Accidental Lawyer_A humorous peak into Baltimore's legal community, with a thread of mystery

by Kim Hamilton

  I needed to have a talk with the detective.

  Paulette swept mascara onto my lashes, swiped lipstick across my lips, and handed me the mirror again. For a woman who had pink hair, a nose ring, and three colors of eye shadow, I marveled at her restraint with me. The makeup, while way more than I ever use, wasn’t too over the top.

  Marty appeared in the doorway. “Are you all finished in here? We’re ready to go.” He looked closer at me. “You look a little creepy.”

  “She doesn’t look creepy,” Kari said. “She looks like an educated woman with style and dignity.”

  “Just what our clients are looking for.” Marty rolled his eyes.

  I thanked Paulette and followed Marty into the conference room.

  “Jess, you look perfect,” Sal said. “Smart and dignified. Let’s get this started. Dawson, you stand here.” He pointed to a spot in the middle of our bookcases. “Marty and Jess, you stand on either side of him. You two can rest your hands on the top of the chairs or fold them in front. Whatever feels natural. Dawson, you hold this.” He handed Dawson an iPad. “We want to project the image that we are using state-of-the-art technology.”

  “Whose iPad is this?” Dawson asked.

  “My daughter’s.” Sal’s daughter was in middle school. “Okay, let’s run through the lines before we roll the cameras.”

  “I’m attorney Dawson Garner, and these are my associates. We may be a small law firm, but we get big bucks for our clients. Have you been injured? We can help. Over the last thirty years, we have recovered millions of dollars for people like you who have been wronged through the negligence of others. We’ll take care of everything. All you need to do is call us. Or,” Dawson motioned with the iPad—“you can email us any hour of the day.”

  Now it was Marty’s turn. “That’s right, I’m Marty Ferguson. We want to help. Call us at 1-555-WANNASU, or email us at GetMeMoney@DGA.com. You’ll get a response from one of us”—he made a sweeping gesture with his hand—“within the hour.” Now it was my turn.

  “I’m Jessica Snow, and I promise that we will successfully resolve your claim and put money in your pocket. No matter how big or small, your issue is important to us. With our combined experience, we will fight the insurance company and move your claim along quickly and efficiently. All you need to do is get better and figure out what you’re going to do with all that money. Right, Dawson?” Marty and I turned toward Dawson.

  “That’s right, Jessica. We are the real deal. We care about you. While you heal from your injury, let us work on getting you the money you deserve.”

  In unison, we say, “Has an accident messed up your day? Call DGA!”

  “Not bad,” Sal said. “Let’s try it with the camera rolling.”

  After a few takes, we were done. It was easier than I expected. While the dialogue was trite and robotic, it was far less embarrassing than I had imagined. At least there was no close-up. Maybe I’d go unrecognized, blend into the bookshelves.

  #

  I dialed Detective O’Mallory, who answered on the first ring.

  “O’Mallory here.”

  “Detective. It’s Jessica Snow. I work for Dawson Garner.”

  “I remember you. I’ve seen your face three times this morning. You should know that the billboard on Charles Street North is looking a bit tattered. It ages you a few years.”

  “Thanks. I’ll tell my agent. Look. I’m calling because I think I know who killed Harvey Metzger.”

  “Sure you know him. You work for him.”

  “No. Not Dawson. Dawson didn’t do it. It was his wife.”

  “Dawson’s not married.”

  “Metzger’s wife. Olivia Metzger. She was having an affair with her Pilates instructor, Juan Carlos.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I saw them myself. Apparently, they’ve been seeing each other for a while. Long before the murder.”

  “I don’t act on rumors.”

  I fought to control my frustration. “It’s more than a rumor. It’s a fact. I also know that she’s booked two one-way tickets to Barcelona. They’re planning to leave the country.”

  He was silent for a beat. I imagined trying to contemplate a reason for dismissing this piece of information, dismissing me, but he couldn’t ignore it. “Text me the info on the guy. I’ll look into it.”

