by Diane Capri
“Willa, you’ve got to get out more. Carolyn Young was in love with him for years. Their affair was current, but her lust wasn’t. In the old days, you had to stand in line to screw Michael Morgan. I’ll bet he slept with every woman in that church.” Dr. Aymes turned to look first straight at Kate and then pointedly toward Cilla Worthington.
Cilla hadn’t heard the comment, and Kate returned Dr. Aymes’ stare, although she blushed deep crimson. Then Kate looked away while Aymes was still staring at her.
“You’re just trying to make me jealous, Marilee,” George, ever the gentleman, said as he took first Kate’s arm and then mine. He started down the steps, pulling us along. “But it’s much too pretty a day to dwell on it.” We dropped Kate off at home and then went back to Minaret.
Later in the day, I was in the den when I heard voices. I recognized George and I thought I recognized Chief Hathaway with him. I folded up the newspapers and turned on the television.
George and Ben came into the room and Ben seemed less angry with me than the last time I’d seen him. After asking me how I was feeling, Ben sat down in the same chair he’d taken last time and George offered to get us both some fresh coffee, leaving the two of us alone in the living room. Now, wasn’t that convenient?
“I’ll come right to the point. Someone trashed both Dr. Morgan’s and Carly Austin’s apartment, in the same way, obviously looking for the same thing. I don’t think they found it. Dr. Morgan is dead, but Carly Austin isn’t, which is not to say she won’t be if I don’t find her before the killer does. If you have any idea where she is, you need to let me know that so that I can keep her from getting killed.” He spoke calmly, rationally, but not convincingly.
I looked at Hathaway closely. He’s probably been a cop too long to betray his true intentions, and I wasn’t at all sure whether I believed he was trying to help Carly or arrest her. I knew he was waiting for my analysis to conclude that even if he arrested her, she’d be better off than if her pursuer found her first. The wheels in my head were still turning, albeit slowly. Maybe I would live after all.
“She left a voice mail on my machine saying that she was going to Minnesota and she’d call me when she got back.” I could see that this news caused him some serious agitation, but he was trying to control his temper. I didn’t tell him I thought the message was another of Carly’s lies.
“Look,” I said, “Don’t shoot the messenger. You asked me if I’d heard from her, I told you what I know. Don’t you think I understand she’s better off in jail than she is dead?”
I was really running out of patience with this guy. I didn’t get to be a federal court judge at the age of thirty-six because I’m stupid. We might be out of each other’s jurisdiction, but he certainly wasn’t winning any points with me, either.
“All right,” he ran his hand over his head, through his thick, dark hair in obvious frustration. His hair looked like it was used to this treatment. It was wavy and constantly messed up. “What would she be going to Minnesota for? What’s in Minnesota? Does she have family there, or did Dr. Morgan have family there? You know her. What’s she doing?”
I thought I heard preaching in his voice. I hate it when people try to manipulate me. “Don’t you think I’ve been asking myself that same question ever since I got the message? It might help if we knew what she and Dr. Morgan were talking to one another about. Have you been able to shed any light on that?”
Let’s just put the burden back where it belongs, I thought. He didn’t like it. He was having difficulty conducting a civil conversation. At that point, George walked back in and tried to diffuse the situation.
“Ben,” George said, “I think she might have gone to the Mayo Clinic. I read in Dr. Morgan’s obituary that he trained there. Carly doesn’t have any connection with the Mayo Clinic and she didn’t go for business, did she?”
“I checked with her boss. He said she hadn’t been in to work in three days and it was most unlike her. He didn’t know where she was, or at least he said he didn’t. Your Mayo Clinic theory makes as much sense as anything else, George. I’ll check it out.”
Hathaway got up to leave. “Wait a minute,” I said. “What about my question? Have you found out what she and Morgan were working on or why they were communicating with each other?”
