The case seemed to have stalled. He was now in his late thirties, when time begins to do heavier work on you. I was living in that jittery meantime where an accused can almost mistake bureaucracy for reprieve, where it’s possible to hope officials have simply misplaced the proper forms, let their attention wander, have clean forgotten. I kept this hope going. And then one evening it shattered against the blunt force of a lawyer’s phone call.But before I get into that, I should explain in greater specificity how the trial had actually started.In May or June 1988, right after the crash, my insurer—more or less satisfied that no jury was likely to find me negligent—had followed an industry-wide policy of offering “the deceased’s family” what insurers (charmingly) call “go-away money.” In fatality accidents, this is the minimum a company will release: a careful figure above what it believes a plaintiff might be likely to gain in court, but below the hassle threshold of an actual trial.