  “Thank you. I will. Do you have any other leads, besides Dawson and Olivia, I mean?”

  “Yeah. I got a tip from a reporter. Metzger had a mistress. A paralegal. As a matter of fact, she works across the street from you for another ambulance chaser.”

  I fell silent. This was insane. O’Mallory was following up on the bogus story I gave that reporter last night. Should I tell him the truth? Should I tell him I messed with a reporter to get him off Dawson’s trail? This guy was a cop after all. Was I withholding relevant information? Could I be charged with interfering with an investigation? I didn’t know the answer to any of these questions, so I said nothing.

  “You still there?”

  “I’m here. Sorry, I’ve got another call coming in. Gotta go.” I hung up and went to find Dawson.

  He was practicing his putting when I entered his office. “I have a question for you.”

  He kept his eye on the ball. “Sure, what’s up?”

  “Let me put it to you as a hypothetical. Let’s say my friend learned that a cop who’s investigating a murder is following a bogus lead. And let’s say that friend knows this because she planted the bogus lead on a meddling reporter to distract him, not knowing the reporter would tell the investigator. Should my friend admit to the investigator that she started the rumor with the reporter?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Is this cop a detective named O’Mallory?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will this distraction keep him from finding the real killer?”

  I was starting to feel stupid now. Obviously, we want O’Mallory to focus on actual leads. I lowered my head and said, “Yes.”

  Dawson could have drawn this exchange out, asking questions with obvious answers, deepening my humiliation, but he didn’t. He said, “So, tell your friend to set O’Mallory straight.”

  “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

  “By the way, what is the bogus lead O’Mallory is following?”

  “That Harvey Metzger was having an affair with Chantel Devista.”

  “Stuart Milligan’s Chantel Devista?”

  “Could there be more than one?”

  “I change my mind. Don’t call off O’Mallory. Let’s let Stuart get a little taste of what it’s like to have his business disrupted by a wayward police investigation.”

  We exchanged conspiratorial smiles and Dawson sunk another put.

  My cell phone rang. “Jessica Snow.”

  “Hi, Ms. Snow. This is Marshall. Marshall Ball. We met yesterday.”

  “Yes, Marshall. How are you? How’s your injury healing?”

  “I’m doing fine. Thanks. I wanted to let you know that my wife, Lucinda, she wants me to hire a different lawyer. It’s nothing personal. You seem real smart, and all, but she wants to use someone else—”

  I interrupted, “Is it Stuart Milligan? Is that who she wants to represent you?”

  “Well, yeah, how’d you know?”

  “Is Mrs. Ball at home with you now?”

  “Sure. You want me to put her on the phone?”

  “No. I’m coming over to speak to her. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” I disconnected the call. “Damn it!”

  Dawson lined up another put. “What’s up?”

  “The guy I spoke with yesterday. He’s like 350 pounds and is getting pushed around by his pencil-sized wife.” My tone grew with anger. “She wants to hire Stuart Milligan instead of me!” I stormed off toward the door. “I’m going to talk her out of it. I want this case.”

  “Do you want me or Marty to go with you?”

  I hated to admit it, but I was
sure that if I took either of these two mature, male attorneys, she would sign right up. I wanted to nail this newbie by myself. I had done the research. I was prepared. This baby was mine.

  “No thanks. I got it.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I grabbed the file from my office and fled out the back door. My pulse raced. I knew this woman was discriminating against me because I was young and female.

  I hopped on the JFX. Traffic should have been light heading North this time of the morning, but the left lane was closed for construction. I moved into the middle lane. A Cadillac SUV passed me on the left and cut in front of me without signaling. I hit my brake to avoid rear-ending him. I could see he was talking on his cell phone. It’s illegal in this state, but that doesn’t stop its habitual practice. People do it all the time. Distracted driving has been quite good for business. I hated to think that way, but it was true.

  I parked at the curb across the street from the Ball’s house, grabbed the file, marched up their front steps, and rang the doorbell. Mrs. Ball answered.

  “Didn’t Marshall tell you that we’re hiring Stuart Milligan? What are you doing here?”

