Courting Trouble raa-9

by Lisa Scottoline

  Q: (By Ms. Murphy) Where are you employed at the current time?

  A: I work at Chipster.com, a web applications company.

  Q: In what capacity?

  A: I write code for various web applications. I specialize in Cold Fusion, a computer language.

  Q: How long have you been employed at Chipster?

  A: Five years, since its inception. I was one of the handful of programmers who were there when Gil Martin started the company. It was just six of us, in his garage.

  Q: And as such—I’m jumping ahead here—did you receive certain stock options, as part of salary?

  A: No, I did not.

  Q: Did any of the other programmers receive such stock options?

  A: Three did. Basically, ones that Gil knew from his college days. He tends to go with people he knows. I didn’t know him then, and neither did another guy, so we were on the outside.

  Anne didn’t like the sound of it. It read as if Dietz were resentful, which he hadn’t seemed at the time, when he had merely stated it as a matter of fact. But there had to be resentment there; those stock options would make its founders millionaires when Chipster went public. Did it matter? Did it have anything to do with the bogus case for sexual harassment? Did it motivate it? Anne hadn’t focused on Dietz before because his claim was derivative, frankly, bullshit. She’d had it dismissed under Third Circuit law, but she had taken his deposition before the dismissal, for free discovery. She thumbed through Dietz’s deposition, to the core of the claim:

  Q: (By Ms. Murphy) Now, Mr. Dietz, you allege that as a result of the sexual harassment of your wife, Beth, you and she experienced certain difficulties with respect to intimacy in your marriage, is that right?

  A: Yes.

  Q: When did they begin?

  A: When the harassment began. On September 15th.

  Q: And how long did it last?

  A: We are just now healing. The effects of sexual harassment are like those of rape. It takes the victim time to recover, and to trust men again. And Beth feels guilty, even though she shouldn’t, for what happened.

  Q: And what exactly were the difficulties in your marriage, caused by the alleged sexual harassment?

  A: Beth withdrew from me. She kept more to herself and became depressed. She slept poorly, she lost weight. She spent more time on-line, four or six hours at nights and on the weekends. She would be in the chat rooms, role-playing or playing Internet games, silly games. Popcap.com and the like.

  Q: Specifically, how did the alleged sexual harassment affect your sex life?

  A: She became uninterested in sex, and the frequency of intercourse went from once a week to less than that a month. It became unsatisfying. For both of us.

  Anne read the rest of the dep, but it didn’t tell her anything more about Bill Dietz. But that wasn’t all she had on him. She had served him with interrogatories and a document subpoena, routine in employment cases. She reached for that folder, opened it, and skimmed his answers to interrogatories. The opening questions were background, and her gaze fell on the third interrogatory:

  HAVE YOU EVER BEEN CONVICTED OF A CRIME?

  NO.

  The veracity of the answers was attested to by Dietz’s signature on the next page, but he wouldn’t be the first person who’d lied in his interrogatory answers. He’d obviously lost control at the dep, almost violently. Had it happened before? Anne’s gut told her it had, and she set the interrogatories aside, turned to her computer, and logged onto the Internet, clicking onto one of the myriad snooper websites. Onto the screen popped a banner:

  Check court records for liens, finances, and criminal convictions!

  She typed in the name “William Dietz.” It didn’t take two seconds to get an answer:

  Your search has revealed 3680 persons named William Dietz with criminal convictions.

  Anne wasn’t surprised. It was a common name. She couldn’t begin to read each one, it would take until Tuesday. She narrowed the search geographically, to Pennsylvania. As far as she knew, Bill Dietz had been living here at least in the recent past. He had worked at Chipster for less than five years.

  Your search has revealed 427 persons named William Dietz with criminal convictions.

  Hoo boy. Anne checked her watch. 5:10. It was getting late. Still, what was the point? She had so much to do, and this was undoubtedly a detour. She didn’t even know why she was following up. So what if Dietz was violent? So what if he had a criminal record? So what if he only pretended to be a sensitive ponytail? Still. Anne flashed on the scene in the dep, on the rage in Dietz’s eyes. She moved the computer mouse over the first live listings in blue, and clicked.

