didn’t see any.”
“Was there a pothole?”
“A little one, but I don’t think it would cause someone to lose control of his car. It’s been filled in since this happened, but you can go over there and see how small it was.”
Tom shook his head. “Based on the police drawing, there’s no way to prove the defendant’s car actually left the road. You could have stepped in front of him.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Were there any witnesses?”
“Maybe. A guy in a pickup stopped to make sure I was okay. He was right behind the car that hit me.”
Tom looked at the bottom of the accident report. It didn’t list any witnesses.
“Did the driver of the truck stay and talk to the police?”
“No, once he saw I wasn’t dead, I guess he kept on going to town.”
“Do you know this man’s name?”
“I think it was Junior.”
Tom smiled. “Having a name like Junior won’t be much help in tracking him down. Any other information about him?”
“He had an older model white truck, maybe a sixties Ford. It all happened so fast. I was kind of woozy.”
“I understand.” Tom closed the file. “Well, I’m sorry my father wasn’t able to see the case through, but since he’s gone you’ll need to find another lawyer to represent you.”
“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Could you help me?”
Tom shook his head. “I’m here to shut down my father’s practice, not keep it going. I live in Atlanta and need to wrap things up as soon as I can. There’s no problem with the statute of limitations, so you have plenty of time to find someone else to represent you. But hire someone soon. Witnesses tend to forget what they saw and heard.”
“Okay.” Randall struggled to his feet and leaned on his crutches. “What do I owe you? My insurance at work paid part of the bill for my surgery, and things are going to be tight around my house for a while.”
“You don’t owe me anything. My father took the case on a contingency basis and because he didn’t collect any money, there won’t be a fee. The medical records from the hospital only cost a few dollars. I’ll take care of that.”
“That’s nice of you. If you change your mind, let me know. I won’t be running out to hire another lawyer until I start feeling better.”
“Someone needs to track down those witnesses,” Tom reminded him.
“I understand.”
Randall slowly left the office. Tom stood in the doorway of his father’s office and watched him make his way down the sidewalk. He turned to Bernice.
“Who should he hire to represent him?”
“Reggie Mixon would take the case.”
Tom grimaced. Mixon had a reputation for flamboyant incompetence.
“That’s not good.”
“It’s going to be hard to find a decent local attorney,” Bernice said. “Lamar Sponcler would do a good job, but he’s slowing down. The big firms are tied in with Pelham and would see the case as a conflict of interest.”
Bethel’s definition of a big law firm started at three lawyers. Based on that criteria there were two large firms, one with five lawyers, another with three. The population of the county bar, including the attorneys in the district attorney’s office, was seventeen.
For years the preeminent trial lawyers had been Lamar Sponcler on the plaintiff side and Carnell Waycaster on behalf of insurance companies. When they butted heads in court, a handful of spectators, mostly retired men with nothing better to do, might show up to watch the oratorical fireworks.
Presiding over the local bar was superior court judge Nathan Caldwell. Appointed to the bench when he was barely thirty-two years old by a governor distantly related to his mother’s family, Judge Caldwell had been reelected without opposition nine times. Big-city lawyers who came to Bethel thinking they could dominate Judge Caldwell’s courtroom left with wounded pride, damaged egos, and a respect for the country jurist.
Tom began reviewing the other files in the
“Was there a pothole?”
“A little one, but I don’t think it would cause someone to lose control of his car. It’s been filled in since this happened, but you can go over there and see how small it was.”
Tom shook his head. “Based on the police drawing, there’s no way to prove the defendant’s car actually left the road. You could have stepped in front of him.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Were there any witnesses?”
“Maybe. A guy in a pickup stopped to make sure I was okay. He was right behind the car that hit me.”
Tom looked at the bottom of the accident report. It didn’t list any witnesses.
“Did the driver of the truck stay and talk to the police?”
“No, once he saw I wasn’t dead, I guess he kept on going to town.”
“Do you know this man’s name?”
“I think it was Junior.”
Tom smiled. “Having a name like Junior won’t be much help in tracking him down. Any other information about him?”
“He had an older model white truck, maybe a sixties Ford. It all happened so fast. I was kind of woozy.”
“I understand.” Tom closed the file. “Well, I’m sorry my father wasn’t able to see the case through, but since he’s gone you’ll need to find another lawyer to represent you.”
“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Could you help me?”
Tom shook his head. “I’m here to shut down my father’s practice, not keep it going. I live in Atlanta and need to wrap things up as soon as I can. There’s no problem with the statute of limitations, so you have plenty of time to find someone else to represent you. But hire someone soon. Witnesses tend to forget what they saw and heard.”
“Okay.” Randall struggled to his feet and leaned on his crutches. “What do I owe you? My insurance at work paid part of the bill for my surgery, and things are going to be tight around my house for a while.”
“You don’t owe me anything. My father took the case on a contingency basis and because he didn’t collect any money, there won’t be a fee. The medical records from the hospital only cost a few dollars. I’ll take care of that.”
“That’s nice of you. If you change your mind, let me know. I won’t be running out to hire another lawyer until I start feeling better.”
“Someone needs to track down those witnesses,” Tom reminded him.
“I understand.”
Randall slowly left the office. Tom stood in the doorway of his father’s office and watched him make his way down the sidewalk. He turned to Bernice.
“Who should he hire to represent him?”
“Reggie Mixon would take the case.”
Tom grimaced. Mixon had a reputation for flamboyant incompetence.
“That’s not good.”
“It’s going to be hard to find a decent local attorney,” Bernice said. “Lamar Sponcler would do a good job, but he’s slowing down. The big firms are tied in with Pelham and would see the case as a conflict of interest.”
Bethel’s definition of a big law firm started at three lawyers. Based on that criteria there were two large firms, one with five lawyers, another with three. The population of the county bar, including the attorneys in the district attorney’s office, was seventeen.
For years the preeminent trial lawyers had been Lamar Sponcler on the plaintiff side and Carnell Waycaster on behalf of insurance companies. When they butted heads in court, a handful of spectators, mostly retired men with nothing better to do, might show up to watch the oratorical fireworks.
Presiding over the local bar was superior court judge Nathan Caldwell. Appointed to the bench when he was barely thirty-two years old by a governor distantly related to his mother’s family, Judge Caldwell had been reelected without opposition nine times. Big-city lawyers who came to Bethel thinking they could dominate Judge Caldwell’s courtroom left with wounded pride, damaged egos, and a respect for the country jurist.
Tom began reviewing the other files in the
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