Chapter 8: The Hearing
The courtroom was smaller than I expected.
Wood paneling, fluorescent light, a clock on the wall that ran thirty seconds fast.
I had noticed the clock on a previous visit and it had never been corrected.
David Crane sat at the opposing table with Gerald Holt beside him.
Gerald was smaller in person than I had imagined — a compact man in his late sixties, gray at the temples, his hands folded on the table in front of him with the careful stillness of someone trying not to move wrong.
He looked at me once when I came in.
I looked back.
He looked away first.
Patricia sat in the gallery, three rows behind her husband.
She had come alone.
She did not look at David Crane.
Susan presented the recording.
She presented the original accident reconstruction report, which had reviewed the same camera footage David's team had used and found no evidence of contributing negligence from a second vehicle.
She presented a statement from the original reconstruction expert explaining why the sedan in the photograph — Gerald's sedan — was in a position consistent with normal highway driving, not a lane change.
Then she presented a comparison between the incident description in David's motion and the description Gerald had given Patricia on the recording.
The judge listened without interrupting.
David Crane's rebuttal lasted nine minutes.
He argued that the recording was obtained without consent, that his client's account had evolved as his memory clarified, that the reconstruction was a matter of interpretation.
The judge asked him one question.
"Mr.
Crane, in your motion you stated that your client witnessed the sedan — your client's own vehicle — cut across two lanes immediately before the impact.
You described this as your client's direct testimony." She looked at him over her glasses.
"The recording Mrs.
Park has submitted contains your client describing, in his own words, that he was in the right lane and did not change lanes.
Which account reflects what your client actually told you before you filed?"
David Crane straightened his jacket.
"Your Honor, memory in traumatic situations—"
"Which account, Mr.
Crane."
The clock on the wall ticked thirty seconds fast.
"The motion reflected my best understanding at the time of filing," he said.
The judge wrote something.
She did not look up when she spoke.
"The motion to intervene is denied.
The settlement stands as awarded." She set her pen down.
"I am also referring this matter to the state bar for review of the conduct underlying the filing.
Mr.
Crane, you will receive formal notice within ten business days."
Gerald Holt put his face in his hands.
David Crane gathered his papers.
He stood, and for a moment he looked across the room at me.
His expression was not angry.
It was something smaller than that.
Something that knew it had been caught doing something small.
He walked out without speaking.
Susan touched my arm lightly.
"It's done."
In the gallery, Patricia Holt sat very still.
Her husband had not turned around to look at her.
After a long moment, she stood, gathered her coat, and walked to the aisle.
She stopped beside me on her way out.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
She shook her head.
"Don't thank me." She glanced toward the door where Gerald had gone.
"I have my own reckoning to get to."
She walked out.
The courtroom emptied around me.
Susan was speaking to the clerk.
The clock on the wall ticked its steady, slightly wrong rhythm.
May you like
I sat for a moment in the quiet.
Then I picked up my bag and followed the light out.
