Noble Chase: A Novel

by Michael Rudolph

  She was looking forward to dinner with Bob.

  —

  When the cab dropped her off at Seventy-fourth and Second, Beth saw plenty of restaurants on the block, but no Café Jaipur. She checked on her cellphone and found that Bob had given her the wrong address. Café Jaipur was at Seventy-sixth and Third. Close enough to walk to, which she did. Bob was waiting outside for her with a handshake and a grin on his face somewhere between apologetic and sheepish.

  As soon as they sat down, Bob reached into his shoulder bag and handed her a large envelope. “Before I forget again, here’s that package of papers I mentioned.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It was in a box I found in his condo with my name on it. The rest of the stuff was just family junk. Camp pictures, birthday and Christmas cards I sent him, nothing important, so I left it home.”

  “It must have been important to him if he saved it.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Does your father own the condo?”

  “I checked, but he rented it.”

  “Who’s the landlord?”

  “Some outfit called Paramount.”

  “Paramount?” She hoped she didn’t sound too interested.

  “Yeah. Some of their bills are in the package you have.”

  “I’ll take a look at it all tomorrow after I get the okay from my boss.” She wasn’t about to share any information about Paramount with him.

  “Sounds good. The only thing I took out of it was some New Zealand money I found tucked inside an expired passport of his.”

  “When did he go there?”

  “I have zero idea.”

  “You know what, send me the passport. You can never tell what might prove important.”

  “I’ll mail it tomorrow.”

  “I would so love to sail to New Zealand.”

  “You sail?”

  “I never miss a chance. My parents live on a sailboat down in the Caribbean.”

  “I tried to learn to sail in camp one year. Spent most of the time in the water trying to right the boat.”

  He laughed and she laughed, but she was really thinking how nice it would be to sail into a sunset with him. I hope he’s not one of the bad guys. What a drag that would be.

  Indian food had never been a favorite of hers, but she enjoyed sharing the vegetable pakora and chicken jalfrezi with Bob. She even found enough room left over at the end to share a delicious cottage cheese confection called ras malai for dessert.

  I like being with him, she thought during the meal. That unpretentious personality of his is special. He acts natural and he’s not afraid to laugh at himself. Even down to the cute way he described how he finally stumbled onto Café Jaipur himself after the cab dropped him off on Seventy-fourth Street.

  They lingered over coffee, extending the dinner by mutual consent. She was sorry when it ended, but at the same time she wanted to get back to her apartment to look over the papers Bob had given her.

  —

  Back in her apartment after dinner, she got into bed, put on her iPod, and pulled up the red plaid comforter that Brian had given her two years ago during the waning days of their relationship. Since then she’d had her share of frogs and princes, but no commitments. Oh well, she thought, celibacy wasn’t too bad if you didn’t make a cause célèbre out of it.

  After unwrapping a Klondike bar, she opened Bob’s envelope and began to examine its contents. She nibbled on the ice cream bar as she went along, making notes of the things she wanted to check at the office tomorrow. There was one set of papers stapled together that looked like incomplete applications to several different offshore insurance companies, million-dollar proposals, too. She hadn’t seen them mentioned in the insurance printout she had. So why only a $350,000 policy with MetLife?

  She was nodding and focusing when a CD fell out of the envelope and onto the bed next to her. She picked it up and grinned at the name proCKtoscope printed on the label. Someone has a sense of humor, she thought. Wonder what’s on it. She vowed to check in the morning and dropped the CD off the bed next to the file already on the floor.

  Arriving back from court the next morning, Beth hit the office running, threw her attaché case on the couch, hung up her trench coat, and dialed Frank Epstein’s number on the intercom.

  “Frank, what do you know about insurance law?”

  “Well, I’m probably not the world’s greatest living expert, but I can tell a term policy from a whole life policy if that helps.”

  “Got a minute for me? I’ll come to your office.”

  “Okay.”

  She unlocked the bottom drawer of her credenza, got the Sloane file, and added the papers she had gotten from Bob Talcourt. She kept out the insurance applications, made copies after blocking out Sloane’s name, and handed them to Frank as she entered his office.

  “When did we get an insurance case in the office?” Frank asked as he looked over the proposals.

  “We didn’t exactly. I picked it up last night.”

  “Did you speak to Clifford about it?”

  “Not yet,” she answered.

  “Clifford doesn’t like insurance cases. Be careful, will you, Beth, with that Paramount case still hanging over our head.”

  “I’m trying to develop some business for the firm.”

  “It must be a wealthy client.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Well then, it must be a wealthy beneficiary. These proposals are all for several million dollars or more. Do you have the actual policies?”

  “I don’t know if they were ever issued.”

  “They’re all offshore insurance companies, too. Look at these…Netherlands Antilles, Panama, Cayman Islands.”

  “That’s one of the things I wanted to ask you about. Why would somebody want life insurance from an offshore carrier when there are so many companies in the United States?”

  “Cheaper rates, maybe, or less stringent physical examinations. I’ve also seen where some of these offshore companies are willing to take greater risks than the U.S. companies.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, remember the old rule requiring the owner of a life insurance policy to have an insurable interest in the life of the insured?”

