A Class Action

by Gene Grossman

  It’s now after eleven in the evening and the Asian boys have just finished cleaning up the boat interior. I can now sit down to relax and get ready for bed, and maybe some peace and quiet to plan some strategy for handling Joe Morgan’s case.

  The parade went off without a hitch. No assassination attempt, no terrorist attacks, no disruptions or protests, just a nice parade. I’m sure that when I meet with Snell to finalize Joe’s release, he’ll hint at what a wonderful job his FBI guys did in stopping the terrorist attacks. I know there’s no use in asking for any details, because whenever anyone in government doesn’t want to explain something, it becomes ‘classified’ information – which means that if he tells me, he’ll have to kill me.

  Before turning in I check the email and see that Mister Berland has forwarded Ralph Eaton’s Notice of Petition to Administer Estate. He’s pushing to have the proceeds of his mother-in-law’s Will turned over to him.

  It’s kind of late, but I don’t think he’ll mind, so I call Mister Berland and explain to him that as a beneficiary of the Will, Eaton contacted his mother-in-law’s Representative, the family lawyer preparing the Will, and asked him to file a Petition for Probate of the Estate. Once that’s done and gets published, anyone considered by the court to be what they call an ‘interested person’ who wants to contest the Will has a statutory four-month period of time to file objections with the court. The most common ones are that the decedent wasn’t of sound mind, or the Will wasn’t executed in a manner required by law, or that the Will was made as a direct result of undue influence. Unfortunately, none of those common objections will do him any good, so if he wants to prevent his son-in-law from getting any money, he’s going to have to show that his daughter died first in the accident.

  This is an extremely grim situation. I’m forcing a man who lost his wife and daughter to re-live the tragedy over and over again by re-hashing their deaths in an attempt to prove that he lost his daughter first, and then his wife. I don’t like this part of practicing law, and now feel justified in never having taken the courses in law school that would have led me into conflicts like this on a regular basis.

  I inform him that we’re currently working on the case and he’ll be brought up to speed if and when our investigation turns anything up. In the meantime, I get the name and number of his family attorney, the person who prepared the Wills. I want to let him take the lead in this matter, because he obviously knows more about the probate procedure than I do.

  Mister Berland agrees with my decision and we make plans to talk again soon, perhaps in his family lawyer’s office. And now it’s to bed for me.

  After a good night’s sleep, I call Socrates Gutsue, the Berland family attorney, and inform him that Mister Berland would like to stop Ralph Eaton from getting half of the Berland assets.

  He sympathizes with Mister Berland’s wishes and informs me that according to our Probate Code, if Mister Berland wants to contest the Will, he must file his objection with the court and serve it on the other interested parties, so that a response can be filed and a hearing set.

  I call Mister Berland and let him know that we will be filing the proper notice on his behalf, but there’s no guarantee our investigation will support it at the hearing. He decides to take the risk and offers to send me a retainer check. Our office manager files the paperwork, and the forces are now in motion. I certainly hope that Victor can come up with some results, because if he doesn’t, I’ll be sitting there in that hearing with egg on my face, and that’s not a good position for someone like me with high cholesterol to be in.

  Next on my list of things to do is using the ‘get out of jail’ card that Snell offered me for Joe Morgan, so I call his office and his assistant relays the message to me. “Mister Sharp, Special Agent Snell has kept his word to you. Your client, Mister Joseph Morgan, will be cut loose this afternoon and we’ve notified the District Attorney’s office of his pending release. They’ll be sending two officers and transport, so the prisoner will be released to their custody.”

  Well, I guess that about all the freedom that Joe will have today is a brief ride down the street, from the Federal can to the County can. I’ll have to get together with Myra’s office to arrange for a bail hearing.

  At this point I still can’t connect Eaton with the death of his wife, so my entire argument against him collecting from her Will depends on Victor’s showing that Nancy died before her mother did. Other than that, the only way to stop him from inheriting millions of dollars is to prove to the court that Eaton was involved in her death. The courts don’t look favorably upon people who expect to inherit money from decedents who they had helped to become deceased, and as far as the State of California is concerned, I can’t expect the Probate Court to suspect someone of complicity in murder while another court in the same County is holding another person for the same crime. This is a troubling situation.

  Myra agrees to a meeting with me. I have a hearing coming up soon in Probate Court, so I get right to the point.

  “Here’s the way it is. We both know that you’re weak in the motive department on my guy, so please consider this. The victim’s husband stands to collect at least a million on her life insurance policy and another two million from her will. Now that’s motive, so if you want a direction to look in, that’s it.

  “The husband also works at the same dealership as my client, and he was the general manager, with complete access to all service areas and all personnel. So if you want means, that’s it.

  “The husband also has one of the only full sets of keys to the dealership, which means that any vehicle left overnight for service is accessible to him – and each one of those three exploding Suburbans had been left overnight for service before they exploded. The dealership gives free loan cars, so people don’t mind leaving their vehicles. So if you want opportunity, that’s it.

  “I’m not a trained prosecutor like you, but if you want a suspect who meets the three tests of means, motive, and opportunity, I’m giving you one on a silver platter.

