“Start with the meeting place. He insisted on coming out here to the law school.”
“Nice show of deference,” Rosenbloom said.
Dulcie nodded. “Exactly. More important, he'd done his homework, or he had someone do it. He knew about my relationship with Judith. He knew about her volunteer work at the clinic. He knew about her rocky relationship with her father, and how guilty her father must have felt about her death. And he knew all the right buttons to push with me. At one point during our discussions, he suggested that as part of the settlement his client might be willing to make a donation to the clinic in Judith's name.”
Rosenbloom whistled in appreciation. “He's a slick bastard.”
“Did he seem suspicious?” Hirsch asked.
“He pretended he wasn't,” she said, “but he was. He has this laid-back manner when he asks certain questions, but you can tell it's all a facade. He asked me when I first heard about the lawsuit. He wanted to know whether I'd known either of you before and how you selected me as the additional attorney.”
“What did you tell him?” Hirsch asked.
“I kept it general enough to be truthful without telling him anything important. I said I found out about the lawsuit when you came to talk to me about Judith. I told him we'd never met before. I told him on the morning of the competency hearing I received a phone call from one of you. I couldn't remember which. I said whoever called asked whether I'd be willing to enter my appearance as an additional attorney to give the court some comfort about Mr. Shifrin's representation. He wanted to know what our financial arrangement was on the case and I told him we hadn't discussed it yet.”
“Was he satisfied with your answers?” Hirsch asked.
“He acted like he was.” She paused, shaking her head. “Who knows? Marvin Guttner is a formidable adversary. He can do the soothing voice and the pleasant smile and the cozy manner, but he can't do anything about those eyes.”
Hirsch nodded. “Ice cold.”
Rosenbloom said, “Enough with the psychoanalysis. Do we have a settlement?”
“We might be close,” she said. “I went through the whole routine and told him I couldn't see recommending a settlement for less than six figures. He winced and pretended that it might be difficult to get his client to go that high. I told him I'd seen better acting in my son's junior high school play.”
“Nice,” Rosenbloom said, grinning. He winked at Hirsch. “This woman is good.”
“I warned him that we'd need more than money to settle. We'd still need some form of vindication.”
“And?” Rosenbloom.
“That's when he suggested the contribution to the clinic. I told him it was a nice gesture, but that we needed something more direct. He told me that an admission of liability was out of the question because it could hurt him in other cases. I suggested an apology. He thought that might be tough to get for the same reason, but he said he would talk to his client. I told him I would talk to you.”
Hirsch glanced over at Rosenbloom, who shrugged and said, “Works for me.”
“One more thing,” Dulcie said. “He told me that once the case settled, all work had to stop. He said that you two would have to sign an agreement to cease all work on any personal injury matter having to do with Peterson Tire and you'd have to turn over your entire investigation file to him.”
“You got to be shitting me,” Rosenbloom said.
“Did he say why?” Hirsch asked.
“He said Peterson Tire didn't want plaintiffs' lawyers out there drumming up new cases based on what they'd learned in a prior case or peddling their files to other personal injury lawyers. He told me it was nonnegotiable. He said that every settlement agreement had to include that provision along with a clause requiring the lawyer to pay Peterson Tire a sum equal to one-half the settlement amount as liquidated damages for a breach of that provision.”
Hirsch looked at Rosenbloom. Neither said a thing. Hirsch turned back to Dulcie.
“Anything over a hundred grand is fine on the money,” he told her. “We'll want some form of an apology. I also like the idea of a donation in her name.”
“How much?” she asked.
“Whatever you think is fair.”
“Okay,” she said. “But what about that attorney provision?”
“I'll sign it,” Hirsch said.
Dulcie frowned. “Are you sure?”
“I'm no longer investigating a wrongful death case involving Peterson Tire. I'm investigating a wrongful death case involving Brendan McCormick.”
“Speaking of which,” Dulcie asked, “has your friend Jumbo been able to find Judith's e-mails?”
Hirsch said, “I haven't heard from him since he left St. Louis. I hope he's still looking. I really want that one from the file clerk in Peterson's legal department. What was her name?”
“Carmen Moldano,” Dulcie said.
He turned to Rosenbloom “She's the one Judith visited in Knoxville. About a week later, she sent Judith an e-mail with a new address and phone number for Ruth Jones.”
“Whose last name may no longer be Jones,” Dulcie said.
The two men looked at her.
Dulcie said, “Carmen said the reason Ruth moved to Chicago was to get married. That's where her fiancé lived. She doesn't know his name, though. Unfortunately, she doesn't have access to any current information on Ruth because Carmen doesn't work at Peterson Tire anymore.”
“When did you learn all this?” Hirsch asked.
“Today.”
“You talked to her?”
“I didn't.”
“Who did?”
Dulcie gazed at him. “Your daughter.”
Rosenbloom tapped his horn once and waved to them as he pulled away. They waved back, standing side by side in front of the law school.
The night was clear, and there was a half moon overhead. Their breath vapored in the chilly March air as they watched the black Cadillac drive off.