  Eighty-two listings later, Bill Dietz still hadn’t been convicted. Anne rubbed her eyes. This was stupid. She wasn’t getting anywhere. She checked her watch. 6:05. Was Bennie still in with the cops? What was taking so long? Anne stretched, tense and frustrated. She was about to take a break when the door to her office opened a crack.

  Bennie stuck her face inside the open door, her forehead creased with anxiety. “You’re wanted in conference room D. Now.”

  “The cops? Is there a problem?”

  “No, the cops are in C.” Bennie snuck inside and shut the door behind her like a co-conspirator. “What’s worse than the cops?”

  “Brown hair.”

  “Think money.”

  “My Visa bill.”

  “Think like a lawyer, not a woman,” Bennie said, but Anne was already on her mules.

  12

  What’s going on?”

  “Gil Martin’s here,” Bennie answered. “Carrier’s in with him.”

  “What? Gil? Here? Why?”

  “Turns out that since you got killed, he’s been having doubts about me trying Chipster. He came here to fire us. He seems to think I’m not up to it.”

  Anne almost laughed. She had tried ten cases to Bennie’s thousand, and they had been in L.A., where even O.J. got off. “So, what did you tell him?”

  “That he shouldn’t worry, that I was up to speed. That we function as a team, a family.”

  “The family stuff never works,” Anne said without thinking, and Bennie blinked, hurt.

  “It doesn’t?”

  “All companies say it. It’s never true.”

  “It’s true for me. I mean it.”

  “Well, I believe it, but they don’t. Other people don’t.”

  Bennie still looked hurt.

  “Okay, it depends on who says it.”

  “Well, anyway, young Gil ain’t buying. We’re toast. He’s already contacted Crawford, Wilson, & Ryan. He knows people there, and he’s also looking at Ballard, Spahr. First-rate firms. They’re running conflicts check as we speak, and we both know what they’ll say.”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “He’s your client, make your decision,” Bennie answered without rancor. “What do you wanna do?”

  “I didn’t even want you to try this case. You think I’ll lose it to someone who’s not even family?” Anne smiled, and so did Bennie. “No question. I’ll tell him I’m alive. Swear him to secrecy. I want to keep this representation.”

  “I understand, but I’m not interested in killing you to save a client. Even if it wasn’t Kevin who killed Willa, we know now that he’s in the vicinity. Can you trust Gil to keep it quiet, that you’re alive?”

  “He’ll keep it quiet.”

  “Okay. But I go first, to keep the cops in C.” Bennie opened the door narrowly and checked the hallway. “Your client’s in D.”

  “Thanks. By the way, I got Willa’s address.”

  “Good job.” Bennie slipped out of the door, and Anne waited a minute, then left and hurried down the hall. She whizzed past the Deer Park cooler, watercolors of City Hall’s Victorian facade, and endless rowing sequences, all of which looked like a skinny guy in a rowboat wearing a bad tank top. She reached conference room D, opened the door, and slipped inside quickly, closing it behind her.

&
nbsp; Gil was standing with Judy and he was well dressed in a navy-blue blazer, pressed khakis, and Gucci loafers. His boyish face was lightly tanned, albeit showing signs of IPO strain.

  “Hello, Gil. It’s me, Anne,” she said and looked at him directly. She didn’t want to play with his emotions, and he seemed not to recognize her for a moment. His forehead knit and his sharp, blue-green eyes looked confused. He ran a quick hand through shiny brown hair, which fell expensively back into place. Anne managed an encouraging smile. “It’s really me, Gil. I’m not dead. I’m alive. It’s a mistake.”

  Gil looked like he wanted to laugh, but it turned to something like a hiccup. “Is this a joke?”

  “Maybe you should sit down.” Anne gestured to the modern, tall-backed chair on the other side of the table, but Gil was already sinking into it, all six feet of him, slowly collapsing from the knees, like a house imploded from its foundation. He couldn’t take his eyes from Anne’s face, and she had to set him straight. “Gil, I’m sorry, it’s all a misunderstanding. I mean, I wasn’t killed last night, another woman was. Not me.”

