Reilly 04 - Breach of Promise (27 page)

“Believe me, he does it without any encouragement from me,” said Nina. “But Paul, you can’t sink to his level.”

“Oh, but I can. He made my blood boil. I set my tray down. The food didn’t look too good right then, so I took a little walk down the hall to the washroom to take a couple of deep breaths and calm down.”

“Oh, no.”

“It was foreordained. I walked in, and the bastard happened to be standing in one of the stalls, door wide open, back to me, taking a whiz, whistling to himself. Off-key. Just smug as hell, hitting low notes where there should be high ones. The kind of spineless whistling that really grates on me.”

“No.”

“Yes. The hair on the back of his head grated on me. His expensive shoes grated on me. I found myself perturbed. There’s no other word for it.”

Nina lowered her head and put her hand over her eyes.

“I wanted to turn him around and coldcock him. But for your sake, I didn’t want him to know who did it to him.” He waited for a reply, and, not getting one, went on. “So I pulled a little trick I learned from an old con named Dickie Mars, a guy I busted when I was still on the Force. Dickie learned it at San Quentin. You rush the guy, push hard at the shoulder so he loses his balance, and trip him at the same time. You guide him as he’s falling so his head’s above the toilet, and you—you wash his hair for him. That’s what Dickie called it. The Shampoo. When you let go, all the guy cares about is sucking in some air and wiping his eyes. You’re long gone.”

“You’re getting a kick out of telling me this, aren’t you?” Nina asked.

“You don’t have to be Irish to appreciate a good story,” said Paul.

A long silence ensued. The waitress appeared. “More coffee?” Neither of them answered, and she went away.

“I’m sorry. I am. I lost my temper,” Paul said. “He had it coming, but I shouldn’t have done it. It’s this damn case. It’s the money, money, money. It’s making everyone nuts, all that money floating out there, up for grabs. Haven’t you noticed? The lawyers, the reporters, the crowds of people following this case, eating it up. It’s mass hysteria. It’s greed so gargantuan, it should make any sensible person flinch at the sight of it. I’m afraid it’s going to ruin us, and I let the pressure get to me.”

Nina was shaking her head.

“Look, let’s forget about it. He’s all right. I’ll watch myself.”

Nina said slowly, “Paul, you’re fired. You’re off the Markov case.”

“What? It was just a prank.”

“I—I—you’re fired, Paul. Send me a bill. We’ll have to get along without you. I have to do it, as Lindy’s attorney. You assaulted the attorney I’m arguing a case against. You jeopardized my whole case!”

“You’re firing me?”

“That’s right.”

“For protecting you.”

“For losing your temper and doing crazy things.”

“By now you should expect the unexpected. That’s who I am.”

She searched her bag and threw a five-dollar bill on the table.

“Nina, friends forgive friends,” Paul said.

“You don’t even understand why I’m so upset, do you? You never liked this case or this cause, and now you’re trying to sabotage me. You didn’t dunk Riesner to protect me. You indulged yourself in a little tribal dancing, a minor war over territory. It had everything to do with you, and nothing to do with me. But Paul, if I lose this case . . .” She stopped and stood up.

“The world comes to an end?” Paul asked. “Look, Nina. Aren’t you forgetting what’s really important?”

“And that would be you?”

“Us, Nina.”

But she barely heard him. She was already out the door.

“Call Lindy Markov to the stand,” Nina said.

With a glance toward Mike, who did not return her look, Lindy stepped forward. Dressed in a subdued blue skirt and jacket, Lindy showed her real age to be somewhere in her midforties. Under the direction of Genevieve she had quit coloring her hair, and beneath new gray strands her healthy face looked wan.

The clerk swore her in. She took her seat.

“Hello, Mrs. Markov,” said Nina.

“Objection. Lindy Markov is not a married woman,” said Jeffrey Riesner, getting an early start.

“She’s been called Mrs. Markov for many years. It’s the name she uses.”

“Overruled. The jury is instructed that the use of a title like Mrs. doesn’t constitute evidence of marriage in this case,” Milne said curtly, as if he had already thought the matter through.

