Chapter 25
"Nick and I discussed this. We want to counter any foreseeable risk that we could be overheard. As you know, we've put security in place around the house, and across the ranch, but it doesn't preclude someone getting close enough to hear through a window … or door. People do come and go through the house, and we don't want to unduly disrupt the normal routine.
"No one has cause to be up here. With my window closed we are assured of absolute privacy."
He waited for the look of acknowledgement, and the accompanying nod of approval, before continuing. "I wanted to cover, with you, some of the more salient issues involved with your case. The first thing we are going to have to do is get a judgment that says you have standing."
Seeing the look of confusion on the young man's face, he hurried to explain. "In order to bring a civil suit you have to establish that you, personally, have been adversely affected by the death of Ucroft … differently than the public in general may have been. If you were family, by blood or marriage, you automatically have what the law calls standing. You are presumed to have been affected by the death.
"We have people who can attest to the deceased treating you as a son. We have his will naming you as heir, awaiting his signature, and for which an appointment had been set to get that signature. I don't believe it will be difficult to get that judgment, but we have to request it. Without it, there is little point in going forward.
Seeing nothing that indicated disagreement from his client, Jarrod continued. "My plan is to file that request here, in hopes that Greenley may not hear of it. It will buy us a bit of time. The request may be denied. The judge may rule that it needs to be granted in the same jurisdiction in which the case will be filed. As I said, I'm hoping that does not happen."
He paused again to see if there were questions and gauge if he was being understood. There being none of the former and an indication of the latter, he continued.
"We have to formulate a basis for this civil suit, and then accrue the necessary evidence to support it. As I'm sure you know, the standard of proof is less onerous in a civil action than in a criminal action. So, a goodly amount of evidence that was used in the murder trial will be resurrected … with a good chance of it being accepted. When I read over the transcript of the trial I surmised that a number of witnesses either vanished completely, or conveniently lost the acuity of their recall.
"I have never, and will never, suborn a witness. However, I may be able to assist some of those temporarily-amnesiac witnesses in regaining their memories. With a little help we may find some of those who went missing.
"As I see it, you will be requesting compensation on two fronts. One, you, at some point, would have inherited Ucroft's ranch … his entire estate. His new will was awaiting his signature … and would have gotten it the next day, had he not been murdered. Until he died you would have had steady income. So you sue for loss of immediate livelihood and loss of future inheritance.
"And, two, you have been deprived of the personal benefits of being part of a family … he was a surrogate father. So you sue for personal damages, for pain and suffering, for deprivation of family support and connection.
"Should they raise the defense that you are not without family, that you have a mother, we will counter with information that Ucroft's death lessened the opportunity to spend time with her. She did not live in a place where you could earn a living sufficient to support both of you, and you are now no longer afforded the opportunity to bring her to live near."
Jarrod caught the flash of pain across Heath's countenance at the mention of his mother, and assumed it was caused by this reminder that he'd lost the chance to have her nearby.
"Your testimony will be paramount in making the case. Unless we unearth the missing ranch hand, you are the only one who can identify Greenley as the assailant. Which brings up the other matter we need to address … the matter of your testimony and the steps the opposition will take to discredit it."
Jarrod sensed a brief flash of concern from the man … he couldn't be sure. Neither could he risk being right and not checking it out, no matter how distasteful the process may prove.
"Heath, I know Nathan Springer. Frank has confirmed that likely he will defend Greenley in this matter, as he did in the murder trial. He does his research. Thoroughly." He paused for a moment to see how the blond reacted to that information, and saw nothing.
He wanted to stop, and knew he couldn't. "Springer will hire someone to dig out every little piece of information that can be found … about you. Every. Little. Piece. He's relentless in this sort of pursuit. He'll likely find out how many times you skipped school to go fishing. If there is anything he is likely to find that he can use to discredit you as a witness, I need to know about it now. Without that knowledge I can't create a plan to counter it."
The room was growing warm and Heath was struggling to concentrate, struggling to follow all that Jarrod was saying. However, this last request penetrated the enclosing fog. He knew Frank never would have violated his privacy … never would have told Jarrod the things he now wanted to know.
Maybe it would be easier to have friends who were a little less considerate.
He fixed his gaze on the lawyer, and then began to speak, not realizing how bereft of emotion was his reply. "He won't find anything about me skipping school. Never went to school. The good citizens of the town were afraid their children would be tainted being that close to the town bastard.
"My parents were never married. Mama raised me alone with help from her best friend and a runaway slave. Never told me who my father was. I worked when and where I could as a child to help Mama. Joined the Union army when I was 12. Pay was better than anything else I could get.
"Spent the last seven months of the war in Carterson. You've probably heard of it. Did lots of things there I'm not proud of … and lots I am. At the time I was just trying to survive, and help my friend do the same."
He stopped to take a breath, wishing the window was open. It was getting hotter and hotter, harder and harder to hold on to the quickly-slipping grip of reality. He blinked, trying to bring the counselor into focus … wanting to gauge the effect of his revelations. He wondered at the seeming lack of recrimination, of disgust, he had so much expected. He needed to finish this … and quickly.
