Later that night, he had watched the ten o'clock news, waiting for the report on the body found atop the Civil Courts Building. But there was no report. He had listened to the local news on the radio before going to bed. Nothing again. He had gotten up early, picked up the Post-Dispatch, and searched through the front page and then the Metro section. Nothing. Same with the local news on TV.
He'd had a Chapter Seven hearing in federal court that morning. After court, he took the elevator up to the twenty-eighth floor of the courthouse and found his way through a back corridor to a north window with a good view of the Civil Courts Building two blocks away. He'd stared down at that weird tableau—at the back-to-back griffins atop the stepped pyramid, at the base of the pyramid nestled inside the parapet on the roof of the Greek temple. He'd stared down in disbelief.
No corpse.
No knife.
No pry bar.
No sign of a fight.
As if the thunderstorm had washed it all away.
For one eerie moment, he'd wondered if he'd dreamed the whole thing. But then he glanced down at the cast on his left arm. He had tapped it against the window to be sure.
“Okay, Mr. Hirsch.”
Fernel was bending over the safe deposit–door and inserting the second key. He turned them both and pulled the safe door open. Reaching in, he slid out the covered metal box and turned to Hirsch.
“I can put you in a private room back here, sir.”
Hirsch followed him around the corner to a small room. Fernel placed the metal box on top of the table and gestured toward a button on the wall near the door.
“Just press that buzzer when you're ready to go, Mr. Hirsch.”
Initially, it was just a bunch of documents with a jumble of numbers. It took more than an hour to figure out the scam. But when he did, he was astounded.
The materials that Judith had hidden inside the griffin consisted of dozens of photocopies of three types of documents:
• Monthly “status reports” from Guttner's law firm faxed to Donald Foster, CFO of Peterson Tire, at the company's headquarters in Knoxville, Tennessee;
• Monthly wire transfer instructions from Peterson Tire to its bank for the transfer of specific sums of money to an account for Felis Tigris LVII at a bank in Bermuda whose Swift code Hirsch recognized as the same one on Judith's Outlooks Note; and
• Confirmations of those wire transfers.
The status reports from Guttner's firm were generated the third day of each month. They summarized the results of the In re Turbo XL Tire Litigation mini-trials the prior month. Each case was identified by case number. The report separately stated the damage amount sought by the plaintiff in that case and the actual amount awarded by the judge. Thus the status report for the month of March during Judith's final year contained the following information:
Case No. 99-32482 (Embry, Harry)
Plaintiff's Demand:
$1,250,000
Amount of Award:
$1,050,000
Case No. 00-43193 (Zircher, Louis)
Plaintiff's Demand:
$1,955,521
Amount of Award:
$1,300,000
Case No. 99-13115 (Brown, Roberta)
Plaintiff's Demand:
$1,115,000
Amount of Award:
$1,115,000
Case No. 01-22145 (Ramallo, Maria)
Plaintiff's Demand:
$ 975,000
Amount of Award:
$ 845,000
Case No. 01-12449 (Cannis, Michael)
Plaintiff's Demand:
$2,251,750
Amount of Award:
$1,885,000
Case No. 02-24512 (Schenker, Merle)
Plaintiff's Demand:
$1,450,000
Amount of Award:
$1,350,000
The wire transfer instructions for that same month referenced most, but not all, of the same cases:
Case No. 99-32482—
$11,250.00
Case No. 00-43193—
$68,995.34
Case No. 01-22145—
$ 4,875.00
Case No. 01-12449—
$21,236.25
Two of the six cases were not referenced in the wire transfer instructions: Roberta Brown and Merle Schenker.
He compared status reports and wire transfer records for other months and turned up a similar pattern: not every court award had a matching wire transfer. He sorted through the documents, trying to figure out what was going on.
He recalled Judith's memo on the telephone call between McCormick and Guttner regarding the Sanderson case. McCormick had told Guttner, “They asked for one point four. I gave them a mil. Do the math. Fifteen percent is thirty-nine.”
Hirsch borrowed a calculator from a bank employee and went back through the documents, trying to find a match between a wire transfer amount and fifteen percent of any number in the status reports.
No matches.
He set aside the numbers and pondered the issue. Under the consolidated proceedings, Judge McCormick was deciding damages in minitrials for each of the more than one thousand cases. If Peterson Tire's goal was to reduce the damages on a case-by-case basis, what was an effective incentive system with the judge? The most straightforward one, of course, was to give him a percentage of the difference between the plaintiff's demand and the actual award. Thus if plaintiff's expert witness testified that the damages were one million dollars and the judge awarded only nine hundred thousand dollars, he'd receive a percentage of the difference. In that example, fifteen percent would equal fifteen thousand. Peterson would pay the judge fifteen grand and still pocket a savings of eighty-five thousand dollars.
But what if Peterson Tire was a tough bargainer? What if they took the position that a plaintiff always asks for more than he's entitled to? What if they said that your fifteen percent kicks in only after a certain threshold?