“You call yourself Lindy Markov and have for many years, yet you are not married to Mike Markov, is that right?”

“That’s right,” said Lindy.

“When did you meet?”

“In 1976.” Nina took Lindy through the circumstances of that meeting in Ely and the first months of their relationship.

“When did you begin using the name Markov?”

“On April 22, 1977.”

“And has that been an important date in your twenty-year relationship?”

“Yes.”

“You celebrated it?”

“Every year for twenty years. That was the anniversary of our permanent commitment to each other. That night we vowed to love each other and honor each other for the rest of our lives.”

“Was there a formal occasion?”

“Mike and I went to the Catholic Church in Lubbock. We walked in, and nobody else was there. Mike took me up to the altar. He got down on one knee and promised before God to love me and do everything in his power to make me happy for the rest of my life.” At these words, Lindy closed her eyes, as if temporarily incapacitated by emotion. She had been saving up emotionally for this moment for so long, Nina was concerned that she would break down.

Slumped between Jeffrey Riesner and his female associate Rebecca Casey, Mike Markov studied the table in front of him.

Nina gave Lindy a moment to compose herself.

“You considered this your wedding,” Nina said.

“Yes,” said Lindy.

“You knew this was not a legal marriage in the State of Nevada, in that you had not taken out a marriage license and in that the wedding was not officiated over by a priest or other designated official.”

“Yes.”

“Once you divorced your first husband, why didn’t you just run down to city hall and get a license?”

“By then, we were settled together,” she said slowly. She paused, looking around the courtroom. “We had moved in together, found a house, and gotten the business going. Mike always said we didn’t need a piece of paper to prove our love. He said, ’Lindy, we are man and wife.’ Our lives were living proof we belonged together. He told me he was with me because we loved each other, not because the state decreed it. We had both been married briefly before. His breakup had been bitter.”

“Did you want to get married legally?”

“It came up several times during our relationship. I’d start thinking about it. But I never doubted him when he assured me we were together for life, in it for good and bad, forever.” She looked weepy again. “He thought formal marriage was for people who didn’t know what a real marriage was. I think it might have been more decent to be married. I felt ashamed that we weren’t officially married, but I wanted to believe him when he promised it would never make a difference. I loved him. I trusted him.”

Now Nina, using simple questions, took Lindy through the beginnings of Markov Enterprises, the early years when the Markovs had lived on a financial edge and moved to Texas, where the business had failed.

“You continued to use the name Markov in all business and personal dealings?”

“Yes.”

“Your clients assumed you were married?”

“Yes.”

“Did Mike introduce you as his wife on social occasions?”

“Yes.”

“Were you introduced as his wife at business functions?”

“Yes.”

“Over the years, have many acquaintances, both personal and business, assumed you and Mike were married?”

“I believe everyone thought we were. I never talked about it, and neither did he.”

“So when it suited his convenience to be married, Mike Markov was a married man, and when it no longer suited him, he wasn’t?”

“Objection, Your Honor. Leading the witness,” Riesner said without rising from his seat.

“Sustained.”

“Did you and Mike ever have any children?” Nina asked.

“The business took the place of a child for us. We gave birth to it. We nurtured it. It grew—”

Riesner snorted audibly. Genevieve had coached Lindy on that answer, and it sounded coached.

Well, they had brought in the mantra.

In the afternoon, Winston handled the questions. For the first time in the past few years, Nina had the opportunity to sit at the counsel table and watch the jury while someone else carried the questioning.

One thing she noticed immediately. Cliff Wright perked up and paid attention when Winston talked. He laughed appropriately. He did not pick his nails. Wright liked Winston, preferred him to her. She wondered why.

And how did Winston appear so fresh? While the rest of the court wilted in the late afternoon, Winston’s warm, copper-colored face looked invigorated and ready to go. He was relaxed and utterly in control of the courtroom. During the days of depos and trial prep, Winston had kept such a low profile that Nina had begun to wonder if she had made a mistake in hiring him, that he had been grossly overrated. Now, seeing him in action, she understood his success. You couldn’t dislike him.