"Moved around a lot after the war, taking on a variety of jobs. Guess that could be made to look bad. Never left on bad terms though. Not even with Frank, after all the work he put into training me. Got into a few scuffles—over girls, or cards. Got into a few major fights—always over comments about my mama."
He wondered how much more to say … wondered how much more he could say, before he up and passed out. The room was starting to move … in a way no room ever was meant to move. He pushed himself to go on and end this here and now.
"And then there's my uncle Matt, and his wife Martha. He won't tell anyone anything good about me … or about Mama. And he'll lie about what he does tell if he thinks there might be something in it for him."
There was that look again. The look Jarrod this time interpreted to be sadness over the way his uncle treated his mother.
"Can't think there's much else to say. I'm guessing it's time to pack up my stuff and find a place to hole up until you're ready to go ahead."
Jarrod very quickly got concerned and said so. "Why would you pack up? And where do you imagine you could go that would be safe?"
The flummoxed look Heath gave him almost made the lawyer laugh. Had he done so, the blond would have been inclined to join him … he was astounded the lawyer would have to ask the question.
Why would I pack up? Does he really need to ask? If he's not brighter than that maybe I need to find me another lawyer.
He shook his head, but stopped quickly as the room appeared to want to unseat him. "Got no reason to be here, except I'm working for Nick. Once you tell him the truth about me, can't think he'll want me hanging around. And you'll tell him. You have to … he's your brother."
"Heath, my man, you do beat all … as that brother would say. Firstly, you are my client, and I've not made a habit of telling Nick, or anyone else, anything about my clients. Unless I need help from him, or them, and when that is the case what I tell them is only that which is germane to getting that help. Secondly, if I did tell him, it would make no difference whatsoever. Not to him … not to any of the family."
He paused for a moment, looking hard at the man across from him, almost daring him to object. "I'm presuming Ucroft knew everything you just told me? Do you somehow see us as less open-minded than was he … less willing to judge a man on what he does and how he does it, and not on how he came into the world, or how he manages his demons? Do you really think so little of us?"
Jarrod could feel his voice rising and knew he was getting angry. He fought to control himself, to bury his indignation. He didn't expect Nick would do the job as well as he. The response however, squelched the need to try.
"I'm sorry. That was unfair of me … especially after all you've done. Guess I wasn't thinking straight. I apologize … to you … to Nick and your family. It was wrong of me to think any such thing."
The remorse and despair evident in the timbre of the blond's voice was clear indication to Jarrod that this man was unaccustomed to being accepted by people who learned the truth about his background. He briefly wondered what it would be like to be forced to live in such a world, and instantly found his resolve to help grow stronger.
"No, Heath. I'm the one who needs to be sorry. I'd no right to accost you for reacting in accordance to what I'm assuming you typically have encountered from folks."
He suspected this may be a topic they would revisit, but right now he found himself looking upon someone who appeared to be fading before his eyes. Time to shut this down and let the man get some much needed rest.
"Heath, you look like you're ready to put an end to this day. Let's call it good for tonight. For now, I have all I need to proceed. If you have questions … at any time … feel free to raise them. In the meantime, I'll keep you abreast of my actions and the results. I hope you have a better sleep this night than last."
Heath startled momentarily at that, and then quickly realized it probably wasn't too hard to notice he looked as if he needed sleep. More important, for the moment, was getting out of this room … and this house … without arousing further suspicions of just how physically done he was.
Knowing if he just stood up, he'd fall over—or have to grab at something to avoid that happening—he took a firm grip on the arm of the chair before easing himself to his feet. Not ready to take the first step … hoping the floor beneath him would even out, and the walls would cease their side to side movements, he stalled.
"Thank you Jarrod. I want to say again that I appreciate all you're doing. I won't forget it. No matter how it turns out."
"My pleasure, Heath. And now I think you need to head to bed."
He eased his hand from the chair's arm, turning his body towards the door. His eyes snapped tightly closed, as he forced himself to swallow, and swallow again. He couldn't … he just couldn't … spew here, in front of Jarrod, and onto the obviously very expensive rug. If he could just make it out of the room, he was sure it would be cooler out there. He'd recover enough to make it down that mountainside of stairs and out the door.
His eyes stayed closed as he began the unsteady steps towards freedom. He opened them briefly after a few steps, checking to be sure he was still headed in the right direction. Jarrod saw the brief pause and wondered if his client had something to add, or a question to ask. When he saw him continue he breathed a sigh of relief. Both of them needed to be finished for this night.
Heath felt his hand brush against something hard and chanced another quick peek. The door. He'd made it. He wrapped his fingers around the handle and eased the barricade open, having to take an unwelcome couple of steps backward to do so. Lost ground to be regained.
He angled over to the opposite door jamb and took a firm grip on it as he felt himself falter. A deep breath. Another deep breath. It wasn't helping. The heat from his head seemed to be flowing downward. His legs were melting, the rest of him collapsing on top of them. He might have groaned. He wasn't sure. One more attempt at deep breaths, and he knew no more.