Dead Ringer

by Lisa Scottoline

  “Your Honor, I know this is unorthodox—”

  “Unorthodox! Unorthodox is Chianti with Dover sole. I know unorthodox, Bennie. I am unorthodox! This isn’t unorthodox, it’s nuts!”

  “Your Honor, please—”

  “Wait, I haven’t finished! I know it sounded like I was finished, but that’s just the type of zany, unorthodox judge that I am!”

  Bennie stood tall. If his wasn’t the most judicial tone or demeanor, it was the plain talk for which Judge Sherman was famous. And behind it was concern for her mental state and addictive personality; she could hear the softness in his tone. Bennie flushed with embarrassment, cursing Alice inwardly. Her scam had tainted the judge’s view of the motion, and her scheming had infected St. Amien’s interests. Bennie gritted her teeth and bore down.

  “It’s not only nuts, it’s premature,” Judge Sherman continued. He let her motion papers drop to the dais like trash. “The complaint in this class action landed on my desk last week, and I got your client’s complaint just yesterday. Now we all have to meet? Today?”

  Bennie was about to respond when Linette leapt suddenly to his feet and muscled the two steps to the lectern. “Your Honor,” he said loudly, “if I may say so, I quite agree, and it is vital for the court—”

  “Mr. Linette, sit down!” Judge Sherman thundered, and Bennie bit her cheek. Linette eased into his seat. “This is Ms. Rosato’s motion, and right now I’m engaged in a colloquy with her. This case has major circus potential, and I will not let that happen in my courtroom, so I’m nipping it in the bud. From here on out, when I need your two cents, I’ll ask for it, Mr. Linette. Now please remain in your seat.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Linette answered. His ruddy face went ruddier, and Bennie felt a rush of satisfaction. She was willing to take the beating she was about to get, but she would keep the floor. If she had to act out to get attention, so be it. It was a lesson every Bad Girl had learned. Mavericks ‘R’ Us.

  “Now, Ms. Rosato, please continue,” Judge Sherman said, squaring his puffy black shoulders. “I’d really like to hear you defend this motion. I could have simply denied your request, but I admit, you intrigued me.” His gaze softened for a minute, and Bennie realized he had been worrying about her. He couldn’t contact her ex parte, that would have been unethical, but maybe he’d granted her request for a motion simply to see her in person. He could have denied it without a hearing. As if to confirm her thoughts, the judge flashed a smile that was almost encouraging. “Make it worth the price of admission, Counsel.”

  “Okay, Your Honor,” Bennie began, steeling herself. “As you can see, the lawyers representing the various class members in this lawsuit are all prominent members of the Philadelphia class-action bar, including Mr. Linette. As you are aware, I do not normally do class-action work, but in this suit I represent Mr. Robert St. Amien, the president and CEO of St. Amien & Fils.”

  Bennie gestured briefly behind her to St. Amien, who was sitting according to her seating chart. “St. Amien & Fils is a French company that manufactures lenses for medical equipment, and it recently expanded to the U.S., opening a subsidiary in the King of Prussia area. Mr. St. Amien should be the lead plaintiff in this lawsuit because his is the biggest company in the plaintiff class, at one hundred and fifty employees, and his damages, at sixty million dollars, far exceed any of the other plaintiffs’, including Mr. Linette’s client, Herman Mayer. But my client’s position as lead plaintiff is currently being jeopardized by the process of private ordering among class counsel.”

  Bennie ignored the low growling emitted by Linette and the ripple of hostility that reverberated around the plaintiff’s side of the courtroom. Defense counsel kept taking notes, and the stenographer tapped silently away on her mysterious black keys. Bennie doubted that she was recording any of these atmospheric changes. That was the problem with a trial transcript; it recorded only the words, not the tone. Like Cliff’s Notes to Portnoy’s Complaint.

  “I am therefore moving the court, at this admittedly early juncture, to appoint class counsel by using the auction-bidding method, as opposed to private ordering. This method is particularly appropriate to the case at bar, in which a newcomer to the class-action practice represents the plaintiff with the greatest damages. In addition, because my law firm is so small, I can provide the least expensive legal services to the class as a whole.”

