California Fire and Life (38 page)

To a little
ahhhh
from the jury.

“And the combined weight of all the other evidence argued against her alibi,” Jack says. “She had a vested interest in protecting both her son and her own home, which Mr. White had mortgaged to raise capital to cover other debts.”

“Any other points on opportunity?”

“The dog.”

“The
dog
?”

She looks at him with feigned puzzlement. The jurors don’t—their puzzlement is genuine.

Jack looks at them and explains the whole thing about the dog. He finishes with, “I came to the conclusion that Mr. White let the dog out before setting the fire.”

Peters can’t help herself. “He loved his dog more than his wife?”

“Objection.”

“Sustained.”

“Did you consider whether there was anyone else who had the opportunity to set this fire?” Peters asks.

“No facts came to light to indicate that there was anyone else,” Jack answers.

“Did you reach a conclusion as to the issue of opportunity?”

“Yes.”

“What was your conclusion?”

“That Mr. White had sufficient opportunity to have either set the fire or known that the fire was going to be set.”

“Earlier, you testified about there being three elements necessary to deny a claim based on arson,” Peters says. “Do you recall that testimony?”

He does and she knows he does. She wants the jury to recall it before she goes on.

“I do,” Jack says.

“Did you reach a conclusion whether those three elements were sufficiently proved so that you could reasonably deny Mr. White’s claim?”

“I did.”

“And what was your conclusion?”

Jack says, “Based on the totality of the facts we learned, I concluded that there was sufficient evidence to deny the claim.”

“Beyond a reasonable doubt?”

“I don’t know if I could describe it in those words,” Jack says. “Let me just say that I’d have to be damn sure.”

“And were you ‘damn sure’ that Mr. White was involved in this fire?”

Jack looks at the jury.

Says, “
Damn
sure.”

“No further questions. Thank you.”

Goddamn Billy breaks into applause.

Turns back to the corporate mucks and points to the monitor.

Solid 10s across the board.

Jack Wade had
killed
.

Paul Gordon is making his case in front of Judge John Bickford.

Actually, he’s not so much making his case as he is
leaving
his case, the case in question being a Halliburton attaché with twenty K in cash inside.

See, they’re seated at this banquette at the Rusty Pelican in Newport Beach, and Gordon has the case underneath the table by his leg, and he and Bickford are discussing an element of the law.

“I’ll be filing suit against Cal Fire and Life,” Gordon’s telling him. “You’re going to get the case.”

“If it comes up in my rotation,” Bickford says.

“It will come up in your rotation,” Gordon says.

The assigning judge having been on three fishing trips down on the Mexican coast on Gordon’s boat. Fishing trips, Dodgers tickets, a “legal seminar” in Italy compliments of Gordon’s firm … the case will get assigned where it’s supposed to get assigned.

Gordon says, “Tom Casey’s going to come whining to you about a discovery issue involving a claims adjuster’s prior record. He’ll ask you to exclude all discovery prior to the adjuster’s handling of the file in suit.”

“And?”

“And I’d like you to consider denying that motion.”

Bickford sips his scotch. He’s sixty-five years old, retirement looms and judges do not make the kind of money, say, plaintiff’s attorneys do. Mrs. Bickford has skin cancer …

Bickford asks, “Are you writing me a brief?”

“It’s in the case.”

“How many pages?”

“Twenty.”

Bickford sets his glass down. “That’s not very long.”

“Standard,” Gordon says.

“But this is a big case for you, Paul,” Bickford says. “I would think you’d want to write more. Nail down every point.”

“Twenty’s always been good enough in the past,” Gordon says. Like, Don’t jerk me around at
this
stage of the game. I
own
you, you old bastard.

“The past,” Bickford says, “is a fleeting dream. An insubstantial thing.”

Like twenty large of my money is now insubstantial? Gordon asks himself.

“You know,” Gordon says, “you might be right. Maybe another judge
will
catch this case.”

Bickford sighs. It’s one thing to acknowledge yourself a whore. To acknowledge yourself a
cheap
whore is yet another level of self-abasement. And yet the money is needed.

