Page 38 of The Proving Ground
“Oh, yeah,” Jack said. “Not your style?”
“More of a Carlos Santana guy.”
“I get that.”
“You finding anything in there that’s going to be usable at trial, or are we just whistling in the wind?”
“No, you called it, man. It’s going to be a gold mine. Listen to this one. She wrote this email to Jerry Matthews. It’s the—”
“I forget, who is Matthews?”
“The overall manager of Project Clair.”
“Right. Go ahead, read it.”
“It’s her last communication to the company. Sent the day she got fired. She says, ‘Jerry, one last time, I can’t stress enough the liability the company will encounter should Clair say the wrong thing or encourage the wrong behavior or action by a child user. I am glad I won’t be part of the company when that happens.’”
I whistled. “Wow,” I said.
“It’s the smoking gun!” Jack said.
“Now we just have to figure out how to get it to the jury.”
“You’ll find a way, Mick.”
I appreciated McEvoy’s confidence, but I was worried. As I drove, I started thinking of alternative ways of recruiting Naomi Kitchens as a witness.
17
MONDAY MORNING Iwas in my office writing out questions for voir dire. In federal court, the judge evaluated potential jurors using questions submitted by the attorneys for both sides. Lorna entered without knocking, holding the cordless office phone to her chest so the caller couldn’t hear her.
“Cassandra Snow?” Lorna asked. “With the sexy voice? She said you’d know the name.”
I did. But it had been at least twenty years since I’d put Cassandra Snow out of my thoughts. And back then she didn’t have a sexy voice. She was only three years old.
Lorna read the look of apprehension on my face.
“You want me to tell her you’re not here?” she asked.
“Uh, no,” I said. “I’ll take it.”
I picked up the extension on my desk phone, lifted the receiver, and waited for Lorna to leave. She didn’t. I nodded toward the door and she got the message.
“Please close the door,” I added.
Lorna threw a suspicious look at me as she backed out and pulled the door closed.
“Cassandra?” I said.
“Mr. Haller,” she said. “Do you remember me?”
“Of course I do. How are you?”
“Um, I’m doing the best I can.”
“And your father?”
“Uh, not so good.”
