6_The Rainmaker by John Grisham

Author:John Grisham
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2010-09-27T23:00:00+00:00

His four lackeys all frown, nod and rub their chins in unison because they too have trial calendars which, remarkably, are packed and unrelenting.

"Do you have a copy of Dr. Kord's affidavit?" Kipler asks.

"I do," Drummond replies.

"Have you read it?"

"I have."

"Do you question its validity?"

"Well, I, uh-"

"A simple yes or no, Mr. Drummond. Do you question the validity of it?"

"No."

"Then this young man is about to die. Do you agree that we need to record his testimony so that the jury may one day see and hear what he has to say?"

"Of course, Your Honor. It's just that, well, right now, my trial calendar is-"

"How about next Thursday?" Kipler interrupts, and there's dead silence across the aisle.

"Looks fine to me, Your Honor," I say loudly. They ignore me.

"One week from today," Kipler says, watching them with great suspicion. Drummond finds what he's looking for in a file, and studies a document.

"I have a trial starting Monday in federal court, Your

Honor. This is the pretrial order, if you'd like to see it. Estimated length is two weeks."

"Where?"

"Here. Memphis."

"Chances of settlement?"

"Slim."

Kipler studies his schedule for a moment. "What about next Saturday?"

"Sounds fine to me," I add again. Everyone ignores me.

"Saturday?"

"Yes, the twenty-ninth."

Drummond looks at T. Pierce, and it's obvious that the next excuse belongs to him. He rises slowly, holds his black appointment book as if it's gold, says, "I'm sorry, Your Honor, I'm scheduled to be out of town that weekend."

"What for?"

"A wedding."

"Your wedding?"

"No. My sister's."

Strategically, it's to their advantage to postpone the deposition until Donny Ray dies, thus preventing the jury from seeing his withered face and hearing his tortured voice. And there's little doubt that, between the five of them, these guys can orchestrate enough excuses to stall until I die of old age.

Judge Kipler knows this. "The deposition is set for Saturday, the twenty-ninth," he says. "Sorry if it inconveniences the defense, but God knows there are enough of you guys to handle it. One or two won't be missed." He closes a book, leans forward on his elbows, grins down at Great Benefit's lawyers and says, "Now, what else?"

It's almost cruel the way he sneers at them, but he's not mean-spirited. He's just ruled against them on five of six morions, but his reasonings are sound. I think he's per-

feet. And I know there will be other days in this courtroom, other pretrial motions and hearings, and I'm sure I'll get my share of drubbings.

Drummond is on his feet, shrugging while examining the spread of paperwork before him on the table. I'm sure he wants to say something like, "Thanks for nothing, Judge." Or, "Why don't you just go ahead and hand the plaintiff a million bucks?" But, as usual, he's the consummate barrister. "No, Your Honor, that will be all for now," he says, as if Kipler has in fact helped him immensely.

"Mr. Baylor?" His Honor asks me.

"No sir," I say with a smile. Enough for one day. I've slaughtered the big boys in my first legal skirmish, and I'm not pressing my luck.

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