by Kim Hamilton
“I’ve met Olivia before. I think I should do the talking,” Kari said.
“Okay, but how do we segue into our real purpose? How do we ask her about the Ponzi scheme?”
“We don’t. We talk about other things and wait for an opportunity to present itself. Don’t worry. I got this.”
Kari’s confidence comforted me. It often did. I took a route that avoided my parents’ house on South Road. If we saw them out in the yard, we would have to stop for a quick chat. I was not in the mood to have my job disparaged.
Olivia’s Mercedes was parked in the circular driveway. I parked at the curb under a magnolia tree to keep the sun off my car. We walked up the stairs, enjoying the scent of the azalea bushes, and knocked on the front door using a brass knocker that was shaped like a dollar sign. The door was opened by a petite, young woman with brown skin and dark hair. She had a Spanish accent.
“Cain I help you?”
“We’re here to see Mrs. Metzger. We have some items that belonged to her late husband,” Kari said.
“I see if she can see you. What’s your name?”
“I’m Kari Cruz, and this here is Jessica Snow.”
The woman turned from Kari and looked at me for the first time. “Oh. The bus lady. I see you on the bus.”
“Yes, I’m on a few buses.” I nodded and gave her my bus smile.
“I tell Ms. Olivia you here. Come in.” She swung the door wide, directing us into a small foyer that was adorned with maroon and gold striped wallpaper. We stood on a circular oriental rug. There was a small table on the side of the stairwell that supported a lamp and a gold-trimmed bowl that held Olivia’s Mercedes key chain.
“Hello.” We turned to see Olivia descending the stairs. It was the first time I’d seen her in anything but her workout clothes. She was wearing a pressed white-collared shirt tucked into capris-length jeans. The simple outfit was accented with a brown leather belt and cheetah print flats. More understated than I had expected.
“Hello, Mrs. Metzger. I’m Kari Cruz. We met a while back when you and your husband came to our offices—Dawson Garner & Associates?”
“Yes, I remember you. Dawson was a good friend of my late husband.”
“This is Jessica Snow, one of Dawson’s attorneys.”
“Hello, Mrs. Metzger. We are deeply sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. It’s been a difficult time. Maria said you have something of Harvey’s. Come on in and have a seat. I’ll ask her to get us some iced tea.”
I was surprised to find Olivia so pleasant and well-spoken. Why had I suspected hostility? Perhaps because I had her fingered as a murderer. My research had discovered that she was forty-five years old. She had been born in Spain but moved here when she was in her teens. She had graduated from the University of Maryland with a degree in Political Science. She was no dummy.
The living room had grand ceilings and miles of fine fabric adorning the windows. Kari sat in a wingback chair on one side of the fireplace. Olivia and I shared the adjacent love seat. I set the cigar cutter on the coffee table and handed the putter to Olivia.
“Dawson borrowed the putter from Harvey a while ago and had his cigar cutter in his golf bag. He wanted to return them both to you.”
She ignored the putter and picked up the cigar cutter. Rubbing the ivory tusk with her thumb, she whispered, “I gave this to Harvey for our anniversary last year.”
We fell silent as Maria entered with a pitcher of ice tea and three frosted glasses. She set them out on the coffee table and exited the room.
Kari picked up a glass and poured herself some tea. “Who do you think killed Harvey?” she said like she was asking about the weather.
I stiffened and gave Kari a wide-eyed glare. She ignored me and looked over her cup at Olivia. Olivia was still fondling the cigar cutter. “I know people think I killed him, but I didn’t. I loved Harvey.”
“You were cheating on him.”
“Yes. He knew it, too. He was consumed by his work. I was always second in line.”
“Did you know about the Ponzi scheme?” I asked.
“No. I heard about it on the news like everyone else.” She paused, sat the cigar cutter down, and said, “Not only have I lost my husband, but I’ve lost a fortune. They’ve put a freeze on our accounts. I’m broke. I’m so broke, I pawned several of my designer handbags.”
