“I can tell I’m right, you’re mixing metaphors. What I don’t understand is how you expected it to stay a secret. It wasn’t hidden, really. All it took was a visit to the clerk’s office, a review of the case files, the discovery of a medical malpractice action entitled Juan Gonzalez v. Dr. Irwin Glass et al. The whole story is there right on the docket sheet. I found it all yesterday, after my little breakfast meeting with Skink. Representing the plaintiff: Hailey Prouix, Esquire. Representing the defendant doctor and insurance company: Guy Forrest, Esquire. Oh, not only Guy, your name was at the top of the list of lawyers, you were the billing partner, I suppose, but Guy did the work. It was on that case that he met Hailey, wasn’t it? It was during the length of the litigation that he dined her, romanced her, seduced her. And after the settlement, after the three million dollars were handed from the insurance company to the plaintiff, about the going rate for a man entering the hospital for routine prostate surgery and leaving in a coma, Guy ditched his wife, his children, your firm, to move in with Hailey. Living on her share of the award, her one-third, a cool mil.”
“It was a solid case,” said Peale. “The settlement was a fair one. I oversaw it all. For the three million dollars Red Book escaped exposure to a much larger amount, an amount that could have crippled its operations.”
“Maybe, but I think not. I think there was something there that would have won the case for Red Book, some hard piece of evidence that Guy hid until after the settlement was signed and the money paid and Guy and Hailey had a million dollars to start their lives together. Otherwise he would have dropped off the case once the relationship started. Otherwise Hailey Prouix would have insisted on it. Why allow even the tinge of impropriety to hazard the settlement somewhere down the line? Why put a million dollars at risk? Unless it was the only way to get the million dollars in the first place. I had wondered why Hailey’s big fee was placed in a joint account, and now I know, because they both earned it. And you knew, didn’t you? You knew and tried to keep it quiet. That’s why you wanted the plea accepted. That’s why you sent Skink to threaten me.”
I was guessing, this last part about the hidden evidence, but it was a guess that made sense, and Jonah Peale’s reaction, a sort of head swivel of frustration, told me that my guess was spot on.
“You have no proof,” he said.
“I don’t need proof right now, all I need is to know I’m right. It won’t be too hard to find what it was Guy hid, now that we know what to look for. And wouldn’t Red Book be interested as hell in seeing it for themselves?”
Jonah Peale’s face turned pale and then paler still. He lost so much color I thought he would collapse, right there before me, collapse and fall off that chair. Then, suddenly, he composed himself, as if a knob had been turned. He took off his spectacles, cleaned the lenses with the tip of his bright red tie. “It would destroy this firm’s reputation,” he said calmly, “destroy the firm I’ve put my life into. I can’t allow that to happen.”
“So it’s not the family you’re concerned about, is it?”
“We all have our priorities. Why are you here?”
And there it was, the negotiation had begun. It was a pretty impressive performance by Peale, he had taken the shot, recovered, and now was ready to take control of the situation. Good for him, good for me.
“We both have an interest in keeping this information quiet,” I said. “If it becomes public, it could be damaging to my client’s case. As long as I control the disclosure, and the spin, I think I could manage it. I could even turn it to Guy’s advantage, paint Hailey as a schemer out for the money, reduce the natural sympathy for the victim. But still, it complicates things as far as motive. And, of course, to you it would be devastating. So I believe it is in our interests to work together to keep it quiet.”
“Agreed. What do you want?”
“I want Skink off my back.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“I don’t want to see him again. I don’t want him talking to anyone about this case in any way, shape, or form. It would be best if he took a vacation until this whole thing is cleared up.”
“He will be so instructed.”
“I see him, I hear word one from him or about him, then I’ll let out the information my way, and Red Book will know not only what Guy did but that you were hiding it from them.”
“You’ve made yourself clear.”
“I also assume there are documents showing what Guy discovered and hid. I assume there is a file.”