  Gil looked uncertain, his smile cautious. “You’re really Anne Murphy? Then tell me something only you would know, from first year.”

  “Okay, we met the first day of Contracts class, sitting next to each other alphabetically. Martin and Murphy. I memorized offer and acceptance, and you improved Game Boy.”

  “Ha!” Gil laughed softly, almost coming around. “It’s you? I can’t believe it. But . . . in the news, on TV, they said—”

  “They were wrong. It’s all wrong. The woman who was killed was taking care of my cat. The cops don’t know I’m really alive. Only we do. Now you. And it has to stay that way.” Anne reached for the pitcher of water they always kept on the table, but it was off for the holiday weekend. Only the glasses remained, turned upside down on a pebbled paper towel. “You want something to drink?”

  “Got scotch?” He smiled, and Anne did, too. Next to him, Judy rose without being asked and headed for the conference room door, but Gil was scrutinizing Anne so intently, she wasn’t sure he noticed. She had to bring him down to earth, fast. She wasn’t about to lose this representation. “Gil, the cops know who killed my cat-sitter and they’re in the conference room right now, planning how to get him. They’re going to arrest him any day, but all of this is beside the point.” She leaned across the table, trying to engage him, and once they locked eyes, she held him. “I know this is a lot to digest, all at once. But what matters to me and to you is Chipster, and I intend to defend you and your company on Tuesday. I know the facts, I know the case inside out. You can’t switch counsel now. You don’t need to.”

  “You’re really alive?” Gil kept raking his sandy hair with his fingers. “This is so . . . odd.”

  “On Tuesday, we’ll tell the cops and pick a jury. But you have to swear to keep this secret for the weekend. Even from Jamie, okay? From everybody.”

  “I just can’t get used to it. It’s so fucking odd.”

  “Tell me about it.” Anne had to defuse the situation. There was business to conduct. “I know who we want on the jury, I’ve prepared Beth’s cross, because she’ll be their first witness. In fact, I was just rereading the deps.”

  “But where were you, last night?”

  “I went away to prepare for the case, in quiet. You know better than I do how the city gets on the Fourth. I wanted to think.”

  “And you didn’t tell anybody? You didn’t tell me?” Gil frowned. “What if I had to talk to you?”

  “I didn’t think you would, and you didn’t.” Anne flushed defensively. She didn’t understand why the questions. Maybe it was the initial shock. “Besides, I remembered you told me you’d be at a dinner party last night, in the suburbs.”

  “I did. I was. I remember. You know what’s really weird?” Gil laughed suddenly. “We sent you flowers! Jamie picked them out! Lilies, a dozen. She felt so bad, when she heard about you. We saw it on TV. Did I say that already?” He laughed again, his discomfort plain, and Anne reached out impulsively to pat his hand.

  “I’m sorry that you were upset, and Jamie.” Jamie was an at-home mother, and the very definition of a softhearted woman.

  “You say the cops know who did it?”

  “Yes. But here’s a question, and I know it sounds strange. In your own words, what is Bennie’s relationship to me?”

  Gil frowned. “Who?”

  “Bennie Rosato.”

  “No, I mean, who did it? Who killed you—I mean, this other woman? She was in your house?” Gil seemed concerned, but Anne didn’t want to get into this. She wanted him to stay on track.

  “It’s a long story and it’s not germane to the case.”

  “But is the killer still out there? I mean, walking the streets?”

  “Gil, forget it. The cops are working on it. They’re professionals. Leave it to them.”

  “Ha! Right. Then how come they haven’t figured out that you’re not only alive, you’re right across the hall?” Gil laughed, but it stopped when the door opened and Judy entered, closing the door behind her and bearing a clear plastic pitcher of water. She set it down and reached for a glass, which she filled with a glug glug glug and handed to Gil. Anne thanked her because Gil didn’t, and made a mental note of the change in Judy. The flyer they’d made together had been a peace treaty. Okay, they weren’t exchanging recipes, but at least they weren’t mud wrestling.

