Special Circumstances (42 page)

“Maybe. Yeah. Probably.” Time for a reality check.
“You think we’ve got enough for reasonable doubt?”
She ponders for a moment.
“Hard to say. If you’re on the jury, you’re looking at a guy who’s anadmitted adulterer who’s lied about his relationship with the victim.They’ve heard enough to conclude she dumped him. They know he wasreally pissed off at Bob. They may even decide that Bob stole hisgirlfriend.
His fingerprints were all over the murder weapon and the keyboard. Heleft a threatening voice mail for Bob and he made a threatening phonecall to Diana.
He had a fight with her at Harrington’s. He may have even lured herin. All we’ve shown so far is that they couldn’t positively identifyhis fingerprint on the trigger. And that his keyboard somehow walkedfrom his office to Bob’s.”
“But our experts were good,” I say.
“They made a decent case for the suicide theory.”
“Our experts were expensive hired guns who were paid to say what wewanted them to say. The jury knows that. They’ll discount theirtestimony.”
She’s right, of course.
The phone rings. Rosie puts Wendy on the speaker.
“It’s pouring in Nassau,” she says.
“Have you been able to talk to Trevor Smith yet?”
“Not yet. Delayed again. He won’t be back until Sunday. We’ll bewaiting for him.” She pauses.
“Have you put Chuckles on the stand yet?”
“Not yet. Why?”
“I was looking through the correspondence I got from Smith’ssecretary. And I went down to the office of public records. I’mgoing to fax some stuff to you.”
We talk for a few minutes and I hang up. I stand and put on myjacket.
“You going home?” Rosie asks.
“Not yet.”
“Where are you going?”
“To play a hunch.”
CHAPTER 49
IT JUST GOES TO SHOW WHAT A LITTLE PLANNING CAN DO
“The Guilford Insurance Agency. Life. Health. Peace of Mind.”
—brochure FOR THE guilford insurance agency.
My hunch pays off. At nine o’clock the same evening, I’m paying avisit to the darkened ofEces of Perry Guilford, S AND G’s insuranceagent. His office is in a highrise building on Market near Van Ness,a few blocks from City Hall. Most of the tenants in this building arestate and local government agencies. The Guilford Insurance Agencyoccupies half of the third floor. The walk from the Civic Centerunderground parking garage through the homeless encampment on the CivicCenter Plaza was treacherous. The streets are mean in this part oftown, especially after dark. Guilford’s reception area has lots ofbrochures on variable annuities. They promise life, health and peaceof mind.
“Mr. Guilford, I’m Mike Daley.”
Guilford and I are the only people here.
“Please, Mr. Daley,” he rasps, “it’s Perry.” Incandescent smile. Hisage and waistline are right around fifty-five years and inches,respectively. His jowls measure right up there with Art Patton’s, whois, coincidentally, his former brother-in-law from Guilford’s firstmarriage about twenty years ago. His toupee is flattering in apathetic sort of way.
“Fair enough, Perry. It’s Mike.” His cuff links are in the shape ofgold cigars. His jowls jiggle. His red suspenders shake.
“I appreciate your taking the time to see me. I know it’s late.”
He laughs.
“I’m sorry I’ve been hard to get hold of. I have a lot of eveningappointments. Make yourself at home. Brent Hutchinson said you’d becalling.
Anything I can do to help a member of the firm. Anything.” He patshis ample gut and takes a gulp of Coke Classic. My arteries arebeginning to harden just looking at this guy.
“Actually, Perry, I left the firm at the end of last year. I’vestarted my own shop. I was hoping you could help me get my insurancesituation squared away.”
He’s pleased. Fresh meat.
“Great, Mike. That’s just great. Anything I can do to help you. Youknow I handle all the insurance for S and G, It’s my biggest account. Ihandle a couple of the other big law firms in town, too. I’m sure Ican take care of you.”
“That’s great, Perry. Let me tell you what I have in mind.” We spendforty-five minutes discussing my insurance needs. I tell him I’vepurchased malpractice insurance through the state bar and ask him if hecan get a better deal. I tell him about Grace and he describes variouswhole life policies. I haven’t a clue what he’s talking about. Ifigure if I let him talk, he may wear himself out.
At the one-hour mark, he’s starting to slow down. We’re already on ourthird diagram. Insurance agents can’t sell anything without drawingpictures. The last one looks like a basketball court, with ahalf-court line and two free-throw lines. I’m lost when we start onvariable annuities.
An hour and fifteen minutes into this torture, I ask him to prepare awritten estimate of everything we’ve talked about. After he reminds mefor the sixth time that he isn’t in insurance just for the money, Idecide it’s time to see if I can get any useful information.
“Helluva thing over at the Simpson firm, eh, Perry?”
