CHAPTER NINE
Doc left me with my thoughts drifting back to the men I’d served with in Vietnam. I had not kept up with them, and I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the fear that they would trigger memories I’d rather forget, bring the past into the present. I could not reconcile those terrible days in a war-torn country with the life I had now, living quietly on an island awash in sunshine and good cheer, with friends and fishing and booze and the occasional pretty girl to share my bed.
A couple of years back, I’d run into my old first sergeant, Jimbo Merryman. He lived over in the middle of the state near Lake Okeechobee and every now and then I’d drive over and we’d take his skiff out for some bass fishing in the lake. He kept up with the guys, but we didn’t talk much about those days or the people who had shared them with us.
I wasn’t sure about the civil suit that Doc wanted me to file. I owed him a lot, but I also owed my profession something. I wouldn’t file a groundless suit, even if the end result could be justice. On the other hand, if I could find someone who I genuinely thought culpable in the death of Jim Desmond, I’d go after him. This wasn’t the kind of suit that resulted in money damages for the plaintiff, in this case Doc Desmond. The idea of the suit was that Doc was seeking compensation for the death of his son. But that was subterfuge, what the lawyers call a legal fiction. What we really wanted was to uncover evidence that would lead us to the murderer. We’d turn over whatever we found to the police and the prosecutors and let them proceed in the criminal courts. We’d drop the suit right then. Money was not the object.
I called Jimbo Merryman. “Top,” I said, when he answered, “it’s Matt Royal.”
“How’s the boy warrior?”
I laughed. “Hanging in there, Top. How’re you?”
“Couldn’t be better. You want to come down for a little fishing?”
“Can’t right now. I need to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Doc Desmond showed up at my door this morning.”
“I told him where you lived. I hope that was all right.”
“It was. I owe him a lot, and it was good to see him.”
“He’s got a lot of trouble, Matt. Losing his boy and all.”
“Tell me about him, Top.” I was using the name all army first sergeants are called informally by the men. They were the top sergeants. One of the most important ranks in the armed forces.
“He’s made a lot of money over the years. He’s done it honestly and by hard work. He’s a good man, Matt. I hope you can help him.”
“He wants me to file a lawsuit against his son’s murderer if we can find him. We would hope to gather some evidence that might be out of reach of the criminal prosecutors and turn what we find over to the cops for prosecution. Do you think he has any ulterior motive for such a suit?”
“No. I think he wants to find a little justice in all of this. His son is dead, his marriage may be dead too if Julie can’t rouse herself from her grief. He’s grabbing at straws, I think, but he’s an honest man, Matt. He’s the same guy we knew in Nam. Only richer. A lot richer.” He chuckled.
“Okay, Top. I just wanted your take on him. I’ll do whatever I can.”
“I told Doc he could count on you.”
“I’ll call soon and we’ll go fishing.”
“You do that, L.T.”
Jimbo was not only the best soldier I’d ever known, he was also the best judge of men I’d ever met. Maybe the two went together. He was a great soldier because he could size up a man in an instant. I’d never known him to be wrong. Maybe this time he was.
I shook my head. I’d put the courtroom and all that it entails behind me. I didn’t want to get involved again in the shenanigans that the modern-day lawyer uses. The defendant always pushes for delay. Delay is good for them. They get to bill more hours, make more money with which to stoke the fires of the modern big firm demons. I’d found the tactics stifling, irritating, and detrimental to all the clients on both sides of a case.
The Holy Grail of the judiciary was a clear docket. Judges pushed hard for case closure, but never seemed to understand that by allowing some of the stupidity that bogged down the system, they were not clearing their cases. A closed case was not a billable case. Lawyers didn’t like them, but judges lusted after them. It was not a happy forum for litigants with good causes.
I didn’t want any part of it, not the other lawyers, not the judges, not the useless paper pushing that was the norm. But I owed Doc, and even if I didn’t, I’d want to help. No matter how many years pass, men who forged bonds at war are still brothers and when one is wounded, the others gather round to lend what assistance they can. Doc had risked his life for me. The least I could do was deal with a few idiots for him.
I called J. D. Duncan and asked her to meet me for lunch at Nosh-ARye on Avenue of the Flowers.