Read Online Final Exam: A Legal Thriller by Terry Huebner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Terry Huebner
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and even a pinball machine and out to the garage. Mark laughed as he entered the room. “And I thought the lobby was something.”
About the size of a normal two-car garage, the garage had tall ceilings that reached a peak in the center. A beam ran across the room parallel to the peak on which stood various military helmets and headgear of the last century. On the far wall, underneath a set of smallish windows, sat two barber chairs and an old shoeshine stand. The wall on the left contained an entrance from the parking lot masquerading as an entrance to a barber shop, complete with a barber pole on the outside wall. The near wall heading to the right contained built-in bookshelves where the firm housed much of its law library. In the corner stood a five-foot high cast iron antique bank safe, which didn’t house much these days. The wall opposite the outside entrance held a stained glass window highlighting the scales of justice.
A large wooden library table, approximately ten feet long and stained in light oak, dominated the middle of the room, surrounded by wooden library chairs. As if this weren’t enough, the truly distinguishing feature of this room was the series of stuffed animal heads mounted and hung on the walls - deer, elk and even a razorback. All of these were actual trophies from Jim Schulte’s hunting days. In the corner above the old-fashioned safe hung a stuffed horse’s ass. Schulte commissioned this trophy and presented it to a friend of his, who also happened to be a local judge, complete with the caption “Res Ipsa Loquitur ” , Latin for “The Thing Speaks for Itself”.
Mark’s reaction was fairly typical - wide-eyed amazement. He let out a long belly laugh. “I like this.”
“Yeah, I do too,” Ben said. “I think it’s my favorite room in the building. It’s a great place to work when you’re by yourself. And it’s really a great place to take depositions. I think it intimidates witnesses.”
They sat down to a quick lunch. Mark had gyros, fries and a Diet Coke, while Ben ate a burger, fries and a chocolate milkshake. Grabbing a handful of fries, Mark said, “I think I can feel my arteries hardening as we speak.”
Ben nodded. “Mine too, but the fries are good and the chocolate shake is extremely good. I think all the grease helps you clean out your system.”
“That’s one theory, I suppose,” Mark replied. He looked over at a potbelly stove that sat against the far wall between the barber chairs and the shoeshine stand. His eyes traced the metal grating as it vented through the roof. “Does that thing really work?”
“Yeah, it does, but Jim Schulte and Ken Williams were the only ones who ever really used it. After Schulte rented out his office, and before he moved north to Hayward for good, he spent a lot of time out here and used the garage as his office, which really sucked for the rest of us who wanted to use it as a conference room or a library. As he was going through all his shit trying to decide what to get rid of, he used to shove old law books in the stove and burn them up. The fire would get so hot you could look out from the second floor balcony and see flames and black smoke shooting out of the stack. Then with the fire raging, Schulte would just go off somewhere and not come back. We’re probably lucky he didn’t burn the place down.”
They talked about the case as they ate and Ben told Mark everything he knew, which wasn’t much. “So what do you think?” Ben asked.
“Well,” Mark said pushing back from the table and taking a long drink of his Diet Coke, “my view is probably the same as yours. She’s clearly a prime suspect, a ‘person of interest’ they call it these days, and they must have found something in that office or somewhere else which caused them to think that. Clearly, there’s a lot more that we
About the size of a normal two-car garage, the garage had tall ceilings that reached a peak in the center. A beam ran across the room parallel to the peak on which stood various military helmets and headgear of the last century. On the far wall, underneath a set of smallish windows, sat two barber chairs and an old shoeshine stand. The wall on the left contained an entrance from the parking lot masquerading as an entrance to a barber shop, complete with a barber pole on the outside wall. The near wall heading to the right contained built-in bookshelves where the firm housed much of its law library. In the corner stood a five-foot high cast iron antique bank safe, which didn’t house much these days. The wall opposite the outside entrance held a stained glass window highlighting the scales of justice.
A large wooden library table, approximately ten feet long and stained in light oak, dominated the middle of the room, surrounded by wooden library chairs. As if this weren’t enough, the truly distinguishing feature of this room was the series of stuffed animal heads mounted and hung on the walls - deer, elk and even a razorback. All of these were actual trophies from Jim Schulte’s hunting days. In the corner above the old-fashioned safe hung a stuffed horse’s ass. Schulte commissioned this trophy and presented it to a friend of his, who also happened to be a local judge, complete with the caption “Res Ipsa Loquitur ” , Latin for “The Thing Speaks for Itself”.
Mark’s reaction was fairly typical - wide-eyed amazement. He let out a long belly laugh. “I like this.”
“Yeah, I do too,” Ben said. “I think it’s my favorite room in the building. It’s a great place to work when you’re by yourself. And it’s really a great place to take depositions. I think it intimidates witnesses.”
They sat down to a quick lunch. Mark had gyros, fries and a Diet Coke, while Ben ate a burger, fries and a chocolate milkshake. Grabbing a handful of fries, Mark said, “I think I can feel my arteries hardening as we speak.”
Ben nodded. “Mine too, but the fries are good and the chocolate shake is extremely good. I think all the grease helps you clean out your system.”
“That’s one theory, I suppose,” Mark replied. He looked over at a potbelly stove that sat against the far wall between the barber chairs and the shoeshine stand. His eyes traced the metal grating as it vented through the roof. “Does that thing really work?”
“Yeah, it does, but Jim Schulte and Ken Williams were the only ones who ever really used it. After Schulte rented out his office, and before he moved north to Hayward for good, he spent a lot of time out here and used the garage as his office, which really sucked for the rest of us who wanted to use it as a conference room or a library. As he was going through all his shit trying to decide what to get rid of, he used to shove old law books in the stove and burn them up. The fire would get so hot you could look out from the second floor balcony and see flames and black smoke shooting out of the stack. Then with the fire raging, Schulte would just go off somewhere and not come back. We’re probably lucky he didn’t burn the place down.”
They talked about the case as they ate and Ben told Mark everything he knew, which wasn’t much. “So what do you think?” Ben asked.
“Well,” Mark said pushing back from the table and taking a long drink of his Diet Coke, “my view is probably the same as yours. She’s clearly a prime suspect, a ‘person of interest’ they call it these days, and they must have found something in that office or somewhere else which caused them to think that. Clearly, there’s a lot more that we
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