In Firm Pursuit (27 page)

I
spent another thirty minutes trying to convince Hamilton to reduce his settlement demand. He finally lowered it to $800,000 but refused to budge from there. When the haggling began to make my head hurt, I gave up and returned to my office.

To my surprise, Hamilton called me just after lunch and offered to settle the case for $600,000. After about ten more minutes of telephone negotiations, we agreed on $475,000, the value of Henry Randle's salary, bonuses and benefits for a three-year period.

When we were done, I quickly typed up the settlement agreement and faxed it to Hamilton's office. He asked for a few minor changes, then said he planned to fax it to Reggie and to Randle in Atlanta. He promised to call me with any additional changes before noon the following day.

With that done, I picked up the telephone and called Ferris. He was overjoyed about the settlement. The only question he asked was whether the agreement contained a strong confidentiality clause preventing Henry Randle from talking about his allegations of fraud or any other aspect of his employment with Micronics. I assured him
that it did. Ferris asked to be notified when I had the signed agreement in hand.

The fact that Ferris didn't balk at the hefty settlement amount only bolstered my suspicions that Randle had been set up, that Carruthers's death was no accident and that whoever killed the woman wanted those ATPs very badly. I was also convinced that Special's apartment had been vandalized for the same reason. The Micronics documents were now safely hidden at my house. The very thought made me shudder.

I retrieved some empty boxes from the file room down the hall and began packing them with documents from the Randle case. The faster the documents were cleared out of my office and sent off to storage, the easier it would be for me to put the case behind me. In no time, I had filled up three boxes and was about to ask my secretary to bring in two more, when something stopped me and I sat back down behind my desk.

As much as I hated to admit it, Hamilton's caustic remark about me selling out a brother weighed on me. Maybe there was some clue in the file that I had overlooked which might help me confirm once and for all whether Henry Randle had been framed. I began perusing every document in the three storage boxes, hoping to find something, anything, that I had missed.

The name Bill Stevens jumped out at me as I flipped through the correspondence file. I had never spoken to the Micronics attorney who handled the case before it was transferred to O'Reilly & Finney. Maybe he would have some theory about what had really happened.

I needed to talk to Stevens as soon as possible. Once I received the signed settlement agreement, I would have no reason to continue my investigation. Not that I actually had a valid justification for doing so now. I dialed Micronics and asked for the Legal Department.

My call was answered by a woman who sounded like a teenager. “How may I help you?” the woman asked.

“I'm an old friend of Bill Stevens,” I explained. “I understand he recently left the company. Could you tell me where he's working now?”

“We aren't allowed to disclose personal information regarding our employees,” the woman replied stiffly.

“I understand that,” I said, “but I don't think this qualifies as personal information.”

The woman was not easily pushed. “Well, whatever it is, we don't give it out. Since you're an old friend, maybe you can find out from another old friend where Mr. Stevens is working.”

“Thanks for your help,” I said, my sarcasm thick.

“No problem.”

I hung up the telephone, but really wanted to slam it down. Maybe I should've been honest and identified myself as an attorney for the company. No. I could not run the risk of my inquiry getting back to Ferris.

I pulled up the Martindale-Hubbell Web site and searched for Stevens's name. The nationwide attorney directory still listed him as in-house counsel for Micronics. It would be a waste of time to check any of the other legal directories since they were not updated until the beginning of the year.

I heard a light knock on my door. Haley was standing there with a vacant look on her face.

“What can I do for you?” I asked, trying not to appear as disgusted as I felt at the sight of the girl.

“Uh…I…uh…I just wanted to know if you needed help with anything on the Randle case.” That aura of superiority no longer surrounded her.

“No thanks. I have everything under control.”

I was about to tell Haley the case had been settled, but thought better of it. Knowing her, she would run off to Porter's office and claim that
she
had resolved it. I planned to advise Porter when he returned to the office later that afternoon.

Haley inched her way closer to my desk. “Are there any other cases I can help you with?” she asked. I was not used to her sounding so timid.

“Nope. All my cases are already assigned.”

Shelia told me that the other senior associates were avoiding Haley like the plague, the kiss of death for any associate. If none of the senior attorneys wanted to work with you, you had nothing to bill and without billable hours, O'Reilly & Finney had no use for you.

