William Bernhardt - Deadly Justice

“Got anything more tangible?”

“Look for a scar.” He drew a line on his face. “Right across the bridge of her nose.”

“Any idea where I could find her?”

The man made a sweeping gesture toward the street.

“On The Stroll. Where else?” His lips turned up slightly. “Look for the trail of pennies.”

Pennies? He wanted to ask, but he was afraid he was already pushing his luck. “Thanks. You’ve been a big help.” He dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table.

“What?” the man said. “No tattoo?”

“Maybe next time.” Tomlinson started back through the beads.

“If I find out you’ve hurt Trixie, or caused her to come to harm, I’ll personally come after you. With my needles.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tomlinson hustled out of the shop. He could barely restrain himself. He was close, closer than he’d ever been before, closer than anyone else working the case. Maybe he could pull this off; maybe he could shove that stupid switchboard down Morelli’s throat.

But first he had to find a teenage girl named Trixie. Before the killer did.

22

“LET ME TELL YOU about” depositions,” Ben told Albert Consetti, Apollo’s vice president in charge of transportation design.

“Fine,” Consetti replied. “Just make it short.”

“Mr. Consetti…this is an important deposition. Millions of Apollo dollars are on the line.”

“Kid, may I be blunt?” Consetti was a short man, balding, with a ruddy complexion. “I don’t like lawyers. As far as I’m concerned, lawyers are a blight on mankind, a necessary evil. It’s bad enough that I have to waste the better part of a day playing with you lawyers when I could be accomplishing something of importance. Don’t compound the injury with a lot of unnecessary chitchat.”

“Regardless of how busy you are, Mr. Consetti, the attorney on the other side will ask you tough questions, and a court reporter will take down every word you say in response. It’s best to be prepared.”

Consetti seemed unperturbed. “Don’t knock yourself out, kid. I’ve been deposed twice before. We get sued all the time.”

“Just the same,” Ben insisted, “I’d like to review some of the basics. Once the deposition starts, there’s not much I can do.”

“That’s not the way my last attorney handled it. What was his name? Herb something or another, I think. Man, he was constantly butting in, making objections, arguing, shouting rude remarks, getting the other attorney steamed up. He was great.”

Ben smiled thinly. That was one of the biggest problems with litigation today—the most disreputable tactics were the ones clients enjoyed most. And lawyers like to please their clients.

“I won’t be doing that,” Ben said curtly. “If I make an objection, it will just be for the record. You will still be required to answer the question.”

An angry tone crept into Consetti’s voice. “What about instructing me not to answer? Herb used, to do that all the time.”

“I won’t. Not unless the questions invade the attorney-client privilege or become unduly abusive.”

“Are we going to let these chumps walk all over us?”

“No. But neither are we going to obstruct the discovery process with frivolous behavior designed to obtain a cheap tactical advantage. Understand?”

“Sounds like a wimpy approach to me.”

“Well, Mr. Consetti, this wimp is going to win this case, if you don’t screw it up during this deposition. Okay?”

Consetti folded his arms unhappily across his chest. “I suppose.”

“Excellent. Now let’s review your testimony.”

When Abernathy entered the deposition conference room, he passed Ben without saying a word and plopped himself into a chair opposite Consetti.

“Can this be?” Rob whispered. “No play-by-play of his latest commercial? I expected him to be using billboards and skywriters by now.”

“I think he’s still stinging from yesterday’s defeat,” Ben said. “We made him look seriously stupid in the courtroom.”

“Don’t bother with the royal we ,” Rob said. “It was all you, you old trial hound.”

“Shall we begin?” the court reporter asked.

Ben nodded.

Abernathy began with the usual questions about Consetti’s educational and occupational background. After spending almost an hour with that, Abernathy plunged into Consetti’s work at Apollo—his duties, the members of his staff, the various projects they worked on during the past eleven years. Three hours and two bathroom breaks later, Abernathy had yet to mention the XKL-1 design project.

It was clear to Ben that Abernathy had not adequately prepared, if indeed he had prepared at all. He had no notes, no outline. His terminology was awkward; he had not personally reviewed the documents that had been produced. He couldn’t focus; his questions roamed all around the issues without honing in on the critical details.

Finally, about an hour after me lunch break, Abernathy began the line of inquiry that mattered. “Were you personally involved in the XKL-1 design?”

“No.” Thus far, Consetti has been an ideal deposition witness; he just answered the question, without elaboration or explanation.

“You were the head of the department, weren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Did you have any idea what your design team was doing?”

“Of course I did.” Ben could see Consetti struggling to keep his lips zipped. Unfortunately, Abernathy had successfully baited him into expounding. “I am intimately involved in the day-to-day affairs of everyone who works under me. I believe in hands-on management, and I take full responsibility for the acts of all my employees.”

“Indeed? Full responsibility?”

“You got it.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Abernathy replied. “Did you supervise the design of the XKL-1 suspension system?”

“Yes.”

“The XKL-1 was a project of your department, then?”

“Right.”

“Who were the principal designers involved?”

“That would be Al Austin and Bernie King.”

“And where are they today?”

“Bernie is a vice president out at the Oklahoma City office. I have no idea what happened to Al.”

“He’s no longer in Apollo’s employ?”

“Correct.”

“Was he fired?”

“Not by me.”

“Who would know where he is?”

Consetti shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me. Might ask Bernie, I suppose.”

“Was a study ever made of the performance of the leaf spring under stress?”

Consetti drew himself up and put on his fighting face. “Mr. Abernathy, every aspect of every design project that passes through the Apollo Consortium is thoroughly tested, retested, and tested again for safety. That’s our motto, you know. An Apollo product is as safe as a mother’s hug .”

“Very catchy.”

“We were in total compliance with every applicable federal regulation.”

“I’m sure. But I specifically asked whether you tested the leaf spring. Did you?”

Ben shot Consetti a pointed look. Don’t prick this guy’s curiosity by being evasive. Just answer the question.

“Yes, we did.”

“Are there any documents reflecting or memorializing the testing that was performed?”

“I’m sure there are.”

“Where would those documents be?”

Consetti glanced at Ben. “I produced all my files to counsel.”

“They were produced to you last week,” Ben added.

“Right,” Abernathy said. “Along with approximately a hundred thousand other documents. It’s just possible I overlooked those.” He picked up a pencil and began fidgeting with it. “Do you recall whether you or anyone else at Apollo considered an alternate design that would strengthen the axle-to leaf spring-to frame connections?”