by Larry Hill
“Now, tell me what you remember about the accident.”
“You mean the one where the mother was killed?”
“Yes, that one.”
“I can tell you what they told me.”
“What who told you?”
“My wife and my son Jason, the lawyer, and my criminal lawyer, Steve Greenberg.”
“You mean Irving Greenberg?” Stern and Greenberg had crossed legal paths often.
“Right, Irv Greenberg. I had a high school buddy named Steve Greenberg.”
“Tell me what you were told by your wife and son and attorney.”
“They said that I was driving my Lexus to a poker game and that I hit this lady when she got out of her car but that I didn’t stop and just kept driving and went to the poker game.”
“Do you remember what time of day it was that that happened?”
“Doc, I don’t remember that it happened, let alone what time of day. It must have happened in the early evening ‘cause that’s when I play poker.”
“Do you remember the poker game? Did you win or lose?”
“No clue. I usually win. Those guys aren’t very good at cards. You know, I could have been a big winner on all those TV poker shows. Some guy just won over a million bucks last week – lucky bastard.”
“OK. What can you tell me about the time between the accident and the time you ended up in the hospital because of your heart attack and head injury?”
“Not a goddam thing. I hear that I was arrested and then bailed out for a shitload of money. No way was that necessary. I’m not running away. And, by the way, Doc, I wasn’t drunk. I hear that they think I was but I never drive if I’ve drunk too much. Couple of glasses of wine, that’s it.”
“OK. And, I’m sure you wouldn’t run away, Fred. What about your heart and brain?”
“They tell me I was in the hospital for more than a month but I don’t remember anything about it. Actually, I do remember one thing. The man who wheeled me out was a big fat guy with one arm who told me that he had been a surgeon in Africa.”
“Interesting. That’s all you remember about a month in the hospital?”
“Yep. That’s all.”
“So, what are the first things you remember after getting home from the hospital?”
“I do remember that I started watching a lot of television. Before, I know that if it wasn’t news or sports, I wouldn’t turn it on. Believe it or not, I used to own a TV station, but I never watched. My second wife, Jennifer – she’d watch shows at night, especially when I went to meetings. But not me. Sports, especially the World Series, Super Bowl, Final Four, news and presidential debates – that’s about it…actually, I do remember that I watched a lot when Kennedy was killed and when the Challenger spacecraft went down and when the Arabs hit the towers. But now I’m glued to the set all day.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Can’t tell you, Doc. I just like it. Hell, I’ll even spend time watching the channel where they sell stuff like necklaces. Never bought a thing but for some reason, I watch that shit.”
“No harm in that. What else do you remember about the time since you got out of the hospital?”
“Going to doctors. I must go to two doctors every week. Before all this happened, I never went to them. In fact, my wife made me go and that’s what led to all of this?”
“What do you mean, that’s what led to all of this?”
“She sent me to her doctor, a woman – can’t remember her name now. She made me have blood tests and my cholesterol was too high. Told me that I’d have to change my diet. Can you imagine? Seventy-five years old, in great health and I’ve got to give up everything that I like. The cunt! Oops, pardon my French.”
“No worry about language. You really are angry about that, aren’t you?”
“I was angry then and I’m still angry.”
“Are you still on a diet for cholesterol?”
“Not anymore, but the horse is out of the barn. I’ve had a heart attack. Can’t get any worse.” Stern was impressed by the horse and barn comment.
“So why are you still angry?”
“Because I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t gone to that bitch.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was so pissed off that day that I couldn’t think about anything else. That’s got to be the reason that I hit that woman and didn’t stop.”
“So you do remember something about it?”
“Yes, doc. I remember leaving the house in a huff and I’m guessing that it’s what led to the accident.”
“Do you remember the accident itself now?”
“No.”
“How does this make you feel?”
“How do you think it makes me feel? Bad. Really bad. A kid lost her mother because I was upset about having to eat vegetables. What an asshole!”
“Let’s take a little break, Fred.” Both doctor and patient went to their separate toilets in separate bathrooms. Fred was offered coffee, tea or water. He asked for Diet Coke and one was found. He went into the waiting room, finding none of his entourage. They, according to the receptionist, were told that it would be at least an hour and that they need not wait in the office.
Five minutes later, the two returned to their chairs. “How about those three items?”
Fred smiled. “This time I remember them. Book, car and fish.”
“You’re getting closer. It’s book, fish and tree.”
“Oh, yeah. Book, fish and tree. Ask me again.”
“I will. Now let’s talk a little about your family life. Tell me about your wife…Jennifer, no?”
“Yes, Jennifer. She’s my second wife. Barbara was my first wife – God, was she wonderful. A perfect woman that…”
“I want to talk about Jennifer. I saw her in the waiting room. She’s much younger than you, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, 30 years. Isn’t she a knockout?” Stern, also 30 years younger than his patient, had never heard a woman referred to that way.
“Fred, I can understand your attraction for her. Most men covet younger, attractive women at some time in their lives. Only a few succeed in setting up house with one. I don’t mean this as an insult, but why do you think that she had interest in you?”