  Judge Sherman frowned. “Let’s be clear. You’re not asking me to appoint you class counsel today, or even ultimately. That would not only be unorthodox, it would be insane. Rather, you’re asking that I determine that auction bidding be the method whereby I appoint class counsel. Your motion goes to the procedure, not the substance.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Your co-counsel have not had an opportunity to brief this matter, Ms. Rosato.”

  “I welcome their briefs, Your Honor. My only intent was to get things rolling.” Bennie didn’t add that what she had wanted was momentum, the initiative.

  But by now Judge Sherman’s frown had taken up residence on has forehead. “Normally, a matter like this wouldn’t be brought up on motion, Counsel.”

  “You mean, that’s not how it’s done, Your Honor.”

  “Precisely.”

  “I understand that, but there is no reason why it couldn’t be, or shouldn’t be, is there?”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “It’s in my client’s interests to be open and aboveboard about this process, Your Honor. My predicament as his counsel is that I know precisely how it is done. Secrecy and closed proceedings do not serve my client, nor does delay. I recognize that this motion and hearing are somewhat unconventional, but my only other choice is to risk my client’s rightful position as lead plaintiff to the vagaries of backroom bargaining by powerful members of a very exclusive club—to which I do not belong.”

  Bennie stopped, almost involuntarily, right there. Her words rang out in the silent courtroom and had a hang time all their own. She had said the unsayable—in open court—and she swallowed hard. She was going public with their behind-the-scenes fistfight, and she knew the implications: Bennie had just declared war on Bull Linette.

  Back at second chair, Linette held his breath, red-faced, seething. His bleached teeth were set in a grimace. Quinones and Kerpov looked frozen and pale, as if they’d been cast in plaster death masks. The court stenographer paused in her typing, her fingers poised in midair. The silence deafened until the judge broke it:

  “My, my, my. This is unusual.” Judge Sherman shifted in his seat and replaced his glasses, then took a minute to let his gaze shift down the line to Linette and the other class-action lawyers. It returned to Bennie, and it didn’t look as if he thought she was drunk anymore. In truth, he didn’t even look angry. But his tongue clucked with concern, and after a minute, he spoke. “Ms. Rosato, I cannot begin to consider the merits of your motion from the bench, but I am cognizant—”

  “What! This is an outrage!” boomed a sudden voice from the back, with a thick accent, and Bennie turned around in surprise. Herman Mayer had jumped to his wing tips in the front row. Next to him, St. Amien looked surprised and drew backward. Mayer’s gaunt cheeks were mottled with anger. “Your Honor, my losses are greater than St. Amien’s, and I came sooner to the U.S., to Fort Washington! He only followed me here, and through illegal competition and interference, he stole my contract with Hospcare—”

  Linette was standing up, waving Mayer into his seat. “Herman, sit down. Be quiet. Let me handle this.”

  “This is my business, Lawyer!” Mayer shouted back. His dark eyes flared with indignation. The veins in his stringy neck bulged like an angry rooster’s. He waved a hand with a heavy gold wedding ring. “I know my business! I will not sit here silent while that woman lies about my business! My business!”

  St. Amien had risen to his feet, too, his lips parted in affront. “How dare you accuse me, Herman!” he said, his voice only slightly raised. “I did not steal your contract with Ho
spcare, you fool! You had no contract with Hospcare! They came to me—”

  Holy shit. World War II is breaking out. “Robert!” Bennie said firmly. “Please, you don’t have to answer him, I will—”

  “Fool! Liar!” Suddenly Mayer turned and, red-faced, gave St. Amien a strong shove that almost toppled him.

  “Argh!” St. Amien said, struggling to stay on his feet, righting his glasses with dignity.

  “Robert!” Bennie shouted in alarm, moving to help him.

  Crak! Crak! Crak! “Order! Order!” Judge Sherman shouted, banging his gavel on the dais, as Bennie eased St. Amien into his seat and waited for the judge to restore order. “Mr. Linette, get your client in control! Order! Or I’ll throw him out!”