“Maybe there is.”
“If we agree to keep it quiet, I can’t afford to have it slip out when I least expect it. I don’t want anyone to control that information but me. I want the file. I want all copies of it.”
“That may prove difficult.”
“I don’t want to hear excuses.”
“It may prove difficult,” said Jonah Peale, “because if there is a file, I don’t have it.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not the type, Mr. Carl.”
“It must keep you up at night.”
“Yes, well, with the way my wife snores, I don’t get much sleep anyway.”
“Any ideas what happened to it?”
“Ask your client. Anything else?”
I sat for a moment, tapped my chin. “One more thing, I suppose. I like your tie.”
“Thank you.”
“I want it.”
He stared at me, hard. I was going way overboard, but there was a purpose to it. His face reddened with anger and then the color subsided. “I’ll messenger it over tomorrow.”
“Actually I was going out tonight, and it would go marvelously with my blue suit.”
He stared at me a moment longer, bloody daggers in his eyes, and then he reached a finger into the knot. As he worked the tie loose, his thin lips spread in an approximation of a smile. “You know, Victor, may I call you Victor? I suspect, Victor, that in the end we’ll work well together. I’ll make sure Mr. Skink is cooperative, as we discussed, but you might want to rethink Troy Jefferson’s offer. Hell, it really is the best that asshole could ever hope for. It would be to everyone’s benefit for this to go away. And as for your fee, which your expression told me had not been paid for in advance, if he takes the deal, I’ll make sure your fee is paid in full. Whatever the invoice says, no questions asked. He is family, after all, at least until the inevitable divorce.”
I slapped my thighs and stood. “Talk to Skink.”
He held out the tie. I stepped forward to take it. “Done,” he said.
“Good.” I turned to face the door and then stopped, turned around again. This was the moment, the crucial moment. It had to seem incidental, offhand. “By the way, you mentioned the inevitable divorce. Don’t be so sure about that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your daughter wants him back.”
“Of course she doesn’t.”
“I visited her just last week. She wants everything returned to the way it was before. Her husband back in her happy home, sharing her bed, raising their children.”
“She…” His voice softened. “She can’t be serious.”
“Oh, she is. Quite. She has even agreed to put up the house for his bail.”
He didn’t react like I expected. Instead of exploding in anger, he looked away from me, toward the windows, and creased his forehead in thought. “She can’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s not hers to put up.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I cosigned the mortgage. She can’t do a thing without my agreement, and I won’t put up a penny to get that bastard out of jail. Not a penny.” He turned quickly to stare at me. “You wouldn’t insist that I do that, too, would you? You wouldn’t do that.”
The pleading in his voice was almost pathetic. I made a gesture of thinking on it for a moment before smiling to myself. “No. Better not to tip our hand. If
you agreed to bail him out, it would look suspicious.”
“She really wants him back?”
“As soon as I acquit him.”
“How could she be such a fool?” he said, his voice now almost wistful, his gaze back to the window.
I said something or other by way of ending the meeting, but he didn’t respond, just kept on staring, and so I left without another word, though on the way out I have to admit I skipped a step or two. Call me Satchmo, seeing as I had just played Jonah Peale like a cornet.
In the lobby I stopped in front of the fish leaping out from the marble fountain. The fish’s fish lips were puckered and spitting out the nasty little stream. Someone, somewhere, thought the effect was pleasing, but who? How? Maybe that was the biggest mystery of all. I wrapped Jonah Peale’s red power tie tight around that ugly fish’s neck and stepped into the street.
17
“YOU KNOW if this leaks,” said Beth after I had told her of my discovery about Juan Gonzalez and my meeting with Peale, minus the bit about Skink, “it would devastate Guy’s defense. He wants us to pursue the lover as the killer. Fine. In a lover’s triangle it’s easy enough to point the finger at the missing member.”
“Speaking metonymically, of course.”