Hirsch fiddled with the numbers, trying to concoct a more sophisticated formula for a kickback scheme. And suddenly it clicked—not the actual formula, but the basic concept.
He flipped back to the March numbers. There was no wire transfer on two of the cases. In the Roberta Brown case, the plaintiff's demand was $1,115,000 and the award was the same amount. No revelation there. But in the Merle Schenker case, the demand was $1,450,000 and the award was $1,350,000. A difference of one hundred thousand dollars, but no wire transfer.
In the Maria Ramallo case from the same month, the award was $130,000 less than the demand, but that was enough of a difference for a wire transfer of $4,875. If the operative percentage was fifteen, then what was $4,875 fifteen percent of?
He did the calculation.
Thirty-two thousand five hundred dollars.
Fifteen percent of $32,500 equaled $4,875.
But where did the $32,500 come from? Presumably, it was the difference between the award and some greater number, which in the Ramallo case would be $845,000 plus $32,500 equals $877,500. But what was the relationship between $877,500 and the plaintiff's demand of $975,000?
He tried the same approach with the numbers in the Sanderson case, which had been the subject of the overheard conversation in Judith's memo. There the award was four hundred thousand dollars less than the $1.4 million demand. The wire transfer amount was $39,000. Thirty-nine thousand dollars was fifteen percent of $260,000. Thus what was the relationship between $1,260,000 and the plaintiff's demand of $1,400,000?
Presumably, that relationship was the same as in the Ramalla case, and in every case where a damage award resulted in a wire transfer.
He stared at the numbers. He punched a few into the calculator.
And finally, he saw it.
He tried it first with the Sanderson case. Ninety percent of the plaintiff's $1.4 million demand was $1,260,000. The actual award was one million dollars. The difference between one million and $1,260,000 was $260,000, and fifteen percent of that was $39,000.
Ninety
percent of the $975,000 demand in the Ramalla case was $877,500, which was $32,500 more than the award. Fifteen percent of $32,500 was $4,875, which was the amount transferred to the Bermuda bank account.
He did the numbers on the Merle Schenker case. The demand was $1,450,000. Ninety percent of that was $1,305,000. But the award was $1,350,000—that is, more than ninety percent of the demand. No money wire transferred.
He flipped through the other status reports and wire transfers, doing random calculations. Every single one of them conformed.
The scam was simple. Simple and brilliant. Peterson Tire paid McCormick a kickback equal to fifteen percent of the difference between the actual award and ninety percent of the plaintiff's demand.
He stared down at the numbers on his yellow legal pad, struggling to grasp the economic impact of the scam.
Approximately seven hundred of the thousand cases had been resolved so far. If McCormick was shaving roughly $125,000 off each damage award—and that was a conservative estimate—the total savings to Peterson Tire already topped eighty-seven million dollars.
Eighty-seven million dollars
Stated differently, Peterson Tire and the judge had cheated the plaintiffs out of eighty-seven million dollars of compensation for their injuries.
Eighty-seven million dollars.
And still three hundred mini-trials to go. The final number would easily exceed a hundred million dollars.
He did the other calculation—the fifteen-percent-of-ninety-percent formula. He punched in the numbers and pressed the Equal button on the calculator. He stared at the result. The kickback scheme had already funneled into the offshore bank account of Felis Tigris LVII more than nine million dollars.
He pushed the buzzer. A few moments later, a young woman in a conservative skirt and blouse appeared at the door.
“Can I help you, Mr. Hirsch?”
He held up the full set of papers. “I need to have a copy of these made and hand-delivered to someone downtown. I'll pay all the charges.”
She reached for the papers. “I can make the copies now. I'll bring you back a form to fill out for the delivery. If we hurry we might still be able to get them delivered today.”
“No. I'd actually prefer to have them delivered tomorrow. If you have a sheet of paper, too, I'd like to write a note to include with the documents.”
“No problem, sir. I'll have these copied right away and bring you some paper.”
“I'd appreciate that. One more thing. I have the Swift code for a bank in Bermuda but I'm not sure of the bank's name. Would you be able to look that up for me?”
“Certainly, Mr. Hirsch. We have a Swift code directory online. I can get you that bank's name in a jif.”
The digital clock on the nightstand read 2:18 A.M. Just over three hours before he had to wake for morning services.
He stared at the clock as it changed from 2:18 to 2:19 to 2:20.
At 2:21 A.M., he threw back the covers and got out of bed. In his T-shirt and pajama bottoms, he padded into the small living room. The streetlamp outside the window faintly illuminated the room. He knelt in front of the bookcase, found the thick dictionary, and carried it back to the bedroom. He clicked on the nightstand lamp, squinting in the sudden brightness. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he flipped through the dictionary to the “F” listings. He found the page and moved his eyes down the column of words:
felicity
felid
feline
feline distemper
fell
fellah
No felis tigris.
