by Martin Clark
Joe leaned forward, closer to the table. “We can’t strike a deal on a murder investigation, sir. Mr. Bushnell, the commonwealth’s attorney, will make those decisions. As for the Wound Velvet, we simply want it returned to us. We’re not happy about being screwed over. Who knows—once it’s ours, we might even sell it to you if you’re the right fit and the high bidder.”
“Nothing’s ever easy, is it?” Garrison stated. He sounded perturbed. He grimaced. “I hate entanglements. It’s why I never venture too far ashore for very long, and then only when I have to. I prefer staying just beyond reach. I like international waters, outskirts, obscure ports, Indian reservations the states can’t control and third-world districts at the margins of things. Your brand of stupidity is precisely why—for no reason, I’m being threatened with a bullshit criminal case by two lawyers who’re angry they’re on the losing end of a business deal.”
“You can end half of your problem by giving us the Wound Velvet,” Lisa said. “If you had no involvement in Lettie’s death, the other half of your ‘entanglement’ will end well for you too.”
“Please listen carefully,” Garrison said. “Today, you and Mr. Stone can fly off the ship with half a million dollars—tax free, if you prefer—and we’ll all part on happy terms. I’ll gift you with a bottle of champagne so you can celebrate back in town. Or…” He paused, sipped water. “Or I can push the button and ensure your personal annihilation.”
“How bright is that?” Lisa asked. “Believe me, if we were to go missing, Detective Toliver Jackson would be on your doorstep, no matter how far offshore you’re anchored. You don’t think we left without telling most of Martinsville where we are, do you?”
“Mrs. Stone, despite what you must think, I’m not a gangster. I’m not traveling around with a pistol strapped to my hip like your husband. I—”
“Right,” Joe interrupted him, “you’ve got the hired help to handle the firearms for you.”
“This is so terrible,” Garrison said. “I don’t understand it. Why would I harm Miss VanSandt? You’ve both worked yourself into a frenzy, and it’s going to cost you dearly. I have no intention of touching either of you—how uncool. There’s no need to be so paranoid and aggressive.” He shook his head. “But if you bring this baseless suit against me, and if you claim I somehow had a hand in Miss VanSandt’s death, you will bitterly regret it. You’ll be ruined. I promise to annihilate you legally, in your own corrupt arena, with lawyers and judges and juries. I’m not going to have you kneecapped with a pipe or dump you into the sea. Or poison your food. What’s wrong with you?”
“Let me ask you this,” Joe said as soon as Garrison finished. “Would you settle with us for five million?”
Garrison studied him. “A lot of money. And as you mentioned, thanks to your false alarms, only half of my worries are eliminated by paying you for an asset you’ve already signed over to Neal. As to the other, do you have any influence with the local police?”
“None.”
“Why five million?” Garrison asked.
“I wanted to see your reaction,” Joe said. “Simple as that. This must be quite a discovery; you didn’t even blink. Thanks for the offer. But we’re not interested in bribe money, no matter how large the check.” Joe finally took a bite of his food. “Probably the only chance I’ll ever have to taste a fresh seafood omelet on a private ship.” He chewed and began nodding. “Amazing. Even cold, it’s delicious.”
“Enjoy the moment and bask in your tiny little stunt. Perhaps Mrs. Stone thinks it’s clever. I’m sorry we couldn’t reach an agreement. Remember, please, my warning. Understand that the plans for your beat-down are already on my desk and foolproof and all the groundwork is in place. You’d have to realize this situation has been on my mind before today. Please don’t push me. I never make idle threats. It’s not in my nature.” Garrison stood. “I’ll have them tell Alden you’re ready to leave. He’ll return your pistol for the flight back so you’ll feel secure. Good luck to you both.” He walked away briskly, passing the steward as he left, and despite the goofy socks and disco hair and overplayed departure, he made an impression on Lisa, left her convinced he could accomplish what he promised, or come damn close.
“Do you think they’d reheat this for me?” Joe asked her. “Or would that offend the chef? Maybe a to-go box is a better choice.”
