Single Jeopardy (17 page)

“
I’ll see you both in chambers in thirty minutes. And Mister Sharp, I hope you’ve brought your checkbook with you today.”

With that, the learned judge rises and exits the bench, lighting a cigarette as he opens a door leading to the chambers hallway. Looking over to the other table I see my dearly departed wife grinning like a Cheshire cat. It is now time for my Academy Award performance. I intend to take a dive so spectacular, that if in the ring, it would make boxing history. Vincent gets up from the table and nods toward the jury room, and we all step into that unused area to settle this matter.

Once in the room I decide to keep my mouth shut and let Vincent and Myra do the talking. When this settlement is locked down, I want it to be more of their doing than mine. Vincent sums it up. “Sharp, the party’s over. You’ve been nailed and you know it. Forget about the burning boat bit, that deal’s dead. Your original agreement is back in place and you now owe Mizz Scot a substantial amount of money.”

My turn. “Okay, okay, but there’s no way I intend to reimburse her for the money spent towing that boat to the yard or having it demolished and removed.”

This tactic is called ‘closing on a collateral issue.’ A perfect example of this is when I once sold an old restored Mercedes Benz to a guy who offered me several thousand dollars more for it than I thought it was worth. I didn’t want to accept too eagerly, but I also didn’t want to give him time to re-consider the fact that he was voluntarily overpaying for the car. So, referring to the new set of custom wheels on the old car, I said: “okay, but that price doesn’t include the wheels.”

At that point he started arguing about the wheels. For the next fifteen minutes all he could do was concentrate on how badly he wanted them to be included in the price, so that when I finally gave in, he was happy to write out the check. I took his mind off of the main item, the total price, by distracting him with a non-important ‘collateral’ issue. And it works in law too. To some extent, it even applied to the dead dog case. It usually works every time.

Myra jumps right up and grabs the piece of candy that I’m holding up and dangling. She temporarily loses it. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to be out that seven hundred dollars. I had to have the damned…” Her lawyer stops her.

“
Mister Sharp, we’re talking about some serious money here, so what exactly is your intention?”

“
Mr. Vincent, if we can settle this matter up, I’m willing to come up with her fair share of my fees on the wrongful death cases with only two conditions: first, I’m not paying for towing that boat away. I had no idea it burned. I was out of town at the time, and having been exposed to a new saltwater environment the old wiring gave away. Those old wires…”

“
All right Sharp, enough with the wires. What’s your second condition?”

“
I want your office to prepare the settlement agreement and I want it made clear that this is her last trip to the well. No mas, and that we each pay our own legal fees.”

Vincent is almost as sharp as I gave him credit for. A settlement agreement was already prepared for us to sign. He opens the door and signals to his paralegal sitting out in the courtroom. The assistant comes in to the jury room with a laptop computer and a small portable printer. They briefly discuss the new terms and the paralegal makes some changes and prints out three copies of the new one-page agreement. After looking it over, we all sign the copies and tell the court clerk that counsel would like a chambers conference to have a settlement agreement approved.

The announcement that a settlement has been reached is the best news that any judge can hear. They
love
to see cases settled without the necessity of a trial. Thirty years ago there was a judge in Burbank who was so anxious to help lawyers settle, that if they said they were close and would like to finish up in chambers, he’d meet them in the courthouse parking lot at seven A.M. Using his own key, he’d bring the parties in through the back entrance and up to his chambers, where he’d serve them coffee and Danish. If they actually settled then and there, he would give them Green Stamps, a marketing device item that merchants gave out in those days for people to earn discounts on purchases, much like air miles are used as premiums nowadays.

The clerk ushers us all into the judge’s chambers. “Well, I’m glad to see that you guys finally came to your senses. Now, what have you got for me?” The clerk hands him the settlement agreement. The judge nods at the court reporter, letting her know that the record is about to begin. “Okay boys and girls, in the matter of Sharp versus Sharp, California Superior Court case number 8222985, the parties have agreed to a settlement whereby…” He reads the entire settlement agreement into the record. And then looks up at me. “Mister Sharp, it’s now time for the commercial. Did you bring your checkbook?”