Hirsch had been too upset to respond to the news of his daughter's involvement. Rosenbloom jumped into the awkward silence by claiming he had to get home for something. Hirsch wasn't listening. It was all a flurry, and now he was gone.
Dulcie turned to Hirsch. The moonlight highlighted the curls in her hair.
“How?” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.
“She asked if she could help.”
“How did she even—”
“She asked me what I was doing in the case. I told her.”
“How much?”
“Just the wrongful death part.”
Hirsch's thoughts roiled as he walked her toward her car.
“What did she think was the purpose of calling that woman in Knoxville?”
“I told her you were trying to put together a list of former employees who might be worth interviewing if the case didn't settle. I told her that Ruth was an ex-employee we were having trouble locating. I explained that we didn't want anyone at Peterson Tire to know that we were looking for her. I had her pretend to be the younger sister of an old friend of Ruth. It went fine.”
“Dulcie, I don't want Lauren involved in this.”
“She wanted to help you, David.”
“I understand. Look, I'd love any good excuse to work with my daughter. But not this case, Dulcie. It isn't what she thinks it is. I'm not even sure I know what it is.”
“She wants to make a connection, David. She's an adult.”
“She's also my daughter.”
“Exactly. Where's the harm?”
“You don't understand my point. She's my daughter. That's the point. I don't want my child involved in this case. And after the settlement, I don't want you involved either.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” There was an edge in her voice.
“It means I don't know where this case is headed anymore. I thought the stakes were high enough when we were dealing with just a possible homicide, but now—”
He shook his head. “Now they seem even
higher. This case was my responsibility at the beginning, and it still is. It isn't yours, and it isn't Lauren's.”
“All because of an unidentified set of headlights?”
“Yes,” he said, surprised by the force of his voice.
Dulcie studied him.
“Look,” he said in a softer voice, “I've hurt my daughters more than enough for one lifetime. What's done is done, and I can't undo it. But I can try to prevent any further harm. If there's even a slight chance that someone is out there following me, I don't want Lauren—or you—anywhere near this case. I don't want either of you at risk.”
She smiled as she reached into her purse for the car keys. “Our protector.”
“More like your endangerer.”
She looked up at him for a moment. Then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently, slowly, on the lips.
“You can be my protector,” she whispered.
He'd been imagining that kiss almost from the moment he saw her enter the coffeehouse that first afternoon. It was even better than he'd imagined.
She leaned back, the moonlight shimmering in her dark eyes.
“That was nice,” she said.
He stared into her eyes, unable to talk, not sure what he was doing, knowing that they hadn't resolved what they needed to resolve.
But none of that mattered. He leaned forward to kiss her. Her eyes closed as their lips touched. They kissed, no part of them touching except for their lips.
The kiss ended.
Her eyes opened. She smiled.
Silently, they turned toward her car. She opened the door and looked back at him.
“Good night, David.”
“Good night, Dulcie.”
The idiocy of the kiss struck him as he was watched her drive off.
What was he thinking?
Or not thinking?
He scanned the parking lot. There were about two dozen parked cars scattered around the lot. He scrutinized them one by one as he walked toward his car. He didn't see anyone in any of the cars, but it was hard to be sure in the dark. Someone could have been ducking down inside one of the cars.
He got in his car, started the engine, and drove toward the exit, all the while glancing in his rearview mirror, watching the parked cars, watching for movement. He stopped at the exit and turned around, scanning the lot again, looking for the sign of exhaust vapor. He didn't see any.
He faced forward, checked the traffic, glanced again in his rearview mirror, and pulled out of the parking lot.
CHAPTER 33
They waited in silence as Judge Ann Burke read through the settlement papers. Ken Felts and Dulcie Lorenz stood at the podium—Dulcie on the left, Felts on the right. She stood almost a head taller than Felts. Hirsch stood to Dulcie's left. Arrayed on the other side of Felts were Marvin Guttner and then Jack Bellows and then Elizabeth Purcell. They were a trio of contrasts: Purcell earnest and attentive and oblivious to the real drama; Bellows tense and struggling to suppress his irritation; and Guttner tranquil, heavy-lidded eyes half-closed, liver-colored lips sagging open, as if he'd just finished eating a particularly tasty young associate.
Two weeks had elapsed since Dulcie's first settlement meeting with Guttner. They'd met again five days later—the day after the parties and the court received the report from Dr. Nemes, the examining physician. The doctor had run a battery of tests on Abe Shifrin and concluded that his Alzheimer's disease had progressed to stage five, which rendered him unfit to live alone. Hirsch had no basis to challenge the doctor's opinion. In truth, he'd been relieved to be able to get his client into an assisted living environment under the watchful eye of professional caretakers. He and Dulcie arranged for Shifrin to be moved that weekend to a room at the Jewish Center for the Aged, which is where he now resided.
With Shifrin medically eliminated from the settlement loop, Dulcie quickly hammered out a deal. The judge seemed pleased with her results.
“So you will wire-transfer the settlement payment?” Judge Burke asked.
Guttner nodded, his lower jaw disappearing into the ample flesh of his double chin. “Promptly upon the Court's approval, Your Honor.”
Judge Burke looked at Dulcie. “You've agreed on one hundred and twenty thousand dollars.”