  “Listen. I hate to let you make that mistake. Give me five minutes. If I can’t convince you to hire me instead, I’ll leave you alone. Five minutes. That’s all.”

  “Oh, all right.” She stepped aside and cleared the threshold. I felt a small victory. We sat down in the family room. There was no sign of Marshall.

  “Where’s Marshall?”

  “He’s resting. He took a pain pill. What did you want to tell me?”

  “Mrs. Ball, I’ve done my research. I know the name of the company that made the defective part. I also know where the toilet was manufactured, who the wholesaler is, and who the distributor is. So far, I’ve got four defendants to go after. I think we could get punitive damages on top of what we discussed yesterday.”

  She was sitting forward in her seat now, eyes focused on mine, taking it all in. “What’s punitive damages mean?”

  “That means the court could add on additional money in any amount to punish the companies for failing to warn of the dangerous toilets. Looks like they issued a recall, but it was not widely publicized.” I sat forward on my seat. “So you see, Mrs. Ball, I’m prepared. I could get this started, stir the pot, and have the other side losing sleep tonight over what we are going to do on Marshall’s behalf. Do you think Stuart Milligan is ready to do that?”

  “He could be. Maybe he’s done the research, too.”

  “Maybe he has. When did you talk to him?”

  She shifted in her seat. “Well, I didn’t talk to him. I talked to his assistant, Chantel.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said Mr. Milligan would like to handle Marshall’s claim and she’ll mail me the paperwork.”

  “When do you and Marshall get to meet with Stuart Milligan?”

  Maybe I was being too abrasive because Lucinda tightened her jaw and narrowed her eyes. “I’ll call her right now and schedule a meeting.”

  She pulled out her cell phone, punched a few buttons, and waited with the phone to her ear. “Hello, this is Mrs. Ball. We spoke yesterday about my husband’s case.” She paused and nodded her head. “Yes, he’s fine. Thank you. I was hoping Marshall and I could schedule a meeting with Mr. Milligan before we sign the paperwork.” Another pause. “For how long?” She stared at the floor. “Okay. I see ... No, that’s not necessary. Goodbye.”

  She disconnected and handed me the phone. “He’s leaving for Hilton Head tonight. He’ll be gone for two weeks.” After a moment of quiet contemplation, she looked at me. “You win.”

  The file I left yesterday was sitting on the coffee table. She tapped it. “I’ll have Marshall sign these when he wakes up.”

  “No need. I’ll sign them now.” Marshall’s frame filled the doorway. He gave me a wink and a smile.

  With signed retainers in hand, I headed back to the office victorious. I called Delroy from my car on the way back to thank him again for setting up the introduction.

  “That oughta bring in a nice fee for DGA. How about throwing a little something my way. You know, like a referral fee?”

  This was a touchy subject for me. I was fresh out of law school and hadn’t forgotten what I learned in ethics class. Lawyers are restricted from giving referral fees to anyone other than other lawyers. The reality, however, is that it’s done all the time. Some lawyers have runners who are aggressive, streetwise people who know where to drum up business. For each new client they bring in, they receive a monetary reward, discretely distributed and always in cash. I wasn’t sure about Dawson’s policy on this, but I assumed it was rather relaxed. Delroy had proved to be an asset and could be valuable in the future. Not to mention, I thought he deserved a reward.

  “Right. Let me talk to Dawson and I’ll see what we can do.”

  I glided into the office with my new file in hand.

  Kari looked up. “From that smile on your face, I assume you signed him up?”

  “Sure did. Lucinda was ready to sign with Milligan, but it turns out he’s in Hilton Head for the next two weeks.” I leaned over her desk and lowered my voice. “Delroy connected me with this case and came out with us yesterday for the meeting. How do you think Dawson would feel about giving him a little something... you know, for the referral?”

  “He does it all the time.” She pushed the button on her intercom. “Dawson, Jess needs a withdrawal out of petty cash for Delroy.”

  “Tell her to come in here.”

