Silent Justice: A Ben Kincaid Novel of Suspense

Chapter 29

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF the jury,” Ben said. He addressed them squarely, standing directly behind the rail that separated the jurors from the rest of the courtroom. “There’s a little town not twenty miles away from Tulsa called Blackwood. It’s a nice place; I bet most of you have been there at one time or another, or at least have driven through. It has lovely green rolling hills, tall trees, abundant parks. The Arkansas River runs right through the center of town. Main Street is filled with what I’m told are some of the best antique stores in the area. It has homes, families, and schools—one of the best school systems in the state. But it also has something else. It has more than its share … of death.”

Ben spoke quietly, almost intimately, as if he were speaking to them one-on-one on a living room sofa rather than delivering a speech in a crowded courtroom. He didn’t use notes. He didn’t need them. “I represent eleven sets of parents, moms and dads, who live in the Blackwood area. These parents are different in many ways. They are teachers, physical therapists, ambulance drivers, accountants, office clerks, secretaries, post office employees. Some of them went to the same church; some of them had never met before. But they all share one element, one tragic common denominator. They all lost a child between the ages of eight and twelve.”

Ben proceeded to describe some of the leukemia cases, some of the heartaches his clients had endured. If anything, he soft-pedaled the drama; it was still early in the case and he didn’t want to seem as if he was trying to win a verdict on sympathy alone.

“Those of us who have not experienced it are simply incapable of understanding what these good people have been through. There can be nothing worse than losing your own child. Nothing in the world. But the aching is only intensified when it turns out the death was caused by factors that could’ve been prevented, factors that never should have arisen in the first place.”

Ben’s voice acquired a harder edge. He began describing the waste-disposal practices at H. P. Blaylock, how they used TCE and perc, both “identified by the EPA as dangerous carcinogens.” He was careful not to argue—this was opening statement, after all, not closing argument. The attorney was only supposed to preview the evidence that would follow, so he was careful to preface his points with the catchphrase: “The evidence will show …”

“The evidence will show that H. P. Blaylock engaged in practices that systematically contaminated the Blackwood water supply. They lied about it when initially asked, pretending they were having the waste carried off to a federally approved disposal site, but in fact much of the waste was buried underground, in permeable containers, making contamination of the groundwater inevitable. The groundwater seeped into a nearby ravine, which traveled directly to one of Blackwood’s water wells—Well B. The well that serviced the homes of every one of the children who died.”

Ben took a step closer, leaning against the dividing rail. “The defendant will undoubtedly deny all responsibility for their actions, just as they formerly denied they contaminated the water supply by burying waste underground. They will deny they did anything wrong, and furthermore will say that even if they did, it didn’t cause those poor children’s cancer. We will put on evidence demonstrating just the contrary—that a cancer cluster of this magnitude cannot be an accident, that contaminated water will in fact cause leukemia, particularly in vulnerable young growing bodies. But I will suggest, ladies and gentlemen, that this medical testimony will just be rubber stamping what each of you already knows. You don’t need medical evidence to tell you what happened here. Common sense tells you what happened here. Common sense tells you that when an entire neighborhood’s children start dying, the fact that the water supply is loaded with carcinogens is not simply a coincidence. It’s the cause.”

He paused, drawing himself up. He wanted to end on a calm, unemotional note. He knew Colby would accuse him of playing on the jurors" emotions. He didn’t want it to be any truer than necessary.

“You might be wondering, "Do I think the Blaylock company hurt those children on purpose?" No, of course not. They weren’t trying to hurt anyone. They did it because they didn’t care. They did it because it was cheaper than spending money to have the waste hauled away. It wasn’t malice that killed those boys. It was corporate indifference. Well-compensated executives putting profits above lives. That’s what killed my clients" children.”

Ben paused, carefully looking each juror in the eye. “This didn’t have to happen. They knew this was wrong. But they did it anyway.”

After Ben was finished, the gallery, packed as it was, remained silent for a very long time.

