Wrongful Death: The AIDS Trial

  Chapter Ten

  Bill Meadows walks through the door from the garage into his kitchen and is surprised to find Sarah standing at the sink, looking out into the garden, apparently staring at something in her mind. Matthew is gathering up sports equipment and heading out the side door. Grayson is finishing a snack, also hurrying to leave.

  “I'll be at Bobby's,” Matthew says over his shoulder on the way out.

  Sarah comes out of her stupor long enough to yell after him, “Be back in an hour for dinner.”

  “Can I go ride my bike, Mom?” Grayson tries to ask while chewing one last bite.

  “Yes, but wear your helmet, and don't go too far.”

  Grayson disappears through the garage door.

  “And be careful,” Sarah tries to add, but Grayson is already gone.

  “You're home early.” Actually, Bill meant it more as a question than a statement.

  “Yes. The trial ended early today.” Sarah doesn’t look at him or welcome him home with a kiss.

  “Where's Peyton?” Bill asks, looking around.

  “She's upstairs, studying.”

  These aren’t the upbeat answers that Sarah would usually give to virtually any question he would ask, and Bill knows something’s not right. He just doesn’t know what it is.

  “Sarah, what’s going on? Are you upset?”

  Sarah doesn’t answer immediately because she’s not exactly sure what to say. Bill waits patiently, and finally Sarah turns to him. “Got a minute to talk?”

  “Sure.”

  “Wine?”

  “You can whine if you need to.” Bill always tries to keep things light.

  Sarah hardly cracks a smile.

  Obviously, she’s not in the mood for bad jokes. “Yes, I’ll have some wine with you.”

  Sarah pours them both a glass of wine and leads them into the living room, where she collapses on the sofa while Bill takes the recliner.

  “Sure is quiet,” Bill volunteers, just to break the silence. “Nice for a change.” Then he decides to shut up and give Sarah all the time she needs to start talking. It doesn’t take that long.

  “I can't figure him out.”

  When that’s all she says, Bill is forced to ask, “Who are we talking about?”

  “Messick.”

  Bill is still in the dark. “Who?”

  “The plaintiffs' attorney. His name is Benjamin Messick.”

  Oh, the court case. I should have known. “What's the problem?”

  “I don't know. There's just something strange about him, about the way he's presenting this case.”

  Bill waits patiently, knowing that eventually Sarah will get to the point. She always does, but sometimes she takes the strangest routes and the longest time. He loved her in spite of it.

  “Court was over by three, and I spent the rest of the afternoon doing some research, looking up Messick on the Internet.”

  Another long pause. Finally Bill feels she must need some help getting this out. “And? You found...”

  “He's thirty-eight, single, comes from a very wealthy family...”

  Bill laughs. He can’t stop himself. “I didn't know you were looking to replace me!”

  “Bill, please be serious for a minute.”

  “Sorry.”

  “He lives alone, and apparently very modestly. University of Michigan Law School in Ann Arbor. Small practice here in Phoenix. Nothing spectacular. Takes mostly personal injury cases...”

  “Sounds like a pretty normal guy to me.”

  “Yeah, but he lost his best friend to AIDS in 1994, and also a brother...”

  “So did you. That's no reason not to trust him.”

  “I just can't figure him out. I mean, if he were to take a standard 30% commission on this case, and if he gets the award amount he's asking for, that would be 900 billion dollars just for him! And he's going this alone. He's got no backup in the courtroom, no support. He's doing something weird by calling a lot of hostile witnesses, and the judge is already suspicious. He has to know he can't win, that he has no case. I would say he was simply out for the publicity, but he doesn't come across as that sort of person.”

  “Don't you think 900 billion dollars could be reason enough?” Bill wasn’t cynical, but he was practical.

  “Well, you know he's not going to take that much money, even if he wins, and even if the jury should give him the full award – which is highly doubtful. And from what I can tell, he doesn't need the money.”

  “Well, maybe he does actually have a case and he sincerely wants to help these people.”

  Bill knows immediately this was the wrong thing to say. He didn’t mean to upset Sarah even more, but he had. Now she wasn’t just depressed; she was angry, too.

  “Oh, come on, Bill. There's not a chance in hell he can win, and you know it.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything about this case, Sarah,” he says, trying to smooth things over a little. “But how did he convince the families of the victims to be part of a class action suit to begin with?”

  “I don't know.” Sarah seems to drift off in her own thoughts again. “There's a lot I don't know, come to think about it.”

  “Maybe you should ask the families themselves, if you're so concerned.”

  Sarah looks directly at Bill for the first time since he’s been home and her face brightens with newfound excitement.

  “Their names are public record, aren't they? Bill, you should have been a lawyer!” She gets up from the sofa and goes and kisses Bill square on the mouth. “That's exactly what I'll do! ­Thank you, Bill – you’re brilliant!”

  Bill gets up and collects their empty wine glasses, and then heads off for the kitchen.

  “That's why you pay me the big bucks, baby....”