  Gliding through Dawson’s door, I waved the new file in my hand and sunk into my spot on his sofa. He handed me a small stack of twenty dollar bills and sat down across from me. “That’s for Delroy. Tell me about this new case.”

  I relayed the important details about Marshall’s incident and added what I found from my research about similar occurrences. Dawson’s eyes lit up. He leaned forward and steepled his fingers. The corners of his mouth turned up, almost at right angles, like the Grinch on Christmas Eve. “Do you know what this means, Jess?”

  I gave him my best Grinch grin in return. “Yes. It’s got class action potential.” Knowing that this could translate into big fees, it was hard to contain our greedy smiles.

  Energy radiated off of Dawson. He jumped up. “Wait. Marty’s got to hear this.” He bounded to the door to speak to Kari. “Tell Marty to come into my office, and I want you in here, too.”

  Dawson had me explain my new case to Marty. When I said the words “other incidences” and “defective valve,” Marty turned to Dawson with a sly grin and nodded. He knew the potential, too.

  Kari was the only one who wasn’t smiling. “We don’t know the first thing about how to handle a class action suit. We’re small fry. We don’t have the manpower for massive litigation. And I’m not working overtime. I got a life.”

  Dawson spoke. “That’s not going to be a problem. If we get enough clients who were injured by these toilets, we farm the whole lot out to “Jenkins, Doyle, and Robb.” I know John Doyle. He’s a class action king.”

  Marty nodded. “That’s the way to go. They do the work. We get a nice chunk of change for funneling our clients to them.”

  The men high-fived.

  Dawson turned to me. “Well done, Jess. This could be big.”

  Marty looked at me without his usual contempt. “Yeah, Jess. I have to admit you’ve tapped into a potential windfall here. Good job.”

  It’s ironic that my moment of validation from Marty arose from a toilet.

  Dawson slapped the top of his desk. “We’ve got to get this ball rolling, get our name out as the experts on toilet explosion litigation before anyone else thinks of it. Here’s what we do, I’ll call Sal and get him over here so we can tweak the new commercial lineup. We need to include a 30-second spot about toilet explosions. We’ll blast it out over the next two weeks. Kari, call our web designer. We need a site dedicated to exploding toilet injuries that links to our
website...”

  I heard about half of what he said after that. My mind was thinking about the 30-second commercial. I was hoping it didn’t involve me. Somehow it seemed undignified to talk about exploding toilets on television. My mother wouldn’t like that.

  We concluded our meeting to the sound of tires screeching in front of our building. Marty was the first to the window. “What’s with all the commotion over at Milligan’s office?”

  We hustled over to the front windows. “This is great,” Dawson said. “Look at all the TV cameras. This is payback. This is karma.”

  “I don’t see O’Mallory’s car. The press must have beat him here,” I said.

  “This town sure does take its gossip seriously,” Kari said.

  “What’s going on?” Marty asked.

  “I ran into a reporter in front of Olivia’s house last night. He was giving up on the Olivia angle and turning his focus back to Dawson. I didn’t want him showing up here, so I diverted his attention by telling him that Harvey Metzger was having an affair with Stuart Milligan’s secretary. I guess word travels fast. O’Mallory was even talking about it.”

  A smile started to form on Marty’s face. “You mean you lied? You made shit up to protect Dawson?”

  That’s exactly what I had done, but I hadn’t planned it, and I certainly couldn’t have foreseen that my spontaneous lie to a single reporter would turn into a media circus. I was helping Dawson at Stuart’s expense. That was fine with me.

  “Yeah. I guess I did.”

  “Well played,” he said and gave me a pat on the shoulder. This little chum fest was mildly disturbing. Was Marty starting to like me because I was becoming more like him?

  O’Mallory had shown up with his partner, Howdy Doody. They double-parked in front of Stuart’s office, blocking two of the four television news vans that were parked against the curb. The two detectives were mauled by reporters as they worked their way to the front door of Milligan’s office.

  We opened the window and strained to listen.

  “Is it true that Harvey Metzger was having an affair?”