Judge Perry broke the silence by calling for a recess, to everyone’s relief. It was almost as if everyone in the gallery released their breath at once, a collective sigh. Gradually people found their way to their feet and shuffled out to the hallway.

Ben noticed the judge was frowning at him; he wondered if His Honor had frowned all the way through his opening. He probably hadn’t liked the part about “common sense.” Perry had already lectured Ben about the necessity of proving causation, and threatened him about the consequences if he didn’t. They both knew it was the weakest part of the plaintiffs" case—which was exactly why Ben had addressed the issue right off the bat.

When the recess ended, it was Colby’s turn to talk to the jury. Although he had the option of reserving his opening until it was time for him to put on the defense case, he of course chose to speak now. He’d have to be crazy to let Ben’s impassioned speech go unrebutted.

Colby didn’t mince words, didn’t beat around the bush. “Counsel for the plaintiff would have you believe that H. P. Blaylock is in the business of murdering children. Well, we’re not. We did not do this. This is not our fault. This is not simply the plea of a defendant being defensive; this is a fact. We did not do this. And more to the point—the plaintiffs are unable to prove that we did.”

Despite his strong words, Colby appeared to be playing it cool. Ben supposed he had been practicing long enough to know that an impassioned plea from an injured party simply has more rhetoric force than an impassioned denial from the accused. Natural sympathies would be with the parents who lost their kids, no matter what he did. So he took the Spock approach, played the cool, logical friend bringing reason to those who have been temporarily led astray.

He was also smart enough not to deny the undeniable. “A little bit of what counsel for the plaintiffs has told you is actually true. Blaylock employees—contrary to the procedures established by upper management—did in fact bury some waste underground, in a vacant lot behind the plant. That, however, does not prove that any of the waste spilled onto the ground. If in fact there ever was any spillage—which has yet to be proved—the amounts were so small they couldn’t have contaminated anything. Moreover, there is no proof that anything from the Blaylock lot ever made it to Well B—which is almost half a mile away.”

Colby had a strong, forthright voice, one that made it seem inconceivable that he could speak other than the truth. Ben knew it was that voice that had won Colby so many trials; when he was speaking, even Ben found it hard not to believe him.

“But that isn’t the biggest whopper in the plaintiffs" case. The largest hole in their scheme is where they suggest that these tiny chemicals caused those kids to develop leukemia. That statement is simply absurd. And unprovable. The fact is—no one knows what causes leukemia. Don’t take my word for it. Ask anyone. Every one of you could call up your family doctors tonight and ask them what causes cancer, and every one of them would say the same thing: "No one knows what causes leukemia." That’s the truth of the matter. Regardless of what Mr. Kincaid’s paid professional experts say.”

Colby paused, patting his vest pockets, then removing a pocket watch. He didn’t look at it, but simply fiddled with it, twisted the watch and chain in his hands. It may have seemed strange to the jurors, but Ben knew exactly what he was up to. He was making them wait—drawing out the suspense, making them hang on his every word. It was a great gimmick, although Ben had liked it better when he first saw Gregory Peck do it in To Kill a Mockingbird.

“These parents who have brought this lawsuit have been through a terrible tragedy. We can all agree about that. No parent should have to endure what they’ve endured. No one should have to bear so much pain. But they did. And when it was all over, it was only natural for them to want … something more. They start thinking, "Is that all there is?" "Did I spend all those years raising that boy … for nothing?" That’s when they start looking for someone to blame. It’s easier to think such a tragic loss is the fault of some evildoer, rather than to simply accept the truth—that fate is sometimes cruel and the Good Lord works in unfathomable and mysterious ways. They want to turn this tragic loss into a crusade.”

He tossed back his shoulders. “Those parents have my utmost sympathy. But ladies and gentlemen of the jury, H. P. Blaylock is not an evildoer. Blaylock is a fine, family-run business, the kind that made America great, one that has employed and supported thousands of families throughout this century. Our hearts go out to all parents who have lost a child—but we did not cause this tragedy. It is not our fault. And the plaintiffs—who bear the burden of proof—cannot prove otherwise. It’s that simple, really.”