“Unbelievable, Mike. Helluva thing. Were you there that night?”
“Yeah. Helluva thing.”
“You know, they’d really be in the soup if they hadn’t planned ahead.”He shuffles his papers.
“It’s a good thing they had life insurance on Bob Holmes.”
“It just goes to show what a little planning can do, right Perry?”
“You bet. That’s why you need to plan now, Mike. You want to takegood care of little Mary if anything ever happens to you.”
“Actually, my daughter’s name is Grace.”
He doesn’t miss a beat.
“That’s right. Grace. Five years old.”
Close enough.
“Did you handle all of Bob’s life insurance?”
“Yeah. And between us girls, it’s a damn good thing I did. I talkedhim into buying some extra coverage. Didn’t cost much. Got his wife afive-million term policy, and each of the kids got a million. They’reset for life.” He frowns melodramatically.
“I was talking to Art about it. Helluva thing.”
“Yeah. And it was a damn good thing you got the firm to take downthose key-man life insurance policies. Hell, without those, they’dreally be in the soup.”
“No shit. Art was telling me you guys were going to get a big fat feefor Vince Russo’s deal. Now, he says you guys may not get anything.Helluva thing.”
“Looks that way, Perry. Maybe I should take down some more lifeinsurance. How much was the firm carrying on Bob?”
He smiles.
“They were carrying two and a half million until December. Lucky forthem, I talked them into taking down a big term policy on some of theheavy hitters right before all the excitement. The policy on Bob wenteffective only a couple weeks before the end of the year. Art knewabout it.”
Hello?
“Yeah, Perry. Sure is a good thing they got that big policy in placewhen they did. Do you recall how much the policy was for?”
He laughs.
“Hell, you should know. It was a big, fucking deal, Mike. The damnthing’s worth twenty fucking million. Biggest fucking policy I’ve eversold.
Art says it’s going to save his ass.”
Twenty fucking million dollars? Jesus.
“Perry, another client of mine was asking about key-man insurance. Doyou have a copy of the key man policy on Bob?”
“If my secretary were here, I’d be able to pull it up for you. I’mlost without her.”
“Maybe you can messenger it to me in the morning? The client’s in sortof a hurry.”
Big smile.
“Sure, Mike. First thing.”
I give him my business card.
“Perry, how soon can you get those quotes to me?”
“End of the week sound all right?”
“Sounds great to me.”
“There was a twenty-million-dollar life insurance policy on Bob?”Rosie asks.
There’s something wildly erotic about talking life insurance with anaked woman. I’ve stopped by her house for a meeting on the way home alittle after midnight. Grace is asleep. Dave Brubeck’s on the stereo.She rubs my back with her long, thin hands.
“Yeah. Twenty million bucks. It all goes to the firm.” I turn overand kiss her ear.
“Does any of this strike you as a little odd?”
“How’s that?”
“I’m not sure. Something just doesn’t feel right.”
She runs her fingers through my hair.
“Maybe this will feel better,” she says.
CHAPTER 50
EXACTLY WHAT DOES THE ADMINISTRATIVE PARTNER DO?
“Friedman Defense Grasping at Straws.”
—san francisco legal jouiwal. thursday, april 9.
The next morning, Chuckles sits uncomfortably on the witness stand,gulping water.
“Exactly what does the administrative partner do at a large law firm?”I ask.
He gives me a sour look.
“The administrative partner handles all aspects of day-to-dayoperations.” He gestures with his reading glasses.
“Finances.
Personnel. Facilities. Computers.”
“Sort of the glue that holds the firm together as an institution?”
He almost smiles.
“Why, yes.”
“And how many years have you served as administrative partner?”
“Eleven,” he says proudly. He sits up.
“I sit on the executive committee, too.”
I glance at the accountant, who nods with admiration.
“Could you please tell us about the current financial situation at thefirm?”
“Objection,” Skipper sings out.
“Relevance.”
“Overruled.”
“Your Honor,” Chuckles pleads, “this information is highlyconfidential.”
She glares at him.
“I don’t expect you to reveal the details of how much money each ofyour partners makes. Answer the question.”
“We have filed for bankruptcy protection,” he acknowledges.
“We are in the process of reorganizing our finances and negotiatingwith our creditors.” He arches an eyebrow, as if to say, “Are youhappy, now?”
“Thank you, Mr. Stern,” I say. I leave out, “You condescending ass.”I look at Rosie, who gives me the “cheap shot” scowl. I add, “I’m sureit hasn’t been easy.” I pause.
“Mr. Stern, you were at the Simpson and Gates offices on the night ofDecember thirtieth, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What time did you go home that night?”
“About two in the morning.”
“And when was the last time you saw Mr. Holmes?”
