John Grisham

"It’s a little too late to be sorry, isn’t it?" I ask.

"I guess."

"When you sent that letter, you didn’t know that there would be four more letters of denial, did you?"

"No."

"So, this letter was intended to be the final letter of denial to Mrs. Black, correct?"

The letter contains the words "final denial."

"I guess so."

"What caused the death of Donny Ray Black?"

He shrugs. "Leukemia."

"And what medical condition prompted the filing of his claim?"

"Leukemia."

"In your letter there, what preexisting condition do you mention?"

"The flu."

"And when did he have the flu?"

"I’m not sure."

"I can gjst the file if you want to go through it with me."

"No, that’s okay." Anything to keep me out of the file. "I think he was fifteen or sixteen," he says.

"So he had the flu when he was fifteen or sixteen, before the policy was issued, and this was not mentioned on the application."

"That’s correct."

"Now, Mr. Pellrod, in your vast experience in claims, have you ever seen a case in which a bout with the flu was somehow related to the onset of acute leukemia five years later?"

There’s only one answer, but he just can’t give it. "I don’t think so."

"Does that mean no?"

"Yes it means no."

"So the flu had nothing to do with the leukemia, did it?"

"No."

"So you lied in your letter, didn’t you?"

Of course he lied in his letter, and he’ll lie now if he says he didn’t lie then. The jury will see it. He’s trapped, but Drummond’s had time to work with him.

"The letter was a mistake," Pellrod says.

"A lie or a mistake?"

"A mistake."

"A mistake that helped kill Donny Ray Black?"

"Objection!" Drummond roars from his seat.

Kipler thinks about this for a second. I expected an objection, and I expect it to be sustained. His Honor, however, feels otherwise. "Overruled. Answer the question."

"I’d like to enter a continuing objection to this line of questioning," Drummond says angrily.

"Noted. Please answer the question, Mr. Pellrod."

"It was a mistake, that’s all I can say."

"Not a lie?"

"No."

"How about your testimony before this jury? Is it filled with lies or mistakes?"

"Neither."

I turn and point to Dot Black, then look at the witness. "Mr. Pellrod, as the senior claims examiner, can you look Mrs. Black squarely in the eyes and tell her that her son’s claim was handled fairly by your office? Can you do this?"

He squints and twitches and frowns, and glances at Drummond for instructions. He clears his throat, tries to act offended, says, "I don’t believe I can be forced to do that."

"Thank you. No further questions."

I finish in less than five minutes, and the defense is scrambling. They figured we’d spend the day with Reisky, then consume tomorrow with Pellrod. But I’m not wasting time with these clowns. I want to get to the jury.

Kipler declares a two-hour lunch break. I pull Leo to one side, and hand him a list of six additional witnesses.

"What the hell is this?" he says.

"Six doctors, all local, all oncologists, all ready to come testify live if you put your quack on." Walter Kord is incensed over Drummond’s strategy to portray bone mar-

row transplants as experimental. He’s twisted the arms of his partners and friends, and they’re ready to come testify.

"He’s not a quack."

"You know he’s a quack. He’s a nut from New York or some foreign place. I’ve got six local boys here. Put him on. This could be fun."

"These witnesses are not in the pretrial order. This is an unfair surprise."

"They’re rebuttal witnesses. Go cry to the judge, okay." I leave him standing by the bench, staring at my list.

AFTER LUNCH, but before Kipler calls us to order, I chat near my table with Dr. Walter Kord and two of his partners. Seated alone in the front row behind the defense table is Dr. Milton Jiffy, Drummond’s quack. As the lawyers prepare for the afternoon session, I call Drum-mond over and introduce him to Kord’s partners. It’s an awkward moment. Drummond is visibly unnerved by their presence here. The three of them take their places on the front row behind me. The five boys from Trent & Brent can’t help but stare.

The jury is brought in, and Drummond calls Jack Un-derhall to the stand. He’s sworn in, takes his seat, grins idiotically at the jury. They’ve been staring at him for three days now, and I don’t understand how or why Drummond thinks this guy will be believed.

His purpose becomes plainly obvious. It’s all about Jackie Lemancyzk. She lied about the ten thousand dollars in cash. She lied about signing the agreement because there is no agreement. She lied about the claim denial scheme. She lied about having sex with her bosses. She even lied about the company denying her medical claims. UnderhalPs tone starts as mildly sympathetic but becomes harsh and vindictive. It’s impossible to say these horrible

things with a smile, but he seems particularly eager to trash her.

It’s a bold and risky maneuver. The fact that this corporate thug would accuse anybody of lying is glaringly ironic. They have decided that this trial is far more important than any subsequent action by Jackie. Drummond is apparently willing to risk total alienation of the jury on the prayer of causing enough doubt to muddy the waters. He’s probably thinking he has little to lose by this rather nasty attack on a young woman who’s not present and cannot defend herself.

Jackie’s job performance was lousy, Underhall tells us. She was drinking and having trouble getting along with her co-workers. Something had to be done. They offered a chance to resign so it wouldn’t screw up her record. Had nothing to do with the fact that she was about to give a deposition, nothing whatsoever to do with the Black claim.

His testimony is remarkably brief. They hope to get him on and off the stand without significant damage. There’s not much I can do but hope the jury despises him as much as I do. He’s a lawyer, not someone I want to spar with.

"Mr. Underhall, does your company keep personnel files on its employees?" I ask, very politely.

"We do."

"Did you keep one on Jackie Lemancyzk?"

"We did."

"Do you have it with you?"

"No sir."

"Where is it?"

"At the office, I presume."

"In Cleveland?"

"Yes. At the office."

"So we can’t look at it?"

"I don’t have it, okay. And I wasn’t told to bring it."

"Does it include performance evaluations and stuff like that?"

"It does."

"If an employee received a reprimand or a demotion or a transfer, would these be in the personnel file?"

"Yes."

"Does Jackie’s have any of these?"

"I believe so."

"Does her file have a copy of her letter of resignation?"

"Yes."

"But we’ll have to take your word about what’s in the file, correct?"

"I wasn’t told to bring it here, Mr. Baylor."

I check my notes and clear my throat. "Mr. Underhall, do you have a copy of the agreement Jackie signed when you gave her the cash and she promised never to talk?"

"You must not hear very well."