Haley had made the mistake of focusing all of her energies on trying to impress the partners and no one else. It had pleased me to learn that I wasn't the only associate Haley had crossed. In another case, she failed to pass on some important information to a senior associate who, unbeknownst to Haley, was drafting a discovery motion directly related to the evidence she was hoarding.

When the partner on the case returned from an out-of-
town trip three days later, Haley proudly shared the news she had discovered, expecting to make herself look good. By that time, the motion—minus the crucial information—had already been filed with the court.

Instead of applauding Haley for her keen investigative skills, the partner gave her a long lecture on the importance of teamwork. The speech ended with a blunt warning that if she ever pulled a stunt like that again, she would be fired.

Haley opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. “Uh, I just wanted to…uh…”

I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

“Yes?” I said, anxious for her to spit out whatever she had to say, then skedaddle.

“About that day in the attorney dining room when you overheard me talking about the Randle case. I just wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have been passing along gossip like that. I knew that stuff about you dating Randle's attorney was a stupid rumor the minute I heard it.”

Haley's eyes were appealing for forgiveness. But I was not feeling particularly priestlike. “Just forget about it,” I lied. “I have.”
And if you believe that, I have some prime swampland for you in Compton.

“If something comes up that you need help with, just let me know.” She gave me a hopeful smile. “I have some free time now.”

I hear you have a whole lot of free time.
“Thanks for the offer. I'll call you if I need anything.” I watched Haley's shoulders sag as she turned to leave.

“Hey, wait a second,” I called out, just as Haley had stepped into the hallway.

She dashed back inside, her blue eyes a shade brighter.

“While I was off the Randle case, did you conduct any other interviews?”

“Just one,” Haley said. “I spoke to Bill Stevens, the former in-house attorney. I interviewed him over the telephone.”

My ears perked up. “What did you find out?”

“He didn't come out and say it, but I got the impression he thought the allegation of sexual harassment against Randle was a little fishy. Would you like me to go over my notes with you?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay,” Haley said, excited about the prospect of having some work she might actually be able to bill. “I'll go get them.”

“Hold on,” I called out as Haley was about to skip away. “How'd you find him?”

“I looked him up on the State Bar Web site,” she said.

“I figured if he was still practicing law in California, he'd be registered with the Bar. He's working in-house for a small software company headquartered in Seal Beach.”

I nodded. “Good thinking,” I said.
Score one for the second-year.

A
fter reviewing the notes of Haley's conversation with Stevens, I called him up. He agreed to meet with me at his office at three.

Stevens was a short man with a bronze fisherman's tan and a scruffy beard. A stiff smile never left his face. He met me in the lobby of his building and led the way to his office.

“So is this an official or unofficial visit?” he asked, closing the door.

I knew Ferris would not appreciate my being there, especially now that the case was all but settled. So I sidestepped the question with the proficiency of a two-term congressman caught on camera with his pants slumped around his ankles.

“As I told you on the telephone, I'm representing Micronics in the Randle case. I don't know how much you remember about the case, but—”

“Oh, I remember it well.” His smile broadened.

I couldn't figure out if his expression had any special meaning since his lips were permanently etched in a half circle.

“What makes it so memorable?” I asked.

“Oh, it was just one of those cases you don't forget.”

This was going to be like pulling teeth. Lawyers always made the most difficult witnesses. “Well, why was this one so unforgettable?”

“Because it's the reason I'm sitting here, instead of in the office I had for over ten years at Micronics.”

“Are you saying they fired you over something related to the Randle case?”

“They didn't fire me, but they might as well have. When I began asking questions about the case, they suggested that I might like to take a separation package.”

“What kind of questions were you asking?”

“I pointed out that there were other employees who'd engaged in sexual harassment but had not been fired. But nobody wanted to hear it.”

“Was this before Randle was fired?”

“Sure was.”

“What did they say when you gave them the information?”

Stevens shrugged. “I just got a clear message that I should keep it to myself.”

“Did somebody actually tell you that?”

“Not in so many words, but that was the message I gleaned.”

“Can you tell me who?”

“I'd rather not say.” Stevens's eyes expanded. “If I didn't know better, I'd think you were here looking for information to help Henry Randle, not Micronics.”

