“Let’s face it,” he said, holding nothing back, “we don’t have much of a case and we knew that when we started. We’ve pushed this thing about as far as we can, and we’ve done so only to avoid sanctions and malpractice suits.”
“You want a continuance?” the judge asked.
“Yes. I think it’s only fair under the circumstances.”
Nadine said, “My client will resist any effort to delay matters, and I’m certain it will push hard to finish this trial.”
Judge Seawright said, “I’m not sure a continuance will work. If Mr. Figg is back on the booze, and drinking so much he fails to show up for court, it might take some time to get him detoxed again and ready for action. I am not inclined to consider a continuance.”
David could not argue with this logic. “Judge, I have no idea what to do out there. I’ve never tried a case before.”
“I have not detected a great deal of experience on the part of Mr. Figg. You can certainly perform at his level.”
There was a long pause as the three contemplated their rather unique dilemma. Finally, Nadine said, “I have a deal. If you will finish the trial, I will convince my client to forget Rule 11 sanctions.”
Judge Seawright chimed in quickly, “Mr. Zinc, if you will finish the trial, I guarantee there will be no sanctions against you or your client.”
“Great, but what about the malpractice claims?”
Nadine said nothing, but the judge replied, “I doubt you’ll be in trouble there. I’m not aware of a successful malpractice action against a lawyer who simply lost a trial.”
“Nor am I,” Nadine added. “There’s a winner and a loser in every trial.”
Of course, David thought, and it must be nice to win every time.
“Let’s do this,” the judge said. “We’ll stand in recess today-I’ll send the jury home-and you do your best to find Mr. Figg. If by chance he shows up tomorrow, we’ll continue as if nothing happened, and I will not punish him for today. If you don’t find him, or if he’s unable to continue, then we’ll resume the proceedings at nine in the morning. You do your best, and I’ll help you as much as I possibly can. We’ll finish the trial, and that will be the end of it.”
“What about an appeal?” Nadine asked. “Losing the two lead lawyers might make a convincing argument for a new trial.”
David managed a smile and said, “I promise you there will be no appeal, not that I’m involved in. This case could very well bankrupt our little firm. We borrowed money to litigate this far. I can’t imagine my partners wasting another moment fooling with an appeal. If they were to somehow win one, then they would be forced to come back here and try the case again. That’s the last thing they want.”
“All right, so we have a deal?” the judge asked.
“As far as I’m concerned we do,” replied Nadine.
“Mr. Zinc?”
David had no choice. Continue, alone, and he would save the firm from the threat of sanctions, and probably malpractice as well. His only other option would be to demand a continuance and, when that was denied, refuse to participate in the trial.
“Sure, it’s a deal.”
H e took his time driving back to the office. He continually reminded himself that he was only thirty-two, that this would not ruin his career as a lawyer. Somehow, he would survive the next three days. A year from now, it would almost be forgotten.
Still no sign of Wally. David locked himself in his office and spent the rest of the day reading transcripts of other trials, poring over the depositions from other cases, studying the rules of procedure and evidence, and fighting the urge to throw up.
Over dinner, he poked at his food as he replayed everything for Helen.
“How many attorneys are on the other side?” she asked.
“I don’t know, too many to count. At least six, with another row of paralegals packed behind them.”
“And you’ll be alone at your table?”
“That’s the scenario.”
She chewed on a bite of pasta, then said, “Does anyone check the credentials of the paralegals?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“Just thinking. Maybe I should be a paralegal for the next few days. I’ve always wanted to watch a trial.”
David laughed for the first time in hours. “Come on, Helen. I’m not sure I want you, or anyone else, to witness the slaughter.”
“What would the judge say if I showed up with a briefcase and a legal pad and started taking notes?”
“At this point, I think Judge Seawright would cut me a lot of slack.”
“I can get my sister to keep Emma.”
David laughed again, but the idea was gaining momentum. What was there to lose? It could well be the first and last trial of his career as a litigator, why not have a little fun? “I like it,” he said.
“Did you say there are seven men on the jury?”
“Yes.”
“Short skirt, or long?”
“Not too short.”
CHAPTER 41
The Hung Juror blogged on: “A brief day in the Klopeck-Krayoxx trial as the dream team had trouble getting itself together. Word on the street is that the lead lawyer, the Honorable Wallis T. Figg, failed to answer the bell, and his rookie sidekick was sent to look for him. Figg wasn’t seen in the courtroom just before 9:00 a.m. Judge Seawright sent the jury home with instructions to return this morning. Repeated calls to the Finley amp; Figg office went straight to voice mail; none returned by the staff, if the firm does indeed have a staff. Wonder if Figg is on a bender? Fair question in light of the fact that he’s had at least two DUIs in the past twelve years, the last one a year ago. My records show that Figg has been married and divorced four times. I tracked down wife number 2, and she recalled that Wally’s always battled the bottle. When contacted at her home yesterday, the plaintiff, Iris Klopeck, who is still allegedly too sick to come to court, replied, ‘I’m not surprised,’ when told that her lawyer had failed to show. Then she hung up. Noted legal malpractice lawyer Bart Shaw has been seen sneaking around the courtroom-rumor is that Shaw might pick up the pieces of the Krayoxx mess and go after Finley amp; Figg for botching the cases. So far, the Klopeck case has not been botched, in theory. The jury has not decided. Stay tuned.”
David scanned other blogs as he ate a granola bar at his desk and waited for Wally, though he really didn’t expect him. No one had heard a word-Oscar, Rochelle, DeeAnna, a couple of lawyer buddies from his former poker club. Oscar had called a pal at the police station for an informal inquiry, though neither he nor David suspected foul play. According to Rochelle, Wally once disappeared for a week without a peep, then called Oscar from a motel in Green Bay, pickled. David was getting a lot of Wally the Drunk stories, and he found them odd because he had known only the sober Wally.
Rochelle arrived early and climbed the stairs, something she rarely did. She was concerned about David and offered to help in any way. He thanked her and began packing files in his briefcase. She fed AC, got her yogurt, and was arranging her desk when she looked at her e-mails. “David!” she yelled.
It was from Wally, dated October 26, 5:10 a.m., sent from his iPhone: “RG: Hey, I’m alive. Don’t call the police and don’t pay the ransom. WF.”
“Thank heavens,” Rochelle said. “He’s okay.”
“He doesn’t say he’s okay. He just says he’s alive. I suppose that’s a good thing.”
“What does he mean by ‘ransom’?” she wondered.
