Betrayed: A Rosato & DiNunzio Novel (Rosato & Associates Book 13) (22 page)

“Yes, there is an initial toxicology report and it screens for the presence of illegal drugs.”

“What about legal drugs? Does it test for that, too?” Judy wondered if Iris was abusing prescription medication, even counterfeit prescription medication.

“No. Further testing would be required to determine the presence of legal drugs, but there’s a fee for that and we don’t do it unless the coroner determines that it would be necessary.” The elevator arrived, the stainless steel doors rattled open, and Judy stepped inside the cab.

“Where is the body now?”

“In the hospital morgue. We should be releasing it tomorrow, so you may want to contact your funeral director. He will call us to coordinate the release on your behalf, rather, on your aunt’s behalf.”

“Thank you. I’ll call later for the report.”

“Good-bye now.”

“Bye.” Judy got off the elevator cab on the bottom floor and hurried through the crowded lobby with the duffel, trying not to be nervous that she was carrying so much cash. She acted normal, checking her email on the fly like everybody else. She scrolled through the first ten incoming and ascertained nothing needed immediate attention as she hurried through the exit doors, hit the pavement, strode to the curb, and spotted a Yellow cab almost instantly.

“Yo!” she called, flagging it down. She jogged to meet the cab at the curb, jumped inside, and closed the door behind her. The cabbie was a young African-American man, and he turned to her.

“Looks like you’re in a hurry,” he said with a friendly smile.

“I am. Can you take me to Fifteenth and Locust, then I’m going to run inside and ask you to wait?”

“Sure, no problem.” The cabbie hit the gas, and Judy faced the window of the cab as they took off. The traffic wasn’t bad, and the city whizzed past her, but she didn’t see anything. She was worried sick about Aunt Barb. They reached the office quickly, and Judy flew out the cab door, into the mirrored building, up the shiny elevator, and finally into the old-school reception room of Eastwood & Respondi, where her classmate worked. He was one of the smartest kids on Law Review with her, but she hadn’t seen him in ages. She hurried to the front desk with the duffel bag, where a dark-haired receptionist smiled up at her.

“Hello, how may I help you?”

“I’m Judy Carrier, here to see John Foxman, he’s expecting me.”

“Please have a seat,” the receptionist said, picking up the receiver of the desk phone.

“But I’m in a hurry—”

“Judy?” said a voice that Judy recognized, and she looked over. It sounded like John, but it didn’t look like John. She remembered him as super tall and super skinny, with thick glasses and an insanely studious manner, but he had changed, to say the least.

“John?” Judy asked, trying to keep the shock from her voice, and if John noticed that she was drooling, he didn’t let it show. Either he had been working out or he was on steroids, but he looked tall and cut, filling out a sharply tailored dark suit with style. His formerly frizzy red hair had been tamed into short layers, and his blue eyes sparkled with amusement, which she guessed came with his new contact lenses.

“Judy, if you’re in a hurry, come with me. We’ll get this done quickly.” John crossed the carpet to meet her and reached for the duffel. “Let me take the bag.”

“Thanks.” Judy handed it over and fell into step beside him, though his strides were big as they hustled down the hall. “Nice of you to see me on such short notice.”

“I wanted to. You look great.”

“You, too.”

“I remember the way you used to dress.” John smiled. “So … fun.”

“I still dress fun, if not funny. I had a dep.”

“You don’t go to the reunions.”

“No.”

“You should. You’re missed.”

“Aw, thanks,” Judy said, surprised at his warmth. They had been fellow Comment Editors, working together plenty of late nights, but hadn’t dated. She couldn’t even remember if he had a girlfriend in law school, just that he was one of the scruffy guys in hoodies that hung out in the Law Review office. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long.”

Well.
“We grew up.”

“It can’t be avoided, can it?” John grinned crookedly, gesturing her into his office with a long arm.

“Thanks.” Judy glanced around. His office was small but immaculate, with files organized on the credenza, labeled looseleaf binders on the shelves, and diplomas and certificates of admission on the walls. It was the décor of the geeky boy she remembered, but he had grown into a very different sort of man.

“If you could just sign these forms, I’ll put this money in the bank next door, right away.” John set the duffel down and reached for some blank forms on his desk, which had a polished maplewood top that was clear except for a laptop.