  “Herman!” Linette said, pivoting on his slippery Italian loafer. Next to him, Quinones’s eyes widened and Kerpov looked embarrassed. Brenstein turned away, and Linette tried to contain his client. “Sit down! Right now!”

  “Don’t you tell me to sit down!” Mayer shouted back, pointing at Linette with a long index finger. Bennie stayed with St. Amien, who had composed himself, and watched amazed as Mayer turned his anger on his lawyer. “You sit down, Linette! You aren’t doing anything to help me! How dare you let her malign me and my business!”

  “Herman, sit down!” Linette thundered, instantly red-faced. He took a threatening step forward, which surprised even Bennie. Scenes like this didn’t happen in civil lawsuits. That’s why they called them civil.

  Crak! The judge howled, “Mr. Mayer, you will sit down this minute or I’ll have you hauled off!” Mayer obeyed reluctantly then, sinking into the seat beside a grim-faced St. Amien and still shaking visibly from his outburst. But he seemed cowed enough for Bennie to leave St. Amien safely and return to counsel table. Judge Sherman set down the gavel after one final bang, and his glare this time focused on Linette, his eyes searing into him like twin lasers. “Mr. Linette, I hold you responsible for this! This is exactly what I meant by circus potential. I won’t have it!”

  “Understood, Your Honor,” Linette said, his expression stoic and his stance stiff as a toy soldier’s. “Your Honor, I apologize for my client, but Mr. Mayer is simply reacting to Ms. Rosato’s misstatements of fact regarding her client’s damages. Mr. Mayer knows his were far greater.” He spat out the words, each one precise as a stiletto. If he couldn’t take the lectern, he’d turn counsel table into one. “And I strongly object to Ms. Rosato’s having filed this motion without consultation with me, running off to tell the teacher—”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” Bennie said, because she couldn’t resist. She didn’t know if you could object to a statement by co-counsel, but she was loving being unorthodox. And unorthodox was a better adjective than mavericky. “And I resent my motion being trivialized as running to the teacher. Every plaintiff is a tattletale. Justice is obtained only by running to the teacher. That’s why they call it court.”

  Linette ignored her. “Your Honor, I would seek the opportunity to brief the method by which the court appoints class counsel. The process of auction bidding has been disapproved by this circuit in the Cedent case, and Your Honor is well aware of the task force—”

  “Enough, Mr. Linette,” Judge Sherman said, waving dismissively. “You needn’t argue the point now, and I know all about the task force. You and all parties of record will have the opportunity to respond to Ms. Rosato’s brief, with all briefs to be filed within twenty days.” Judge Sherman glanced over at defense table to the lawyer sitting alone, like a blind date stood up. “And you, too, Counsel. We haven’t forgotten about the defendant trade association, and I couldn’t deny defendant the opportunity to be heard, even though it is not necessarily a matter of your direct concern.”

  The defense lawyer nodded his balding head. “Thank you, Your Honor. We will brief the issue. If the issue concerns this lawsuit, it concerns my client,” he said with dignity, and Bennie knew that he was milking the melee in the plaintiff’s ranks for all it was worth.

  Judge Sherman looked sternly at Bennie and Linette. “Now, obviously there has been infighting—even fisticuffs—between you lawyers, and you clients, and you clients and lawyers. And even you clients and clients.” He rolled his eyes. “This is absurd, unprofessional, and not in anyone’s interests. So I have some free legal advice for all of you, and it didn’t originate with me. A lawyer who was smarter than all of us once said, ‘A house divided against itself cannot stand.’ Mr. Linette, Ms. Rosato—and Mr. Mayer and Mr. St. Amien—you all would do well to heed those words.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Bennie answered, again at the same time that Linette did, only he said it louder. Anything you can do I can do better. She was hardly optimistic that Linette would be taking any advice from Judge Sherman, much less Abraham Lincoln.

  “Good.” Judge Sherman banged the gavel, then set it down and rose, arranging his robes around his tall frame. “I’ll take the motion under advisement and await briefing by all the parties, to be filed within twenty days. Adjourned, people. Go home and play nice,” he ordered, with a grim set to his mouth, then he left the dais.

