“Okay,” she said. “I’ll find another attorney to step in.”
Ken Rowland nodded. “Thank you. I’ll let Cheyenne know we’re okay with you having a copy of the file.”
“Can you call her now?”
“I’ll call her,” Ken Rowland said, “after we have a new lawyer.”
Jessie forced her jaw to relax. “I’ll go take care of that now.”
How exactly she was going to do that, she wasn’t sure.
10
The lobby of Big Fitness was plain, unimpressive. Faded beige paint covered the walls, and the closest thing to decoration was a line of framed posters—photos of men and women exercising that looked like they’d been taken at least a decade ago. When Emily Graham showed her badge at the front desk, the woman sitting behind the counter, a young black woman wearing a Polo-style shirt bearing the gym’s logo—jerked upright. “Is there some kind of situation?”
“No.” Graham put away her badge. “I just need to talk to someone here, a friend.”
“I heard about a guy in Delaware, walked into a gym with a machete in his bag and hacked up two other guys in the locker room.”
“It’s nothing like that,” Graham said. She glanced around, wondering if that sort of thing happened here. The place might be drab, but it didn’t look that bad. “I’m a detective. I need to talk to another detective, who happens to be a member here.”
The girl seemed to relax. “That’s a relief. Go ahead in.”
She proceeded to the weight room. The temperature seemed ten degrees warmer, and the odors of rubber and sweat were palpable. People—mostly men—moved among the machines and free weights. Someone dropped a large weight and it hit the mat with a loud thud. She scanned the room until she found the man she’d come to see.
AID Detective Ross Reid, the lead investigator on the Kelly Lee automobile accident, sat on a bench, a dumbbell gripped in his right hand, doing curls. His face was a grimace of concentration. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. His biceps muscle bulged.
She headed toward him and he looked up, seeing her. He let out a breath and placed the dumbbell next to his right sneaker.
“Detective Emily Graham.” He watched her, didn’t smile as he said her name. “Safe to say you’re not here to work out, wearing that.”
She was wearing her unofficial uniform, a dark gray pants-suit. “I heard this was the place to find you.”
“From who?”
Graham sat beside him on the bench. It was awkward, but not as awkward as standing over him. “Can you talk for a minute?”
“Now? Here?”
“I wanted to talk to you off the record.”
“Why?”
Good question. Graham wasn’t really sure what she was doing here, and the thought of leaving was becoming more attractive by the second.
Reid picked up a towel and wiped his face. “You homicide detectives think you run the whole department.”
“I don’t think that.”
“But you think you can disturb me during my personal time.”
“I only need a couple minutes.”
“Right. I’m sure.”
She felt her fist clench in response to his sarcastic tone. She forced her hand to relax. “You concluded that there was no foul play in Kelly Lee’s accident.”
“That’s what you want to talk about?”
Actually, it was the last thing on Earth she wanted to talk about, but she said, “I’m just surprised by how quickly your unit was able to close the investigation.”
“Easy. There was nothing to investigate.” He wiped his face again.
“But you’re aware she was threatened shortly before the crash?”
Reid looked at her. His lip curled. “Did you seriously come here to question my investigation?”
“I’m not questioning it.”
“She wasn’t threatened. She told the police that she felt threatened. There’s a difference.”
Graham nodded. “That’s true. Did you investigate that angle?”
“What angle? Her feelings?”
“Yes.”
He stared at her for another few seconds—enough time for Graham to mentally ask herself again what the hell she was doing—and then he let out a derisive laugh. “I guess a brilliant homicide detective like you would have handled it differently, huh?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just asking.”
“The bitch crashed. End of story.”
Graham flinched. The reaction seemed to make Reid happy. He smirked at her.
“Why do you call her a bitch?” Graham said.
“You know why.”
“You dislike her because of her lawsuits against the Department?”
“Of course. She hurt a lot of good cops.”
“I know that.” Graham debated confiding in him—the guy was certainly not a person she enjoyed talking to—but decided to do it in an attempt to establish rapport. “One of her police misconduct claims was about me.”
“Really?” Reid turned slightly on the bench, facing her, and his expression softened. She was relieved to see the change.
“Even us brilliant homicide detectives aren’t immune,” she said.
“Was there any truth in the claim?”
“None at all.”
“Department settled?”
Graham nodded. “That’s how it works.”
“Lawyers suck.”
“A lot of them do,” she said. “There are some decent ones out there.”
Reid shook his head. “Few and far between, if you ask me.”
“What about the explosion?” Graham said. “Lee lost control of the car, collided with a building. I get that. But then her car explodes? Her body parts go flying? That doesn’t seem typical.”
He turned away. “Maybe not typical, but that’s what happened.”
“You looked for evidence of some kind of bomb, or accelerant?”
“Why are you asking me these questions, Detective?”
“I want to know.”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing to know, okay? Lee died in an accident. Case closed.”
“I understand, but did you look into possible causes for such a big explosion? You didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t have to answer your questions.” He looked at the dumbbell at his feet, then lifted it, stood up, and returned it to the rack. Apparently he’d decided that his workout was over. He turned back to her. “You said this conversation is off the record.”
