Three Classic Thrillers

by John Grisham

  “Today is Tuesday,” Wes said, gripping the phone with white knuckles.

  “Yes, I know. As I said, my client is anxious to begin this process. It could take weeks or months to complete, but we’re ready to sit down.”

  Wes was ready, too. He had a deposition set for Friday, something that was easily postponed. “What are the rules?” he asked.

  Kurtin had the benefit of hours of planning. Wes was reacting out of shock and excitement. Plus, Kurtin had been around the block a few more times than Wes. He had negotiated mass settlements on several occasions. Wes could only dream of one.

  “I’m sending a letter to all known plaintiffs’ attorneys,” Kurtin said. “Look over the list and see if I’m missing anyone. As you know, they’re still popping up. All lawyers are invited, but the easiest way to screw up a settlement conference like this is to give the trial lawyers the microphones. You and Mary Grace will talk for the plaintiffs. I’ll talk for Krane. The first challenge is to identify all persons who are making any sort of claim. Our records show about six hundred, and these range from dead bodies to nosebleeds. In my letters, I’m asking the lawyers to submit the names of clients, whether they have filed suit or not. Once we know who expects a piece of the pie, the next challenge will be to classify the claims. Unlike some mass tort settlements with ten thousand plaintiffs, this one will be manageable in that we can talk about individual claims. Our current numbers show 68 dead, 143 wounded and probably dying, and the rest with various afflictions that, in all probability, are not life threatening.”

  Kurtin ticked off the numbers like a war correspondent reporting from battle. Wes couldn’t help but grimace, nor could he suppress another vile thought about Krane Chemical.

  “Anyway, we’ll start the process of going through these numbers. The goal is to arrive at one figure, then compare it with the cash my client is willing to spend.”

  “And what might that number be?” Wes asked with a desperate laugh.

  “Not now, Wes, maybe later. I’m asking each lawyer to fill out a standardized form for each client. If we can get these back before Friday, we’ll have a head start. I’m bringing a full team, Wes. My litigators, support staff, experts, number crunchers, and I’ll even have a guy with some spine from Krane. Plus, of course, the usual crew from the insurance companies. You might want to reserve a large room for your support people.”

  Reserve with what? Wes almost asked. Surely Kurtin knew about the bankruptcy.

  “Good idea,” he said.

  “And, Wes, my client is really concerned about secrecy. There is no reason for this to be publicized. If word gets out, then the plaintiffs and their lawyers and the whole town of Bowmore will get excited. What happens then if the negotiations go nowhere? Let’s keep a lid on this.”

  “Sure.” How ridiculous. Kurtin was about to send his letter to no fewer than twenty law firms. Babe at the coffee shop in Bowmore would know about the settlement conference before she began serving lunch.

  __________

  The following morning the Wall Street Journal ran a front-page story about Krane Chemical’s settlement overtures. An anonymous source who worked for the company confirmed the truth of the rumors. Experts chimed in with varying opinions, but it was generally regarded as a positive step for the company. Large settlements can be calculated. Liabilities can be contained. Wall Street understands hard numbers, and it hates unpredictability. There is a long history of battered companies shoring up their financial futures with massive settlements that, while costly, were effective in cleaning up litigation.

  Krane opened at $12.75 and advanced $2.75 in heavy trading.

  By midafternoon Wednesday, the phones were ringing nonstop at Payton & Payton, and many other law firms as well. Word of a settlement was out there, on the street and flying around the Internet.

  Denny Ott called and talked to Mary Grace. A group of Pine Grove residents had gathered at the church to offer prayers, exchange gossip, and wait for a miracle. It was like a vigil, he said. Not surprisingly, there were different versions of the truth. A settlement had already been negotiated, and money was on the way. No, the settlement would not take place on Friday, but there was no doubt that it would happen. No, there was no settlement at all, just a meeting of the lawyers. Mary Grace explained what was happening and asked Denny to pass along the truth. It quickly became apparent that either she or Wes would need to hustle over to the church and meet with their clients.