Concerned about eavesdropping, they didn’t speak during the helicopter trip. Lisa emptied her purse, inspected the contents and felt and fingered the lining, pockets, bottom and flap. Joe carefully checked his holster and removed the bullets from his gun, gave them to Alden when they landed. “Souvenir,” he said to the pilot, who looked confused. They changed rooms at their hotel, then sat on the carpet directly in front of a loud television, close together, and spoke quietly.
“I feel positive he’s not bluffing us, Joe. But what does he have up his sleeve?”
“No way to tell,” Joe almost whispered. “But for sure, the formula’s a monster, and I’m positive he sent our old friend Jane Rousch and another henchman to take care of some ugly work with Lettie. Pichler wasn’t high enough in the food chain to know about it.”
“But this is still a mess. How the heck will we even know he’s giving us the genuine formula if we win our suit? We don’t even know the contents of the Wound Velvet, much less the proportions of each ingredient.”
“Downs has some general idea, I think.”
“Not really,” Lisa said. “I quizzed him, and he doesn’t know any particulars. And he’s not the steadiest character on the planet.”
“Yeah,” Joe laughed. “Like how he’s paranoid that Benecorp can hear everything he says and is constantly spying on him, so he takes all kinds of bizarre precautions.”
Lisa laughed, too. “Maybe I should turn the microwave on and see if we can jam their satellite’s listening capability.”
“It’s weird how Garrison said his defense was already in place. You think he ran in a Lettie impostor so you’d have to testify at a criminal trial that she’s alive?”
“I can’t see how that would injure us, not really,” Lisa said. “And it would for damn sure hurt Benecorp—Garrison wouldn’t own the VV 108 rights.” She glanced at the TV. “I meant to ask him about Don and the missing animals, but he stalked away before I had the chance. Maybe that’s kind of a signal to us, his fish in a newspaper, how it was so easy for him to make them disappear.”
“Lord only knows what you can buy with his kind of money.” Joe was silent for a moment. He leaned away from her, braced himself on straightened arms. He hinted at a grin. “Even scarier, he’s one of the few men with a pulse you didn’t delicious. Sounds strange for me to say, I suppose, but nearly every guy falls off the cliff when he sees you for the first time. It was like a comic book, where the superhero meets the supervillain and the heat ray or green lantern beam or spiderweb is battled tit for tat and they just lock up in a standoff. A tie.”
“His last girlfriend was a supermodel. Or so say the gossip websites. I doubt an over-forty woman in Patagonia travel slacks is of much interest to him.”
“Shit—you absolutely know you’re still sexy. No doubt. I’ll guarantee that you noticed his reaction too. After twenty years, I have a sense of what’s passing through your mind.”
“So do we file?” Lisa asked. “Do we sue a guy with metal detectors on his boat and a six-million-dollar helicopter? Tell me again why we’re walking away from a comfortable settlement and provoking a shitstorm that might pay us far less?”
“We do sue him,” Joe declared. “As soon as we hit Henry County.” He fixed her with a look. “Because somebody needs to put things right. This SOB is a crook who most likely killed Lettie. Or tried to. He shouldn’t be allowed to just sail away in his fancy boat without even breaking a sweat.”
“Okay,” she said, smiled. “I’m with you.” She moved her knee so it touched his.
“But first, since we’re going to wind up bankrupt and annihilated anyhow,
courtesy of Seth the ‘Sprockets’ prince, let’s go waste some cash and wingding this town and limp home with zero sleep and a big fat hangover.”
“Do you need to call a shareholders’ meeting, or can we just get started?”
“This is about as big as it gets,” Robert Williams declared after reading the Stones’ draft of Joe’s lawsuit against Benecorp, Neal VanSandt and Seth Garrison. Lisa had also outlined the facts before Williams studied the complaint, summarizing everything she and Joe had learned. “Jumbo.”
Williams was behind the desk in his office, rimless reading glasses balanced at the bottom of his nose. It was June solstice, the twenty-first, and he was wearing a stylish summer suit. He’d been raised in nearby Danville, done a stint as a Harvard professor, then returned to the area and opened a general practice with his brother. Behind him, alongside diplomas and framed awards, was a photograph showing him installed as the first black president of the local bar. “What do you think, Phil?”
