MD01 - Special Circumstances

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MD01 - Special Circumstances Page 22

by Sheldon Siegel


  "Was he upset about the breakup with his wife?"

  "Yes. But not terribly upset. He seemed to have expected it."

  "I see. And was he upset about the breakup with Ms. Kennedy?"

  She smiles. "Oh, yes, Mr. Daley. He was terribly upset about it."

  "And are you aware of any attempts to reconcile with Ms. Kennedy?"

  "Not that I'm aware of, Mr. Daley. But it's possible."

  "Do you think it's possible Mr. Holmes attempted to reconcile with Ms. Kennedy and she rejected him?"

  She pauses. "If you were my lawyer, you'd instruct me not to answer a hypothetical question."

  "That's true. On the other hand, we have reason to believe that he did, in fact, attempt to reconcile with Ms. Kennedy. And we know, for a fact, that she was not agreeable to such a reconciliation because she had decided to leave the firm."

  She looks surprised. "I didn't realize that," she says.

  Put-up or shut-up time. "What this is leading to is the question of whether you think Bob Holmes was so distraught about his pending divorce and his breakup with Diana Kennedy that he may have committed suicide. In your professional judgment, did you see any signs that he was suicidal?"

  She laughs. "Mr. Daley, I'd been seeing Mr. Holmes for only about three months. He was an unhappy man with some serious relationship issues. We were just beginning to work on those issues. But, in answer to your question, it is inconceivable to me that he was suicidal. He didn't display any of the tendencies or signs. And if I'm called upon in court to testify, I'll say just that."

  It's more or less what I expect. I'll see you on the radio, Dr. Kathy Chandler. You're of no help to our defense.

  28

  "DID YOU COME TO GLOAT?"

  "We are confident we will be able to work out a deal with our creditors that will allow us to continue our practice without interruption as we proceed through the bankruptcy process. We will continue to provide the highest-quality legal services to our clients during this difficult period."

  —Arthur Patton. San Francisco Chronicle. Monday, March z.

  "Jeff Tucker, please," I tell the person at First Bank who answers my call on the morning of Monday, March 2. I'm studying the article in the Chronicle detailing the bankruptcy filing of my former law firm. I figure it might be a good time to get reacquainted with the bank's general counsel. As Jeff promised me a few weeks ago, the bank has foreclosed on S&G's equipment loans right on schedule.

  "Who's calling, please?"

  "Michael Daley."

  My first reaction to the article could be summed up by the words "Nyahh nyahh nyahh—you went bankrupt, and I got my capital back!" I realize this may not be the most mature reaction to the impending meltdown of my professional home for the better part of the last five years. Then again…

  "Jeff Tucker speaking."

  "It's Mike Daley."

  "Hi, Mike." He pauses. "You saw the note in the paper about the S and G bankruptcy filing?"

  "Indeed I did. Couldn't miss it."

  "I don't take any pleasure in any of this, Mike," he lies.

  "Me neither." Heh heh heh. I'd give everything I own to see the look on Art Patton's face right now. "Jeff, do you happen to know if the loans were recourse or nonrecourse?" If the loans were "recourse," the bank can try to collect from the partners and perhaps the former partners of the firm. If the loans were "nonrecourse," the bank can seek repayment only from the assets of the firm, but not from the assets of the individual partners and former partners. I learned this from Joel. It's all I know about commercial law: recourse—bad; nonrecourse—good.

  "They're all recourse loans. Fully guaranteed by each of the partners."

  Shit.

  "And," he adds gratuitously, "since you were a partner at the time the loans were taken down, and at the time of the default, you're still on the hook." I can hear the smirk in his voice.

  "Wait a minute," I say. "I left on December thirty-first. How do you figure I was still a partner at the time of default?"

  "That's when the loans were due. You were still a partner. Ipso facto, you're still on the hook."

  I hate lawyers who talk Latin. "But you extended the due date. I wasn't a partner when the extended due date came up."

  "It wasn't an extension. We simply decided not to foreclose until the sixty-day grace period ended yesterday. Our foreclosure guys looked into it. All the S and G partners who were at the firm on December thirty-first are still on the hook. That includes you."

