Lisa Scottoline - Everywhere That Mary Went

Two hours later, it’s a full-fledged conflagration, and I’ve taken Saint Joan’s place at the stake. I started out with only the most reasonable questions, mainly about his early years at Harbison’s, but Hart fought me on each one. His son never objected. He couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

“Mr. Hart, has anyone from Harbison’s ever made a statement to you regarding your age?”

“Mrs. DiNunzio, you know full well they have.”

“The purpose of this deposition is to find out your version of the facts, Mr. Hart. Now please answer the question.”

“My version? It’s the truth.”

“Look, Mr. Hart, this is your chance to tell your side of the story. Why don’t you do so?”

“It’s not a story.”

I grit my teeth. “Mr. Benesante, would you please read back the question?”

Pete picks up the tape and translates its machine-made abbreviations to Hart. “Mr. Hart, has anyone from Harbison’s ever made a statement to you regarding your age?”

“Do you understand the question, Mr. Hart?” I ask.

“English is my mother tongue, Mrs. DiNunzio.”

“Then answer it, please.”

“Yes, they have.”

“How many such statements have been made to you, sir?”

“Three.”

“Do you remember when the first such statement was made?”

“Sure. It’s a day that will live in infamy, if I have any say in the matter.”

“When was the statement made?”

“February seventh, 1990.”

“Who made the statement?”

“Frank Stapleton.”

“Would that be Franklin Stapleton, the chief executive officer of Harbison’s?”

“None other.”

“Was there anyone else present when he made this statement?”

“You think they’re dumb enough to have a witness there?”

“I take it your answer is no, Mr. Hart?”

“You take it right, Mrs. DiNunzio.”

I sip some ice-cold coffee. “Where was the statement made?”

“In Frank’s office.”

“Do you recall the statement, Mr. Hart?”

“I’ll never forget it.”

“What was the statement, Mr. Hart?”

“Mr. Stapleton said to me, ‘Henry, face it. You’re not getting any younger, and it’s time for you to retire. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, you know.’”

Pow!It’s a fireball.

Soon it blazes out of control. Hart goes on to testify with certainty about the two other statements, each one referring to his age as it relates to his employment. Clearly unlawful, and each statement was made by Stapleton himself, so it’s directly chargeable to Harbison’s.Pow! Pow!

“Mr. Hart, do you have any documents regarding these alleged statements by Mr. Stapleton?”

“I most certainly do.”

Pow!

“What might those documents be?”

“They might be notes.”

“Have you brought them to this deposition?”

“Yes. My son gave them to you already.”

“They’re the ones at the bottom of the pile, Mary,” Hank says.

“Excuse me a minute.” I flip through the pages until I reach a set of documents on Harbison’s letterhead. They’re neatly typed and laser-printed, in capital letters. I pull them out and hold them up. “Are these the ones, Hank?”

Hank squints across the conference table. “Yes. That’s them.”

“Bear with me a minute, gentlemen.” I arrange my face into a mask of scholarly calm as I read the notes. Frolicking across the top of each page is a conga line of ecstatic nuts and bolts, ending in the taglineHARBISON’S THE HARDWARE PEOPLE. On each page are verbatim accounts of Hart’s conversations with Stapleton, which appear to have been made right after the conversations.

God help me.

The notes will be admissible at trial. They’ll prove the truth of every word Hart says. The jury will rise up like an avenging angel. They’ll take millions from Harbison’s; it’ll be the biggest age discrimination verdict in Pennsylvania history.Kaboom! The conflagration explodes into a city-wide five-alarmer. And the flames, crackling in my ears, are eating me alive.

Pete cracks his knuckles loudly. “Can we break for lunch now, Mary? My fingers are killing me.”

“Sure.”

“An hour okay?”

“Fine.”

The Harts leave with Pete, who gives me a quick smile before he goes. He’s never asked for a break before. I’ve had him on deps with no break all day. He was trying to save me. He knew I was tumbling into the inferno.

He’s Catholic too.

Iplunge my hot face into a golden basin of cool water in the ladies’ room, half expecting to hear a hissing sound. Then I towel off and head back to the conference room to read over Hart’s notes. They’re bad, but I decide not to think about how very bad they are. I have to find out more about them and find out anything else he has. Fuck back, in overdrive.

I’m almost finished reading the stack of documents, which luckily contain no more surprises, when the telephone rings. It’s Miss Pershing. “Miss DiNunzio, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I have this Lu Ann on the line again. She’s very anxious to talk to you. She says it’s about Mr. Hart’s deposition.”

Who can this be? I take the call. “This is Mary DiNunzio.”

“You’re the lawyer for Harbison’s, aren’t you, miss?” says a young woman. She sounds upset. “Because I heard you’re a lady lawyer, and I heard Henry’s getting his deposition today.”

“I represent the company, Lu Ann. Do you work for Harbison’s?”

“Let me just ask you is the judge there?”

“There’s no judge at a deposition, Lu Ann.”

“Who’s there? The jury?” Her voice grows tremulous. I can’t place her flat accent. Maybe it’s from Kensington, a working-class section of the city.

“No. Just relax, I think you’re confused. A deposition is between-”

“Did he say anything about me? ‘Cause if he does, you tell them I said it’s not true! If my Kevin hears it, if anybody on that jury says anything, or it gets in the newspapers, he’ll beat the shit out of me! Me and my kids both! So you just tell him that! If he loves me, you tell him to shut the fuck up!” The phone goes dead.

Stunned, I hang up the receiver. My conversation with Lu Ann is over, but my conversation with the devil is just beginning. I didn’t think I believed in the devil, but I can’t ignore the fact that I hear his hot whisper at my ear in the stillness of Conference Room C, on Lust.

So Hart’s been playing hide the kielbasa with a Polish girl from Kensington. Let the jury in on that, Mare, and you win.

I can’t. It wouldn’t even be admissible.

Then ask Hart about Lu Ann right now. Take him through her phone call, expose the little shit. He’ll pack up his lawsuit and go home. You can win this case today, Mary. It’s yours for the asking.

I can’t do that. It’s not fair. It has nothing to do with the case.

You can and you should. A quick victory would clinch your partnership, Mare. No more worrying, no more vote-counting, no more headaches. Relief from pain, isn’t that what you want? Peace. You could buy a house. Get your life back on track.

I can’t do it. His son is right here.

So what? You’re Harbison’s lawyer, you should be representing its interests, not Little Hank’s. You’re supposed to use every weapon in the arsenal to win, even the MAC-10s. Especially the MAC-10s.

I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

There’s no time to decide, because the door opens and the Harts enter. Though the elder Hart doesn’t smile, Hank’s spirits are high. Undoubtedly, he’d advised his father to take notes of his conversations with Stapleton and is expecting a settlement offer after the dep. He’s been planning this victory since his graduation and thinks that its sweet moment is at hand.