  Babe’s was packed with spirited coffee drinkers, all looking for the latest word. Would Krane be required to clean up its toxic dump? Someone claiming authority answered yes, that would be a condition of the settlement. How much would the death claims be worth? Someone else had heard the figure of $5 million each. Arguments raged. Experts rose up and were soon shouted down.

  F. Clyde Hardin walked over from his law office and immediately took center stage. His class action had been ridiculed by many of the locals who felt he was just riding the Paytons’ coattails with a bunch of opportunistic clients. He and his good pal Sterling Bintz from Philadelphia were claiming almost three hundred “severely and permanently injured” members of their class action. Since its filing in January, it had gone nowhere. Now, however, F. Clyde had instantly gained stature. Any settlement had to include “his people.” He would have a seat at the table on Friday, he explained to the silent crowd. He would be sitting there alongside Wes and Mary Grace Payton.

  Jeannette Baker was behind the counter of a convenience store at the south edge of Bowmore when she received the call from Mary Grace. “Do not get excited,” her lawyer warned, rather sternly. “This could be a lengthy process, and the possibility of a settlement is remote.” Jeannette had questions but did not know where to begin. Mary Grace would be at the Pine Grove Church at 7:00 p.m. for a full discussion with all of her clients. Jeannette promised to be there.

  With a $41 million verdict attached to it, Jeannette Baker’s case would be the first one on the table.

  The settlement news was too much for Bowmore to handle. In the small offices downtown the secretaries and Realtors and insurance agents talked of nothing else. The languid human commerce along Main Street stopped dead as friends and neighbors found it impossible to pass one another without comparing gossip. The clerks in the Cary County Courthouse collected rumors, amended them, embellished some, and reduced some, then passed them along. In the schools the teachers gathered in their coffee rooms and exchanged the latest news. Pine Grove wasn’t the only church where the faithful and the hopeful met for prayer and counseling. Many of the town’s pastors spent the afternoon on the phone listening to the victims of Krane Chemical.

  A settlement would close the town’s ugliest chapter, and allow it to begin again. The infusion of money would compensate those who had suffered. The cash would be spent and re-spent and boost the dying economy. Krane would certainly be required to clean up its pollution, and once it was finally gone, perhaps the water would become safe again. Bowmore with clean water—a dream almost impossible to believe. The community could finally shake off the nickname Cancer County.

  A settlement was a fast and final end to the nightmare. No one in the town wanted litigation that would be prolonged and ugly. No one wanted another trial like Jeannette Baker’s.

  __________

  Nat Lester had been pestering newspaper editors and reporters for a month. He was furious at the misleading advertising that had drenched south Mississippi, and even angrier at the editors for not railing against it. He put together a report in which he took the Fisk ads—print, direct mail, radio, Internet, and television—and dissected them, pointing out every lie, half-truth, and manipulated word. He also estimated, based on direct mail media buys, the amount of cash that was pouring into the Fisk campaign. His figure was at least $3 million, and he predicted that the vast majority was coming from out of state. There was no way to verify this until after the election. His report was e-mailed and sent overnight to every newspaper in the district, the
n followed up with aggressive phone calls. He updated it every day, then re-sent it and grew even more obnoxious on the phone. It finally paid off.

  To his amazement, and great satisfaction, the three largest papers in the district informed him, separately and off the record of course, that they planned to run stinging editorials on the Fisk campaign in the upcoming Sunday editions.

  And Nat’s luck continued. The same-sex marriage issue caught the attention of the New York Times, and a reporter arrived in Jackson to poke around. His name was Gilbert, and he soon made his way to the McCarthy campaign office, where Nat gave him an earful, off the record. He also gave Gilbert the phone numbers of the two gay law students who were stalking Meyerchec and Spano.