“Twenty pages should be adequate to make a persuasive argument,” Bickford says.

“Thank you for your consideration,” Gordon says. He finishes his drink and gets up. He doesn’t have the case with him when he walks out.

Judge John Bickford orders another scotch.

Sits for a long time and watches the boats bob against their slips in the harbor.

He remembers when he believed in the law.

“You’re a good claims investigator, aren’t you, Mr. Smith?”

Tom Casey’s first question in his cross-examination of Jack.

A question known in the cross-exam business as an “entry question.” Which, just like an entry wound, can be small and even painless.

And it’s the smart move, Jack thinks, which is just what you’d expect from Casey. It’s smart not to attack me right away, because the jury likes
me right now, and Casey doesn’t want to antagonize them by attacking me too soon. So he’ll lay back and set the trap.

“I hope I’m a good claims adjuster,” Jack says.

Cross-exam witness rule number one: Try to answer in complete sentences, not just yes or no. Rule number two: Use your own language, not the lawyer’s.

Casey taught him this stuff over the years. That the lawyer’s real purpose in a cross-exam is for the lawyer to testify, and just get the witness to nod and shake his head like one of those bobble-head dogs in the rear window of a car.

“Cross-exam,” Casey has lectured, “is a ‘dig me’ game. The lawyer wants to strut his stuff in front of the jury. He wants to show how smart he is, how right he is. Dig me.”

Now Casey asks, “And part of adjusting claims is investigating the claim, right?”

“Yes,” Jack says. “We need to find out what happened, what is damaged or lost and how much it will cost to repair and replace.”

“And the reason you need to find out what happened,” Casey says, “is so that you can determine if you are even going to honor the claim in the first place, isn’t that right?”

“That’s one of the reasons.”

“So do you consider yourself a good investigator?”

Knowing that Jack is going to answer more or less yes. If he answers no, he’s screwed. If he answers yes, he’s another step closer to the ambush.

But there’s no choice given the question.

“Yes, I think I do a good job.”

“And part of doing a good job is performing a thorough investigation, right?”

They both know the game here. Casey’s trying to get Jack to set a standard for himself, a bar that he’ll have to jump over down the line. Casey wants to set it as high as possible.

So Jack answers, “We need to find the facts that will let us make a reasonable decision.”

“You need to carefully examine all the facts around a loss and make a decision based on your analysis, right?”

“We need to examine all the relevant facts,” Jack says.

“So finding and examining all the relevant facts is what makes a good claims investigation?”

“Yes.”

“So it stands to reason, doesn’t it … I mean, you’d agree with me
that if you
didn’t
consider all the relevant facts, you’d have a
bad
claims investigation, wouldn’t you?”

Jack says, “I’d want to consider all the relevant facts.”

“And did you do a good job on
this
investigation, Mr. Smith?”

There’s no playing around with that question, Jack thinks. It’s an ultimate question, a barn burner. You say anything but yes, the case is over.

“Yes, I did.”

“You considered all the relevant facts before you made the decision to deny my client’s claim?”

Jack can feel the bullet going in, but there isn’t a damn thing he can do about it.

“I believe so,” he says.

“Okay,” Casey says. “Did you know at the time you made the decision that the Sheriff’s fire inspector had taken debris samples from the house?”

“No.”

“So you didn’t consider that fact, did you?”

“The inspector told me on the first visit to the house that he had already established a cause and origin. He said nothing about taking samples so I presumed that he hadn’t done that.”

Casey pauses, feigns considering the response, then asks, “Was that a no? ‘No, I didn’t consider that’?”

“I wasn’t aware at that time that he had taken samples.”

“So you couldn’t have considered it, could you?”

“No.”

“Are debris samples relevant?” Casey asks, knowing that Jack has no choice but to say yes, because his side of the case put on an expert witness to testify about them, and Jack has already said that they were “significant.”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Casey says. He turns to face the jury as he asks, “Then you couldn’t have been aware at the time you made the decision to deny my client’s claim that the debris samples taken by the Sheriff’s fire inspector tested
negative
for traces of accelerants, isn’t that right?”