“It's important to know all the facts of your case—good and bad,” I said. “I don't like surprises at trial. I'm just trying to get to the truth.”

“You can't handle the truth!” Stevens said, doing a terrible Jack Nicholson impersonation.

I didn't laugh.

“I'm sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “Just a little movie trivia to lighten things up.”

I decided to stop beating around the bush. “I'm concerned that Randle's claim about being set up may have some merit. What's your opinion?”

“I never found a definitive answer.”

“But what do you think?”

“It doesn't matter what I think. It only matters what a jury thinks.”

I stared at him, annoyed. “Well, is there anything you can tell me about the investigation that might not be in the case file?”

There was a long, painful stretch of silence. Stevens seemed to be carefully weighing his next words. “Maybe.”

“I'm listening,” I said.

Although we were behind closed doors, he lowered his voice as if he were afraid of being overheard. “You didn't get this from me.”

“Okay,” I said.

“I think Rich Ferris, the VP of HR, had a thing for blondes. One strawberry-blonde in particular.”

At first, I didn't understand what Stevens was getting at. Then it dawned on me. “Are you saying he was involved with Karen Carruthers?”

“Let's just say they had a pretty close relationship.”

I tried not to show my surprise, but I was certain that I had failed. “But he's married, isn't he?”

Stevens nodded. “He certainly wouldn't be the first married man to have an affair.”

“How do you know this?” I asked.

Stevens shrugged again. “Just take what I said as fact, not speculation.”

“Are we talking about an intimate relationship?”

He nodded again.

“But he approved Randle's termination. The fact that he was dating the complainant would've been a clear conflict of interest.”

“Exactly.”

“So you
do
believe that Henry Randle was set up.”

“Once again, Ms. Henderson,” Stevens said, “what I believe is not important.”

B
y one o'clock the following day, I had not heard from Hamilton regarding the settlement agreement. I checked my e-mail every thirty minutes or so, hoping and praying nothing had gone wrong.

I had just returned from the ladies' room when Haley walked in.

“I was just wondering whether I might be able to help you prepare your opening statement for the Randle trial,” she said eagerly.

The girl was really hurting for work, I thought. She needed to bill at least one hundred eighty hours a month. More than two hundred if she wanted to stand out. I had already advised Porter about the settlement, but I wanted the signed agreement in hand before announcing it to anybody else.

“Thanks,” I said, “but I have everything under control.”

Haley exhaled and took a seat in front of my desk even though I had not invited her to sit.

“I was just about to run downstairs and get a sandwich,” I lied, hoping she would leave.

“There's some food left over from the Labor Department lunch,” Haley said cheerfully. “I can go grab you a sandwich.”

“No, you don't have to do that. I can—”

“I don't mind.” Haley was out of the door before I could finish protesting. She returned almost as fast carrying a turkey sandwich, pasta salad and a can of Diet Coke.

“I only brought you a Diet Coke because I've seen you drinking it before. I…uh…I'm only telling you this because I don't want you to think I'm trying to say you need to lose weight or anything.” Haley laughed.

“Thanks, Haley. I really appreciate your doing this.”
Now can you leave?

As hard up as Haley was for work, she would probably try to bill the client for her little errand. I made a mental note to double-check her time sheet to make sure she didn't.

Haley stared at me as I ate. When I took a second bite of my sandwich, Haley closed the door before taking a seat. She started to speak but paused as if unsure of herself. “I guess I kind of got off on the wrong foot at the firm. Everybody hates me.”

Maybe if you weren't such a pompous little witch, you'd have a friend or two around here.
“Nobody hates you,” I said. The lie rolled effortlessly off my lips.

“Yes, they do,” she said, “but thanks for saying that.” Haley looked down at her hands. Her nail polish was badly chipped and her fingernails were bitten down to the nub. She pulled a long curl out of her face and smiled at me. The girl was making a real pitch for sympathy, but I wasn't buying it.

“Before I got to law school, everybody I knew told me I'd never make it as a lawyer because I was too shy,” Haley said. Her voice sounded small and childlike. “Including
my own mother. You have no idea how awful it is to have a judge for a mother and a political consultant for a father. All they cared about was making sure that I didn't do anything to embarrass them. They demanded that I be perfect at everything.”