“We believe that is a fair amount,” Dulcie said to her, “especially given some of the other settlement terms.”
The judge nodded. “Such as the fifty-thousand-dollar donation to your family justice clinic.”
“Actually, it's a grant, Your Honor. We will use the money to establish the Judith Shifrin Internship. The principal should generate enough income to fund an annual summer internship for a law student at the clinic.”
The judge nodded again, clearly pleased.
Dulcie said, “In addition, Your Honor, you will note that paragraph eight of the settlement agreement includes an expression of sorrow and regret by Peterson Tire for the death of Ms. Shifrin.”
“I did read that, Ms. Lorenz. I confess that I've never seen such a provision.”
“Nor have I,” Dulcie said. “Our challenge was to craft a settlement that reflected Mr. Shifrin's stated purpose. When he originally retained David Hirsch to file the lawsuit, he told him that his purpose was to find a way to preserve his daughter's memory, both in the minds of the defendants and in the minds of others. Although two of the defendants refused to participate in that portion of the settlement, Peterson Tire stepped forward. Mr. Guttner was quite helpful in that regard.”
She gestured toward Guttner, who acknowledged it with a magnanimous nod.
“As a result,” Dulcie continued, “we have been able to reach a settlement of the lawsuit that I believe comes as close as possible to achieving Mr. Shifrin's original purpose in filing it. I strongly recommend its approval.”
The judge turned to Felts. “And your client's response, Mr. Felts?”
“My client has nothing to add regarding this matter, Your Honor,” he murmured, suddenly as deferential as an Elizabethan manservant.
“That wasn't my question, Mr. Felts. Does your client support the settlement?”
“My client defers to the judgments of the attorneys for the litigants in that case.” He bent at the knees and leaned forward in a semi-curtsey. “If they are satisfied, Your Honor, so is my client.”
“Very well, Mr. Felts. The Court has reviewed the settlement agreement and sees no reason not to enter an order approving its terms. You may draft the order, Mr. Felts. The Court will be in recess.”
Guttner approached him in the hallway outside Judge Burke's courtroom.
“David,” he said, reaching out a hand, “I hope you are as pleased as I am that we've been able to bring this unfortunate matter to a final resolution.”
Hirsch shook his hand. “I'm glad it's over.”
“It is more than over. That professor of yours negotiated an excellent settlement for you.”
Hirsch nodded. “The endowment was a nice touch.”
“That it was. Yes, indeed. A veritable living memorial to Judith. I have been told that the clinic does good work.”
“They represent women who've been physically abused by men,” Hirsch said.
“Do they really? Good for them, eh?”
Hirsch turned to peer through the window of the courtroom door. Dulcie was still in there with Felts, who was drafting the order approving the settlement. He turned back to Guttner. Waiting off to the side was Guttner's associate, a thirtysomething woman in a conservative gray suit and dark flats. She stood rigid, face blank, eyes straight ahead—a lawyer robot waiting for the master's next command. Down the hall, Jack Bellows and Elizabeth Purcell were boarding an elevator. Bellows had been the first one out of the courtroom, leaving without a word and heading straight toward the elevator bank, where he'd waited impatiently, tapping his foot. Purcell had paused briefly in the hallway to ask Hirsch how his client was doing at the nursing home, and then she hurried on toward the elevator bank as the down light flashed above the m
iddle elevator.
“So is it back to bankruptcy for you, David,” Guttner asked, “or have you developed a hankering for personal injury cases?”
“Hard to say,” Hirsch replied, unwilling to offer the fat man any opening.
“Speaking of which,” Guttner said, forcing a chortle, “we need to take care of that settlement provision regarding the turnover of your investigative file. I can send someone by your office to pick it up. How about later this afternoon?”
“We won't have it ready by then.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I don't know.”
“Just have your girl call my girl.”
Hirsch nodded. He'd already put together a “file” for Guttner. It contained more than ten thousand pages of documents that his paralegals had gathered for him during the initial phase of the lawsuit, back when he thought it was just another accident case. There were copies of court filings and deposition summaries and hearing transcripts and interviews and expert witness reports from dozens of other accident cases involving Ford Explorers or Peterson tires. Enough documents to fill six bankers boxes. Enough documents to allay any concern Guttner might have as to Hirsch's compliance with his obligations under the settlement agreement.
“The sooner the better, David. Now that we've got the case settled, we need to make sure we tie up all the loose ends.”
Hirsch gazed at him and nodded. “That's my thought exactly.”
CHAPTER 34
Dusk faded into night as Hirsch sat in his car, which was idling at the curb in front of Abe Shifrin's house. His mood felt as empty as the house.
He'd driven out to the nursing home after court to share the news of the morning's settlement hearing. He'd found Abe in his room, seated in the armchair watching television. He was wearing a white shirt speckled with food stains, wrinkled gray slacks, brown slippers. The stubble on his face suggested that he hadn't shaved for several days.
Hirsch couldn't tell whether Abe recognized him. The old man had smiled and waved him in when Hirsch had knocked on the open door to his room. He'd nodded pleasantly when Hirsch explained that the judge had approved the settlement.
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