“I was not shown those results.”

“Did you ask for them?”

“No.”

“Isn’t that something that would have been important for you to know?” Casey asks. “Would that have been ‘relevant’?”

Son of a bitch is taking my own word and beating me over the head
with it. Why the hell did I say ‘relevant’? Then again, what the hell else could I have said?

“I would have preferred that the inspector share them with me, yes,” Jack says. “But he didn’t. We weren’t made aware of them until after the suit was filed.”

“So you didn’t consider that fact?” Casey asks. “Is that your answer?”

“I didn’t consider those tests.”

“Or the results.”

“Or the results.”

Casey takes a marker from his pocket and crosses out the positive debris sample item on the chart.

Looks at the jury, looks back at Jack.

“Now,” he says, “we heard you give a lot of testimony on Mr. White’s financial woes. Yup, here it is on your chart. The mortgage, the $600,000 balloon payment, the credit card bills … At the time you made your decision, were you aware that Mr. White had paid off the entire $600,000 balloon payment?”

“At the time I made the decision, he hadn’t.”

“So you didn’t consider that, did you?”

“No.”

“Would that have been relevant for you to know?”

“It’s something I would have considered.”

Casey crosses out the $600,000 balloon payment item on the chart.

“Did you know that he’s current with his credit card bills?”

“No.” Cross off.

“That he’s current with the mortgage on his mother’s home?”

“No.”

Cross off.

And the jury getting unhappy. Jack can see them pushing the joysticks down.

In the observation room, Reinhardt looks over at Goddamn Billy and asks, “What the hell kind of claims investigations are you guys
doing
down here?”

Casey asks, “That he has over $1 million in liquid assets in his various accounts?”

Come on, Jack thinks, fight back.

“Again,” he says, “these were all things we learned only after the suit was filed.”

“So that’s a no, isn’t it?”

“These were things—”

“Yes or no?”

“—that we learned—”

Mallon says, “Please just answer yes or no, Mr. Smith.”

“No.”

Casey crosses the item off.

“How about the tax liens?” Casey asks. “Did you know that he paid those off?”

“No.”

“The divorce,” Casey says, “which hadn’t happened yet. Did you consider the possibility of a reconciliation?”

“No.”

“Would it have been relevant to your investigation, if indeed the Whites were trying to reconcile?”

“They weren’t trying to reconcile.”

“That’s not what I
asked
you, Mr. Smith,” Casey snaps. He can get tougher with Jack now because he senses the jury is turning. “I asked you whether that information would have been relevant.”

“I would have considered it.”

“But you didn’t ask, did you?”

“I had information indicating that—”

“You didn’t
ask
, did you?”

“Just answer the question, Mr. Smith,” Mallon says.

“No, I did not ask.”

Casey crosses off the alimony and divorce items.

The whole
MOTIVE
column is crossed out.

“Opportunity,” Casey says. “You’ve testified that in your opinion, Mr. White was the only person who had the exclusive opportunity to set this fire. Did you look for anyone else?”

“There was no information to point to anyone else.”

“That’s a no?”

“Yes, that’s a no.”

“Did Mrs. White have a boyfriend?”

“I had no information to suggest that she had.”

“So you didn’t consider that, did you?”

“No.”

“Wouldn’t it have been important to you to know that?” Casey asks. “Wouldn’t that have been a relevant fact, the possibility that someone else was in the house—in the bedroom with Mrs. White the night of the fire, the night of her death?”

“Because Mr. White never mentioned it, I had—”

Casey sighs. “Once again, Mr. Smith, that is not the question I asked you. The question I asked you was whether such information might have been relevant to your thorough, fair investigation.”

“I asked Mrs. White’s sister whether it was possible that the deceased was having an affair.”

“Her sister,” Casey says. “And what did she tell you?”

“She said that Mrs. White had no boyfriend.”

“Mrs. White’s sister,” Casey asks. “Wasn’t she the next beneficiary on the life insurance policy?”