  Bennie couldn’t help but smile, and when she turned back to St. Amien, he was grinning from ear to Gallic ear. But next to him, Mayer didn’t look so happy. And neither did Linette, who swooped to the front row of the gallery, grabbed his client by the arm, and stalked off without another word. Quinones, Kerpov, and Brenstein departed in a small horde of lawyers, collectively shunning Bennie, but she had expected as much. In fact, she didn’t even blame them. She took her time packing her briefcase to let them all go ahead, to avoid them avoiding her in the elevators. Today she’d made herself a player, leveled the playing field, and gotten the ball.

  St. Amien caught up with her at counsel table and slipped a congratulatory arm around her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Fantastique, Bennie! We won, did we not?”

  Bennie clicked her briefcase shut with a grin. “They want to kill us, don’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we won,” Bennie said, and hardly minded at all when she was rewarded with another peck on the cheek.

  15

  Bennie left her very satisfied client at the courthouse, grabbed a cab back to the office, and came off the elevator feeling good for the first time in days. She realized when she saw a leftover L.L. Bean box that she hadn’t thought about Alice the whole time she was in court, and she resolved not to let that unresolved situation get her down. She had won, or at least she had struck a blow, and she had to celebrate. She threaded her way through the boxes and found Marshall at the reception desk, hanging up the phone.

  “Hey, lady!” Bennie called out. She dropped her briefcase at her feet. “The good guys are making a comeback!”

  “I’ll say!” Marshall looked up from the reception desk with an expectant smile. Though on Marshall, every smile was expectant. “I have good news too.”

  “What? Tell me.”

  “You go first,” she said, so Bennie told her what had happened in court. Marshall responded with a whoop that sent the associates hurrying from their offices to the reception desk. Mary DiNunzio came running with a legal pad, Judy Carrier bore her afternoon Frappuccino in a transparent plastic cup, and Anne Murphy had wrapped her long red hair into a topknot with a pencil. They asked in happy unison what was going on and made girl noises while Bennie told the whole story for a second time. Not that she minded.

  “Unreal, huh?” Bennie said, finishing. “I thought Mayer was going to fire Linette right there! He still may.”

  “Fire Bull Linette?” DiNunzio’s rich brown eyes went wide. “That’s like firing God!”

  Carrier looked over. “God doesn’t work for thirty percent.”

  “Neither does Linette,” Murphy cracked, and they all laughed. “And Bennie, did you hear? We’re rich!”

  “What?” Bennie looked puzzledly at Marshall. “What happened? Is that your news?”

  “We got a check!” The receptionist bent her sleek he
ad over her neat desk, set some correspondence aside, and found an envelope, which she handed to Bennie with a huge grin. “This just came in from PennsyBank. We’re in the money!”

  “Really? So soon?” Bennie opened the envelope and pulled out a check payable to her for fifty thousand dollars. But the check wasn’t from her mortgage bank; it was from Sam, with a Post-it attached. She unstuck it and read the note: Bennie, it turns out there is no gay Mafia. Take my check and reimburse me when yours comes in next month. Love, Wascally Wabbit. Bennie felt a rush of gratitude.

  “Who sent the money?” Carrier asked as the associates grouped around. “Fifty grand! Where’d that come from?”

  “I borrowed it,” Bennie answered, avoiding anyone’s eye. She wasn’t about to tell them she was hocking her house and borrowing from her friend in the meantime. Marshall had probably figured it out, but the associates would have a lifetime to learn reality. And Bennie felt too good to focus on the negative. “It’ll keep us afloat until St. Amien settles. We can pay the rent and the long-distance bill, and buy a Frappuccino or two!” She looked around at their faces, alive with hope. “Ladies, we’re back in business! Carrier, I owe you for my get-out-of-jail card. DiNunzio, I’m paying for your field trip, not you. And Murphy, about your seventeen dollars—”

  “Woohoo!” DiNunzio said, clapping, and Murphy brightened.

  “We’re okay, and I have more good news, Bennie. You know how you asked me to see about your license, with the felony charges against you? I called the disciplinary board, and if you get the charges dropped, there are no repercussions at all. Your license is fine.”