  And you're an asshole. I'm sorry we didn't fire you sooner, you little shit.

  "Look," he says in a condescending tone, "the fact is, the bank doesn't want to spend a lot of time and money suing the partners individually. If you're like most of your partners, all your money is going for alimony and fancy cars."

  He's right about that—except in my case, there's no fancy car.

  "I'm sure we'll end up cutting some sort of a deal with the firm," he says. "We'll probably take the firm's receivables and sell off some assets. We'll sue the partners individually as a last resort."

  Somehow, I don't get a warm and fuzzy feeling from this conversation. Maybe I'll ask Wendy about one of those sleazy tax shelters in the Bahamas to hide some of my assets.

  At eleven o'clock the same morning, the reception area of Simpson and Gates looks considerably different. Only one receptionist is working the phone console. The double doors are closed. There are no fresh flowers. The Currier and Ives lithographs are gone. If I'm guessing correctly, the artwork at the First Bank headquarters has improved dramatically since yesterday.

  Art Patton's secretary escorts me to his office. The long hallways look barren without the high-priced artwork. The plants are gone, too. His door is closed when we arrive. She knocks and opens the door. I'm somewhat surprised he's agreed to see me. Then again, it gives him a golden opportunity to yell at me if he wants to. I suspect he'd rather do it in the privacy of his own office, rather than in open court. Art is standing behind his antique desk, bellowing into his telephone. Something about the repossession of the computers and phones. He motions toward a dark brown leather chair. I admire the view of the Golden Gate Bridge as he castigates some poor collection attorney.

  He slams the phone down. He looks like a bulldog shaking himself after he's had a bath. "So," he snaps, "what the hell do you want? Did you come to gloat?"

  As a matter of fact, I did. "Art," I lie, "I take no pleasure in this. I think it's unfortunate." I look solemn. I decide to lay it on thick. "Some good people are going to lose their jobs."

  It seems to disarm him slightly, at least for a moment. His chins jiggle. "The bankruptcy filing was just a precaution," he growls. "We'll still be here when the dust settles."

  I'm not sure if he's trying to convince me or himself. "I hope you're right. I'm on the line for the equipment loans along with the rest of you. I have a vested interest in resolving this, too."

  He doesn't seem mollified. "So," he grumbles, "besides making your little speech about firm finances, why the hell did you come here to see me?"

  "I wanted to talk to you about Joel's case."

  "We've been through this. We've told the police everything we know. If we find out anything new, I'll call you." He picks up his telephone.

  "There are some things I'd like to talk to you about informally. If you're going to be a shit, I'll get a subpoena."

  He hangs up the phone. "What things?"

  "It's a little ticklish."

  He looks right at me. "You aren't going to start up again about that nonsense about a sexual-harassment claim, are you? It's all bullshit. I have a good mind to file a lawsuit for slander against you for the stuff you brought up at the prelim." The best defense is a good offense.

  "This isn't easy for me, either," I say, "but, if you won't cooperate, I'll have no choice." I let my words trail off and look away from him.

  "What is it?" he asks.

  "First, two people are prepared to testify you were proposition
ing Diana at the retreat, and she rejected your advances." I watch him closely. He doesn't flinch. "One person said you touched Diana in the bar and she stormed out. Another person said you asked her to go to bed with you at your party. When she refused, you followed her back to her room and… well… we aren't sure what happened."

  He turns red. The pit bull comes out. "That's a crock of bullshit. Who the hell do you think you are coming here and making these wild accusations? What the fuck is wrong with you, anyway?"

  I try to keep the tone measured. "I take it that means you deny those accusations?"

  "Damn right, I do."

  "And you're prepared to testify to that effect in court, if necessary?"

  "Of course."

  I nod. "Good. I'm glad we've eliminated any misunderstanding on that subject." I fold my hands. "Is it true that you and Beth Holmes have a social relationship?"

  "I should throw you out of my office right now." He starts to pick up the phone again.

  "Art," I say, "let me show you something." I take out a picture of him entering Beth's house.

  "That doesn't mean anything," he blusters.

  "I understand. But here's a picture of you leaving Beth's house the next morning. My investigator is prepared to testify that you spent the night."