“Come on. I’m a pretty good catch. Rich, good looking and, if I might brag a bit, well hung and mighty good in the sack. And, I’m a good guy. Everybody likes me. Well not everybody or I’d be a Supervisor or Mayor by now, but I’m funny and have lots of interests like sports and movies and hiking and art.”
Dr. Stern sat up straighter in his chair. “Let’s look at that list. You are rich, but I’ve heard that her first husband left her very well off, that she could live just fine without your money. Good looking, for sure, but that doesn’t get around the fact that you are 76 years old. Surely, she’d have no trouble rounding up a younger guy just as good looking. And, tell me more about the sex. How often do you make love?”
“At least once a week. Gotta admit that I’ve been using Viagra for a few years,” answered Fred, taking his eye off the questioner.
“Is it still once a week since the surgery?”
“Well, no. I don’t think she wants to screw – probably thinks that it will kill me.”
“Do you ask?”
“I used to, but not now.”
“So, getting back to my question, why is she with you?”
“I guess I don’t know. I guess it’s ‘cause I’m such a good guy. Plus she likes the fact that we’re in the paper a lot at fundraisers and conventions. She’s become quite the big shot since she married me. Goes to almost as many meetings as I do.”
“Fred, you are a great catch. Jennifer’s lucky to have caught you.”
“One other thing about her, Doc. I think she probably has something on the side.”
“Do you mean another man in her life?”
“Right.”
“Why do you think that?”
“She’s too content. I know that once a
week isn’t enough for her. There were days, way back just after we were married, when things were nothing out of the ordinary when she’d come home from meetings or lunches smiling like a cat who had just done in a rat. She acts like she’d just had a dozen cups of coffee – jittery, talkative.”
“Have you ever asked her if there’s someone else?”
“Huh uh. I don’t want to know.”
“So, would it be OK if you found out that you were right?”
“Hell, no, it wouldn’t be OK.”
“Then, what would you do if you did find out?”
“Nothing.”
Stern jotted a note. “Let’s change subjects, Fred. My main job is to report to the judge my opinion on whether or not you should go to trial. The major issue there is not whether you are sane or insane or whether you know right from wrong, but whether you can help the lawyer, Mr. Greenberg, in defending you.”
“Why not?”
“First, your memory for the events is pretty bad, no?”
“Right, I don’t remember anything.”
“That’s not exactly true. You told me that you were angry as you went to the poker game.”
“OK, but I don’t remember hitting anybody.”
“I understand. That’s evidence that your memory is not good. Here’s a question for you. How should your lawyer defend you? What should he say to the jury to convince them that you shouldn’t be declared guilty?”
“I’m not a lawyer – that’s his job!”
“But you’ve got to help him.”
“If he can’t convince them, I need a different lawyer. I can’t go to jail. It would kill me!”
Stern wrote a longer note than usual. “Well, Fred. That ought to do it for this meeting. I’ll write my report for the judge. Thanks for coming in.”
“No problem. How did I do?”
“You did fine. Oh, by the way, what were those three things?”
“A book, a fish and…I forget the third one.”
After the Kleins left the office, Greenberg and Dr. Stern met briefly. The doctor told the lawyer that he’d be sending the official report to Judge Gasparini but that there was no doubt in his mind that the patient was not ready to go to trial. Maybe in another couple of months – not now.
THE PYRAMID
Three weeks had elapsed since Spencer called Contreras telling him that he wouldn’t be going to Montevideo. Ernesto assumed that he’d hear from him with further explanation of the change of plans. As far as Ernesto knew, Spencer himself had taken the trip. He was unaware of the option of one of the other partners doing so. He expected that Spencer would call when he returned to San Francisco, but as two weeks lengthened into three, he recognized that all may not be quite as simple as Spencer had made it out to be. He called the offices of Spencer, Bowman and Clark and spoke to the male secretary, with whom he thought he had hit it off well on the handful of previous visits to the home office. The secretary treated him like he was a cold caller seeking a job. “Please have Mr. Spencer call me,” he said, knowing that the odds of that happening were low. He hand wrote a letter asking for an explanation but knew that his mediocre written English skills and doctor-like penmanship were unlikely to produce the desired response. An envelope from the firm finally arrived at his home; he thought it would be an answer to his queries. It was nothing more than a modest check to cover the time he had spent in training and a request for return of the unused tickets.
Additional calls to the office were no more productive. He chose to confront Spencer directly. He bused to the Pyramid at the corner of Clay and Montgomery and proceeded to the welcome desk in the lobby manned by an imposing fellow Latino. “Name is Ernesto Contreras. I’m here to visit Mr. Mark Spencer at Spencer, Bowman and Clark.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I know he will see me. You remember me. I came here a bunch of times a few weeks ago when I was in training.”
“Sorry, I’m new here. Let me call upstairs.” He mumbled into a handset such that Ernesto couldn’t decipher the discussion. “I’m sorry Mr. Contreras. Mr. Spencer is not in his office.”
“Can I just go up and talk to his secretary. He and I are good friends.”
“No, sir, you can’t. Security, you know. You remember when that law office got shot up a couple of blocks from here? We don’t want that happening here.”