He studied me for a long time. “Okay,” he finally said. “The only thing that makes sense to me is that they were working on some aspect of this breast implant litigation. Her company, MedPro, derived about fifty percent of its revenue in the 1980s from the sale of breast implants. They’ve been selling them in Britain and France following the FDA moratorium here in this country. The lawsuits were threatening to put the company under. I think Dr. Morgan and Carly Austin were working on a strategy to defend the claims.”
I let out a long breath of air I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Let’s just suppose that’s true, why would that have gotten him killed?”
Hathaway looked at me as if the rumors of my intelligence had been greatly exaggerated. “The first rule of police work, Wilhelmina—follow the money,” he said as he walked out. I was beginning to hope that he found Carly soon because that would mean I could stop talking to him all together. Maybe forever. I made a mental note to take him off our guest list.
George apologized for getting angry earlier and I promised not to take any more chances with what he called facetiously, my “pretty little head.” I had to laugh at that, and the laughter made my head hurt. George is the farthest thing from a chauvinist I’ve ever met.
After we had the coffee, I turned in for the night. Since he’d already canceled my trial for tomorrow, I’d take advantage of the break.
I skipped my run the next morning. I was beginning to feel closer to normal, but not up to pounding of any kind. I dressed in a denim shirt, chinos and my black Cole Haan flats and, after breakfast, drove myself to the office. Some federal district court judges have law clerks who act as chauffeurs, but I really enjoy driving Greta. I’ve been told she’s too flashy for me to drive now that I’m on the bench. If you’re from Detroit, cars are the essence of life itself. How could I give up Greta just for a job?
As I went over the bridge off Plant Key away from Minaret, I turned right onto Bayshore heading toward downtown. I was impressed, as I always am, with the view. Hillsborough Bay, particularly along the Bayshore, is truly beautiful. Not many years ago, the Hillsborough River, the Bay and Tampa Bay were completely dead. After a massive clean-up campaign, fish, dolphins, rays and manatee are regularly spotted in all three waters. In fact, the Tampa Downtown Partnership sponsors an annual fishing tournament, giving prizes to the largest fish caught in the downtown area. Thankfully, there are fish to catch. You can eat them, too, if you’re brave enough.
The drive down Bayshore, over the Platt Street Bridge, toward the Convention Center is one of my daily pleasures. I could feel my mood lightening and I actually felt better physically. Downtown Tampa, once a ghost town, is making a comeback. There is the one new office building at Jackson Street, Landmark Tower, where O’Connell Worthington has his offices. A series of storefronts and Sacred Heart Church makes up the four block stretch to the Federal Building housing the federal courthouse. But on the other side of Platt Street, the Lightning play hockey in their new arena. A convention hotel is planned, Garrison Sea Port houses cruise ships and the Tampa Aquarium’s glass dome lights the sky.
The Federal Building itself is circa 1920. In 1920, the Middle District of Florida was a much smaller place than it is now that what we Floridians affectionately call “the Black Rat” has moved into Orlando. The building is old, decrepit and much too small for the district’s current needs. A new Federal Building is under construction, but for a while yet, we have to make do with small courtrooms and crowded conditions.
As the most junior judge on the bench, in terms of seniority, age and the CJ’s affection, I have the least desirable location. It’s the RHIP rule; I have no rank and no privilege. My courtroom an
d chambers are on the third floor, in the back. Getting there from the parking garage helps me keep my schoolgirl figure.
I pulled into my reserved spot and parked Greta illegally across two parking places. Building security got the meter maid to write me a ticket the first time they found my car parked like this, and I smiled remembering that I personally vacated it. I may have no rank with the CJ, but I certainly rank higher than a meter maid. This parking garage was built with the very minimum allowable tolerances. There is just no way I’m going to park Greta where she can be hit by other car doors. If the building loses revenue, they should have thought of that when they were marking off the spaces. If all the spaces were large enough to hold a Greyhound bus, we’d all have enough room, wouldn’t we?
When I got to my office, there was still no word from Carly. I did some paperwork, and rescheduled the Jones v. General Medics case to start again tomorrow. Then I went home and went straight to bed.