“That’s right.”
“Good. Keep it that way. Trust me, we’ll both be better off.”
“What does that mean?”
He was already heading away from her, toward the door to the locker rooms. Either he didn’t hear the question, or he chose not to respond.
11
Finding a new lawyer for the Rowlands, when she didn’t even have the case file or access to all of the facts, was not going to be easy. She decided her first stop should be the Court of Common Pleas, located inside City Hall, where the judge assigned to the Rowlands’ case could tell her the status. Looking online, she found out that the judge was a woman named Cynthia Dax.
As a prosecutor, Jessie spent plenty of time in the hallways and courtrooms of Philadelphia’s Juanita Kidd Stout Center for Criminal Justice—commonly referred to as the CJC—but she’d never practiced a day of civil litigation, so the Court of Common Pleas was foreign territory to her. She didn’t know her way around, knew none of the staff, and had never met Judge Dax. She tried not to let any of this intimidate her as she made her way through the building’s hallways.
Jessie knocked on the door of Judge Cynthia Dax’s chambers. No one responded. She tried to look casual as she pressed her ear to the dark wood. She couldn’t hear anything through the door. A few men in suits walked past her with suspicious glances. She straightened up, feeling awkward and self-conscious.
She knocked again. Maybe she should have tried to do this by phone, b
ut it had seemed more appropriate to talk about Kelly’s death face-to-face. She was considering what to do next when the judge’s door swung open.
A woman emerged and almost bumped into Jessie. “Watch it. You’re in my way.” The woman strode past her.
“Wait. My name is Jessie Black.” Jessie followed the billowing black robe, hurrying to catch up. “Judge Dax, please.”
The judge stopped and turned. She had long, blonde hair that looked incongruously youthful framing her weathered, creased face. Her pale gray eyes seemed to regard Jessie with annoyance.
“I need to talk to you about the Rowland case.”
The judge’s expression seemed to harden. “I don’t have time right now.”
“I only need a few minutes. I was a friend of Kelly Lee. I’m not sure if you’ve heard about her accident.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, but I really need to—”
“I’ve spoken with the Rowlands. I’m hoping you can bring me up to speed on the status of their lawsuit. We should discuss assigning them new counsel—”
“Lurking outside my chambers so you can ambush me in the hallway is hardly the right way to get assigned as their lawyer.”
Jessie felt her frustration begin to build. “I’m an assistant DA. I’m not here looking to get assigned as counsel myself. I’m just here to find out the status and—”
“There is no status. I haven’t ruled on either motion yet. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going.”
“Either motion?”
The judge let out a frustrated sigh. “Ms. Lee moved the Court to certify a class so that she could proceed with a class action lawsuit against the defendants. The defense opposed the motion and moved for summary judgment.”
Jessie tried to absorb the information before Judge Dax could leave. She had almost no knowledge of the laws or procedures involved in a class action suit, but she knew generally how motion practice worked. “Did the parties submit briefs in support of these motions?”
Jessie figured that certifying a class must be one of the first steps in a class action suit, so the trial must still be at a very early stage. Kelly was seeking the court’s approval to represent not just the Rowlands, but everyone harmed by Boffo’s dangerous products, and Boffo was opposing the request. Boffo’s motion for summary judgment was an attempt to get the whole case tossed out without a trial, on the basis that the Rowlands had no legitimate legal case. Reading the briefs would give Jessie a much better understanding of the case and help her pitch it to potential lawyers.
“You ask a lot of questions, Ms. Black.” The judge resumed her march down the hallway. Jessie had to jog to keep up with her.
“When were the motions filed?”
“A few days ago.”
“Did the parties present arguments at a hearing?”
“A hearing hasn’t been scheduled yet.”
“May I see the briefs in support of the motions?”
“No, you may not,” Judge Dax said, rounding on her suddenly with an angry glare. “The pleadings have been sealed as confidential by motion of the defense. Now, like I said, I have somewhere important to be. I assume you do, too.”
Jessie didn’t understand the woman’s hostility. She searched for the right words. “What about finding new legal counsel for the Rowlands?”
“That’s their problem, isn’t it? Maybe criminal defendants are entitled to free legal counsel, but personal injury plaintiffs are not.”
“I didn’t say free. I’m sure a lot of local lawyers would be interested in stepping in.”
“I doubt it.”
“The case sounded pretty strong when Kelly described it to me.”
“I guess that’s why I’m a judge and you’re not.”
The judge strode away, leaving Jessie even more stunned than before. What the judge had implied—that other lawyers wouldn’t want to take on the Rowlands’ case—seemed at odds with what Kelly had told her about the strength of the case against Boffo, but Jessie wasn’t up to speed on the laws at issue. She was out of her depth.
At least she’d learned the basic status of the case. Walking out of City Hall, she mentally reviewed the lawyers she knew you might have the qualifications to take on the case.