He read the definition of “felicity,” which at least sounded like felis. The etymological information in brackets indicated that the word came from the Middle English word felicite, which in turn came from a similar Middle French word that in turn came from the Latin word felicitas, which in turn came from the Latin word felix, which meant “fruitful or happy.”
No help there.
He looked down the column to “feline”:
fe-line adj. [L felinus, fr. Felis, genus of cats, fr. L. cat] 1: of or relating to cats or the cat family 2: resembling a cat: as a: sleekly graceful b: SLY, TREACHEROUS c: STEALTHY—feline n—fe-line-ly adv—fe-lin-i-ty n
Thus “felis” was the genus of cats.
Felis tigris.
He stared at the second word, sounding it out.
He flipped to the T pages. He ran his eyes down the column until he found the word:
ti-ger n, pl tigers [ME tigre, fr. OF tigre fr. L tigris] 1: a large and powerful South Asian and East Indian carnivorous mammal (Felis tigris or Panthera tigris) of the cat family having a tawny coat transversely striped with black. When full grown, it equals or exceeds the lion in size and strength 2: a ferocious, bloodthirsty person.
CHAPTER 46
“Mr. Guttner on line three.”
Hirsch stared at the blinking button on the telephone console, his lips pursed. He lifted the receiver and pushed the button.
“What do you want?”
“I need to see you, David.”
The normally soothing purr had some growl in it.
“Why?”
“Something quite important has come up.”
“Oh? What?”
“I do not want to explain over the telephone.”
“Why not?”
“Christ Almighty, David.”
He waited.
At the other end, the sound of heavy breathing.
“Suit yourself, Marvin. Good-bye.”
“Wait. Don't hang up. Please, David. Please. Hear me out. This is of great consequence. Trust me.”
“Trust you? Are you out of your mind?”
“Bear with me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because this concerns someone special to you.”
After a moment, Hirsch said, “Who?”
“Not over the telephone, David. We need to meet in person. As soon as possible. How quickly can you come to my office?”
“Why don't you come here?”
“That will not work. I need to show you certain items. I have them here in my office.”
“Bring them along.”
“I cannot do that.”
“Why not?”
“You will understand when you see them.”
Hirsch checked his watch. Almost a quarter after one. His meeting with the U.S. attorney was at four.
“I'll be there by two.”
“Thank you, David.”
“Not in your office.”
“Pardon?”
“I'm not going any farther inside your law firm then the reception area. We can meet in that big conference room on the main floor. The one with all the glass. Just you and me, Marvin. You better be seated in there waiting when I arrive. If not, I'll get right back on the elevator and leave.”
Hirsch gestured toward the glass-walled conference room behind the receptionist.
“He's waiting for me.”
“Then you must be Mr. Hirsch.”
“I am.”
She turned to look back. Marvin Guttner was seated at the head of the conference table and gazing out the window as he talked on his cell phone. There was a large envelope on the table in front of him. He was drumming his fingers on it. Next to the envelope was what appeared to be a remote control device. Guttner swiveled back around, saw Hirsch, and gestured for him to come in.
“I guess you can go right in, Mr. Hirsch.”
Guttner was folding up his phone and getting to his feet as Hirsch entered the room. The conference table seemed as a long as a bowling alley.
“Good heavens, David,” he said as Hirsch approached, “what happened to your arm?”
“How 'bout we save some time and cut the crap, Marvin. You already know what happened to my arm.”
Guttner frowned but said nothing. His gaze took in the bandage above Hirsch's eyebrow, the slight limp, and the gauze wrap on his right hand. Hirsch took a seat on the far side of the conference table. He
was facing the reception area, his back to the outside window.
“I don't have much time,” Hirsch said to him. “Tell me why I'm here.”
“Fair enough, sir.”
Guttner leaned forward and rested his massive arms on the table in front of him. “The people I represent have—”
“Who are they?”
“They wish to remain anonymous, David. At least for now. They have advised me that you are in possession of a packet of materials of great interest to them.”
“What kind of materials?”
“Ah, I'm afraid they haven't provided me with those details.”
“What makes them think I have this packet?”
“It seems that they have had you under surveillance. From what they have observed, you placed those materials in a safe-deposit box at your bank on Monday afternoon. You inspected them again yesterday afternoon but left them there.”
“How do they know that?”
“They informed me that you went into the bank with a, well, with what appeared to be a tool box on Monday but left with nothing in your hands. You returned on Tuesday with no briefcase and left again with nothing in your hands. Unless you threw the materials out while you were at the bank, they should still be in there.”
Hirsch kept his expression neutral. He'd planned his entrances and exits at the bank both days on the assumption that he was under surveillance. He'd hoped to increase his chances of survival if they thought there was only one copy of the materials, and that that one copy was still in his safe-deposit box.
“You have made no copy, correct?”
“Not as of yet,” Hirsch said, spacing the words to make it sound like a warning.
The Mourning Sexton Page 28