The next morning, the hours dragged on interminably. My mind was definitely not on the trial and I kept thinking about where Carly could possibly be, when she would return and whether she’d be dead or alive.
By the time I recessed the trial at 4:30, the inactivity was driving me crazy. Off the record, but in open court, I said “Mr. Grover, I want to see you in my chambers. Mr. Worthington, I represent to you that I don’t want to discuss anything related to the case with him and I will not hear anything related to the case from him. If you want me to declare a mistrial and you can appeal this ex parte communication, all you have to do is ask.”
I could see O’Connell’s astonished face as I hurried off the bench, while he shouted toward my back, “Judge, this is most irregular!” And Grover was simultaneously exclaiming “Judge, you’ll create reversible error in my trial.” I ignored them both.
When Grover came into my chambers, I had removed my robe and was sitting behind my desk. He came in somewhat gingerly, not knowing what to expect. When he sat down in the ugly olive green client chair across from me, I studied him a long moment before saying anything.
Grover looked worse than I had ever seen him. His sartorial excellence is legendary. He usually dresses like Armani is his personal tailor. He usually looked every inch the successful lawyer and I could see why other attorneys would refer their big cases to him. He was well known, successful and a formidable adversary. I didn’t care about any of that.
“Christian, I’ve known you a long time. We’ve never seen eye to eye on cases or politics and I don’t care. I know you’re deep into this breast implant business and you have several suits pending against MedPro. Do you have any idea where Carly Austin is?”
I watched him closely. I didn’t expect him to tell me the truth, but I was hoping that I would be able to tell whether he was lying. He was a good poker player. He appeared astonished at the question, with just the right touch of puzzlement. All trial lawyers are actors on some level and Grover was in the top ten percent of the local performers.
“Judge, I don’t even know who Carly Austin is.”
“What you don’t know, Christian, is that I know Carly very well. So I know that she clerked in your firm when she was in law school. You definitely know who she is. What I want to know is whether you know where she is. And now that you’ve lied to me once, I’m not sure I’ll believe you no matter what you say. But answer the question anyway.”
“I’m not clear just exactly what right you have to ask me this question, Judge Carson. Carly Austin, and any relationship I may or may not have with her, has nothing to do with you. I know she’s a friend of yours, but that doesn’t give you any right to pry into her personal life.” His indignation may have been genuine, but it’s hard to say.
“Are you saying that you and Carly have a personal relationship of some kind?” I was incredulous. The possibility not only of Carly having a relationship with Grover, but that she would have a relationship with him and not tell me, was very disturbing. How far was she going to take this rebellious teenager stuff, anyway?
“What I am telling you, Judge Carson, is that it’s none of your business. If you have some professional reason for asking me, which I can’t imagine in the light of the fact that you told Mr. Worthington you would not be asking me ex parte questions about this case, then tell me what it is. If you’re asking me on a personal basis, I don’t have the kind of personal relationship with you that would make me answer that. I don’t intend to discuss my personal relationships with you. If Carly wants to tell you, she will. Why don’t you ask her?” He was belligerent now, feeling he was on firmer ground.
“I would if I knew where she was.” I snapped.
“Just as I thought,” he snorted. “You’re not as close to her as you’d like to believe. If you don’t have anything else related to the case, Judge, I do have to prepare for my next witness.” We sat there staring across the desk, measuring each other for a few moments until he got up and left. Without my permission.
If I hadn’t heard the Junior story, I’d have said it wasn’t possible that Carly could be involved in a personal relationship with Christian Grover. Apparently, Carly’s taste in men runs from the unsuitable to the unthinkable. As the corporate counsel of a defendant in the breast implant cases, Carly’s relationship with a notorious plaintiff’s attorney bringing cases against her company would have been enough to get her fired if not disbarred. But then, maybe that’s why she hadn’t told me about it. Being sexually disgraced in a town where everyone knows everything about you might have snuck up on her the first time. She wouldn’t allow that to happen again. She didn’t tell anyone about it. And maybe that’s why she was so reluctant to pass on Dr. Morgan’s theories to her superiors at MedPro. Maybe she didn’t want Dr. Morgan to be right.
