Light from a window in Sprinkle’s Store cast a harsh glare across the front seat of Scott Nolan’s car. He squinted and reached for the visor. Before he could lower it, the light went out. Darkness cloaked the parking lot. Moments later, a woman came from the building, crossed the gravel lot, and disappeared down a trail through the bushes on the far side.
Scott checked his watch, then lowered the windows and switched off the engine. Heavy night air hung around him like a thick, wet blanket. Sweat formed along his arms. The sleeves of his shirt stuck to his skin. He loosened the cuffs and rolled them up his forearm. He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and pulled out the white stay.
Behind him, he heard the whine of tires on the pavement. A truck passed pulling a boat on a trailer. After it came a motorcycle. When they were gone, the night grew quiet and still.
Before long, headlights appeared in the distance. As they came nearer he could see it was a car.
The car slowed and turned from the pavement. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as it rolled behind him to the opposite side of the store. Scott heard the engine stop. A car door opened, then clicked closed.
Footsteps approached, coming up behind him. He glanced in the mirror but saw only the gray
outline of the bushes against the evening sky. Then, the passenger door opened. Scott jumped at
the sound. Mike Connolly slid in beside him on the front seat.
At fifty-something, Connolly’s dark hair was beginning to turn gray. He was slim and athletic, but years of drinking and hard living had left lines around the corners of his eyes and robbed his skin of its natural luster. Still, he was the best lawyer Scott knew and the only one he trusted. Connolly glanced over at him.
“What is it we have to meet out here about?”
Scott reached over the back of the seat for his jacket. He took a paper from the inside pocket and handed it to Connolly.
“They served me with this today.”
Connolly looked at the document.
“It’s a subpoena for a deposition.”
“I know. Why do they want to talk to me?”
Connolly laid the subpoena in his lap and leaned against the door.
“Camille Braxton’s mother is suing the bank and Buie Hayford about the way they managed that trust.”
Scott was puzzled.
“The trust?”
“Tonsmeyer Trust. The one I told you about. Owned that building where they had Panama Tan.” Connolly grinned. “You remember Panama Tan, don’t you?”
Scott ignored the needling question.
“They needed to be sued. Why do they want me?”
Connolly sighed.
“It’s not you they want.” He looked over at Scott. “It’s me.”
“You?”
“Larry King called me the other day. He wants me to testify about what happened with the tanning salon. The women. The warehouse where they had them staying. How Defuniak was in there. In the building where they were keeping them. Knew all about.”
Scott felt frustrated.
“So, they depose everyone who ever knew you?”
Connolly shrugged.
“Who knows? Buie’s lawyer would depose me but he knows I’m not talking about anything. Most of what I know is privileged and getting past that is more than he wants to get into anyway. And even if he did, none of it would help his client.” He handed the paper back to Scott. “So, they’re asking you about it.”
“But I wasn’t there. All I did was drive them over to Florida after you got them out.”
A smile spread across Connolly’s face.
“And, you went to the tanning salon.”
Scott felt his cheeks flush with the memory. He turned away.
“Don’t remind me.”
He could feel Connolly staring at him.
“You closed your eyes. Right?”
Memories of that night swept through Scott’s mind like a storm. He’d been there all right. And he’d closed his eyes – most of the time.
Scott cleared his throat.
“Any word from Raisa?”
“Not really. They say she’s all right.”
“Still miss her?”
“I don’t know. Hey, I would have looked too.”
Scott turned from the window and swung his arm toward Connolly. His hand struck Connolly on the shoulder.
“I didn’t look.”
Connolly laughed.
“Okay. Whatever you say.”
Connolly continued to laugh. Scott glared at him, trying to be mad, but he couldn’t keep from smiling. “Well, I might have looked a little.” He slapped Connolly on the chest. “And every time you bring it up I have to work for a week to get it out of my mind.”
Connolly laughed even harder. Scott leaned his head back against the seat. They both caught their breath.
“Hear from anyone else?”
“Just Victoria.” Connolly chuckled. “Hollis tells me more than I want to know about her.”
“How is Hollis?”
“He’s fine.”
“What about the others? Hear from any of them?”
“No. I think everyone else was resettled. Scattered across the country. Government couldn’t really send them back. Not after all that.”
Scott stared ahead out the windshield.
“Can you imagine? Someone comes to you. You think they can open the door to your dreams. Then you wake up and realize, you’re trapped.” He looked over at Connolly. “And I mean really trapped. Economically, socially, physically.”
Connolly nodded.
“And I’m sure it happens every day.”
“Shuttled from place to place. Bought. Sold. Beaten. Forced to …”
His voice trailed away. Connolly took a breath.
“Yeah, well, we got them out.” He sighed again. “And now, the bank’s gonna pay for it.”
“Think they can win?”
“The bank?”
“No. The people who filed the lawsuit. The little girl’s grandmother.” Scott glanced at the subpoena. “Jessica Stabler.”
Connolly smiled.
“Oh, yeah.” He nodded. “She can win. The only real question is who goes to jail.”
Scott felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Jail. Testimony. The grand jury. There was no way Connolly could know about Tatiana. He did his best to hide what he knew.
“Jail?”
Connolly nodded.
“A judge hears all that stuff, somebody will do some time. I mean, all the prosecutor would have to do is follow the script.”
Scott felt relieved.
“Yeah. I guess so.”
Connolly leaned forward and opened the door.
“Anyway. We can’t talk about this anymore.”
Scott frowned.
“Why not?”
“Because they’ll ask you if we talked. You’ve taken enough depositions to know that.”
Scott nodded. That was a long time ago. Most days, he never even thought about what he used to be.
Connolly got out of the car and pushed the door closed. He rested both hands on the door frame
and leaned his head through the opening.
“Keep your eyes open. Buie’s lawyer is a guy named John Somerset. He’s smart and meticulous.
So when you answer, make sure it’s the truth ’cause he won’t forget a word you say. And watch out for Buie. He’ll get as dirty as it takes to win.”
Connolly stepped away. Scott started the engine and pressed a button to raise the window. Just
then, Connolly leaned through the opening once more.
“And whatever you do, tell the truth.”
With his always-refreshing, authentic Southern
style, Joe Hilley continues spinning legal thrillers
with threads that are spiritually engaging, socially relevant, and downright entertaining.
The Deposition is another memorable pearl in the strand of Mike Connolly mysteries.
Kelli Hewett Taylor,
The Birmingham News