“About twelve-thirty.”
“After twelve-thirty, did you see Mr. Friedman together with Mr.Holmes or Ms.
Kennedy?”
“No.”
I bore in.
“Did you see anyone else there that night?” Let’s see who he’s willingto implicate.
He pauses and looks at the clock. Then he rattles off the names ofVince Russo, Art Patton, Ed Ehrlich, Clan Morris, Jack Frazier andMartin Glass.
“Of course,” he says, “I don’t believe any of them had anything to dowith the tragedy.”
Of course not.
“Anybody else?”
He purses his lips.
“Not that I can think of.”
“Mr. Stern,” I say, “you didn’t perhaps see Mr. Gates at the officethat night, did you?”
His eyes dart toward Skipper.
“Why, yes. We had a reception for him. It was his last day at thefirm.” I see the accountant frown.
“But did you see him later that evening? After the reception hadended?”
He looks helplessly at Skipper.
“I saw Mr. Gates at about one o’clock in the morning. He was in oursuite for a few minutes.”
I walk over to the evidence cart and pick up a copy of Bob’s will.
“Mr. Stern,” I say as I hand it to him, “do you recognize thisdocument?”
“Yes. It’s the will of Mr. Holmes. I prepared it. It is a matter ofpublic record.”
“Mr. Stem, would you mind turning to page thirty-four?”
He puts on the reading glasses. He flips to the correct page.
“Would you mind telling us the names of the beneficiaries of thewill?”
He glares at me over the top of the reading glasses.
“I’ll have to refresh my memory.”
Bullshit. You can recite all eighty-nine pages by heart.
“Take your time, Mr.
Stern.”
He pores over the entire will, pausing briefly to lick his index fingerto turn the pages. Finally, he says a third went to Beth, a third tothe kids and a third to the International Charitable Trust. He takesoff his reading glasses and puts them back into his pocket.
“Mr. Stern, you’re aware Mr. Holmes was served with divorce papers onDecember thirtieth.”
“Yes.”
“Did Mr. Holmes ever ask you to prepare an amendment to this will tochange the beneficiaries?”
His eyes dart momentarily.
“No,” he says.
Rosie hands me three copies of a document. I hand one to Skipper, oneto the judge and one to Stern.
“Your Honor,” I say, “we’d like to introduce this document intoevidence.”
“Any objections, Mr. Gates?”
He’s trying to speed-read.
“I don’t think so, Your Honor.”
I turn back to Stern.
“Do you recognize this document, Mr. Stem?”
He studies it.
“Yes.” He takes a drink of water.
“It’s a draft of an amendment to the will.”
“Really?” I’m trying for biting sarcasm.
“And did you prepare this amendment?”
“No. One of my associates prepared it.”
“And did she do so at your instruction?”
“Yes.”
“And which associate was it that prepared this document?”
“I believe it was Ms. Wendy Hogan.”
“I see.” You’d never believe what may turn up in somebody’s files whenshe leaves the firm.
“And could you please tell us what this amendment purports to change inthe will of Mr. Holmes?”
His shoulders slump.
“It was intended to change the beneficiaries of the will.”
“Really?” I scowl melodramatically.
“When was this amendment prepared, Mr.
Stern?”
“In December of last year, I believe.”
“Why do you suppose Mr. Holmes asked you to prepare this amendment?”
“Presumably because he intended to change the beneficiaries of hiswill.”
I get right in his face.
“Did he tell you who the new beneficiaries were going to be?”
“No.”
“Any hints?”
“Objection. Speculative.”
“Sustained.”
“Did he tell you which of the beneficiaries were going to bereplaced?”
“Yes. His wife.”
“But if he proceeded in the manner that you’ve suggested, Mrs. Holmesstood to lose a substantial sum of money on the death of Mr. Holmes.”
“Yes, she did.”
I shift focus.
“Could you please tell us what you know about the InternationalCharitable Trust, Mr. Stem?”
He grimaces.
“It’s a charity organized in the Bahamas by Mr. Holmes.”
“It does good things for mankind?”
“Yes.”
“What sorts of good things?”
“The annual income of the trust is donated to various charitablecauses.
Schools, day-care centers, community centers, that sort of thing.”
Prostitutes, drug dealers, that sort of thing, too.
“And the charities that receive funding every year are called theincome beneficiaries, right?”
“Yes.”
“And the same income beneficiaries will divide the trust assets uponthe death of Mr. Holmes, right?”
“No. Upon the death of Mr. Holmes, the remaining assets, or corpus,of the trust are divided among various designated individuals calledthe remainder men
“Could you tell us which charities received the most money lastyear?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Schools? Day-care centers? Community centers?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Could you tell us the names of the remainder men