“
Yes, your honor. I have my checkbook right here, and also brought along confirmed copies of the court documents showing settlement amounts and legal fees.”

My favorite movie of all time is Jose Ferrer in Edmond Rostand’s
‘Cyrano de Bergerac.’
I love to watch the opening act, where an insult is made about Cyrano’ s nose and he starts a prolonged swordfight with the insulter, all the while composing a lyric poem. At the end of the fight (and end of the poem), Cyrano thrusts his rapier into the chest of his opponent with a majestic “thrust ho!”

I never got around to taking up fencing, but I’ve always dreamed of some day being able to end a battle victoriously with a “thrust ho…” and now, ‘some day’ just arrived.

I remove all of the documents that Jack Bibberman had prepared for me from my briefcase, along with a check made payable to ‘Daniel Vincent and Myra Scot,’ in the sum of
one dollar
and, wielding them like an epee, (with a ‘thrust ho’ being said to myself mentally), lay everything down on the judge’s desk. I then thank the judge very much, pick up my copy of the agreement and exit the now-silent chambers. I think it best to get out of the room quickly before Myra’s head starts to explode.

Once back at the boat, I call the court and ask to speak to the court reporter for a blow-by-blow description of what happened after I left the judge’s chambers. Myra must have been on good behavior that afternoon, because she didn’t give Vincent the ‘briefcase-on-the-head beating’ that Koontz got. Instead, I’m told that her mouth dropped open when she saw the check. She started sucking air like a fish out of water, then grabbed at the documentation and read it in disbelief. The judge sat there with a contained smirk on his face and thanked them for their cooperation, letting them both know that the conference was over and it was time for them to get out of his chambers. Myra and Vincent walked out and went in separate directions. The last words the reporter heard said were Vincent’ telling Myra “My invoice will be mailed to you.”

After hanging up the phone I notice that another call had come in. The caller ID shows a telephone number I recognize. It’s the defense firm on Stuart’s asbestosis case. They don’t know it, but at this point I’d recommend that Stuart take their settlement offer for anything more than fifty dollars, so if they’re calling with an offer of
any
amount, this case is closed. I’m just about to return their call when I hear a knocking on my hull; it’s doc, my wife-killing neighbor.

He asks if we can talk in private. It’s a beautiful Southern California day, so we climb up to the Grand Bank’s flybridge. It’s completely covered with a custom canvas awning and enclosed with clear side-curtains, like a mansion’s sunroom. He starts with a semi-confession. “I suppose, being involved with the criminal justice system, you’ve heard of my past problems with the law.” I nod, wondering if he’s finally going to admit that he really had her put down, or if he’ll continue with that old ‘I didn’t do it’ routine. He does a combination of both, which really surprises me. “She’s dead, you know, and there’s an insurance policy on her life that I’d like you to help me submit.”

That’s it. This guy’s really got stones. I’ve heard a lot in almost twenty years of practice, but this takes the cake. Here’s a guy who kills his wife and wants me to help him collect on her life insurance policy. He obviously needs some professional help, but not legal. It should be psychiatric. I know there’s absolutely no way I’m going to get involved in this mess, so I try to get out of it as politely as possible, because there are some people you just don’t want to antagonize. “Doctor Gault, there are so many reasons why I can’t help you that it’s hard to list them all. First, I’ve read that your wife disappeared and has never been found. For you to now claim that she’s dead implies that you know where the body is and therefore were responsible in some way for causing her death, and there’s no statute of limitations on murder. Second, there’s no way I can help you perpetrate a fraud on an insurance company…” He stops me mid-sentence.

“
Peter, I didn’t kill her eight years ago. She just died last week.”