“I think if we can prove it, it’s heavy-duty,” Phil Anderson replied. A lawyer’s lawyer and politely fierce in court, he’d driven from Roanoke for the meeting. He’d listened to Lisa as well—sat impassive and attentive—and then perused his own copy of the suit papers, taking longer than Williams to finish. “We’ll all need agents and magazine-quality head shots if we win. But ultimately we’re looking at an oath fest in front of a federal jury, and most people generally aren’t sympathetic to lawyers trolling for money. Plus, we’ll be a couple years before it’s tried. The time and cost will be enormous, though I’m happy to do my part for free.”
“We’ll carry as much of the load as we can,” Lisa assured him.
“Yeah, I’m certainly not expecting my friends and colleagues to pay me,” Williams noted. “But travel and depositions and court reporters—it won’t be cheap. Naturally, I don’t need to tell you that.”
“Appreciate the offer,” Joe said, “but we intend to pay full freight.”
“I’m not concerned about fees,” Anderson insisted. “I’m not about to charge you. Let’s not waste time arguing about it.”
“The other problem I see,” Williams said, “is that there’s no hard evidence connecting Lettie’s son to Seth Garrison. I’m sure Garrison won’t admit the underlying deal, and I’m guessing the son won’t, either. If it’s fraud, we have the burden of proof at clear and convincing evidence. Never easy.”
“If it’s mutual mistake of fact,” Anderson continued, “if we end up on that road and Garrison wasn’t behind the curtain and there’s no provable link on his part, we’ll have to convince a jury that the two sophisticated lawyers who handled Miss VanSandt’s affairs were equally as ignorant as her layperson son miles away.”
“From the little bit I know,” Williams added, “this Neal’s on the simple side, and a jury’s bound to feel sorry for him.”
“Toliver has found the call that went from Henry County to Garrison,” Joe said. “He told me day before yesterday. Unfortunately, the number Rousch—or whoever she is—used is a dead end. Still, the call from here puts Garrison and Benecorp in the loop, shows they were involved and had knowledge months ahead of my renouncing. We’re supposed to believe that Neal just lucked into this? That Benecorp only spoke with him after he shows up in our office with his own damn waiver?”
“Strong inferences for our case,” Williams agreed. “But we still have a lot of proving to do.” He twisted in his chair, changed positions. The chair’s swivel springs creaked, the sound worn and metallic. “I’ve seen worse odds, of course. One way or the other, we’ll make it to a jury and have a shot. But to state the obvious, this will most likely be a life-changer for you and your law office. You’re putting your reputation and credibility on the line in a fashion that will seem shady to the average person. Garrison will take your hide off in the press. He’ll crucify you both.”
“We understand this’ll be a firefight,” Lisa said. “That’s why we asked the two best lawyers we know to help us. Truth be told, I’m more worried about Garrison’s threat, his promise we’re already sunk but just don’t realize it.” The air conditioner cut off, and the room became quieter, the floor registers finished until the temperature warmed a few degrees.
“Why, exactly, do you want to tackle this?” Anderson asked.
Lisa answered quickly. “With Joe, it’s basically the justice involved. You both know how he is. He thinks Garrison should be punished, and he thinks Benecorp ripped him off and flimflammed him, and it’s not in his nature to take a beating and do nothing. Honestly, if the VV 108 was worth a buck fifty, we’d still be right here with the complaint ready to file. That’s just Joe.”
“For Lisa,” Joe said, “it’s the money, plain and simple. She’s betting that Lettie’s alive and we’ll be the forty percent owner of a miracle cure.”
They all laughed. “The money and doing my level best to help my husband, whom I love very much,” she said, her expression animated.
“You guys have any guesses what his dragon might be?” Joe asked. “How he plans to ‘annihilate’ us?”
“Did you take it as a physical threat?” Anderson directed the question to Lisa.
She shook her head. “No, he’s too smart for that, though there was a moment on his boat when I was worried he might hurt us. We’ve been through it a million times and we’re still stumped.”
“Legally, holographic wills always cause complications,” Williams said. “But that can’t be the issue if he really said he’d annihilate you—we’ve all lost cases and had our hats handed to us. There must be something supremely personal about it if I’m understanding the context of his threat. Any skeletons Phil and I need to know about? Any weak spots?”
“Just the usual stuff,” Joe answered. “We’ve run an honest practice, and beyond an occasional hangover and some high jinks in college, we’re pretty ordinary. Unless horseback riding and hunting and showing up for work are crimes, I should be okay.”
