In 'A Reasonable Person', Mark Dorsey applies all of his legal skills in a parade of trials representing clients being sued in quest of insurance company dollars. The story centers on Dorsey's attempts to find harmony in his professional and personal lives. While facing a never ending trial schedule, he engages in dramatic relationships with his loving and supportive wife, his childhood sweetheart who has become a demanding mistress and his gifted and engaging but somewhat irresponsible partner. The story focuses on a series of cases each of which is an absorbing little drama, most of which are played out in courtrooms. As he meets with various challenges in his professional role, Mark also grapples with personal conflicts which threaten to destroy his marriage and his firm. As he is on the verge of making a potentially ruinous decision, a catastrophe occurs forcing him to see clearly what he must do. `A Reasonable Person' reveals the world of insurance litigation in which justice may prevail if it is not prevented by mendacity, prevarication or incompetence. We see how attorneys who have mastered the intricacies of insurance law and are willing to make the effort to apply them will succeed on behalf of their clients. But as Mark Dorsey has discovered, achieving victory as a "hired gun" in the courtroom is not always gratifying.
A Reasonable Person
By Walter DavisAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Walter Davis
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4520-0557-7Chapter One
"Mr. Boyle, you may now give your summation," Judge Takai announces from the bench.
It's the final day of trial and we all watch William Boyle, attorney for the plaintiff, walk to the lectern. Boyle has a reputation for being merciless in a courtroom and he has certainly lived up to that reputation during this trial. In his mid fifties with a full head of premature white hair, tall and distinguished, he's a complete gentleman outside of courtrooms, but turns into a vicious cobra the moment a trial begins.
Without any notes, Boyle reconstructs what happened so vividly that all of us in the courtroom are able to visualize it. "It happened in a little house on Maui, a one story, single wall, wooden structure owned and maintained by Maui Sugar Company, one in a row of company owned houses occupied by employees and their spouses. It's an outdated custom so when both spouses die, the house is torn down. In this particular house, Irene Sato, sixty years old, petite widow of plantation worker, Taki Sato, lived alone."
Boyle is at pains to recreate the scene, even describing the interior. "It's modest but clean, freshly painted and well maintained. The furniture is plain but comfortable and sturdy. Pictures of the Sato family decorate the walls - the Satos, their son who was killed in Vietnam and their daughter."
He wants the jurors to place themselves on the scene, and by elaborating and delaying the revelation of what is to follow he heightens tension and the shock of discovery. Even though the jurors already know what happened, their reaction will be far more intense if they are made to experience it vicariously.
"And there is Irene, preparing lunch for herself and her daughter when she hears the knock on the door." To make us all see her more clearly, he even describes what she's wearing. "She's sixty years old, but hasn't lost her youthful figure, can still wear shorts and a navy blue tee shirt. Hearing the knock on the door, she's hoping it's the plumber she asked for. As she opens the door she sees a man with a tool box. He's an ordinary looking young fellow, tall and lanky, wearing khaki pants and a shirt with the words 'Maui Sugar' embroidered above the left breast pocket. This reassures her, but more reassuring is the Marine emblem tattooed on his left arm with the words 'Semper Fi' under it. Her fallen son had been a Marine."
'Hello, are you the plumber?' She asks.
'Yes ma'am,' he replies. 'I was sent over by my supervisor, Bob Lacey, to fix your commode.' He lifts the tool box."
"She smiles, opens the door and gestures for him to enter. 'I know Bob,' she says. 'I'll show you the bathroom.' Leading the way down a narrow hallway, she points out the bathroom and leaves him there, returning to the kitchen to finish preparing lunch."
"She's slicing tomatoes for sandwiches when she hears a sound behind her. Before she can turn she feels a strong arm squeeze her neck and a sharp object pressed between her shoulder blades. She drops her knife, gasping for breath. A voice whispers in her ear, "I've got a knife. Drop your shorts." She obeys and is easily forced to the floor.
"He tightens his grip on her neck and the kitchen turns into one big blur and rapidly turns dark. She can feel her panties being torn off. The last sensation she feels before she dies is being penetrated."
By now the jury is fixated on the horror of what happened. By pitching to their imaginations and creating immediacy, Boyle has virtually made them eyewitnesses to the crime, and he obviously hopes to focus their revulsion onto my client, who has employed the murderer.
"Objection!" I almost shout the words as I rise. "All of this is mere speculation on the part of counsel."
Judge Takai looks annoyed as he says, "Objection overruled, please be seated Mr. Dorsey." I sit.
Boyle, unperturbed, continues. "This 'plumber,' who had been working for Maui Sugar for a mere three days, had a dishonorable discharge from the marines for acts of violence and a police record for rape and assault with a deadly weapon. We've proven, ladies and gentlemen, by a preponderance of the evidence, not only was the defendant negligent, it was guilty of gross negligence in its hiring practices."
Again, I rise. "Objection, Your Honor. There's never been any allegation of gross negligence."
