Davids looked like she was thinking about it, so Sherwood pressed his point. “He’s licensed in Virginia, and you need someone young. Kelly Starling is young and fresh and easy on the eyes. You think that’s a coincidence? The handgun-control folks know that men typically go our way.
“On the other hand, our preliminary research shows that young women would typically be sympathetic to a victim like Blake Crawford. Jason could help win over that demographic.”
Davids nodded a little and seemed to relax. “I’ll think about it.” She was silent for a moment, then asked, “Why would you own a Russian SKS?” She motioned toward to one of the guns in Sherwood’s collection. “It’s a piece of junk.”
“It was a gift,” Sherwood explained. “I haven’t fired it more than twice since I got it.”
Davids seemed to accept this and turned the conversation to hunting. She didn’t leave until two hours later, flying south on Sherwood’s private plane. On the return trip, Sherwood’s pilot called and shared some good news.
“She contacted her company lawyer and asked him to do a background check on Jason Noble,” the pilot said.
When Robert Sherwood hung up the phone, he poured himself a glass of scotch and water. Before he went to bed, he stepped back into his gun room and looked around at his trophy kills hanging from the walls, the pictures of Sherwood and his hunting buddies, the guns that had brought him so much pleasure.
Until the day his daughter died.
Just prior to his meeting with Davids, he had thought about putting away the hunting pictures but decided against it. They added so much authenticity to the room. Besides, he hadn’t changed that much in five years. Davids apparently hadn’t noticed that there were no recent pictures.
He turned off the light and locked the door. The details he had learned about his daughter’s violent death flashed through his mind. He would pour himself another drink before he called it a night.
18
He was only six weeks into private practice, and Jason Noble was already tired of the grind. He loved the practice of law; he just didn’t have time for it. He had become Jason Noble, office manager, rather than Jason Noble, trial lawyer. He kept telling himself things would be different once he put all the systems in place.
At least he had a sweet office space. Sherwood had strongly suggested that Jason secure a Class A space on Main Street. “Nobody wants a lawyer who can’t afford a Main Street address.” Jason initially protested, calculating the cash flow he would need until serious fees started rolling in.
Sherwood wiped out that objection with one phone call.
“You’ve got a hundred-thousand-dollar line of credit with Bank of America,” he said when he called back. “You can probably double that after six months if you make your payments on time.”
At first, $100,000 seemed like a lot of money. Six weeks later, Jason had already burned through half of it. An interior designer (another of Sherwood’s suggestions) cost $5,000; office and conference room furniture was $15,000; computers and software another $5,000; a lawyer to incorporate, insurance, an independent bookkeeper, a cleaning crew, etc., etc. For the first two weeks, it seemed that the only legal work Jason did was negotiating contracts with vendors. During his third week, he started interviewing assistants and opened his first legal file.
Jason spent the next few weeks trying to learn the procedures in the criminal courts in and around Richmond. As promised, Sherwood delivered a few major cases to Jason’s door, all dealing with hair-testing evidence. Three more cases came as referrals from Dr. Patricia Rivers, the commonwealth’s former chief forensic toxicologist. By week six, Jason had seven cases in his filing cabinet.
The call from Robert Sherwood, promising case number eight, was totally unexpected.
“You ready to take that job with the big firm in D.C.?” Sherwood asked.
“Just about.”
Sherwood laughed. “Hang in there. It’ll get much worse before it gets better. Trust me-I’ve been there.”
“Thanks for the encouragement.”
“How many cases you got?” Sherwood asked.
“Not many,” Jason admitted. He felt a little embarrassed about the exact number. He had never been much of a marketing guru. “Ten or so.”
“That’s not bad for the first few months,” Sherwood said. “Any civil cases yet?”
“Not yet.”
“You ready for your first one?”
Jason felt a surge of adrenaline. He had already figured out that landing the cases was half the battle.
“I think I can squeeze it in.”
“You may not want it,” Sherwood said, his tone playful. “It’ll take lots of time. Probably bill about two fifty, maybe even three hundred an hour. The client will have no trouble paying. Plus, it’s high profile.”
“Maybe I’d better stick to criminal work,” Jason said, playing along. “I’d rather work for less money and keep worrying about getting paid.”
“Okay,” Sherwood said. “Have a good day.”
“No… wait! Are you serious?”
“It’s a good case.” This time Sherwood sounded more somber. “But there’s a catch.”
Jason waited. There was always a catch.
“The case was filed in Virginia Beach. The plaintiff’s lawyer is not the kind to settle. It seems to me that any lawyer taking this case would have to spend a lot of time in Virginia Beach, maybe even move there. It’s the kind of case where you’ve got to get inside the heads of the jurors. From your time with us, you know how important that is.”
“I’ve spent time in Newark. I think I could survive a few months in Virginia Beach.”
“Good. The client will be calling you any day. Her name is Melissa Davids. She’s the CEO of MD Firearms. She wants you to defend the Rachel Crawford case.”
Jason didn’t respond immediately; he was not at all sure that he had heard the man correctly. “The Crawford case?”
“She wants a fresh face to represent the gun industry,” Sherwood said. It sounded like he was having fun breaking the news. “Someone who might also happen to be a pretty decent trial lawyer.”
Jason was at a loss for words. Most lawyers waited an entire career for a case like this. “Am I going to serve as local counsel?”
“Not just local counsel. As far as I know, they’re looking for you to help try the case. Maybe serve as co-counsel with their in-house lawyer.”
“That’s unbelievable…” For a split second, the euphoria lifted Jason. The next second, reality set in. “What makes them think I’m qualified?”
“They’re going on my say-so. And trust me, Jason, you’re more than ready.”
19
Melissa Davids did not waste any time. She called Jason the day after his phone conversation with Robert Sherwood and summoned him to Atlanta for an urgent meeting with herself and Case McAllister, general counsel for MD Firearms.
Jason scheduled his flight for 6:30 a.m. on December 12, two days after the initial phone call. He woke at 4 a.m. and rummaged around his closet for a few extra minutes before deciding on the perfect attire for meeting with a gun-manufacturing client-jeans, a white shirt, and a sports jacket. The windchill was supposed to be near freezing, but Jason hated traveling while carting around a heavy winter coat and briefcase. Since 95 percent of his time would be spent indoors or on planes, he decided to leave the overcoat at home.
His commuter flight got bounced around a little by the wind gusts. When it finally landed, they had to sit on the runway for thirty minutes waiting for their gate to clear. Jason fought his way through the crowded terminal to the underground transit and up the long escalator to the baggage claim area.
A driver holding a poster-board sign with Jason’s name printed neatly in black Magic Marker waited for him. For the first time in his life, Jason felt like a big-time lawyer.