“But money trumps love. If the prosecution can show a monetary motive for Guy’s anger, like being cheated out of the money they had stolen together, they’ll have a much easier go.”
“I know,” I said.
“And if Troy Jefferson finds out what you found out, he’ll withdraw the plea offer in a second.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then maybe we should accept it before it disappears.”
“Maybe, but we need to talk to Guy first. We need to give Guy a chance to tell us his side of the story.”
“Guy stole the money, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“And Hailey transferred it out of their joint account, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Then what is there that he could tell us to alter those fundamental facts? His explanation won’t change the government’s ability to turn that into motive. You add this to his fingerprints on the gun, the improbability of his story, the evidence of another lover, the lack of evidence of a break-in, you add it all up and the sum is a guilty.”
I avoided her gaze and shrugged. “Convictions happen.”
She stared at me. I refused to stare back.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s so sweet.”
“You have bags under your eyes the airlines would make you gate-check.”
“I’ve been staying up late reading.”
“Must be something good.”
“A classic.”
“I’ve been wondering why you haven’t pushed Guy to accept the plea. At first I thought maybe it was because you like appearing on the evening news and it had been a while since you had a case that put you there. Then I thought you just wanted to keep the case alive so you could bury yourself in work and forget your failed romance. But I never thought it was because you believed Guy is innocent. Do you, Victor?”
“What?”
“Believe he’s innocent?”
I turned my head to look at her straight on. “It shouldn’t matter.”
“But it does, doesn’t it? I can feel it in you.”
“Let me turn it around. How would you feel if you learned that Guy was absolutely guilty? How would you feel then about defending him? How would you feel then about getting for him a sweetheart deal?”
“I’d feel lousy about it.”
“But you’d still defend him to the best of your abilities?”
“Yes. I would. That’s the job.”
“I know the job. I’m not talking about the job. I’m talking about what you think of the job.”
“Sometimes I think it’s rotten.”
“There you go.”
“So you do believe he did it.”
“I’m saying it shouldn’t matter, but sometimes it does. I’m saying that I’m in a tough situation, but I’m doing the best I can. I’m saying that all I need from you is a little faith that I’ll do the right thing.”
“You usually do.”
“Thank you.”
“But sometimes,” she said, “you do it for all the wrong reasons.”
I didn’t want to ask her what she meant by that, so I ignored the comment. She scratched her neck and tilted her head as if she were trying to work it out, trying to find the missing piece that would explain everything. But she didn’t have it, I knew, and she wouldn’t get it if I had anything to say about the matter. What had been between Hailey and me was a secret, and even if Skink knew, that was where it would end. I had seen to that.
But I could still sense her unease. It was time to bring her tacitly on my side, time for her to see the absolute truth. It was time, finally, for Guy to confess, if only to his lawyers. Nothing admissible in a court of law, of course, but enough to get Beth working with and not against me. Time for Guy to tell the whole truth, and I knew just how to squeeze it out of him.
Juan Gonzalez.
IT WAS like cracking a walnut.
Guy again denied knowing anything about Juan Gonzalez. Guy again denied knowing the specifics of the case in which Hailey had won her big contingency fee. Guy again explained that the only reason Hailey’s money was in a joint account was that they were in love and that’s how lovers treat money. Guy again said he wasn’t really upset that some money from the account had been missing because most of it was Hailey’s money to begin with. Guy again claimed that he didn’t kill her, that he loved her and couldn’t have hurt her.
Beth and I listened to it all with straight faces, and then, slowly, I brought out the lever.
We placed the docket sheet for the Juan Gonzalez case on the table in front of him. He looked down at the paper, up at us, back down at the paper. His gray face turned grayer, the twitch in his lip became grotesque.
“Who knows about this?” he said in soft voice.
“Just us,” I said. “And of course your father-in-law.”
“Oh, God,” he said.
“Leave Him out of it.”
“I didn’t kill her,” he said.
