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Chapter XIII

The Law Office

It was a twenty-three-story glass building. The elevators were placed at the front corners and faced outward. They, too, were encased with glass, allowing passengers an ever-widening panoramic view as they ascended. Edmunds never could figure out why heights made him uneasy; doing a “split-S” or “spinning” an aircraft didn’t faze him, but looking through the glass as the elevator rose caused him to reposition himself against the doors at the rear of the car. He remembered watching a show on the men who worked on repairing the radio tower atop the Empire State Building. It gave him the jitters just remembering how they were suspended from the tower by nothing more than a safety belt. The elevator stopped at the twenty-first floor. Edmunds shifted his weight forward slightly as the doors opened, depositing them into a beautifully designed atrium. Directly ahead, Edmunds saw the double glass doors leading to the lobby of the law offices of Helfinger, Bowes, and Donnelly. Braxton led the way.

On the other side of the glass doors seated behind a large semicircular reception desk was Rhonda Carrington, midthirties, slender, attractive, well-dressed, and well spoken. She rose as soon as she heard the soft bell sound announcing the elevator’s arrival. Carrington was as tall as the two men who approached.

“Good morning, Courtney.”

“Good morning, Rhonda. This is Mr. Edmunds. He’s our air traffic control expert. Michael, Rhonda Carrington, she runs the place.”

“Welcome to Boston, Mr. Edmunds.”

“Thank you, and it’s Michael, a pleasure.” She was not chomping gum and not caked in makeup; definitely not one from a Mickey Spillane novel, Edmunds noted.

Carrington turned to Braxton. “They’re expecting you in the conference room.”

Edmunds followed Braxton through a set of double oak doors, which led into a spacious room designed specifically for meetings. As soon as Edmunds entered, a distinguished-looking, silver-haired man approached. “Mr. Edmunds, I’m Frank Helfinger, welcome to Boston, and thank you for coming on such very short notice.” The senior partner extended his hand.

Helfinger’s voice conveyed sincerity. Edmunds liked that. He quickly dropped his carry-on, placed his garment bag over it, and shook hands.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Helfinger. It was not a problem, I assure you.”

The conference room’s design complemented that of the building. A long cherrywood boardroom table was surrounded by ten high-backed, deep burgundy leather chairs sat atop plush, deep pile medium-gray carpeting; one wall was regaled with hand-carved built-in bookshelves, the opposite decorated with original paintings by well-known artists; floor-to-ceiling glass on the exterior wall afforded a view rivaling that from the elevator.

Frank Helfinger was in his early sixties. At five nine and one hundred and eighty pounds, he was stocky, not fat. He’d worked hard to get where he was. His father had worked for the Boston transit system and painted houses in his spare time to earn additional income to send his son and daughter to college. His mother had stayed at home until he and his sister were old enough to take care of themselves, then went to work part-time as a telephone operator to help with the expenses. In college, Helfinger bussed tables for spending cash. He became interested in the law early. His mind thought logically. What’s more, it thought rapidly. He made law review, clerked for a Supreme Court justice, and accepted a job with a prestigious firm in Washington, DC, taking every case he could get his hands on. By the time he was twenty-nine, Frank Helfinger had returned to Boston, established his own practice, and earned a reputation for being tough, competent, and honest. He was dressed in a traditional navy blue pinstripe suit with white shirt, maroon tie, and black winged-tip shoes.

Helfinger quickly introduced his partner, Mark Donnelly, a small, quiet individual, wearing Benjamin Franklin octagonal wire glasses, whose looks and demeanor hid a courtroom bulldog. Helfinger’s other partner, Daniel Bowes, was out of town.

“And standing over there is Ms. Karen Blair who represents the estate of Mr. Crawford, the Cessna pilot killed in the crash,” continued Helfinger.

Edmunds hadn’t seen her when he’d walked into the room. She had been in the corner to his right, her back to the group, pouring a cup of coffee and outside his peripheral vision.

