Halfway to Scottsdale, about ten-thirty, one of the phones in Hugh’s pocket buzzed. He dug it out. It was a text from Fishburn on Frank’s phone.
“Everything good?”
Hugh tapped a message back. “Good to go.”
Chapter Forty-One
A few minutes before eleven, leaving Jenny behind to enter a few minutes later, Hugh and attorney Johnston entered the law offices of Bill Fishburn, kingpin of a soon-to-be ended fake-crash insurance scam ring, and lately a murderer.
The receptionist showed them into a conference room, and gestured for Hugh and Johnston to sit at one side of the large table. Fishburn walked in with an air of arrogant confidence, followed by a recorder who would be taking notes on her stenograph.
Fishburn introduced himself to Johnston, who in turn introduced Fishburn to Hugh.
“OK. Shall we proceed?” He gestured to someone standing outside the open conference room door. It was a notary, who came in to administer the oath to Hugh. She left, closing the door behind her.
“You understand, of course, this is an official proceeding, subject to a charge of perjury,” Fishburn said, directing the statement to Hugh.
“Of course,”
Fishburn then cast Hugh a sidelong glance, and raised his eyebrows. A silent question. Hugh nodded back. An answer. Hugh knew the attorney was double-checking to make sure he was onboard with his coerced false testimony.
The attorney began by asking Hugh a number of preliminary questions: Were you the driver of such and such a truck on such and such a day? Like that. Hugh answered truthfully.
Warming up to the task, Fishburn then began leading Hugh to where he could begin accepting blame for causing the fatal car crash.
“Excuse me for a second, please,” Hugh said. He tapped “Send” on a pre-written text message. Ten seconds later, Jenny entered the conference room.
“Who is this young lady?” Fishburn asked. He looked surprised. His expression lost some of its smugness.
“I’d like to introduce you to Jenny McDonald, my fiancé. She was in the truck with me during the accident. She has some things of interest to talk about.”
“Excuse me,” Fishburn said, turned his back to everyone, and tapped a text message on his cell phone.
A moment later, one of the phones in Hugh’s pocket signaled a text message coming in.
“Excuse me,” Hugh said, and dug the cell phone out of his pocket. It was Frank’s phone.
The text, from attorney Fishburn, said, “Frank, what’s going on? Why is the girl here? You said everything was good to go.”
Hugh put the phone back in his pocket, and smiled at the attorney.
Fishburn looked for a brief moment like he was going to lose his composure. But he was a well-practiced litigation attorney, used to thinking on his feet, and he recovered quickly.
“Well, she’s not officially a part of this deposition. I didn’t summon her.”
“I wondered why,” Hugh’s attorney said. Those were the first words he had spoken since the introductions.
“I was kind of tied up. It wasn’t planned for me to be here anyway,” Jenny said.
Fishburn continued, “Well, yes. So, on the day of the accident…”
Hugh interrupted him, “I’ll take it from here. On the day of the accident I saw an attempted swoop and squat by two cars take place right in front of my truck. I saw the driver of the lead car jam on his brakes, preventing the driver of the second car from completing her maneuver, resulting in the crash that cost her and her sister’s lives.”
This sudden turn of the interview rendered the attorney momentarily speechless.
“That action was instigated by you to extract a nuclear verdict from an unwitting truck driver working for a mega carrier. Does that square with what you know about how it went down?” Hugh said.
He could see Fishburn was nervous knowing the girl who was supposed to be his leverage was sitting across the table from him, and he wasn’t liking this turn of events.
For her part, Jenny glared at the increasingly agitated attorney.
Finally finding his voice, Fishburn said, “That is some fanciful tale, and I want it stricken from the record.” He looked over at the woman recorder, who ignored his request.
Then his attention got drawn back to attorney Johnston, who was tapping his finger on the table next to his cell phone, which everyone could clearly see was in record mode.
His voice now an octave higher, Fishburn said, “You have no proof. And don’t forget you are under oath.”
“Excuse me a minute again,” Hugh said. He rose, went to the door, opened it, and gestured for someone to enter.
A guy entered, his arm held firmly by one of Roc’s men. “Hello, boss,” Joe said.
“Who is this guy? I don’t know this guy!” the attorney shouted, looking like he was beginning to lose it.
“Sorry, boss. It’s over. They know everything.”
“Stop calling me boss!” Fishburn was yelling now. “And you still don’t have any proof. This guy could be telling any number of made up stories.”
Hugh, who had remained standing at the door, then made a gesture for some more people to come in.
Walking in, one after another, each with a motorcycle gang member as escort, were Frank, William, the husband of the deceased mother, and the guy whose girlfriend works in the WestAm dispatch office.
“Who are all these people?” The attorney, desperate now, was shouting. He would know Frank, of course.
“You’ll find out soon enough, Fishburn,” attorney Johnston said. “They all have very interesting stories to tell.”
Fishburn looked like he couldn’t decide between fight or flight.
“Give it up, Bill,” Frank said. “They know everything. They’ve got it all.”
“This deposition is over,” Fishburn said, making a final attempt to regain control. “Quit recording this,” he ordered the stenographer. Then he snapped his head back toward Johnston, who again was