“You can’t tell us that and then lie about the rest,” I said. “We don’t have time to play around anymore. We have to know everything. From the beginning. We have to know everything about you and Hailey.”
He stared down at the docket sheet and closed his eyes. Beth and I waited in silence. He kept his eyes closed for a long time, and when they finally opened, he said, “I made a decision. It turned rotten.”
I nodded. “Leaving Leila and your family for another woman.”
“No,” said Guy. “Before Hailey. The decision at the heart of it all, to become a lawyer.”
18
GUY FORREST
THERE IS a story I don’t want to get into, a story about a motorcycle, a guy named Pepito, who weighed, it must have been three hundred pounds, and a stripper from Nogales named CiCi. It’s a bad story and it makes no sense, just like the way I was living made no sense.
After college I lost seven years trying hard not to be ordinary, chasing something, I never knew what, falling into a squalor I can’t anymore imagine. I grew sick of the carelessness, the drugs, the greasy food, the bad grammar. There had to be a better way. Had to be. I was living then on the outskirts of a college town, and some kids we were dealing to were talking about the LSATs, and I figured I was smarter than they were, so I signed up, too. It was a lark, but it wasn’t a lark, because underneath I knew what it was pointing to. And I did all right, better than the college kids. So when Pepito walked through my door, just walked right through it, wood crashing down around him, waving a sawed-off shotgun in the air, misusing adjectives as adverbs, I knew it was time to change everything.
Law school was hard. I didn’t take to it like you did, Victor, too many rules based on impre
cise language, too many leaps of twisted logic, but that’s not what made it so hard. It was hard because it wasn’t just a few years of professional training for me. I was reinventing myself. I knew what I would be falling back into if I didn’t make it. I worked harder than I ever thought possible, kept my nose clean, changed my whole way of living. I saw some of our classmates right out of college hanging in the bars, trying to act cool, and I just shook my head. I knew cool, I nearly froze to death in the desert from cool. That’s why I liked you. Beside the fact you could explain things to me, you weren’t trying to be something other than you were, you weren’t cool. See, every day I was pretending to be something less than I was. I kept everything buttoned, everything tight and grim. I was going the other route one hundred percent. I was keeping my head low, because any day Pepito could burst again through my door.
I was tempted to go in with you after law school, Victor, it would have been fun, but the law for me was not about fun. It was about security, about money, about gaining some status starting from nothing. It was about leading a different life. At Dawson, Cricket and Peale, straight was the only way to play it. I put my head down and sucked up the hours, the workload, the bland social obligations. When the thing with Leila came along, I figured it had happened, the change, that I was someone shiny and new. And in no time there we were with the big house, the country club, the kids, the life. The goddamn life. I’m not claiming to be a victim here, none of this was done to me, the whole thing was my choosing, but even so, something was wrong. The clue was, I suppose, that after eight years I still wasn’t comfortable in a suit and tie. I hated my job, hated the work, hated the firm, yet my grandest ambition was to become partner. The schizophrenia of it was tearing me apart. Do you know the word “anhedonia?” I suffered it, I was plagued by it. After eight years I looked up and realized I was living in black and white.
It was in a hospital room. There had been a bad result to a simple surgery. The doctor had notified the insurance company, Red Book, and they had notified us. In my briefcase was a contract that I was to have the wife sign, a contract that would guarantee the patient’s medical care in exchange for an agreement to arbitrate any dispute over his prior care and a waiver of any claims for pain and suffering. Hey, bad things happen, and some bad things that happen are nobody’s fault. That was our motto there at Dawson, Cricket and Peale. For a while I sat alone in the darkened room with the patient. He had intravenous lines leading into his arms, he had a catheter leading from his prick, he had a respirator tube snaking down his throat. The bellows of the respirator rose and fell, over and over, like a torture machine. Allow me to introduce you to Juan Gonzalez.
Fatal Flaw Page 13