12
The temperature outside City Hall had dropped, and Jessie felt a chill as she walked away from the entrance. She turned away from the traffic, pressed her phone to her ear, and called a personal injury lawyer named Bud Derren, whom she’d heard speak at a legal conference a few months before.
“I’m the one who complained about the lack of coffee,” she reminded him.
“I remember you.” His voice sounded chipper. “How can I help?”
“I don’t know if you heard, but Kelly Lee was recently in a fatal car accident.”
“I did hear that.” The sounds of the city around her made hearing difficult, but she thought a note of sadness in his voice.
“I’m trying to help some of her clients find new counsel.” She gave him a brief summary of the Rowlands’ claims.
“I’m going to pass,” Derren said.
“Pass? Why?”
“My docket is really full at the moment.”
“Too full for a case where you bring down a powerful company harming children? Think of the free advertising, if nothing else.”
A car horn blocked out his response. Jessie took a few steps away from the busy street and pressed her phone harder against her ear. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m outside. Can you say that again?”
“Why are you outside?”
She thought about Warren’s admonition not to interfere in the Kelly Lee matter and felt a twinge of misgiving, as if she were sneaking around—which she supposed she was. “Just multitasking,” she said vaguely.
“I said, it’s not about publicity. Believe me, I love kids and if it was in my power, I would punish every company and person who dared to put money ahead of a child’s well-being. But what you need to understand is that I practice personal injury law on a contingent fee basis. My firm invests thousands—often tens of thousands—of its own money in a case, but we only get paid if we win, because our fees ultimately come out of a damages verdict or a settlement. Taking a case is like making a bet, and to survive in my world you need to be a savvy gambler. If I had the confidence that this case was a good bet—or just an even bet for that matter—I’d jump on it. But going up against a company with a huge war chest, before a judge like Judge Dax? I’m not going to take a bet like that.”
Jessie’s chest tightened. Hearing a respected lawyer describe the adjudication of the legal rights of grieving parents as gambling and betting disturbed her, but she pushed aside her distaste. What mattered was helping the Rowlands. “Is there anyone you can think of who would be a good match for this case?”
“I can give you a few names, but don’t get your hopes up.”
His warning was apt, and her other calls were similarly unsuccessful. No one seemed interested in picking up the Rowlands’ case. The local personal injury lawyers were familiar with Judge Cynthia Dax, who was apparently known to be sympathetic to corporate defendants. The deep pockets of Boffo Products Corporation didn’t make the scenario any more appealing. No one she spoke with seemed to think taking the case would be a smart business move.
The conversations left Jessie feeling confused. When she and Kelly had spoken, Kelly had made it sound like the Rowlands’ case was a sure thing, but now it seemed Kelly had been taking a big chance on the Rowlands. She remembered something Kelly had said. The Rowlands’ case is different. Do you understand? The Rowland case is a chance for me to actually do something good.
Out of other options, Jessie took a deep breath and called the only other personal injury lawyer she could think of. Noah Snyder.
The aging, silver-haired lawyer had been a thorn in Jessie’s side more often than he’d been an ally, but she knew him to be smart, resourceful, and, most importantly, non-discriminating. He handled criminal matters
, personal injury claims, workers compensation cases, trusts and estates, and anything else that walked through the door of his low-rent legal practice carrying a checkbook or a credit card. He rented space in a shoddy building a few blocks from the criminal courthouse, where he employed a slew of young associates whose only common trait was an inability to find a better job. He worked these people to the bone while paying them the bare minimum and doing as little work as possible himself.
But Jessie had seen him negotiate excellent plea agreements for criminal clients. She’d been on the other side of several of those negotiations and had been surprised as he outmaneuvered her. She knew he preferred settling to trying cases, but he had no qualms sending his underlings into court. If she could interest anyone in picking up the Rowlands’ case, it might be Snyder. She had no choice now but to try.
“Jessie Black.” The sound of his voice made her instantly question her decision to call him, but there was no turning back now. “Do I have a case pending against you? I don’t remember—”
“No, actually. I need to talk to you about something else.”
“Sure, what is it? I hope you’re not fundraising because I don’t…. Hold on a sec.” She heard voices on the other end of the line and realized she didn’t have his full attention.
“Are you in your office, Noah? Let me come visit you. We can discuss this in person.”
“Discuss what?”
“I’ll be there soon.”
Ten minutes later, Snyder’s receptionist, a pleasant woman named Danielle, greeted her in the lobby. She buzzed Snyder. He arrived a moment later with a smirk she was all too familiar with. “Never thought I’d see you inside my humble headquarters, Black. Want a tour?”
She had not come to sightsee, but figured, what the hell? She’d always been curious about this place. “Sure, Noah.”
He led her from the lobby into an open-floor environment where his worker bees crouched in tiny cubicles cranking away at their cases. The windows were closed to the autumn chill, and the stuffy air reeked of printer toner, fast food, and sweat. Jessie felt bad for the lawyers here, who’d fought their way through law school only to wind up slaving away in this dungeon. Snyder ushered her into his own office, and it was like stepping into a completely different building.
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