“Didn’t Harvey have life insurance?”
“Yes, but they won’t pay out anything until the investigation into his death is done and my name is cleared.”
“Since you didn’t know about the Ponzi scheme, I don’t suppose you know of anyone else?”
“No. I know Dawson didn’t kill him. He isn’t a murderer. He and Harvey were friends. They played golf regularly, and poker on occasion. I’ve been thinking about who it could be. I even thought maybe Juan Carlos might have killed him so he could have me to himself, but I was with Juan Carlos the night Harvey was shot. Sometimes I blame myself. Had I been here, maybe he wouldn’t have been killed.”
“Or maybe you’d have a bullet in your head, too,” Kari said.
Olivia grimaced and I gave Kari that look again.
“I’m sorry I don’t have any helpful information. I’m as anxious to find the murderer as you are.” She picked up the cigar cutter again and held it gently in both hands. “Thank you for bringing me his things. I didn’t think I would miss him, but I do. He put work before me, but he was still good to me. I know he loved me in his own way.” She put her head down. I saw her lips moving in prayer. When she was finished, she picked her head up. “You two are very nice to stop by.”
This was our cue to leave. The three of us walked back to the foyer in silence. Maria was coming down the stairs with a large suitcase and sat it next to another one by the door. “Your cosmetic bag is all that’s left, Ms. Olivia.”
Kari turned to Olivia. “You going somewhere?”
Olivia looked at the bags, then opened her hand and looked again at the cigar cutter. She took a deep breath. “No. I’ve changed my mind. Maria, I’m sorry. Would you please take my things back upstairs?”
She turned to look at Kari and me. “You two have opened my eyes. I was trying to stay detached from all this. I thought running back home to Barcelona with Juan Carlos was the best solution. Now I know that’s a cop-out. I need to stay here and face the ridicule, face the creditors, and do what I can to help find Harvey’s murderer.”
“That’s a much better plan,” I said.
#
“That went differently than I expected,” Kari said as we drove back to the office.
“Me, too. I thought she would threaten us with the putter and run us off her porch. I didn’t anticipate tea and polite conversation.”
“We misjudged her.”
“We sure did.”
The JFX obliged us once again by moving freely at this hour. We passed a transit bus, and Kari said, “Hey look. It’s Delroy.” He was seated in his usual position right behind the driver. “You gotta admire his commitment.”
My cell phone rang. Kari grabbed it from my purse and looked at the screen. “It’s Marty.”
“Go ahead and answer it.”
“Marty, it’s Kari. Jess is driving. What’s up? Uhuh… uhuh... that’s karma, man. That’s a beautiful thing. We’re on our way back. Should be there in five minutes. Offer them something to drink, and there are Berger cookies in the cabinet by the refrigerator.” She disconnected.
“What’d he say?”
“Remember that minivan family that Milligan was scavenging for at the hospital that day we went to meet Tony? The parents didn’t want to wait for Stuart to return from Hilton Head. They walked across the street with their file and asked to meet with you.”
“Me? Why me?”
“They like your face. Told Marty you have an honest face. They’re waiting for you.”
It was happening. It was official. I was a local celebrity ambulance chaser. It wasn’t the noblest of l
egal practices, but being recognized for being honest in the legal community was a rarity.
I was determined to impress the pants off of these clients.
#
My meeting with the parents went well. We talked for a half hour about their claims and the process. They listened intently and signed off on the paperwork without additional questions. They had walked off with the entire contents of Milligan’s file, so the transition to our firm would be seamless. The police report was pending, but it looked like a clean case. Easy money for DGA. I thanked them both for coming, made sure they had my card, and told them to call me anytime.
“Well, Jess, how does it feel to have a client ask for you by name?” It was Dawson. He was standing in my doorway with Marty at his side.
“A little surprising, actually. I feel a bit of pressure, like I’ve put myself out there to be a terrific attorney and now I have to make good on that promise.”