“It’s not a PennBank, is it? I’m suing them.”

“No, it’s not, but I’m glad to see you’re still the firebrand I remember.” John slid the forms to Judy, then handed her a black enamel pen from his breast pocket. “Here, use my show-off pen. My father gave it to me when I passed the bar, back when pens still mattered.”

“I will, thanks.” Judy accepted the pen, and scribbled her name on the first form, noticing that John wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and there was no masonry dust under his fingernail. Then she realized with a start that she hadn’t thought of Frank today until this very moment, and not in a good way.

“You’re signing a form that will permit me to set up an IOLTA account.”

“What does that mean anyway?” Judy signed the second form.

“An Interest Only Lawyers’ Trust Account. It’s a clunky acronym for holding account, that’s all. Any fund generates interest, and the question is where the interest goes and who owns it.”

“Why didn’t they just say that?”

“Because they’re politicians.”

“Ha.” Judy finished signing the forms and handed him back the pen, which he returned to his breast pocket.

“Under the statute, the interest flows into a general fund used to improve access to the civil legal system.”

“That’s nice.”

“Isn’t it? We need the money in a safe place while we set up the estate, which will take some time to do. If we could open an estate in a day, then we wouldn’t need the IOLTA account.”

“I understand.” Judy liked that John said
we,
as if her problem was his problem, too.

“If the money is put in an IOLTA account, there is no need to identify the owner to the bank. That works well in this situation, since we don’t know who the rightful owner is.”

“Right.”

“Just so we’re clear, the decedent was a Pennsylvania resident, correct?”

“Yes, but she was undocumented.”

“That doesn’t matter, for present purposes. As a Pennsylvania resident, her estate administration is governed by the Pennsylvania Estate and Fiduciary Code. You remember the basics from law school? The jurisdiction was different, but the legal fundamentals remain the same.”

“No, I sucked at trusts and estates.”

“I know you did. I remember.” John chuckled, and so did Judy. “Anyway, the PEF Code gives a priority list of persons entitled to administer an estate. There is no will, I presume?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“We can talk later about the larger questions regarding the administration of the estate, when you have more time. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page.” John extended his hand, palm up. “May I have your driver’s license, please? I need ID to set up the account, then I can let you go on your way.”

“Thanks.” Judy went into her purse, extracted her driver’s license from her wallet, and handed it to him.

“Great.” John slid out his iPhone, took a picture of her driver’s license, and handed it back to her.

“So now the money’s in your hands.”

“It’s more complicated than that, but I can explain it to you later. These funds are considered qualified funds under the Code of Professional Responsibility.”

“Okay,” Judy said, and she could tell from the authoritative tone in his voice that he knew what he was talking about, and she didn’t have time to find out. “I should be getting to the hospital. My aunt’s pretty sick.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” John frowned slightly, with genuine sympathy in his eyes. “It would be gentlemanly of me to walk you to the elevator, but there are fifty thousand reasons I should stay right here.”

“I agree.” Judy smiled, and John smiled back, meeting her eye more directly than was professional.

“Why don’t you call me tonight or tomorrow, and we can set up a time to talk about the next steps? It’s a fairly involved process, getting you or your aunt appointed as the administrator of the estate.”

“Really, why?” Judy asked, going to the threshold of his office.

“The world isn’t set up for $50,000 that nobody wants to keep.”

“It’s not easy to do the right thing.”

“No, it’s not easy to do the
legal
thing.” John titled his chin up, smiling. “I admire your aunt.”

“So do I,” Judy said, feeling her emotions well up. “Well, I’d better go. Thanks so much.”

“Bye now. Call me.”

“I will, thanks.” Judy left the office and hustled down the hall through the reception room, down the elevator and out the lobby to the street, where the cabdriver was still waiting. She climbed in the cab and slammed the door behind her. “Thanks for hanging in.”

“No problem. Where to?”

“The hospital, please.”

“You got it.” They took off, switching lanes in traffic, and Judy’s head was swimming. She slid out her phone and checked to see if her mother had called or texted, but she hadn’t. She checked her email reflexively, and noticed that new email had popped onto the screen. It was an official filing from the United States District Court, which permitted electronic filing in motions and cases, so it had to be something important.