Ernesto turned his coat pockets inside out. “You can check me. No guns. No knives.”
“Sorry. Unless I get an OK from the office, I can’t send anybody up. Why don’t you get an appointment and come back tomorrow?”
“Yeah, right. I’ve tried that.”
“Try again.”
“I’m going to sit on your couch over there and wait for him. If he’s in, he’s gotta come out sometime. And, if he’s out, he’s going to go back to his office, if not today, tomorrow.”
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Contreras. That sofa is for people who have appointments and are waiting for somebody from the office to come get them. You’ll have to wait outside.”
“And what if I do sit there?”
“I’ll have to call security.”
“OK. I’ll wait out there. At least it’s not raining. Thanks for nothing.”
“You are welcome, sir.”
Ernesto left the lobby wishing there was a door to slam. Where to wait? Obviously, Spencer had to come through the same door; it’s the way to the elevators that he could see. Hundreds of people go through the entrance every day, either to conduct business on one of the 48 floors or to use the virtual lookouts on the ground floor that replaced the actual lookout after September 11, 2001. There’s no bench with a view of the entrance, so Ernesto would have to stand. Should be no problem for a waiter who is on his feet every working day from six to midnight. He had come with his dress shoes, not the black sneakers he wore at work with his tuxedo. His feet would hurt if Spencer didn’t show up soon – small price to pay.
He paced. Up Montgomery to Washington, down Montgomery to Clay. He calculated that at his slow pace it took almost a full minute to go from the northeast corner to the southeast one and he’d always have direct site of people streaming in and out of the tower. One of the skills he was taught in his training program was to observe people in his vicinity to get an idea of the local population. The parade into, out of, and passing by Transamerica he guessed was unlike that in the centers of most of the world’s cities. More men than women, but not by much. Asians outnumbered Caucasians, again by a small percentage. There were plenty of African Americans and Latinos, maybe ten percent of each. He noticed that while the African Americans were dressed as well as or better than the Asians and Caucasians, the Latinos mostly looked like they did the dirty work. Jeans, T-shirts, ratty sweaters and well-worn tennis shoes or work boots were more common than well-tailored skirts and blouses, suits, ties and wingtips. He felt pretty good about himself as a Mexican who looked like he belonged to the primera clase. Almost nobody strolled. They walked with a purpose; they were going somewhere, having come from somewhere, and they had to get there quickly. More than anything, he was impressed by how young everybody looked. At 40, he was a veritable senior citizen on Montgomery Street. He estimated thirty to be the median age. He had learned about median versus average in his course, too. He was amazed by how often two people walking in opposite directions seemed to know one another. They’d shake hands or hug or buzz kiss, speak no more than a dozen words and be on their way. Sometimes, two walkers would nod without speaking. Contreras assumed that they were either pairs who thought they knew each other but weren’t sure, pairs who weren’t fond of each other or pairs of vastly differing levels on the totem that was high finance by the Bay.
Ernesto was not there to study demography. He was on the lookout for someone who screwed him over. He kept thinking that there must be something that he wasn’t getting. Mark Spencer was such a nice fellow. He hadn’t spent much time with him, but when he did, they hit if off well. Was it a report he
got from the trainers at the firm or at UC Davis where he learned about cattle? He’d be surprised as they kept telling him how quickly he learned. Could it have been an issue with his partners? Who knows? Ernesto never laid eyes on either Bowman or Clark. Was it his English – did he sound like an immigrant? Nobody ever told him that. The women in his life, especially Jennifer Klein, frequently complimented him on his vocabulary and lack of an accent. Yes, it was strange that Spencer should have picked him for an important position after ninety minutes as his waiter in a restaurant, but he could think of nothing that could have made that happen other than what was on the surface. He was a very good waiter, a very smart man who spoke Spanish and knew beef. There’s got to be something else.
Another thought hit him, out of the blue. There’s a parking lot under the building. Spencer’s going to come and go to his office and never step through these doors. There’s no way to provoke an encounter. But didn’t he say once that he took a bus from his house to work? Yeah, he bragged about how he saved so much energy. Contreras opted to continue his stakeout.
He first started looking about ten in the morning. He was not concerned about not recognizing the man. Spencer was taller than 90% of those walking in and out of the building. Plus, as Ernesto had him pegged as being in his mid-40’s, he was older than most. They had spent at least two hours face to face over the weeks, even though their last meeting was well over a month earlier. He calculated that the two most likely times to see him were the lunch hour and quitting time. He wasn’t sure when Spencer ate or when he quit, but thought that he likely ate at his desk and worked late. He pictured a Mrs. Spencer dutifully waiting for her hard working husband to come home and two or three kids whose bedtimes were dictated by the work schedule of their father. During their time together, Spencer asked several questions about Ernesto’s personal life, but offered no insight into his own. Surely, Spencer wouldn’t leave right at noon for lunch, so Ernesto, not one to skip a meal nor one with an unusually efficient bladder, decided to duck across the street to a Starbucks for a pastry and a pee. He was gone no more than a quarter hour, returning to his movable lookout in front of the Pyramid.