  “Sure. That’s to prevent insurance policies from becoming lotteries. You have to be a relative of the insured or have some valid business interest.”

  “Exactly. Like key man insurance among business partners. Well, some of these foreign insurance companies have been known to be careless with that requirement from time to time.”

  “One of these proposals alone is for five million dollars. How would you find out if a policy had ever been issued?”

  “I don’t know, Beth. That’s out of my bailiwick. You understand those online resources. Maybe you can learn something from them.”

  “I tried, but nothing came up.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you more.” He handed the papers back to Beth, who got up out of her chair.

  “Thanks. Please don’t mention it to Clifford. I want to do some more research first.”

  “Okay. Don’t forget to check for conflicts with other clients.”

  “I will.”

  She walked back to her office and checked her voicemail. Bob Talcourt had called. She made a fresh cup of coffee before sitting down to return his call. As she dialed his number, anticipating the sound of his voice made her feel good.

  “Bob?” she asked as the phone was picked up.

  “Hi, Beth. How did court go this morning?”

  “Who knows. They’re so backed up it can take months before you get a decision.”

  “I enjoyed dinner last night.”

  “So did I. Did you hear anything from WKYN yet?”

  “That’s why I called. I’m still in the running.”

  “That’s great. What happened?”

  “They want to hear some more of my tapes. That’s usually a good sign. I’m going back to Providence now to pick
them up.”

  “Why don’t you just have somebody send them here for you? Federal Express would be here by tomorrow morning.”

  “I thought of that, but they’re locked up in a file cabinet in my apartment, and anyhow, there’s some transmission problem I have to handle back at the station tonight.”

  “I hope you get the job.” She meant it.

  “Thanks. Now that I’ll be back in New York tomorrow, I thought we could have dinner Saturday night.”

  She resisted: “I don’t think so, Bob. I don’t have any information yet for you about your case. I just got back from court and haven’t had two seconds to talk to my boss about it.”

  “So what. I want to meet you for dinner without any business reason.”

  “It’s not a good idea.” (No, what it is, is insane!)

  “Why?”

  “If I’m going to represent you in a lawsuit, I need to be objective.”

  “I just want to have dinner. That’s hardly a commitment.”

  “What time and where?” she finally asked after a brief pause, intended more for effect than anything else.

  “I don’t know. Let’s make it seven thirty. I have no idea where. Why don’t I call you when I get back into town tomorrow. We can talk about it then.”

  “Sounds good. Speak to you then.” As she hung up the phone, her mind took over with the inevitable round of questions about Sloane’s death and the missing Jasco money. She completed the rationalization process with the thought that dinner with Bob would be a good chance to learn more about what he knew.

  She still had to speak to Clifford but postponed the confrontation long enough to go into her bag for the CD she had found among Sloane’s papers. She turned on her computer and inserted it into one of the drives. She tried everything but couldn’t bring up anything. She finally decided to call Brian for help after she spoke to Clifford. Brian would know how to open it up.

  —

  Beth got up from her desk and walked down the hall to Clifford’s office. His door was closed, and since Constance wasn’t at her desk, she just knocked on his door and walked in.

  Clifford was on the phone. He nodded to her when she walked in and, with his hand, motioned her to sit down. Beth could tell from the affectionate tone of his voice that it was a personal call.

  While waiting for him to finish, she focused her attention on the papers she had carried in. The sun, streaming in from the window through the venetian blinds, slanted obliquely across his desk, partly shrouding his face in streaks of contrasting shadow and light, withdrawing his physical presence from the room. The effect was ghostlike, causing Beth to wonder about his pallor.

  In the three years that she had worked for Clifford, he had offered little insight into himself. His personal life had remained just that. He was her affectionate mentor, but never without his impeccable reserve. Although he was Max’s closest friend and had been his law partner for more than thirty years, that kind of intimacy was not extended to her. She only knew him to be a brilliant, oak-solid attorney and a very private person.

  Clifford hung up the phone and turned his attention to Beth. “Any word from the malpractice carrier?”

  “No. I’ll call them again as soon as I get back to my office.” Without any preamble, she then began to tell him about the Talcourt insurance case, embellishing it to make it seem as attractive as possible. She studiously avoided mentioning Sloane’s name.

  When she finished her careful presentation, it looked like Clifford was thoughtfully considering the matter of their retention. She could see that he wasn’t particularly thrilled with the idea.

  “Beth…,” he finally started, “it’s a bad case for us to get involved with.”

  She sat in the chair, listening silently as he continued. “The liability is unclear and there’s not enough of a potential recovery to make a contingency fee worthwhile.” He was only confirming what she had suspected he would say.

  “But I can settle it quickly. Hopefully the insurance company will fold as soon as we serve a summons and complaint. I told Mr. Talcourt that if we couldn’t settle it with the carrier, we would want the right to withdraw or discontinue before trial.”