Helfinger gestured with his hand. “Ms. Blair, Mr. Edmunds.” They turned simultaneously. Only the look between Bogart and Bergman in the cafe scene from Casablanca came close. It lasted only a moment.

“Ms. Blair.”

“Mr. Edmunds.”

Each had nodded toward the other. Neither made any attempt to approach or extend a hand, and Edmunds did not say “The name’s Michael,” a fact not entirely lost on Courtney Braxton.

Helfinger kept talking. “I didn’t have a chance to brief Ms. Blair about your part in this case, Mr. Edmunds. We’ve been discussing other things, and since you haven’t decided yet to take this case, I thought it would be best to wait for your decision.”

Edmunds immediately turned back toward Helfinger. “Of course,” replied Edmunds. Years of keeping his voice and emotions under control during critical air traffic situations, not to mention some blistering cross-examinations by less-than-friendly lawyers, kept Edmunds’s countenance intact. He hadn’t accepted the case. He’d only agreed to read the FAA’s transcript and any other materials Helfinger had received from Senator Alread to determine if the case had merit and then meet face-to-face with Helfinger to discuss options. His services were not available as a “hired gun,” contrary to how opposing lawyers sought to portray him in court. If he thought Helfinger’s case was weak, he would tell him. He would also not accept it.

Edmunds immediately took control of the conversation. “I have a few suggestions. See if you can obtain Ms. Jason’s training records from every facility she has worked and get her test grades from the FAA Academy. I want to listen to the original tapes, not the re-recorded ones the FAA eventually supplies to everyone with the time channel noise overriding the transmissions making it almost impossible to hear what’s said. That means I need to get into the New England TRACON. I would also like to see the results of the TRACON’s past and present full facility evaluations. Mr. Helfinger, in our initial phone conversation you said you believed this case might move far more quickly than what one would otherwise expect because of some political pull being exerted in the right places. If that indeed turns out to be true, it would be extremely helpful if I do take this case for me to work with Mr. Braxton. I realize it’s not my place to ask this, however, Mr. Braxton is a pilot. He’s working on his instrument rating and is therefore versed in the language of air traffic control. I can proceed much more quickly and be far more productive if I don’t have to explain basic air traffic concepts and terminology to a lawyer, especially if the time frame to prepare for trial is going to be short. Mr. Braxton is far more likely to spot and exploit an opening during cross-examination at trial than someone not familiar with aviation and air traffic control. Also, Mr. Braxton will present the image of a concerned young man seeking to see that justice prevails. No offense intended, Mr. Helfinger, but the older and more polished members of your firm will appear too clinical to a jury. They will look as though they are more interested in padding their wallets than in compensating innocent victims.”

“None taken.”

Frank Helfinger did not get where he was by refusing to at least consider the advice of others. Edmunds’s comment made a lot of sense. If Braxton tried the case, he could always draw upon the experience of the other members of the firm. He could be a translator, merging the legal language and concepts of the law with those of air traffic control and aviation. Edmunds’s comments quickly solidified some tactical maneuvering the senior partner was already considering. Helfinger was representing the estate of Janet Alread, the senator’s wife. The senior partner had already been contacted by lawyers from other firms representing the estates of the other passengers. A plaintiff’s steering committee had been formed to determine the division of responsibilities. Helfinger chaired that committee. He knew that convincing its members to assign first chair to a relatively inexperienced lawyer would be a challenging proposition, but more than likely, they would defer to his judgment. As far as Helfinger knew, none of the other lawyers had any pilot background.

“Ms. Blair will also be on the front lines. I presume you have no objection to working closely with her?” Helfinger’s eyes searched Edmunds’s as he spoke.

Edmunds’s ability to appear perfectly at ease under stress was jettisoned into uncharted territory.

“None at all.”

The navigation was successful.

“Excellent.” Helfinger was impressed. Edmunds got right to the point and didn’t hesitate to speak his mind.