nesbitt?”

“Usually because the parents fear the child has been kidnapped.”

“Is that generally the case?”

“No.”

“How often is foul play actually a factor? One time out of a hundred?”

“Less.”

“What in your experience is a more common scenario?”

“They are runaways.” His words were made more brutal by the uncaring tone. He could just as well have been reading figures off a page. “They have problems at home. They fight with their parents or their boyfriends, and they run.”

“Or because they have an agenda all their own?”

“Objection,” Charlie intoned.

“Sustained.”

“No further questions.” Logan retreated, vastly satisfied.

Marcus took a deep breath in time with Charlie’s rise. He wished he could ask his old friend to drag his questioning out for months.

“Going back to your earlier testimony, Mr. Nesbitt.” Charlie limped over to lean heavily upon the podium. “Does a civil case require the same burden of proof as a criminal case?”

“No. Usually it requires less evidence.”

“Thank you.” Charlie turned away and started back to the plaintiff’s table, clearly finished. Charlie’s swiftness surprised everyone-the judge, Logan, the jury. The witness was in the act of rising as Charlie arrived back at the table, and raised one finger, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. Without turning around, he calmly asked, “Oh, by the way: What was your impression of the video?”

Logan vaulted upright. “Objection!”

Judge Nicols turned her surprise toward the opposing camp. “On what grounds?”

Logan had to search for a moment. “Calls for supposition, Your Honor.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You have just led this witness down the primrose path, asking him to suppose what happened to one person based on his experience with others.”

“He is an expert witness, Your Honor.”

“And expert witnesses are presumed to have opinions pertaining to evidence in their domain, are they not?” Her voice dripped scorn. She waited until Logan had retreated into his chair, then turned to the witness and said, “Answer the question.”

The dry demeanor was shaken. “I have not seen it.”

Charlie showed astonishment. “You didn’t see the video?”

“No.”

Charlie shared his bewilderment with the judge, then the jury. “In that case, I would say the defense has been pretty selective in the evidence it showed you, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Objection!”

Charlie settled into his seat. “No further questions.”

The entire chamber seemed to shudder when Suzie Rikkers rose to her feet. She did so with the delicacy of a dancer, her fingernails tapping lightly upon the wooden table as she said, “Defense calls Marcus Glenwood to the stand.”

Marcus heard first a murmur and then a roar. He could not tell which was his own fear and which was the chamber’s reaction. Judge Nicols pounded her gavel for silence, but the sound was drowned out by the hammering in his chest. As Judge Nicols explained the coming process to the jury, Marcus walked forward, leaned hard against the railing around the witness box, and waited for the bailiff to approach. The man was a retired patrolman, one of the same breed as Jim Bell, and he shared Marcus’ distress as he administered the oath and told him to be seated.

“State your name and occupation for the record, please.”

“Marcus Glenwood, attorney-at-law.”

Suzie Rikkers reseated herself and did a very swift walk-through, establishing provenance for the critical documents and showing how Ashley Granger was the source for much of what tied the Chinese military and the general and New Horizons to the factory. Marcus scarcely heard his own answers, much less the questions themselves. Charlie objected only once, and on a minor matter, merely to issue a verbal warning that he was there and watching.

The silence, when it came, had the focused intensity of a laser. Suzie Rikkers rose to her feet a second time. She did not speak as she did a little swaying walk toward him. Marcus found himself unable to resist the unspoken command to watch her approach. It was what Suzie had been waiting for. Her own gaze was almost sensual, dark and liquid. Her hair was styled, her dark dress new and fitting snugly to her miniature frame. She wore a single strand of pearls, a tiny gold brooch, fresh lipstick. She was made up as carefully as she would be for a big date.

Suzie Rikkers snagged the podium, the hand halting her forward progress. “Mr. Glenwood,” she sighed contentedly. “You were fired from your former position, is that correct?”

“Objection.” Charlie seemed to have difficulty rising to his feet. “Your Honor, this witness was called to establish provenance only.”

Suzie delayed turning to the judge long enough to give Marcus a single sloe-eyed look, smiling with all but her mouth. She knew, as did he, that Judge Nicols had no choice but to permit this line of inquiry. “Your Honor, the questions I intend to ask will demonstrate beyond any shadow of doubt that the witness has ulterior motives for bringing this case.”

“This is neither the time for opening statements nor for closing arguments,” Judge Nicols snapped.

“Perhaps not, Your Honor.” Suzie Rikkers’ whine held a new edge, one that drew her words out in small panting breaths. “But if the plaintiff’s lawyer insists on interrupting my highly legitimate questioning with objections, I have no choice but to respond.”

Judge Nicols opened her mouth to slap the woman down, then stopped herself. Suzie Rikkers was watching her with the same tiny grin she had bestowed on Marcus. Begging the judge to come down heavily on the side of the plaintiff’s counsel, granting the defense a basis upon which to lodge an appeal and call a mistrial. Judge Nicols’ gaze narrowed, her dislike for Rikkers evident to all in the room. She had no choice but to say, “Proceed.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Suzie Rikkers turned with studied slowness. “Mr. Glenwood, you were fired, is that correct?”

“I resigned.”

“You resigned. You were a partner with the firm of Knowles, Barbour and Bradshaw, is that not correct?”

“Yes.”

“Is it normal for full partners to just up and quit?”

“No.”

“Isn’t it true, Mr. Glenwood, that you were brought before the firm’s disciplinary board for incompetence?”

“Objection, Your Honor.” This time Charlie did not try to rise. It would have slowed his cry an instant longer than necessary. “Those are confidential records that have not been called as evidence.”

“I withdraw the question.” The words carried a dreamy whine. “You left one of the largest firms in North Carolina on your own volition, is that what you want the court to believe?”

“That is what happened.”

She started a slow, lithe pacing in front of the witness stand. “Who are you in partnership with now?”

“I operate my own practice.”

“So you are by yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Where are you practicing?”

“In Rocky Mount.”

“And where are your offices located?”

“In my home.”

“So you left a prestigious partnership, a coveted position with a major national firm.” She traced one newly lacquered fingernail along the railing’s edge. “You started a practice in your house in a small regional town, you work all by yourself, and you expect the court to believe that you did this voluntarily?”