*****

Chapter
13

This guy is certifiable and should be institutionalized immediately so he can get some sort of drug therapy. That’s supposed to do wonders. Like professional athletes, who are capable of putting on their ‘game face,’ cops, lawyers and judges learn how to have a ‘non-reaction’ face, no matter what’s being said to them. I’ve been using that face successfully for many years now, but it never got tested in a situation like the doc is creating now.

“
That’s right, Peter, she’s been alive all this time. She just died last week, and in anticipation of your next question, no, she hasn’t been locked up in my basement. She was in a private convalescent home up above Avalon, on Catalina Island.”

Out of the corner of my eye I spot a uniformed Rita walking down the dock, wheeling her small carry-on luggage case behind her. She doesn’t see us up on my flybridge as she enters the doc’s boat. “Does Rita know about this?” It’s probably no business of mine, but I want to know to satisfy my own curiosity.

“
Yes and no. She knows about the long confinement, but I haven’t told her about the death yet. He turns and sees Rita stepping into his boat.

“
I’m going to do that now.”

The only sure way to positively avoid sticking your foot in your mouth is by keeping your mouth shut. I’ve heard that saying before, but never seemed to get the knack of it, so I go right ahead and start to wedge a size eleven boat shoe between my pearly whites. “Well, now that you’re finally single, I guess that paves the way for you and your girlfriend.” He looks surprised.

“
My girlfriend?”

I can’t figure out why he should be surprised. If she’s not his girlfriend, what’s she doing sleeping with him? Oops. Maybe I did it again. What if he’s a bigamist and he married Rita while his wife was alive? I make a concentrated effort to painfully extract my foot from my mouth.

“
Yes, you know, Rita.”

For the first time since I’ve met this serious man, I see him crack a smile. He gets up, and as he starts to climb down the ladder from the flybridge, he tosses a closing line at me.

“
She’s not
my
girlfriend, Peter, she’s
your
girlfriend. She’s my
daughter
! Please, join us for dinner tonight.” The look on his face lets me know that he realizes I was caught off-guard, and that he’s always been aware of my awkwardness being with her in his presence. This old doc is one sharp cookie. I just hope he’s not a killer too.

Every non-fatal illness usually has a recovery time; a number of minutes, hours, days or months that it takes before the afflicted fully gain their senses and can perform as good as before the illness. In my case, a chronic illness seems to be making a complete fool of myself, and the recovery time varies from minutes to years, depending on the severity of the attack and the number of witnesses.

My mind flashes back to a past foot-in-mouth incident, when I was given my first court appearance to make. In most courtrooms, as you face the judge’s bench, there are usually two counsel tables. The trick to knowing which one is designated as yours is to notice on which side of the bench the jury box is located. The bench nearest the jury box is for the moving party, the one who has asked for this matter to be heard by the court. This is usually the plaintiff, prosecutor or petitioner. The other table, the one that’s farthest from the jury, witness box and court reporter’s station, is reserved for the defending party, which is the defendant, or respondent. Not wanting to be discourteous to the court, I arrived about thirty early minutes for my first appearance. This gave me time to spread out my papers on the counsel table so that I might possibly look like I knew what I was doing. Opposing counsel was an old pro who timed his entrance into the courtroom exactly as the judge was taking the bench. The court clerk announced the case we were appearing on, just as opposing counsel came through the swinging gate (the ‘bar’) that separates litigants from spectators. Seeing me standing up behind the counsel table, he uttered the first three words that appear on the court’s official record. Three words he said to me that I ordered a transcript of and had perma-plaqued to forever hang prominently on my office wall: “other table, dummy!”

That first incident of foot-in-mouth disease happened twenty years ago, but every time I look at the wall hanging I’m reminded of it, and a minor relapse occurs. This time it had more serious ramifications. I not only embarrassed myself in front of a potential client, I also found out that I was involved in a serious relationship! This looks like it is going to be one helluva dinner tonight.