“You’ll make good on it.”
Marty put a hand on Dawson’s shoulders. “They grow up so fast don’t they?” They looked at me like proud parents, then burst into laughter and high-five’d each other.
#
Brenda Ballister sent the photos of Tyler Martin playing laser tag with his alleged neck and back injury. She included a video clip of him leaping over a barrel, twisting in midair to take a shot, and landing with a graceful tuck and roll. I scheduled an appointment with Tyler without telling him about the offer of $1,500 or the photos. He sat across from me, his shoulder-length blond hair pulled back by a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses perched on his head. He was wearing a Tommy Hilfiger T-shirt, a pair of Calvin Klein Jeans, and a pricey pair of Nikes. This guy didn’t shop at Target.
“So, Tyler, we’ve got a situation here with your claim. The adjuster is not convinced that this fender bender could have caused you any injury and she’s playing hardball. She offered $1,500 to settle your case.”
“I’m not taking no $1,500. What does she know? She wasn’t there. I was hurt when we got hit. So was my buddy. I had to miss work. I couldn’t do anything but sit on the couch for weeks. She don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“She and I talked a lot about the accident. We saw the photos of both vehicles and read through Dr. Shon’s reports. I’ll tell you, Tyler, I’m not impressed either.”
He wasn’t expecting that. His last claim with DGA was similar to this one and it settled for three times as much. He was expecting a similar windfall. “You don’t know what you’re doing here. I want to talk to Dawson.”
“You can’t talk to Dawson. He’s not here. But lets you and I try to go through the details again. So, how long would you say you were on the couch?” I put a calendar in front of him and pointed to February 3. “This is the day of the accident. When did you feel well enough to report to work and go about your normal activities?”
He studied the calendar like he was looking at a treasure map. “Well, Dr. Shon said I could go back to work on the tenth.” He pointed to Monday the tenth of February. “I went to work and all after that, but I was still in pain and couldn’t do nothing else until about here.” He pointed to the February 21st. “But even then, I still had a little back pain.”
“You were doing nothing but sitting on the couch and muddling through work from the date of the accident through here?” I drew a finger across the days of the calendar from February 3 to February 21.
“That’s about right,” he said.
I placed a series of photographs in front of him, one after the other like in the interrogation room scenes on Law & Order. Each picture showed him playing laser tag with his buddies. The time stamp was Saturday, February 8, five days after the accident.
“Do you recognize the guy in the photo?”
“That ain’t me.”
“Cut the crap. Of course it’s you. It looks like you. Plus, take a look at this.” I put another photograph in front of him of the registration log with his name highlighted. “That looks like your name now, doesn’t it?”
“So? Maybe it’s not my signature.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair with a smug look on his face.
“That’s bull, Tyler. You’re lucky this adjuster is offering you anything.”
“I won’t settle for $1,500. Can you try to get her to $3,000?”
Irritation pinched my patience.
“No, Tyler. You accept this settlement right now or go find yourself another lawyer. After my fee and Dr. Shon’s bills, you’ll walk away with $500. That’s a gift given the clear evidence that...” I wanted to call him a liar and a thief, but doing so seemed to make me complicit. I waved my hands over the photos and said, “Well, given this.”
He paused, then looked up at me like he had it all figured out. “I heard Dawson got himself arrested, so maybe I should get another lawyer.”
“Fine. Let me help you with that.” I threw one of Stuart Milligan’s business cards on top of the pile of incriminating photographs. “This dirtbag is right across the street. Go see if he wants your file.”
Tyler looked at me, then at the card, then back at me again. He shifted in his chair and pretended to check his phone. I sat still, waiting for his decision. I figured I couldn’t lose here. Either he’d walk out the door with the file and become Stuart’s headache, or he’d settle with me and I’d get a small fee. Either way, I was done with him.