Judge Takai looks at me and almost sneers, "Objection overruled. Please continue Mr. Boyle." Again, I sit. So far I have a perfect record with this judge. He's overruled every one of my objections and sustained all of Boyle's. Once again, I thank God for juries.
Boyle continues. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, the defendant was grossly negligent causing my client indescribable mental distress. Imagine walking into her mothers home for lunch and seeing her nude body, raped and strangled by an employee who had a record of violence a mile long. You should bring back an award in the millions. Thank you."
Since when, I ask myself, is it considered rude to object? I try to remember why I've been taking crap like that from Boyle for the past eight days without a retort. It's certainly not because he's considered the most renowned and high powered plaintiffs attorney in the state. That never stopped me before. Oh yes, I remember, it's because this is his last trial. He's been appointed to the federal bench and who knows how many times in the future I'll have to appear before him.
Judge Takai motions for me to start my summation. I stand and walk to the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen," I begin," Eight days ago you each promised to follow the instructions which will be given to you by the court. Soon you will have to keep that promise." I remind them that the plaintiff has the burden of proof, that they are to use their common sense and that they are to decide the case without sympathy for or bias against either side. I agree that this was a terrible tragedy and that no one could feel worse about it than my client, Maui Sugar Company.
Looking at the jury, I like what I see. Six men, four of whom retired to Maui and two utility workers. An equal number of women, three housewives and three school teachers. They don't look like people who will award millions of dollars.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I continue, "We can all feel the horror that the plaintiff must have felt when she entered the house and saw her mother lying on the kitchen floor. But by no stretch of the imagination should this be blamed on Maui Sugar. All of the testimony during the past eight days has clearly shown that Maui Sugar completely followed the law in its hiring practices. And, the law is clear that it was not legally allowed to check out the criminal or military record of any prospective employee, especially such a low level maintenance worker as Roger Schmidt."
"When you're in the jury room," I tell them, "please review the rules and regulations forbidding companies to obtain any records having to do with the criminal or military background of prospective employees." I then review the testimony of the human resource people and the expert witnesses, all of whom confirmed that Maui Sugar was prohibited by law from looking at such records. "It's true," I say, "that Schmidt had a record of violence, but it's also true that there was no legal way that my client could discover that record."
What I don't mention, and what even Boyle seemed to overlook, is that Schmidt's supervisor should never have allowed the bastard to enter the woman's home by himself. After all, Schmidt had only been on the job for a few days and nothing was known about him. Certainly the supervisor did not act as a reasonable person. As I scan the members of the jury it crosses my mind that they seem too intelligent to overlook this fact. In a way, that pleases me. Even though it's my job to argue against her, I certainly empathize with the daughter and hope she receives a fair award.
In my concluding remarks, I tell them that my client acted as a reasonable employer would act under the same or similar circumstances and that they should find in favor of Maui Sugar. "However," I further tell them, "if you don't agree with me on that, the award should be no more than $50,000." Of course, what I don't tell them is that we offered $150,000 to settle which was turned down cold by Boyle. I thank them for being attentive and sit.
As the judge instructs the jury, my mind wanders. Today is Wednesday, the eighth and final day of trial. As soon as the judge finishes, I'll return to my office in Honolulu and try to catch up with some neglected paper work. Tonight it's a red eye to Denver for medical depositions in an upcoming trial, and then to San Francisco for another deposition on Friday morning. Finishing the week, I'll spend Friday afternoon with Elaine. Its been months since I've seen her and the thought of our being together, even for one afternoon, both excites me and makes me feel guilty as hell. I'm married to a wonderful, caring woman and no one appreciates her more than I do. But I've been obsessed with Elaine since we were kids, and I seem to have no control over my feelings for her. I wonder to myself, when did love become more complicated than law?
Chapter Two
I've always been an early riser. Even as a kid, during the hot Iowa summers, I'd be the first to get up, have a quick bowl of cereal, grab my baseball glove and wake my friends by banging on their windows as the sun was barely lighting up the sky. I love early mornings when the air is still cool and fresh and my mind seems clear and focused. It's a habit that remained with me through college and law school and has continued to the present.
On mornings when I'm in trial I get up even earlier than usual, which explains why I'm sitting on my lanai on this Monday morning, watching the sky turn brighter as the sun slowly lights up the ocean inching its way across my lawn and finally casts its glare directly into my eyes. The weather bureau was right. This is one of the hottest summers Honolulu has ever experienced.
Putting down the paper, I gaze at the ocean as I finish my second cup of coffee. My thoughts center on Elaine and I savor the few hours we spent together on Friday. Completing my deposition by noon, we met in the lobby of my hotel and went directly to my room. Several months had passed since our last meeting and, without saying a word, we undressed and fell on the bed. The day would have been perfect except for the feelings of guilt washing over me, except for that small inner voice telling me that this was all wrong.
As I watch some shorebirds flirting on the sand, I hear my wife's voice call out from the kitchen, "Do you want another cup?"
