“Ms. Tanner?” Quentin prodded, strolling back over to the witness stand.
“I’m good at what I do,” she said evenly.
“Yes, you are,” Quentin smoothly agreed. “Your department has averyhigh rate of claim denials. You’ve saved the company quite a lot of money, haven’t you?”
“Objection! The company’s claim-denial practices arenoton trial here! We’re here to determine whether or not Mr. Henry was wrongfully terminated based on his performance. If Mr. Reddick can’t remember that—”
“Sustained, Counselor. Let’s not lose focus, Mr. Reddick.”
Quentin bowed slightly. “My apologies.”
There were a few snickers from the jury box.
“So whataboutMr. Henry?” Quentin asked, pointing across the room at his client. “Washe good at his job, Ms. Tanner?”
She smirked. “Not good enough, obviously.”
“Obviously?” Quentin raised his brows at her, then strolled to the plaintiff’s table and scooped up a thick folder. Returning to the witness stand, he passed the folder to Mary Tanner, who opened it as reluctantly as if she were opening a cage of vipers. “Do you recognize those documents?”
She nodded.
“Please explain to the court what you’re looking at.”
She swallowed visibly. “Letters of commendation. Performance-appraisal reports.”
“With glowing reviews of Mr. Henry’s past job performance. Correct?”
She hesitated. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“And some of those documents bear your signature. Is that also correct?”
“Yes.”
“So, you see,” Quentin said silkily, “it’snotso obvious that Mr. Henry wasn’t good at his job, is it, Ms. Tanner? In fact, isn’t it true that your complaints about his work only began when you learned that he’d been speaking out against the company’s coverage policies?”
“Objection, Your Honor! Counsel is badgering the witness.”
“Overruled. You may proceed, Mr. Reddick.”
Quentin smiled narrowly. “Oh, that’s all right. I’m good for now, Your Honor.”
His point had been made.
He stepped back and began his trademark prowling in front of the witness stand, knowing that every eye was on him, waiting for his next move. He was in control of the courtroom, and he liked that. It kept the opposition off balance.
“Ms. Tanner.” He stopped before her. “What is your personal opinion of whistle-blowers?”
She blanched.
“Objection! Counsel is trying to bait the witness into impeaching herself!”
“Well, hell,” Quentin drawled in his best Southern good ol’ boy impersonation, “I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t at leasttry.”
Laughter swept across the courtroom. Even the jurors smothered grins.
“Let’s move on, Mr. Reddick,” the judge dryly instructed.
Quentin grinned. “Moving on.”