  “Nonsense! You’re daydreaming!” Clifford said sharply, emphasizing it with a fit of dry coughing. “You know perfectly well the court isn’t going to let us out of a case on the eve of trial. The time spent on depositions alone could eat up the whole fee if we’re lucky enough to get a recovery in the first place. No, I think you should pass on this one.”

  “Clifford,” she pressed on, “Talcourt can be a good source of business. I’m not going to need to take any depositions. I can get us to the settlement stage with five or ten hours’ work, maximum.”

  “Cases like this are a dime a dozen.”

  “But you keep telling the associates how important it is to develop business for the firm, and here’s a potential client with his finger in the entire radio communications business. It could lead to big matters.”

  “I encourage associates to develop their own sources of business, but your stepfather and I didn’t build this firm with small contingency cases like this one. The economics of it are all wrong.”

  “Clifford, let me take this one. I’ll keep a close watch on the hours and it won’t affect my regular billings.”

  “It’s such a small case, Beth. Why are you so anxious to handle it? Is there anything else I should know?”

  “No, I told you all I know,” she said, trying conscientiously, but with minimal success, to maintain eye contact with him. Did he know the name Talcourt? Had he connected the name with Sloane? “I just think that this is a client who will amount to something and turn into a good long-range source of business.”

  “I’ll tell you what. Run it through the office dockets to make sure we don’t have any conflict of interest with existing clients, and if it comes up clean, get a five-thousand-dollar retainer up front against a twenty-five percent contingency and run with it for a few hours of work. Your judgment is usually good. I’ll go with it.”

  “Thanks, Clifford.” This time she couldn’t meet his eyes. There was a very real conflict of interest with the potential Paramount malpractice case.

  “But I also want you to let me know immediately if the hours get out of hand, and that means anything more than four or five hours.”

  “I will,” she said, concentrating now on any part of his face except his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked reflexively, suddenly aware that his face had retained its unhealthy color even now that the sun had moved on.

  “Fine. Why?” he responded with a shrug.

  “Nothing. You just look a little thin.”

  “I’ve been trying to shake a cold,” he said without concern. Clifford’s attention was already on something else because she saw him take a little red address book out of his vest pocket and thumb through the pages.

  “What time is it in Zurich?” she heard him mumbling almost to himself as he found the page he was looking for. “Ah, forget it. It’s not important,” he went on, still mumbling and apparently still alone in a conversation with himself as he watched her walk out of his office, closing the door behind her. He was careful, though, not to begin dialing the long telephone number until she had left. As he waited for the number to ring, he stared at the notes he had made on a memo pad while Beth was talking. He kept underlining Talcourt’s name until the phone was picked up at the other end.

  Beth walked back to her office, feeling painfully guilty about abusing Clifford’s trust in her. She sought justification, figuring that as long as she turned out the hours, Clifford couldn’t complain. So much for integrity.

  —

  “Brian?”

  “Who else would be in my house at six thirty picking up my phone?”

  “I didn’t want to call you at the bank. I got a problem.”

  “Sorry. I have a date tonight and still have to shower.”

  “But it’s important. I need to open
a CD that might be connected to the missing seventy million.”

  “Figuring out a password should be child’s play for you.”

  “I figured out the password without a problem, but all I keep getting is a blur of numbers scrolling across my screen and I can’t stop them or make sense out of what they are.”

  “Okay, let me open up my computer. Watch for the email.”

  “Thanks, Brye.”

  In very short order, Brian took over control of her computer and began the process of examining Sloane’s CD. Propelled by his expertise, the cursor flew around the screen as windows opened and closed faster than her eyes could follow them. Finally, the screen froze to reveal thousands of numbers unseparated by any spaces except for an occasional Chinese character.

  “Beth, I don’t understand Chinese, but I’m pretty sure this is a massive series of 128-bit encrypted bank access codes. Very sophisticated stuff.”

  “So how do I figure it out?”

  “I see sequences like this all day long at the bank. As a matter of fact, I drafted these protocols when I first went to work there. If you’re not the sender or the intended recipient, it’s just meaningless gibberish.”

  “Oh, great! Enjoy your date.”

  When Bob offered to pick her up at her apartment on Saturday night, she accepted. No problem so far. Then, impulsively, she suggested he come up first for a drink. He couldn’t accept fast enough. At that point, there was no way for it to qualify as a business date any longer.

  Now here it was, nearly eight o’clock, she wasn’t ready and had a feeling that Bob would be the prompt type. She gave the apartment a final check, made sure the bathroom was reasonably neat after her shower, and closed the bedroom door, relieved she had cleaned the apartment in the morning.

  She took the sour cream and the bottle of Pinot Grigio out of the refrigerator and added a package of freeze-dried onion soup mix to the sour cream. After peeling the price sticker off the wine bottle, she put the onion dip and the wine out on the black enamel glass-topped cocktail table she had bought with part of the Jasco bonus.

  She had finished lighting the candles when she heard the house phone ring. The doorman told her that Bob was downstairs and asked if it was okay to send him up. She searched for Clapton on her iPod and put on “Wonderful Tonight” just as the doorbell rang.