She opened the email, concerned.
MOTION FOR SANCTIONS AGAINST PLAINTIFF’S COUNSEL JUDY CARRIER, ESQ., PURSUANT TO FEDERAL RULE OF CIVIL PROCEDURE 37
, read the title of the motion, and the caption of the action was
Linda Adler v. PennBank
. The motion had been filed on behalf of PennBank by Rick Kelin.

“What?” Judy gasped, aghast. Her heart sank as she skimmed the first few lines:
Movant PennBank asks this Court to sanction Plaintiff’s Counsel Judy Carrier, Esq., for failure to cooperate in discovery, i.e., for inappropriate and abusive misconduct during the deposition of witness Mr. Devi Govinda
 …

Judy couldn’t believe what she was reading. Rule 37 was an extreme remedy, a last resort for when the discovery process was being obstructed, blocked, or the like. She had never seen it used the way Kelin was using it, against her. She read on:
Plaintiff’s Counsel badgered and harassed the witness
 …
Plaintiff’s Counsel threatened that she would ‘get’ the witness at trial
 …
Plaintiff’s Counsel left Defense Counsel no alternative but to flee the deposition, in order to protect the shaken witness from further distress
 …

The cab veered around the corner, and Judy scrolled through the motion, which was short, only two pages long. That must’ve been how Kelin had gotten it written and filed so quickly; either that or he had it ready, on a form. She turned to the last page, which was a certification signed by counsel that he had attempted to confer, in an effort to settle the dispute. At the bottom of the page was Richard Kelin’s signature, after:
Defense Counsel called Plaintiff’s Counsel and attempted to discuss this matter with her today, to no avail. Plaintiff’s Counsel rudely cut off the conversation, then hung up on Defense Counsel … Defense Counsel cannot subject Witness Phillip Morrell to Plaintiff’s Counsel, until this Court has ruled
 …

Judy shook her head, disgusted. She understood what Kelin was up to and she kicked herself for leaving herself vulnerable. He wouldn’t win the motion, but he’d bring her conduct to the attention of the Court, prejudicing the judge against her. She’d have to file a reply explaining herself, but the judge’s first impression of her would be as a hothead. She had to hope it wouldn’t prejudice him against Linda’s case, or she’d never forgive herself.

Judy gritted her teeth, jostling in the moving cab. She had misjudged Kelin as a spoiled baby, but he was a sharp and aggressive litigator. His motion was typical of the behind-the-scenes gamesmanship that she hated, but she had no one but herself to blame. Her thoughts raced ahead, and the implications fell like dominoes, in a cause-and-effect chain of collapse. She’d have to write, research, and file a response to the motion right away, to mitigate the damage with the judge. She’d have to get the Morrell deposition rescheduled. She’d have to explain it to Linda, and worse, to Bennie.

The cab raced toward the hospital, and Judy looked to the window, realizing that as bad as it was, it paled in comparison to what Aunt Barb was going through.

This very minute.

Chapter Twenty-seven

“So what did the nurse say?” Judy asked, dumping her messenger bag and purse on the chair next to her mother, in the quiet waiting room. A young receptionist sat at the front desk, tapping on the computer keyboard, and the only other people were an older couple sitting together at the far end of the row, watching the news on a TV mounted in the corner, with closed captioning.

“She hasn’t said anything new, since what I told you on the phone.”

“What about why it was taking longer?” Judy slid out of her coat and put it on top of her stuff. “Did you ask why?”

“Yes, and she said she didn’t know, but she’d keep us posted.” Her mother pursed her lips, lipsticked a tasteful pink, which told Judy that she had just been in the bathroom, freshening her makeup.

“So that conversation was at about ten thirty, correct?”

“Yes, I suppose so, if I’m to be cross-examined.” Her mother gestured at the empty chair beside her. “Please, have a seat.”

Judy checked her watch, which showed 12:01. “So that was an hour and a half ago.”

“I can subtract, dear. Sit down.”

“Hold on.” Judy hovered over her chair and glanced back at the receptionist. “I’m saying because it’s been an hour and a half, so it seems reasonable to ask how things are going.”