John Grisham

The hotel reservation is in my name, at her request. The three of us sit around a small table in her room on the fifteenth floor, and go over my direct examination. The questions are typed and in order.

If there’s beauty here, it’s well concealed. The hair is chopped off and badly dyed to some dark red shade. Her lawyer said she was in therapy, and I’m not about to ask questions. Her eyes are bloodshot and sad, not at all enhanced with makeup. She’s thirty-one, two small children, one divorce, and from outward appearances and demeanor it’s hard to believe she spent her career at Great Benefit in one bed and out of another.

Carl is very protective. He pats her arm, occasionally gives his opinion about a particular answer. She wants to testify as soon as possible in the morning, then get back to the airport and get out of town.

I leave them at midnight.

AT NINE Tuesday morning, Judge Kipler calls us to order but instructs the bailiff to keep the jury in its room for a few moments. He asks Drummond if the claims information has been received. At the rate of five thousand bucks a day, I almost hope it hasn’t.

"Came in about an hour ago, Your Honor," he says, obviously relieved. He hands me a neat stack of documents an inch thick, and even smiles a little when he hands Kipler his set.

"Mr. Baylor, you’ll need some time," His Honor says.

"Give me thirty minutes," I say.

"Fine. We’ll seat the jury at nine-thirty."

Deck and I dash to a small attorney’s conference room down the hall, and wade through the information. Not

unexpectedly, it’s in Greek and almost impossible to decode. They’ll be sorry.

At nine-thirty, the jury is brought into the courtroom and greeted warmly by Judge Kipler. They report in good condition, no sicknesses, no contact last night from anybody regarding the case.

"Your witness, Mr. Baylor," Kipler says, and day two is under way.

"We’d like to continue with Everett Lufkin," I say.

Lufkin is retrieved from the witness room, and takes the stand. After the Section U fiasco yesterday, nobody will believe a word he says. I’m sure Drummond chewed on him until midnight. He looks rather haggard. I hand him the official copy of the claims information, and ask him if he can identify it.

"It’s a printout of a computer summary of various claims information."

"Prepared by the computers at Great Benefit?"

"That’s correct."

"When?"

"Late yesterday afternoon and last night."

"Under your supervision as Vice President of Claims?"

"You could say that."

"Good. Now, Mr. Lufkin, please tell the jury how many medical policies were in existence in 1991."

He hesitates, then starts to play with the printout. We wait while he searches through the pages. The only sound for a long, awkward gap is the shuffling of paper in Lufkin’s lap.

The "dumping" of documents is a favorite tactic of insurance companies and their lawyers. They love to wait until the last minute, preferably the day before the trial, and unload four storage boxes full of paperwork on the plaintiffs lawyer’s doorstep. I avoided this because of Tyrone Kipler.

This is just a taste of it. I guess they thought they could trot in here this morning, hand me seventy pages of printout, most of it apparently meaningless, and be done with it.

"It’s really hard to tell," he says, barely audible. "If I had some time."

"You’ve had two months," Kipler says loudly, his microphone working splendidly. The tone and volume of his words are startling. "Now answer the question." They’re already squirming at the defense table.

"I want to know three things, Mr. Lufkin," I say. "The number of policies in existence, the number of claims on these policies and the number of these claims which were denied. All for the year 1991. Please."

More pages are flipped. "If I recall correctly, we had something in the neighborhood of ninety-seven thousand policies."

"You can’t look at your numbers there and tell us for certain?"

It’s obvious he can’t. He pretends to be so engrossed in the data he can’t answer my question.

"And you’re the Vice President of Claims?" I ask, taunting.

"That’s right!" he responds.

"Let me ask you this, Mr. Lufkin. To the best of your knowledge, is the information I want contained in that printout?"

"Yes."

"So, it’s just a matter of finding it."

"If you’ll shut up a second, I’ll find it." He snarls this at me like a wounded animal, and in doing so comes across very badly.

"I’m not required to shut up, Mr. Lufkin."

Drummond rises, pleads with his hands. "Your Honor,

in all fairness, the witness is trying to find the information."

"Mr. Drummond, the witness has had two months to gather this information. He’s the Vice President of Claims, surely he can read the numbers. Overruled."

"Forget the printout for a second, Mr. Lufkin," I say. "In an average year, what would be the ratio of policies to claims? Just give us a percentage."

"On the average, we get claims filed on between eight and ten percent of our policies."

"And what percentage of the claims would ultimately be denied?"

"Around ten percent of all claims are denied," he says. Though he suddenly has answers, he’s not the least bit pleased to share them.

"What’s the dollar amount of the average claim, whether it’s paid or denied?"

There’s a long pause as he thinks about this. I think he’s given up. He just wants to get through, get himself off the witness stand and out of Memphis.

"On the average, somewhere around five thousand dollars a claim."

"Some claims are worth just a few hundred dollars, correct?"

"Yes."

"And some claims are worth tens of thousands, correct?"

"Yes."

"So it’s hard to say what’s average, right?"

"Yes."

"Now, these averages and percentages you’ve just given me, are they fairly typical throughout the industry, or are they unique to Great Benefit?"

"I can’t speak for the industry."

"So you don’t know?"

"I didn’t say that."

"So you do know? Just answer the question."

His shoulders sag a bit. The man just wants out of this room. "I’d say they’re pretty average."

"Thank you." I pause for effect here, study my notes for a second, change gears, wink at Deck, who eases from the courtroom. "Just a couple more, Mr. Lufkin. Did you suggest to Jackie Lemancyzk that she should quit?"

"I did not."

"How would you rate her performance?"

"Average."

"Do you know why she was demoted from the position of senior claims examiner?"

"As I recall, it had something to do with her skills in handling people."

"Did she receive any type of termination pay when she resigned?"

"No. She quit."

"No compensation of any kind?"

"No."

"Thank you. Your Honor, I’m through with this witness."

Drummond has two choices. He can either use Lufkin now, on direct exam with no leading questions, or he can save him for later. It will be impossible to prop up this guy, and I have no doubt Drummond will get him out of here as soon as possible.

"Your Honor, we’re going to keep Mr. Lufkin for later," Drummond says. No surprise. The jury will never see him again.