  The beady little eyes flare. "You little shit. You had me followed? Are you trying to blackmail me?" He grits his teeth. "Beth and I have had a social relationship for some time. It's one of the reasons for my divorce. My wife knows all about it."

  "I see. Did you know Bob was going to write Beth out of his will just before he died?"

  "Wouldn't surprise me. So what? She doesn't need the money. If you want to get up in court and tell the jury that Beth and I were sleeping together, so be it. It proves we were having an affair. She's my ex-wife. We still have feelings for each other. It doesn't have anything to do with your client's case."

  Unfortunately, he may be right about that. "Let me ask you about something else. Didn't you and Bob invest in a restaurant together?"

  "Yes, we did. Le Bon Vivant in Palo Alto."

  "How was the restaurant doing?"

  "Great. Except in the restaurant business, you can be doing great, but it doesn't mean you're making any money."

  "I see." I'm surprised he admitted it.

  "We were thinking about closing the place down. I've lost all the money I intend to lose on that damn thing."

  "I don't suppose you had a key-man policy on Bob for the restaurant?" It's a shot in the dark.

  "No, we didn't."

  "Thanks for your time, Art."

  When I return to the office that night, I find Wendy is sitting at a table in the hallway, studying copies of life insurance policies. "You can sit in my office, you know," I say.

  "I like it better out here. Your office smells like chow mein."

  I'm sure it does. "Find anything we can use?" I ask.

  "Nothing yet. Bob's life insurance policies named Beth and the kids as beneficiaries."

  "We knew that. Keep looking."

  "I will." She takes off her glasses. She's very pretty when she wants to be.

  "Are you okay?" I ask. "I guess so." "Andy?"

  "Yeah. We have a custody hearing a week from Tuesday. Will you come with me?"

  I put my hand on her shoulder. "Sure." She pulls back. "Thanks, Mike."

  A moment later, I sit down in my office and dial a familiar number. "Pete," I say, "do you have any plans for the weekend?"

  "You got Warriors tickets?" he asks hopefully. "The Lakers are in town."

  "Nah. I've got something better. I need your help. How would you feel about doing a little pro bono work?"

  Silence. "For whom?" he asks cautiously.

  "Wendy."

  Long pause. "Sure," he says reluctantly.

  "Thanks."

  29

  "WE'RE MISSING SOMETHING. I'M SURE OF IT"

  "Pretrial motions are set for Monday, March 9. Except for Mort Goldberg, it seems the entire defense team is sound asleep."

  —NEWSCENTER 4 LEGAL ANALYST MORGAN HENDERSON. TUESDAY, MARCH 3.

  We're having an all-hands meeting of the Dream Team in Rosie's office at nine the next morning. We have a pretrial hearing on Monday and it's time to add things up. We sit around the small conference table. Rosie drinks a Diet Coke and looks at our preliminary witness list. Wendy nurses a cup of coffee and studies her notes. Pete is going through an inventory of the evidence. Mort plays with an unlit cigar.

  "Mort," I begin, "did you finish our motions to keep the Silverado videotapes out?"

  "Yeah. We filed our papers on Thursday." He drums his fingers on the tabletop. "It's going to be a close call. The tapes have been heavily edited. We have a decent argument the potential inflammatory effect outweighs the probative value. I wouldn't bet a box of cigars we'll win."

  Rosie agrees. "Even if she doesn't let them use the tapes, they can always call Brent Hutchinson to testify that he saw Diana and Joel kissing in the hot tub."

  "There's nothing we can do about that," Mort replies.

  I turn to Wendy. "Did you find out anything more about Bob's finances?"

  "Not much," she says. "He and Art Patton owned a restaurant in Palo Alto called Le Bon Vivant. It's been open for about four years. There are no financial records available to the public."

  "According to Art," I say, "it's losing money."

  "You may be right," she says. "We haven't found any suspicious liens."

  "Keep looking." I turn to Rosie. "Any surprises on their witness list?" I ask.

  "Not really," she says. "They're loading up their list just the way we are. They've put you and Wendy down as witnesses just to tweak us."

  "We'll be able to get around that," I say. "We included Skipper and McNulty on ours, right?"