I watched as a knowing grin formed on this face. He looked at me, not with the hostility that I expected, but with admiration. “You’re okay, Jess. I mean, for a chick in this business, you’re pretty tough. You got me beat. I’m gonna take your advice and settle this one. I see the problem. I understand. Tell me where to sign off.”
I picked up the trash can by the side of my desk and cleared the photographs from sight. “You’re making the right decision, Tyler. I figured you would. You’re a smart guy. Sign here.” I put the release form and a pen in front of him and explained that by signing it, he agreed to settle this claim for a total of $1,500 and close the matter. He signed, and I pushed a five-hundred-dollar check in front of him.
“That’s $500 for you, $500 to Dr. Shon—who took a big cut on his bill for you—and $500 to us. I’m waiving expenses as a courtesy to you.”
“Thank you, Jess. It’s not what I got last time”—he said looking at the check—“but it’s something. Plus, I learned not to be seen playing laser tag after my next accident.”
“It’s been a learning experience for both us then.”
We shook hands like two professional business associates and he left. I was impressed with myself for earning Tyler’s respect, which felt odd. I guess I was getting good at this. Better not tell my mother.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
After multiple failed attempts to squeeze money out of Franco, I was beginning to appreciate the simple, mind-numbing redundancy of dealing with insurance adjusters. But I wasn’t giving up on Tony’s claim because Franco wasn’t playing fair. I had another plan. This one also involved Mrs. Bianco who, after recovering from her intestinal episode, remained my best playing card given her relationship with Franco’s mother. We had to attempt another ambush.
It would go down at the House of Hair during Franco’s monthly pedicure. I’d arrange it so Mrs. Bianco would be getting a pedicure at the same time. He would be a captive audience with his pant legs pulled up past his knees and his feet soaking in a tub of swirling warm water. I would arrive during their pedicures under the pretense of taking Mrs. B to lunch. She would mention the one connection I had with Franco—Tony. Franco would be forced to explain why he wasn’t paying the claim and Mrs. B would erupt and threaten to tell Cecelia. The thought of disappointing his mother would cause Franco to crumble and offer up the $15,000. Justice would be served.
Meanwhile, I needed to focus on getting Marshall’s exploding-toilet claim started. My earlier research had turned up five defendants. I had to give notice of the claim to each of them. Sue them all. That’s what they teach us in law school. It was a
colossal waste of time to bring all five of these companies into this, but it would be legal malpractice on my part if I didn’t. I contacted the appropriate government agency for each state to obtain the name of the resident attorney for each defendant. I slaved for an hour over the letter that would serve as notice of Marshall’s claim. Considering the subject matter, it was an effort to maintain a serious tone. Upon completion, Kari helped me fax, email, and send each letter to the proper party via certified mail.
I called Marshall to check in on his condition. Lucinda answered the phone. “Hello, Mrs. Ball. This is Jessica Snow.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m calling in to check on Marshall. How’s he doing?”
“Oh. It’s nice of you to call. He’s doing fine. Still some pain, but it gets better every day. Do you want to talk to him?”
“Only if I’m not disturbing him.”
“You aren’t disturbing him. He’s watching The Price is Right. He can pause it.” I heard her hand the phone to Marshall and tell him it was me. I could also hear the cacophony of music, buzzers, and screaming coming from his television. He did not pause it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Marshall. This is Jessica Snow. I’m calling to check in on you.”
“What?”
The volume on the television was too loud. “This is Jessica Snow. I wanted to check in on you!” You are the winner of a brand new washer and dryer...
“You have a check for me?” applause, applause, applause...
“No, I’m checking in! You know, asking how you are doing?”
“Oh. I’m doing fine.” Come on down...
Now I couldn’t hear him. “What?” applause, applause, applause...
“I said I’m doing fine!”
It was clear The Price is Right was far more interesting than a phone call from me.
“I can tell you’re busy. I’ll check up on you in a couple of days.”
“Five hundred fifty. Yes!”
I hung up and made a mental note not to call him again during The Price is Right hour.