“Mrs. Markov,” he said to Lindy. “You said this morning that you worked alongside Mike Markov for many years at the company you both began.”

“That’s right. Literally alongside. We even shared an office.”

Winston strolled over to a stand next to the table. “Your Honor, we would like to submit to the court’s attention photographs taken of Lindy and Mike Markov in happier times.”

Riesner turned immediately to Rebecca with a whisper to show his complete disinterest. They had fought over showing the photos at a pretrial hearing and Riesner had lost.

The first board, a stiff, dry-mounted picture blown up to the size of a large poster, showed two desks, side by side. Behind one desk, Mike Markov beamed. Behind the other, Lindy beamed. Across the gap in the desks, they held hands.

“Will you describe this picture for me?” asked Winston.

“Objection, Your Honor. A picture is worth a thousand words,” said Riesner. “It speaks for itself.”

“Even a thousand words may not explain the circumstances in which the picture was taken, I’m afraid,” said Milne. “Proceed.”

“That’s . . . that was our office at Markov Enterprises. The office at our first manufacturing plant.”

“Located here in town?”

Lindy nodded. “On the hill going up from the ’Y’ intersection. We have offices there, plus a production facility.”

“For how many years did you and Mike share an office?”

Lindy said, “Always. The whole time. We liked being close to each other. We consulted with each other constantly.”

“What does that sign on your desk read?”

“Executive vice president.”

“Now, during the years Markov Enterprises has had its principal place of business at Lake Tahoe, what exactly has been your job description?”

“There wasn’t one. I did whatever needed doing, as I always had before. Marketing strategies, advertising campaigns, production timetables. I oversaw the day-to-day operating expenses. I helped develop long-term financial plans along with Mike and our accounting service. I trained our sales force and organized our employee benefits package. I hired and fired and promoted and dealt with the unions. As the business grew, my responsibilities grew. And I kept trying to think of new products like the Solo Spa.”

Winston seemed to need to study the pictures for a long time. Hands behind his back, he stood far enough away so that the jury had a straight shot at them. “What was Mike Markov’s title?”

“President.”

“You had desks the same size?”

“Yes.”

“If someone came in from the factory, for example, needing something, who would that person speak with first?”

“Whoever happened to be in, Mike or me.”

“Would you say when anything important came across your desk, it usually found its way to Mr. Markov’s desk?”

“Yes.”

“And if anything important landed on his desk, he rolled it over to you at some point?”

“Oh, yes.”

Winston took a marker pen out of his pocket, stared at it for a moment as if surprised to find it there, walked up to the picture, and playfully drew a circle around the two people and two desks. Turning back to Lindy he said, “Though you were two people, as far as your clients, your employees, and your business problems were concerned, the two of you operated as one unit, would that be correct to say?”

The linking of hands in the photograph served to emphasize the image he was suggesting.

“Objection!” said Riesner. “Vague. Leading.”

“Sustained. Leading.”

“Did you work together as a unit?”

“Yes. Like parents raising a family.”

“You shared equally in decision-making?”

“Nothing major happened in our business without my consultation and approval.”

“You dealt directly with clients?”

“Yes.”

“When someone called, say, a new shop interested in carrying your products, who talked to the client?”

“We both did.”

“How did you do that?”

“Any important phone calls that came in, Mike would signal me to pick up. Afterward, we discussed the deal and made a decision together.”

“Did employees at the business think you ran it together?”

“Objection,” said Riesner. “Calls for speculation.”

“Sustained.”

“Right,” Winston said. “We’ll get into that later.”

And, with Winston leading Riesner on a merry chase through the labyrinthian legal subtleties of testimony, eventually he did, taking Lindy through a description of a conference she had planned and run while Mike recuperated from exhaustion in Las Vegas.

She came off well, Nina thought as Winston wound things up with Lindy. You had to like someone who worked so very hard, who took responsibility, who loved her job and her man so loyally.

Didn’t you?

“Where’s Paul?” Genevieve whispered the next morning as Judge Milne took his place. “I would have thought he’d want to see some of this.”