  “And if that’s not good enough for you, then I’m sure it will be for a jury, because with the scenario I can propose to them, I’ve got no reasonable doubt about Eaton’s being involved.”

  Myra takes it all in. She’s not arguing with me yet, which is a good sign.

  “Peter, you’ve got some good points about Mister Eaton, but you left out one minor item that we prosecutors like to have when we take a murder case to court, and it’s called evidence. With all your eloquence, I haven’t heard anything but an interesting theory that might even be true.

  “On the other hand, we do have a person in custody who also had the means and the opportunity. He worked on all three of those vehicles and had a falling out with two of the owners. Now that might not be the strongest case in the world, but it’s a lot stronger than the one you’ve built against your ‘plan B’ guy, the husband.”

  Damn, she’s good. I’ve got to keep trying.

  “Fine, you’ve got a suspect in custody, but having a patsy in the tank is a far cry from getting a conviction. We’ve already got an explosive expert to testify to the fact that the stuff they found at my client’s house were just the mechanisms for a fireworks display, and I’ve got another witness who’ll come in and testify that his firm hired Joe to make that device. I’ve also got our friend from West L.A. who’ll come in and dazzle the jury with his FBI wardrobe and agree with my explosive expert.

  “I know you’ve got nobody else to hang the murder rap on yet, but at least be reasonable with the bail. All he’s really guilty of is some larceny from the manufacturer for okaying those unwarranted repairs, and when I get the owners on the stand, they’ll probably testify that the only reason they suggested that Joe was upset at their not wanting to go ahead with the bribe scheme was because they were being brow-beaten by your aggressive investigators – and without that, you’ve got no motive at all, and no case.”

  Myra’s not a mad-dog prosecutor. She always had a s
ense of fairness. My best shot is to give her a replacement suspect.

  “Here’s the deal. You tell your calendar deputy not to object to a reasonable bail of less than ten G’s and I’ll have my guy surrender his passport. This way, he’ll be able to help me get the goods on Eaton. He serviced those vehicles before the explosions. Two of them were towed back to him after the explosions. He’s been servicing them since the day they were brand new. If anyone can look at the one that went off of Mulholland and tell us what really happened, it’s Joe Morgan, and we both need him on the street to help us.

  “Tell you what. I’m not playing captain crime-buster any more. All the information our investigation turns up will be turned directly over to you. When we finish putting everything together, I’ll even have Jack B. drive you to the courthouse steps in the Hummer so you can make your victory speech in front of the cameras. You’ll be this County’s District Attorney for Life, until you run for Governor. C’mon… Whatta ya say?”

  Something must have worked, because tomorrow morning I’ll be meeting the guy from Fradkin Bail Bonds in the courtroom and Joe Morgan will be walking out the door with me. I don’t know if they’ll be letting him walk back into the door of the dealership, but that’s another problem. I try to limit my work to only one miracle a day.

  *****

  Chapter 11

  Chicago can be hot in the summertime. Even more stifling is the humidity, and this Indian summer Monday in late September is no different. Being a low middle-class neighborhood in the northwest part of town called Albany Park, air conditioning is an unaffordable luxury. All the windows of the apartments in the court buildings on north Kedzie Avenue are open, so you don’t have to be inside to hear the debate, especially since the debate is being broadcast internationally from a CBS studio in Chicago.

  Howard K. Smith is the moderator, and probably every radio and television set in the country is tuned in to the same multi-cast, so even if you’re walking on the street you can hear Mr. Smith begin.

  “Good evening. The television and radio stations of the United States and their affiliated stations are proud to provide facilities for a discussion of issues in the current political campaign by the two major candidates for the presidency.

  “The candidates need no introduction. The Republican candidate, Vice President Richard M. Nixon, and the Democratic candidate, Senator John F. Kennedy.”

  The adults are glued to their sets. This debate even attracts the attention of teen-agers, but three pre-teens in particular aren’t very interested. They are little Ralph Eaton and his two buddies Alan Rosenbaum and Marv Kupchic, who are too busy playing ball around the corner on Argyle Street at River Park, to pay attention to some stupid politicians.

  These three close friends missed this first debate in 1961 and couldn’t care less who was President, because their only interests at that time were baseball, and those two wonderful bumps under their classmate Shirley Morris’ sweater.

  Ralph, Alan, and Marv were the three musketeers. They all lived in the same court building, a three-story, 26-apartment building on the west side of the street, halfway between Ainslie and Argyle. They all got their social security cards together, with consecutive numbers. They went to Hibbard Elementary School and later attended Von Steuben High School, from which one of them would graduate – and they all loved cars.

  Ralph was the only one who could keep out of trouble long enough to finish high school – the other two were thrown out for various reasons, including skipping classes and general disobedience. Their parents finally succeeded in buying them diplomas from some private high school downtown called ‘Central Y,’ where they actually attended a few classes, along with other miscreants from high schools all over the city who fashioned themselves after their ‘Rebel Without A Cause’ movie idols James Dean, Sal Mineo, and Corey Allen. They looked upon school as a ‘Blackboard Jungle,’ much like the stars of that movie, Vic Morrow and Sidney Portier did.