  Speaking off the record, they told Gilbert everything and showed him their file. They had spent four days in Chicago and learned a lot. They met Meyerchec in his bar near Evanston, told him they were new to the city and looking for friends. They spent hours in the place, got roaring drunk with the regulars, and never once heard anyone mention anything about a lawsuit in Mississippi. In the photos in the Jackson paper, Meyerchec had blond hair and funky eyeglasses. In Chicago, the hair was darker and there was no eyewear. His smiling face was in one of the group photos they had taken at the bar. As for Spano, they visited the design center where he worked as a consultant for lower-end home buyers. They pretended to be new residents in an old building nearby, and they spent two hours with him. Noticing their accents, Spano at one point asked where they were from. When they answered Jackson, Mississippi, he had no reaction to the place.

  “Ever been there?” one of them asked.

  “I’ve passed through a couple of times,” Spano said. This, from a registered voter, a licensed driver, and a current appellant before the state’s supreme court. Though Spano was never seen at Meyerchec’s bar, it appeared as if the two men were indeed a couple. They shared the same address, a bungalow on Clark Street.

  The law students had continued to call and visit the near empty apartment in Jackson, with no response. Forty-one days earlier, while knocking on the door, they stuck a piece of junk mail into a small gap near the doorknob. It was still there; the door had not been opened. The old Saab had not been moved. One tire was flat.

  Gilbert became captivated by the story and pursued it doggedly. The attempt to get married in Mississippi smelled like a cynical ploy to thrust the same-sex marriage issue to the forefront of the McCarthy-Fisk race. And only McCarthy was getting hurt.

  Gilbert badgered the radical lawyer who represented Meyerchec and Spano, but got nowhere. He dogged Tony Zachary for two days but couldn’t get a word. His phone calls to Ron Fisk and his campaign headquarters went unanswered. He spoke to both Meyerchec and Spano by phone, but was quickly cut off when he pressed them on their ties to Mississippi. He gathered a few choice quotes from Nat Lester, and he verified the facts dug up by the law students.

  Gilbert finished his report and sent it in.

  C H A P T E R 30

  The first fight was over the question of who would be allowed in the room. On the defense side, Jared Kurtin had full command of his battalion and there were no problems. The brawl was on the other side.

  Sterling Bintz arrived early and loudly with an entourage that included young men who appeared to be lawyers and others who appeared to be leg breakers. He claimed to represent over half of the Bowmore victims, and therefore deserved a lead role in the negotiations. He spoke with a clipped nasal voice and in an accent quite foreign to south Mississippi, and he was instantly despised by everyone there. Wes settled him down, but only for a moment. F. Clyde Hardin watched from the safety of a corner, crunching a biscuit, enjoying the argument, and praying for a quick settlement. The IRS was now sending registered letters.

  A national toxic tort star from Melbourne Beach, Florida, arrived with his support staff and joined in the debate. He, too, claimed to represent hundreds of injured people, and, since he was a veteran of mass tort settlement, he figured he should handle things from the plaintiffs’ side.

  __________

  The two class action lawyers were soon bickering over stolen clients.

  There were seventeen other law firms jockeying for position. A few were reputable personal injury firms, but most were small-town car-wreck lawyers who had picked up a case or two while sniffing around Bowmore.

  Tensions were high hours before the meeting began, and once the yelling started, there was the real possibility of a punch being thrown. When the voices were sharpest, Jared Kurtin calmly got their attention and announced that Wes and Mary Grace Payton would decide who sat where. If anyone had a problem with that, then he and his client and its insurance company would walk out the door with all the money. This calmed things down.

  Then there was the issue of the press. At least three reporters were on hand to cover this “secret” meeting, and when asked to leave, they were quite reluctant. Fortunately, Kurtin had arranged for some armed security. The reporters were eventually escorted out of the hotel.

  Kurtin had also suggested, and offered to pay for, a referee, a disinterested person well versed in litigation and settlements. Wes had agreed, and Kurtin found a retired federal judge in Fort Worth who worked part-time as a mediator. Judge Rosenthal quietly assumed control after the trial lawyers had settled down. It took him an hour to negotiate the seating. He would have the chair at the end of the long table. To his right, halfway down and in the center, would be Mr. Kurtin, flanked by his partners, associates, Frank Sully from Hattiesburg, two suits from Krane, and one from its liability insurance carrier. A total of eleven at the table for the defense, with another twenty packed behind them.