Poor kid, what a dilemma. If she chose her job, she lost her lover and if she chose her lover, she lost her job. For Carly, who apparently believed she had nothing else, either choice would be an impossible one. I could feel my Mighty Mouse tendencies creeping up again.
If I gave this information to Ben Hathaway, he would believe he was right, that Carly did kill Dr. Morgan. It wouldn’t be the first time love prevailed over ethics. His view would be cast in concrete. He’d likely arrest Carly on sight. If she’d killed Morgan either for love or money, her motive wouldn’t matter to Chief Hathaway.
And what about Grover? If he knew where Carly was, that would explain his lack of concern over my questions. Of course, that would be true whether she was dead or alive.
I turned it over and over in my head, and I could think of no reasonable alternative but to tell Hathaway. But if I did that, Carly would be arrested and charged with Dr. Morgan’s murder. I had to concede, at least to myself, that Carly might be involved in a sexual relationship with Grover. He could be wickedly charming and certainly had enough conquests to prove it. Carly had so little experience that the attention of a rich and powerful lawyer like Grover would certainly have impressed her.
But I knew Carly wasn’t capable of murder and the way she reacted when she described the murder scene to me convinced me that she hadn’t killed Dr. Morgan. I thought she knew, or at least she believed she knew who had killed him. But what I didn’t know was why. Did Carly believe Christian Grover killed Michael Morgan? It was a plausible reason for her behavior. She believed Grover did it and she wanted to protect him. But did he kill Morgan? And, if he did, why? Wasn’t Morgan worth more to Grover alive?
This is the point where Mighty Mouse is stuffed into the box and thrown into the ocean. Until I could figure it out, I wasn’t turning over this piece of information to Chief Hathaway or anyone else. He already had enough incriminating evidence anyway. If withholding this piece, which I only suspected and couldn’t confirm until I found Carly, put the final nail in my impeachment coffin, I’d just see how well I could adjust to unemployment.
I recessed the case for the day. The best way to keep my job, help Carly, and confirm or disprove that her lover was a killer, was to do some investigat
ion into the business of breast implant litigation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Tampa, Florida
Thursday 5:20 p.m.
January 21, 1999
FOLLOW THE MONEY, HATHAWAY had said. I asked my law clerk to bring me a list of all of the breast implant cases I had currently pending on my docket together with the names of the attorneys and law firms representing both parties. She ran the request through the computer and had it for me in thirty minutes.
I was surprised at how many cases I actually had. The computer list was ten pages long. I asked her to sort the cases by lawyer and defendant. The list I got back reflected the majority of the plaintiffs’ cases were being handled by Grover and his partner, Fred Johnson. Only one or two other plaintiffs’ firms were represented and then they only handled one or two cases.
On the defense side, there were about five firms listed. The majority of the cases appeared to be against two corporate defendants and one individual, Dr. Michael Morgan. Each of those defendants was represented by E. O’Connell Worthington. The remaining third of the cases against various defendants were represented by as many defense firms.
Most of the cases had been filed more than two years, and involved a husband and wife as plaintiffs. One case was noteworthy, however, because it was a class action, listing the individual names of more than 350 plaintiffs and the defendants were each of the named manufacturers. In the 350 plaintiff case, all of the manufacturers were represented by one defense counsel, E. O’Connell Worthington. Plaintiffs’ counsel was Grover.
I then looked at the trial calendar. Because 95% of all civil cases settle, I schedule about twenty trials a week during my jury term and twenty-five trials a week during non-jury term. There were 10-15 breast implant trials scheduled every jury term for the next twelve months.
The class action case was scheduled for trial six months hence. As many cases as were still on my docket, more than twice that many had been transferred to Federal Court in Georgia to the multi-district litigation being handled by my good friend, Judge Franklin. I had no idea what was happening with Judge Franklin’s cases, and I called him. Miraculously, he was available to speak to me.