  Alan’s father ran the used car lot at Z. Frank Chevrolet on North Western Avenue, and when the old man wasn’t on a binge with his friends, he would let the kid work there as a lot-boy. If Alan ever were to have a future doing anything, it would have to be in something to do with automobiles. He loved cars, especially the ones from General Motors, the company that pioneered those huge obscene fins sticking up out of rear fenders that first appeared on the 1948 Cadillacs.

  Alan and Marv had a grand time stealing hubcaps off of parked cars and selling them to the used car lots up and down Western Avenue, Chicago’s longest street, and home to more auto dealerships than any other street in the country.

  In spite of several arrests and probation sentences, they continued their criminal behavior and graduated to stealing cars. There was no device like the club in those days, so cars were easy to snatch, especially after Alan stole some master keys from the dealership where his father worked and had copies made. This gave the two young men access to every General Motors vehicle in the greater Chicago area, and they capitalized on it by keeping several ‘chop shops’ supplied with a steady supply of ‘donor’ vehicles. Not being bogged down with the responsibility of several years of attending high school gave them the time to perfect their street skills.

  By the time they were all nineteen years old, it was almost 1975 and the United States was involved in Viet Nam, fighting a war in which 58,168 young soldiers lost their lives, 153,303 were wounded, and almost 2,500 are still listed as missing in action.

  Marv and Alan were not allowed to enlist because of their extensive criminal records as juveniles, but Ralph Eaton was accepted, and served his country admirably.

  The only reason that their criminal enterprises ceased operating was the new job offer that Marv’s father accepted somewhere in the Southeast. Alan, now without his close friends, decided that living with his alcoholic father and promiscuous mother was too much of a distraction from other more profitable pursuits, so he ‘borrowed’ one of the trade-ins from Z. Frank’s used card lot and decided to try another state for a while.

  Unfortunately, his criminal past kept him from getting any job that required fingerprinting for a license, so real estate, insurance, bail bonds, security guard, or car sales was out of the question. He did, however, have excellent skills as a mechanic. He could take apart and re-assemble any model Chevrolet blindfolded.

  There was no email in those days, but Alan and Marv still managed to keep in touch by what we now call ‘snail’ mail. Alan noticed that Marv’s letters were always written in pencil, with a Post Office Box as a return address, but he didn’t really think much about it. They both lost touch with Ralph Eaton, who became a legitimate war hero and was definitely now out of their league.

  The years passed by. Correspondence between Alan and Marv dwindled to only once or twice a year, but still kept up for many years to follow.

  *****

  Chapter 12

  A District Attorney messenger just delivered some witness statements from the people who will be testifying against Joe Morgan at his trial. Each one of them admits to having paid anywhere from twenty to one hundred dollars for each unauthorized warranty repair to a vehicle.

  Way down at the bottom of the last report is an investigator’s note scribbled in the margin mentioning that the witnesses are prepared to bring into court proof of each payment that they made to have the repairs done.

  What does that mean? Was Joe stupid enough to take their checks? I don’t want to bring any unnecessary attention to this little detail, so I assign Jack B. the task of contacting each of these witnesses and making photocopies of whatever they claim to be proof of payment to Joe.

  While waiting for Jack to round up those copies, I’ve made an appointment to pick up Joe and bring him with me to where the wrecked Suburban is, so that he can check out my information about the right front brake caliper. I offer to take him to his apartment first so that he can rest up for a while, but he insists on getting right to the investigation. He wants very much to com
pletely clear his name, and I don’t blame him.

  He looks pretty good for having spent some time in custody. He credits it all to his Seal training. When we get to the police impound garage, the same surly tattooed gate attendant who directed me to Stuart’s Camry is there to greet us with a frown. After making us sit on a couple of grimy chairs for about fifteen minutes while he calls someone at another location, he grudgingly buzzes us through to the large out-door vehicle storage area.

  Impounded vehicles that are subjects of criminal investigation are stored in an indoor ‘evidence’ garage, which is kept locked at all times. Smiley opens the locked door for us and we go inside. There are only two other vehicles in the garage, both probably recovered stolens. I remind myself to mention this fact to Stuart so that he can start keeping track of local police auctions.

  The Suburban is on an alignment rack. It would be a lot easier if it was all the way up on a hoist, but the rack is okay because we see what Joe refers to as a ‘creeper’ nearby. I know what he means when I see him go over to get the thing. It’s like a little furniture dolly with wheels that a mechanic can lie on and roll himself under a vehicle, for a look at the car’s bottom.

  Joe doesn’t waste any time. Using the flashlight that he asked me to bring in from my glove compartment, he lies down on the creeper, rolls himself under the Suburban and starts investigating whatever there is to investigate down there.

  After a few minutes of poking around he gets up and tells me that in order to do a more thorough job he’ll need some tools from his cabinet at the dealership. I’ll have to take his word for it, because I still don’t even understand what a caliper is.