I could hear her right foot tapping the floor.

“All through law school, I practiced being assertive. I always volunteered in class, took on any student leadership role I could get and tried to act assertive and super-confident, even though I was shaking inside.” Haley stopped talking and looked at me as if she needed to hear some words of support.

I took a big bite of my sandwich to avoid having to say anything. I found it amazing that anybody with Haley's looks and brains could be insecure.

“But I was determined to show my mother that I could make it as an attorney,” Haley continued. “And after spending so much time acting like somebody who had it all together, it began to feel natural. People were attracted to my new, gregarious, confident personality. But when I got here, it kind of backfired. I guess it was a bad idea to use TV lawyers as my role models,” she said with a nervous laugh.

I could see now that Haley's arrogance masked a deep-seated insecurity, but I still didn't feel all that sorry for blondie. “One of the principles I live by is to treat other people the way I'd like to be treated,” I said. “And that extends to everybody. Even the folks in the copy room. You never gain anything by being rude to people.”

“I know, I know,” Haley said. “I really screwed up and
now I'm paying for it.” She started peeling the nail polish from her ring finger.

“Just put everything behind you,” I said. “Memories fade fast around here.” That lie was more for my benefit than Haley's.

For the next few minutes, Haley shared other personal details of her upbringing. When she was done, I had a mental image of Haley's mother as Faye Dunaway in
Mommy Dearest.

“What do you think about the Randle case?” I asked, wanting to discuss something less depressing.

“I think some of the company's actions are pretty suspect,” she said.

“Does it bother you to have to defend a suspicious case?”

“No, not at all. That's what I get paid to do.”

“You'll make a great lawyer,” I said.

“Thanks. I'm really trying to be.”

Haley didn't realize that my statement was not intended as a compliment. We chatted for a few more minutes.

“Thanks,” she said again as she was about to leave.

“For what?”

“You're the first person who's been nice to me since I got here.”

I didn't want to give the girl the impression that we were on the road to friendship, so I just took another bite of my sandwich.

“Well, if you have anything I can help you with, don't hesitate to ask,” Haley said.

“I won't.” I was glad she was finally leaving. As she walked out, I tossed the remains of my lunch into the
wastebasket underneath my desk. Just then, my intercom buzzer sounded.

“You have a visitor in the lobby,” Shelia said.

I glanced at my calendar to make sure I had not forgotten some appointment. “Who is it?”

“Detective Mason Coleman with the LAPD. He says it's extremely urgent.”

I began to get excited as I waited for Shelia to escort Detective Coleman into my office. Maybe he had some information about the ATPs. I had settled the Randle case and perhaps Detective Coleman was now about to hand me some more good news. I was definitely on a roll.

When the detective walked in, he was wearing the same suit he'd had on at Special's place. That crusty mustard stain on his lapel was now a very noticeable shiny spot.

“Nice to see you again.” I rose to greet him. “What did I do to earn this unscheduled visit?” I wanted to be cordial, but I also wanted to let the detective know that he couldn't just drop by unannounced, even if he was the LAPD.

“I think you better have a seat.”

“Wow, is the news that good?” I asked, returning to my chair. “Don't tell me. You've figured out who vandalized Special's apartment and you've solved the Carruthers case, too.”

“Not exactly.” He looked away, then got up to close the door. “It's about Special.”

“What now?” I braced myself for a shocker. “Please don't tell me she's still snooping around in the case after I told her to cool it.”

Detective Coleman stuffed himself into one of the chairs
in front of my desk. “Special's been hurt. She's in intensive care at Centinela Hospital.”

“Oh, my God!” I blasted out of the chair, covering my mouth with both hands. “What happened? Was she in a car accident? Is she okay?”

“Please calm down. Somebody broke into her house again last night. She was beaten up pretty bad. Stabbed in the neck and chest multiple times.”

“Oh, my God!” I fell into my chair. “Oh, my God! I never should've made her go back home. It's all my fault!”

“No. You can't think like that.” He sounded as distraught as I felt. “I'd be glad to drive you over to the hospital.”

I grabbed my purse and was out of the door before Detective Coleman could hoist his enormous body out of the chair.