  To his left, the Paytons sat in the center, opposite Jared Kurtin. They were flanked by Jim McMay, the Hattiesburg trial lawyer with four death cases out of Bowmore. McMay had made a fortune on the fen-phen diet pill litigation and had participated in several mass settlement conferences. He was joined by a lawyer from Gulfport who had similar experience. The other chairs were taken by Mississippi lawyers who had legitimate cases from Bowmore. The class action boys were shoved into the background. Sterling Bintz voiced his objection to his placement in the room, and Wes angrily told him to shut up. When the leg breakers reacted badly, Jared Kurtin announced that the class actions were the lowest priority on Krane’s list, and if he, Bintz, hoped to collect a dime, then he should keep quiet and stay out of the way.

  “This ain’t Philadelphia,” Judge Rosenthal said. “Are those bodyguards or lawyers?”

  “Both,” Bintz snapped back.

  “Keep them under control.”

  Bintz sat down, mumbling and cursing.

  It was 10:00 a.m., and Wes was already exhausted. His wife, though, was ready to begin.

  __________

  For three hours nonstop they shuffled papers. Judge Rosenthal directed traffic as client summaries were produced, copied next door, reviewed, then classified according to the judge’s arbitrary rating system: death was Class One, confirmed cancer was Class Two, all others were Class Three.

  A stalemate occurred when Mary Grace suggested that Jeannette Baker be given first priority, and thus more money, because she had actually gone to trial. Why is her case worth more than the other death cases? a trial lawyer asked.

  “Because she went to trial,” Mary Grace shot back with a hard gaze. In other words, Baker’s lawyers had the guts to take on Krane while the other lawyers chose to sit back and watch. In the months before the trial, the Paytons had approached at least five of the other trial lawyers present, including Jim McMay, and practically begged them for help. All declined.

  “We will concede that the Baker case is worth more,” Jared Kurtin said. “Frankly, I’m unable to ignore a $41 million verdict.” And for the first time in years, Mary Grace actually smiled at the man. She could have hugged him.

  At one, they broke for a two-hour lunch. The Paytons and Jim McMay hid away in a corner of the hotel restaurant and tried to analyze the meeting so f
ar. Going in, they were consumed with the question of Krane’s intent. Was it serious about a settlement? Or was it a stunt to push along the company’s agenda? The fact that the national business papers knew so much about the secret settlement talks made the lawyers suspicious. But so far Mr. Kurtin had given every indication that he was a man on a mission. There had been no smiles from the Krane suits or the insurance boys, perhaps a sign that they were about to part with their money.

  __________

  At 3:00 p.m. in New York, Carl Trudeau leaked the word that the negotiations were progressing nicely down in Mississippi. Krane was optimistic about a settlement.

  Its stock closed the week at $16.50, up $4.00.

  At 3:00 p.m. in Hattiesburg, the negotiators reassumed their positions, and Judge Rosenthal started the paper mill again. Three hours later, the initial accounting was complete. On the table were the claims of 704 people. Sixty-eight had died of cancer, and their families were blaming Krane. A hundred and forty-three were now suffering from cancer. The rest had a wide range of lesser illnesses and afflictions that were allegedly caused by the contaminated drinking water from the Bowmore pumping station.

  Judge Rosenthal congratulated both sides on a hard and productive day, and adjourned the meeting until nine o’clock Saturday morning.

  Wes and Mary Grace drove straight to the office and reported to the firm. Sherman had been in the negotiating room all day and shared his observations. They agreed that Jared Kurtin had returned to Hattiesburg with the goal of settling the Bowmore litigation and that his client seemed committed to that end. Wes cautioned that it was much too early to celebrate. They had managed only to identify the parties. The first dollar was nowhere near the table.