“What’s res judicata?” Ken Bailey asked.
Jennifer explained, “It means for civil cases what double jeopardy means for criminal cases. ‘There must be an end to litigation.’”
Ted Harris added, “Once a final judgment has been made on the merits of a case, it can only be opened again under very special circumstances. We have no grounds to reopen.”
“Yes, we have. We’re going after them on discovery.”
The principle of discovery read: Mutual knowledge of all relevant facts gathered by both parties is essential to proper litigation.
“The deep-pocket defendant is Nationwide Motors. They held back information from Connie Garrett’s attorney. There’s a deficiency in the braking system of their trucks and they kept it out of the record.”
She looked at the two lawyers. “Here’s what I think we should do…”
Two hours later, Jennifer was seated in Connie Garrett’s living room.
“I want to move for a new trial. I believe we have a case.”
“No. I couldn’t go through another trial.”
“Connie—”
“Look at me, Jennifer. I’m a freak. Every time I look in the mirror I want to kill myself. Do you know why I don’t?” Her voice sank to a whisper. “Because I can’t. I can’t!”
Jennifer sat there, shaken. How could she have been so insensitive?
“Suppose I try for an out-of-court settlement? I think that when they hear the evidence they’ll be willing to settle without going to trial.”
The offices of Maguire and Guthrie, the attorneys who represented the Nationwide Motors Corporation, were located on upper Fifth Avenue in a modern glass and chrome building with a splashing fountain in front. Jennifer announced herself at the reception desk. The receptionist asked her to be seated, and fifteen minutes later Jennifer was escorted into the offices of Patrick Maguire. He was the senior partner in the firm, a tough, hard-bitten Irishman with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
He motioned Jennifer to a chair. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Parker. You’ve gotten yourself quite a reputation around town.”
“Not all bad, I hope.”
“They say you’re tough. You don’t look it.”
“I hope not.”
“Coffee? Or some good Irish whiskey?”
“Coffee, please.”
Patrick Maguire rang and a secretary brought in two cups of coffee on a sterling silver tray.
Maguire said, “Now what is it I can do for you?”
“It’s about the Connie Garrett case.”
“Ah, yes. As I recall, she lost the case and the appeal.”
As I recall. Jennifer would have bet her life that Patrick Maguire could have recited every statistic in the case.
“I’m going to file for a new trial.”
“Really? On what grounds?” Maguire asked politely.
Jennifer opened her attaché case and took out the brief she had prepared. She handed it to him.
“I’m requesting a reopening on failure to disclose.”
Maguire leafed through the papers, unperturbed. “Oh, yes,” he said. “That brake business.”
“You knew about it?”
“Of course.” He tapped the file with a stubby finger. “Miss Parker, this won’t get you anywhere. You would have to prove that the same truck involved in the accident had a faulty brake system. It’s probably been overhauled a dozen times since the accident, so there would be no way of proving what its condition was then.” He pushed the file back toward her. “You have no case.”
Jennifer took a sip of her coffee. “All I have to do is prove what a bad safety record those trucks have. Ordinary diligence should have made your client know that they were defective.”
Maguire said casually, “What is it you’re proposing?”
“I have a client in her early twenties who’s sitting in a room she’ll never leave for the rest of her life because she has no arms or legs. I’d like to get a settlement that would make up a little bit for the anguish she’s going through.”
Patrick Maguire took a sip of his coffee. “What kind of settlement did you have in mind?”
“Two million dollars.”
He smiled. “That’s a great deal of money for someone with no case.”
“If I go to court, Mr. Maguire, I promise you I’ll have a case. And I’ll win a lot more than that. If you force us to sue, we’re going to sue for five million dollars.”