"No, but I would like a banana."
She comes out carrying a hot cup of coffee in one hand and two bananas in the other, wearing a flowered flannel robe with nothing underneath. As usual she's barefooted. Like many of the local people she has a mixed heritage, German and Irish with some Chinese and Hawaiian. Her features are almost perfect with high cheek bones, full lips and large brown eyes, sparkling with wit and curiosity. Her light brown complexion, jet black hair and slender, graceful figure makes her look years younger than her age of forty-two.
She takes a sip of her coffee and says, "I've hardly seen you since last weekend. You were only home for a few hours before leaving for Denver, and yesterday you were busy all day preparing for today's trial."
You're right, I'm sorry." I reply. I feel so bad that I can hardly look her in the eye. I hate myself when I lie to her.
"I understand," she says, "but I missed you, and you never told me how the Maui case turned out."
Thankful that she's changed the subject, I reply, "Maui turned out great. The jury awarded $50,000." The best thing about that was sticking it to Boyle after he had been sticking it to me for eight days.
"What's today's trial about," she asks.
"The one today is fairly simple," I say. "An aged alcoholic lawyer had too much to drink at the Queen Kapiolani Hotel. He started hitting on a couple of tourists, and when they complained he called them some nasty names. The bartender called security which had the police remove him from the premises. While this was going on, his wife was upstairs competing in a bridge tournament."
"He sounds like a real jerk. What's he suing for?"
"Assault and battery, false imprisonment and mental distress," I reply. "It shouldn't take more than two days."
"It does sound sort of silly. What time does it start?" She asks.
"Eight thirty," I reply. "The problem is the old guy is representing himself and that always makes thing more difficult." I then ask, "Is my tie all right?"
She looks at me and smiles. "Yes, it looks fine. I really like seeing you in a suit, it gives you a very handsome look."
I laugh out loud at that one. I certainly have never considered myself handsome. Even my mother never called me handsome. My features are somewhat too sharp, my nose a shade too conspicuous, my jaw a trifle too square. But I do feel that I have a somewhat imposing presence. I'm a bit over six feet and people have told me that I have the most penetrating eyes they've ever seen. And I'm hard pressed to explain my ability to discern instinctively whether a witness is telling the truth or not.
Finishing my coffee, I look towards the ocean and see the same three fishermen that are out there almost every morning, squatting on the beach, their lines floating on top of the water. I can hear their muffled laughter as they sit talking and, as usual, not paying any attention whatsoever to their fishing lines. These three old guys just enjoy having some time together on the beach.
I'm hoping that someday I'll have time to loaf for hours, sitting on the beach, trading stories with my buddies, my fishing line suspended in the water. But chances are I'll have a heart attack or a stroke long before that happens.
For now, it's an idle daydream, imagining how it would be to live a life without the stress or pressure that fill my days.
As Kathy sips her coffee, we sit quietly enjoying the changing colors of the ocean, the stillness of the morning, the singing of the birds and the occasional sound of the laughter coming from the men on the beach.
I look at her and feel as attracted to her now as I did eleven years ago when we were first married. Her first, my second, everything a man could want in a wife - devoted, intelligent, attractive, the proverbial good wife whose worth is far beyond red coral. Why would any man want more?
Kathy asks, "Is there anything interesting in the paper?
I hand her the newspaper. She can tell that my mind is somewhere else even as I answer, "I didn't see anything of interest Oh yes, we haven't had a hotter August in Honolulu since the weather bureau started keeping statistics. And here I am wearing a tie."
She smiles and begins to tease me. "I'm sure glad I don't have to get all dressed up today. I think I'll lounge by the pool or on the lawn this morning while you're earning a living for us in that sweltering courtroom."
I get up and move over to kiss her goodbye. "It sure pays to have a cushy job with the Board of Education. I wish I could have the summer off."
"You'd go nuts if you took off for a summer. Don't forget," she adds, "We're meeting at the Oahu Country Club at seven tonight. It's Lynn's birthday and I'm taking her out for golf this afternoon." Lynn Cooper, an attractive thirty-five year old former para-legal, is my partner's wife.
I give her a kiss goodbye and tell her, "I'm looking forward to it, I'll see you tonight."
I pull out of my driveway and since it's early head for the freeway. Most of the houses on Kahala Beach are large and expensive, they're mainly stately old homes protected by large fences and stone walls. Long driveways wind through yards landscaped with exotic plants, swimming pools and even some tennis courts. Ours is one of the smaller and less expensive homes but there's nowhere else I'd rather live.
"Oh shit!" I yell out as I pull onto the freeway. Not even seven and traffic has come to a virtual standstill. As I inch forward I see the reason. A three-car accident is completely blocking the fast lane. I slowly approach the accident scene and can finally see the lanes opening up in front of me.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from A Reasonable Personby Walter Davis Copyright © 2010 by Walter Davis. Excerpted by permission.
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