  "Of course. Turnabout is fair play. Judge Chen will never let them testify."

  "I know. But it'll give us an opportunity to show the judge that Skipper was there that night."

  Mort is pleased. "That discussion should be a lot of fun," he says.

  "Who else is on their list?" I ask.

  "The people you'd expect. Roosevelt. Marcus Banks. Rod Beckert. Sandra Wilson. Art Patton and Charles Stern." Rosie flips through her notes. "Brent Hutchinson. Beth Holmes."

  "Not surprising," I say. "A little testimony from the grieving widow to soften up the jury."

  Rosie nods. "Dan Morris, Jack Frazier, Rick Cinelli and Homer Kim."

  "Any surprises?"

  "Your good friend Dr. Kathy Chandler is on their list, too."

  Wendy asks, "Why are they calling her?"

  "She was Bob's therapist," I reply. "She'll probably testify that Bob wasn't suicidal."

  "Is she a real doctor?" she asks.

  "Depends on your definition of the word ‘real,’ " I reply sarcastically. "She has an honorary doctorate from a mailorder college in Texas."

  I turn back to Rosie. "Did you include all the S and G partners on our witness list?"

  "Yeah. Just like you asked."

  "Good. And did you send out subpoenas to each of them?"

  "Oh, yes," she says, smiling. "We served them yesterday."

  "Let me guess. They were not particularly well received by some of my former partners?"

  Her eyes gleam. "You could say that, Mike. I let Wendy have the pleasure of serving Art Patton, Charles Stern and Brent Hutchinson."

  Wendy is triumphant. "Makes you want to become a litigator," she says.

  "Great," I say. "I bet Skipper is getting a few friendly phone calls from his former partners." Lawyers hate to get subpoenas. And we really hate to testify.

  "Mike," Wendy says, "I took the liberty of asking Rita Roberts and the NewsCenter 4 team to come with me to the S and G office when I served the subpoenas." She bats her eyes innocently. "I hope that was okay."

  "Absolutely," I say. "The public has a right to know. By the way," I ask, "did you find out anything more about the International Charitable
Trust?"

  "Trevor Smith is still in Kuwait." She grins at me. "I talked to his secretary. I've done a lot of work with them over the years, so I've gotten to know her very well. Her name is Felicity Smoot."

  "You're kidding," Mort says.

  "No, I'm not. I told her I was following up on the trust so we could close the file."

  "What did she say?" I ask.

  "Not much. Chuckles asked them to prepare a final inventory of trust assets, so they can begin liquidation. For now, the trust assets are frozen."

  "I see. Have you been able to pin down how much his fee is?"

  "Not yet. His deal isn't stated in the trust instrument. He has a separate administration contract that I haven't seen. I asked Felicity to send me a copy. We'll see if she does."

  Not bad. "Did you have any luck figuring out who the income beneficiaries and the remaindermen of the trust are?"

  "Nope. Felicity didn't know. I didn't want to push her too hard. I thought it might make her nervous."

  "That was smart," I say. "You never want to make a banker nervous." I tap my pencil on my legal pad. "I'm surprised she talked to you. I'll bet Chuckles told her not to talk to anybody who doesn't work for S and G."

  She gives me a conspiratorial grin. "Maybe I didn't exactly tell her I'd left the firm."

  Wendy may have the makings of a fine criminal defense attorney. "When do you think you'll hear back from her?"

  "Probably not until Smith gets back."

  Swell. We'll be halfway through the trial by then. "See if you can find out when he's coming back. I want you and Pete to be there."

  "An all-expenses-paid trip to the Bahamas? Cool."

  "Think of it as a working vacation." I turn to Pete. "What have you found, Mr. Gumshoe?" Pete doesn't like being called Mr. Gumshoe. He doesn't joke around when it comes to business. Actually, he doesn't joke around about much of anything.

  "I ran an asset search on the company custodian, Homer Kim. Seems his bank account recently became twenty thousand dollars fatter. Nice chunk of change for a man who makes only twenty-six thousand dollars a year."

  That's a surprise.

  "You think somebody paid him off to testify?" Mort asks.

 

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