Grif Stockley - Probable Cause

PROBABLE CAUSE by Grif Stockley

Chapman had a long-standing affair with Pams snow-queen mother Olivia; Olivia herself had already lost custody of an earlier child she may have abusedthis is less a mystery than a down-home Burden of Proof, a novel about what its like to be a small-town southern lawyer with a dicey case headlining a dozen other subplots. Gideons homespun warmth and wry charm are the real stars of this understated courtroom drama.

IVY BOOKS NEW YORK

Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as unsold or destroyed and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.

Ivy Books Published by Ballantine Books Copyright 1992 by Grif Stockley

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc. New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 92-20184

ISBN 0-8041-1133-2

This edition published by arrangement with Summit Books, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.

Manufactured in the United States of America First Ballantine Books Edition: December 1993 Cover photo of red marble by M. Angelo/Westlight.

To my wife, Susan Gill you have a call from Dr. Andrew Chapman at the city jail. He says its urgent that he speak to you right now.

***********************

Chapman? Wearily, I rub my forehead as if Im hoping his name will come off in my hand. Not even a glimmer. I put down my pen, wishing the brief in the Davis case would go away. How do appellate judges stay awake? I flip through the Rolodex on my desk, on the off chance his name will show up. Why would a jail doctor be calling me? I havent had a criminal case since I left the Blackwell County Public Defenders Office over a year ago. Personal injury law pays more, but it isnt as much fun. Especially if youre an associate cranking out research and the crap cases the senior partners throw like dog scraps to us once they realize the cases arent turning into pots of gold as they had hoped. What the hellmaybe this docll be in a car wreck someday.

This is Gideon Page, I say, glad for any excuse to take a break.

Brief writing isnt my long suit anyway. A decision was handed down by the Arkansas Supreme Court two weeks ago with my name on it (I did most of the work, though a senior partners name went first) in which the court reversed a million-plus judgment for our client on the jury instructions.

The second big case this month down the tubes for Mays & Burton. Were on a rollunfortunately it seems straight downhill.

Mr. Page, a deep, rich voice reverberates in my ear, my name is Dr. Andrew Chapman. Ive just been charged with manslaughter. Can you come talk to me?

As if Id gulped pure caffeine, I feel instantly alert. Mays & Burton stays away from criminal cases, but this guy could be loaded. I look at my watch. In seven minutes, at precisely two oclock (Oscar Mays likes his associates to walk in right on the dothes usually on the phone, but thats okay), I have a command performance with Oscar, presumably to go over my research on the Davis case. As fast as were losing cases, we could stand some cash flow. Maybe Oscarll go for it.

Ill be down to see you in less than an hour. If Oscar passes on it, Ill refer the guy after I break my bosss neck.

Thank you, Dr. Chapman says politely and hangs up.

Elated, I put down the phone and write his name down on a yellow pad. Who is he? God, lawyers are horrible. Bad news makes me feel almost as good as sex. I grab up the Davis file, but instead of heading for Oscars office, I swing by the John. Sometimes, I think the best thing about being an attorney is being able to go to the bathroom whenever I want. If I worked in a factory, Id need a catheter attached to my thigh.

In the head, I join Daryl Worley, who is at the next urinal.

He doesnt look so hot. Charcoal-colored pouches under his already dark eyes make him look as if he has survived a physical beating instead of an emotional and financial one.

He was the lawyer on the Stoddard case a week ago in which the judge snatched from us on a judgment notwithstanding the verdict after a jury had awarded our client two million dollars.

Hows it going, Darryl? I say, unzipping my pants. Daryl, ten years younger, made partner last year. He has become a friend in the last few months, and weve started playing some tennis this summer.

He smiles sadly as he shakes off, but instead of a mournful acknowledgment, he recites, You can beat it on the wall;

you can throw it on the rocks; but its always in your pants you get that last little drop.

Damn! If people knew what some of us were really like.

The guy is smooth as mercury in front of a jury, but as soon as he steps outside the courtroom he regresses into an adolescent. I laugh dutifully while he washes his hands, not having heard that ditty since high school.

Women have it worse, I say, keeping the conversation off law. If given a chance to talk about the case, Darryl will start in on Curtis Hadley, the trial judge in the Stoddard case, and I havent got the time. Im a little surprised he hasnt been to my office to talk to me today about it.

Darryl begins to hum the Marine Hymn as he pushes the hot-air machine button. He rubs his hands together briskly, pretending to read the instructions. Him on. Rub hands together. Then wipe hands on pants.

Junior associate that I am, I grin. Ive seen that cartoon, too. What the hell? Theres nothing new under the sun. And, according to my tenth-grade Sunday school teacher, that saying comes from the book of Ecclesiastes. Perhaps Darryl is whistling in the graveyard: truly, with his raccoon eyes, he has a sickly look about him.

Catch you later, I tell him.

Yeah, he says, not looking me in the eye. Losing is a serious business. The firm spent over thirty thousand of its own money in experts and exhibits.

Martha Birford, who shares with me here an employment anniversary date, arrives outside Oscar Mayss office at the same time, and we go in together. She has a piece of the Davis case, too. We both like Oscar better than Chip Burton.

It is no secret that Oscar was responsible for hiring us, for one thing, but also he is genuinely a nice man. He is in his sixties and seems ready to retire, but for some reason he wont or cant. If his office is any indication, he can afford it. He has a fireplace, an antique walnut desk Id like to steal if I could figure out a way to get it through the door, and works of unknown (to me) Southern artists, who, according to Martha (incongruously, an art history major in college), for the moment are quite popular.

Have a seat, he says affably, standing until Martha is seated, always the old Southern gentleman. It hits me that Martha and I are getting a raise. I want to tell him that I have brought the firm a decent client but have learned that Oscar likes to speak first, whatever the situation. Age before beauty, I suppose.

Age has its compensations. Oscars suit, a dapper, baby blue summer Brooks Brothers, in the $750 range, looks tailored and nicely hides his sizable paunch. After all these months, Ive only seen the man not wearing his suit coat in the bathroom.

Martha and Gideon, he begins kindly, Ive got some bad news. Our profits, as you know, are way down, and we are letting you both go. Your work is fine. Its merely a question of finances. Im really very sorry.