  Gil drank thirstily while Anne continued. “I don’t want you to think for a second that we’re not on top of this case, because we are. Mary DiNunzio, whom you met, covered today’s dep beautifully, and Judy here has been helping out a great deal. Bennie knows more about trying a case, any case, than I ever will. You and Chipster are already in excellent hands. There’s no reason to go anywhere else. So call off Ballard and Crawford. Tell ’em to sit back and watch how it’s done.” Anne smiled, which seemed to coax a genuine grin from Gil.

  “I didn’t really want to fire your law firm. You know that.” He set down his glass. “I mean, I came to you for good reasons. We’ve known each other a long time, and you were always so”—he seemed to fumble for the word—”smart. Really smart.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I knew you’d work your ass off for me, and frankly, I wanted a woman to represent me. I thought it would help with the jury, on a sexual harassment case.” Gil seemed to be talking aloud to himself, trying to get his bearings. “Also, you’re so attractive, I knew you would get the jury’s attention. And the media’s.”

  “All of these reasons still pertain.” Anne nodded, vaguely aware that Judy was bristling beside her. He never would have hired her if she hadn’t looked the way she did. Well, here was proof positive. Anne hoped she was happy.

  “I mean, I was trying to be aggressive in the company’s defense. If you’re going to hire a woman, hire an all-woman firm, right?” Gil spread his palms. “Do it in a big way.”

  “Of course. And you did.” Though Gil had never articulated his rationale this fully, Anne wasn’t stupid. He’d used the publicity to his advantage; he’d been accused of sexual harassment and had managed to come out looking like a feminist champion. But none of it worked, unless Anne won a jury verdict. “So let’s talk about the case a minute. Answer my question. What is Bennie’s relationship to me?”

  Beside her, Judy looked nonplussed, and Gil shrugged. “Bennie Rosato? She owns the law firm, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, but what do you call the person who owns the business?”

  “Like me? The owner, I guess.”

  “Not ‘the boss’?”

  “I never say that. It’s weird. Why?”

  Of course. “Just a question. Now that you’ve gotten over the shock of me still drawing breath, how else can I help you? Is there anything you want to talk about? Has the media been driving you nuts?”

  “This is kind of strange, don’t you think?” Gil looked with renewed doubt from Anne to Judy and back again. “You
’re just going to pretend that this isn’t happening? That some woman didn’t get murdered? That this murderer, whoever he is, isn’t out there?”

  Anne felt stung. “Gil, I’m not pretending anything. I am simply handling both. Doing both. Multi-tasking.”

  “It’s my company, Anne. My reputation.” Gil’s expression darkened. “The mutual funds are watching, the VC guys. I’m risking everything here. I have to win, I’ve guaranteed it to my Board. I can’t go forward with less than a hundred percent from you.”

  “I understand that, and you have it.”

  “You’re ready to try this case, even with this murder thing hanging over your head? It’s a huge distraction, and now you’re telling me you have to hide from the police—”

  “It’ll be resolved by the time of trial, Gil.”

  “If not?”

  “That’s not possible.” Anne knew she was losing him, watching him edge backward on the seat of his chair.

  “I don’t know,” he said after a pause. “I just don’t know. It’s good that you’re alive—great, obviously—but it’s strange. I can’t let this get personal. It’s business.”

  “Then think about your business, Gil,” Judy interrupted, and Gil’s head swiveled to her at the sharpness of her tone.

  “What do you mean?” he asked

  “The whole world knows that Anne Murphy of the all-woman firm of Rosato & Associates represents you. They also know that Anne was brutally murdered last night. How will it look if you fire the girls when they’re down? How’s that gonna look to everyone, to the press, and to your potential stockholders? Or to the women who end up on your jury?”

  Gil paused. “I can handle the press and the shareholders, and my lawyer can ask the jurors about that when we’re picking them. He’ll just make sure the ones who think like that stay off the jury.”