“Yeah, nothing comes to mind,” Lisa said, though she was immediately scared a blush or splotch or blink might let on she wasn’t being completely truthful. She held her complaint copy in front of her and bowed as if she were reviewing it. “Feel free to change or tweak whatever you want,” she told Williams, eager to leave the topic.
“And we have absolutely no idea what this wound medicine is supposed to do?” Anderson asked.
“Correct,” Joe said.
“No clue what it’s worth?” Anderson asked.
“Correct,” Joe repeated.
“Our threshold witness is a fired Benecorp employee with a documented history of mental health failings?”
Joe slid forward in his chair. “Sad but true.”
“And you think it’s possible Seth Garrison had a hand in Miss VanSandt’s death?” Anderson was wearing a bow tie and a dark blue suit. He adjusted the bow tie, tugging on each side.
“Yep,” Joe said.
“But Lisa’s reasonably certain that Miss VanSandt’s not even dead?”
“You got it,” Joe answered.
“I saw her myself,” Lisa said. “All this lawing and litigating is really just a tactic, as far as I’m concerned. An opportunity to push and probe Benecorp. I agree with filing the complaint, but I’m betting this suit won’t matter one whit in the end. If I’m wrong, well, our suit still puts us where we need to be—in court.”
“Hot damn,” Anderson said. “We’re off to a great start. Won’t be long—we’re all going to look like geniuses or total dumb-asses pretty soon. I’m glad the kids are almost through with college. At least that’s taken care of if we go down in flames.”
“Let’s not forget”—Williams was smiling—“if Garrison did have Lettie murdered, he’ll probably receive the key to the city and a reward for his public service. The day news of her death hit, Henry County sold out of fireworks and dancing shoes by closing time.”
—
Less than an hour after Lisa returned from the meeting with Robert Willia
ms and Phil Anderson, Betty buzzed to tell her there was a Mr. Robert Culp on the phone, a very panicked man with no file or record at the law office. “He said Mr. Stone normally handles his case, but since Joe isn’t here he asked to speak with you. He sounds like he’s scared to death.”
“Oh, absolutely. Sure. Put him through.”
A moment later, Dr. Downs was on her line. “Culp here,” he said, sounding more stressed and harried than usual.
“Hi, Mr. Culp,” Lisa said. “Are you safe? Is everything okay?”
“I’m at the Methodist church in Harrisonburg. In the pastor’s office. They don’t lock it. My sister’s a member. It seemed like a safe place to call, but I’m still not convinced. I’m using the church phone.”
“Listen—Joe and I really need you to hang in there. We’ve sued Benecorp. We’ve hired the best lawyers in the state to fight Garrison. We need you strong and focused. We need your help.”
“Oh shit. Shit, Mrs. Stone. No.”
“I know you aren’t anxious to hear it, but it would make so much more sense if you’d let Joe and me bring you down here and put you in a safe place with our own security.”
“I’m decompensating. I know I’m mentally sick. It’s no secret. No mystery to me. That’s the term, Mrs. Stone, decompensate. Like renounce. Another term. Joe Stone renounced the will. I don’t think I can make it. My sister is giving me meds, and I’m still a wreck. Ships wreck, cars wreck, people wreck.” He was anguished, sobbing and plaintive all through the skein of words.
“I can have Joe there in a few hours. Or I’ll leave right now. He’s in a deposition across the block. We can come and help you.”
“I can’t escape Garrison. He’s been here. In my head and in my room at Amy’s house. I said, ‘Let me touch you and make sure you’re real,’ and he told me he wasn’t real but I’d still be able to feel him.”
“Seth Garrison was there, Doctor? In Harrisonburg?”
“I don’t know. I saw him, but I’m falling to pieces. Even with my medicine. It’s worse, you see, when you realize your mind has turned traitor. When you’re aware of it and can’t put the brakes on. I’ve heard from Lettie too. But she’s dead, so who the heck knows.” The crying wasn’t as bad, the desperation in his voice wasn’t as severe. “My mother, but that’s not possible, either. I’m having to keep a log so I can follow myself. I have to write everything on paper so I can keep up with Downs. Ha! Writing all the time. No rest for the weary.”
