Flinch Factor, The Page 15

  He was on the museum board, and clearly proud of that fact. Fortunately, I happened to have seen the current exhibit—a series of Maya Lin landscapes. I had dragged my stepdaughter Sarah with me for an hour of forced culture after we’d gone shopping for shoes last weekend. Thus I could make semi-intelligent comments about the exhibit.

  All well and good, I supposed, except—I kept wondering—why were having lunch? And why did he choose the Contemporary Art Museum as our topic of conversation?

  For one creepy moment I thought this might be a date. According to the gossip columns, he was single again, having recently divorced his second wife.

  But he wasn’t in date mode. There was nothing flirtatious or playful about his words or mannerisms. Instead, he appeared to be doing the power lunch equivalent of throwing warm-up pitches on the sidelines. At some point soon, he’d be ready to take the mound. But, to continue the metaphor, I was growing impatient in the batter’s box.

  “Speaking of Maya Lin,” I said, “let’s stop speaking of Maya Lin.”

  He gave me a quizzical look. “Pardon?”

  “Enough about landscapes. Let’s talk about why you asked me to lunch. This is our first meeting outside of a courtroom or a conference room. Given that we have eight depositions scheduled for next week, I suspect you asked me here today to discuss something other than Maya Lin’s latest work.”

  He smiled. “This is actually our second meeting outside of a courtroom or conference room, although it’s been more than twenty years since the first time.”

  “Same restaurant, though.”

  “You remembered, eh?”

  I nodded. “As did you.”

  He smiled. “I think this one will end better.”

  “Oh? For whom?”

  “You and your clients.”

  “Does that mean you have a new settlement offer?”

  “Yes.” He took a sip of beer. “To paraphrase Don Corleone, I have an offer you can’t refuse.”

  “Try me.”

  “How does a walkaway sound?”

  “A walkaway from what?”

  “From the redevelopment project.”

  I frowned. “Are you telling me that your client is offering to drop his redevelopment plans?”

  “He is.”

  “Entirely?”

  Crane nodded.

  I stared at him, trying to make sense out of what I’d just heard.

  “What’s going on here, Rob?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a business decision. Dollars and cents. Ken Rubenstein has decided to move on. He has other pending deals, and he believes some of those projects will be more lucrative than the Brittany Woods deal.”

  “So what’s the catch?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Rob, your client stood in my office last week and told me he was declaring World War Three. Now he’s giving up? That doesn’t sound like your client to me.”

  Rob leaned back in his chair and contemplated his answer.

  “Ken is a complex man, Rachel. He can be hotheaded at times, but at heart he’s a rational bottom-line businessman. Here he’s made what he believes is a prudent financial decision, and he’s decided to move on.”

  “So what are the settlement terms? What does he want from my clients?”

  “Not a thing beyond dismissal of their lawsuit. The only person he wants anything from is you.”

  “What can I give him?”

  “A clean break.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “A clean break?” Benny repeated. “What the fuck is that?”

  “My question as well—although I phrased it slightly different to him.”

  I’d been filling Benny in on my lunch meeting with Rob Crane. We were seated at my kitchen table, just the two of us. Benny had come over for dinner with Sam and my stepdaughter Sarah. My mother was out on a date.

  I’d put Sam to bed while Benny and Sarah washed the dishes. Sarah was up in her room now working on her paper on Macbeth. Benny had apparently given her some topic suggestions while I was putting Sam to bed, which meant I’d need to review her paper before she handed it in. Benny’s take on Shakespeare—like his take on most things—tended to be as eccentric as it was brilliant. Sarah’s A.P. English teacher was neither.

  “So what did he say?” Benny asked.

  “He said his client didn’t want to have to deal with me again.”

  “He won’t anyway. Once you dismiss the case, it’s fucking history.”

  “He meant never having to deal with me ever again in the future.”

  “As in some other lawsuit?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Damn, girl. That boy must have decided you had him by the short hairs.”

  He held his fist out in front for me to tap.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Come on,” he said, grinning.

  “Benny.”

  I tapped his fist with mine.

  “Never again, eh?” Benny leaned back in his chair. “Is that even legal? Can a lawyer agree in advance not to represent an unidentified future client on a specific type of case?”

  “Probably not, but we never got that far. I told him I had no current interest in suing his client again, but that I couldn’t rule it out in advance—just as his client wouldn’t rule out some future deal involving Brittany Woods or some other subdivision in the city.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  “I thought so. But he kept pushing it. He said he wanted me to turn over all my files on the case.”

  “And you said?”

  “I said no. I told him I couldn’t. I told him the obvious, namely, that there were attorney-client communications and other privileged documents in those files. I couldn’t give him those documents without my clients’ permission, and I wasn’t going to ask for that permission because I didn’t see any reason to. So then he proposed that I destroy the documents and any electronic copies on my computer and give him an affidavit certifying that I’d destroyed them.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “And irresponsible. I’ve never destroyed a client’s file, and, I reminded him, neither has he. And the reason is obvious: what if something unexpected comes up a year or so down the road and the key document is in the client’s file?”

  “So did you guys work something out?”

  “Sort of. I told him I would be willing to state in the settlement agreement that I was not currently representing any other party adverse to his client and that I have no present intent to do so.”

  “Jeez,” Benny said, grinning. “You got Rubenstein so rattled he wants Rachel Gold insurance. Not bad.”

  “Maybe.” I frowned. “The result is wonderful for my clients, but the reason doesn’t make sense. Rubenstein goes from all out war to total surrender in a matter of days? Because he suddenly decided he could make money on another TIF deal?”

  “Maybe he was nervous about one of those witnesses you were going to depose.”

  “So he drops the entire project?”

  “Could be nothing more than the old time-is-money thing. He’s a real estate developer. They’re like hookers looking for johns with money, except their johns are cities with TIF funds and tax breaks and other forms of corporate welfare. He probably found a new one with a fatter wallet, and now he wants to make sure you don’t fuck up that deal by suing him again.”

  “More coffee?”

  “I’m good.”

  I refilled my cup.

  “Meanwhile,” I said, “my clients are in heaven.”

  “I bet they are.

  “I called Muriel right after my lunch with Crane. She was so excited she started crying on the phone. Crane said he would send me a draft of the settlement papers by tomorrow afternoon. I told Muriel to set up a meeting with the steeri
ng committee tomorrow tonight so we can go over the settlement terms and get the papers finalized.”

  “This’ll be a load off your mind.”

  “This case has been driving me crazy.”

  He winked. “Dr. Frankenstein bids farewell to her monster.”

  I smiled. “I can’t wait.”

  “Meanwhile, what’s the deal with your little jaunt out to Amity yesterday? On your own? All of a sudden you’re Dirty Harry?”

  “I never got out of the car, Benny. But it was definitely worth it. I was able to ID that pickup truck. I even took some pictures of it. Same license plate. No question. Same truck.”

  “But not the same guy.”

  “True, but I’m getting warm.”

  “Just don’t get burnt.”

  “Don’t be such a worrywart. I’m a big girl.”

  “I believe ‘girl’ is the operative term.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “So who owns those two houses in Amity?” Benny asked. “More city officials?”

  “Good question. I have no idea.”

  “If they are, you ought to be able to confirm that pretty fast.”

  “How?”

  “If the town has decent electronic records, it probably has a decent website, too.”

  “Good idea.” I stood. “Let’s go check.”

  Benny followed me into the den, where the computer was already on. I did a Google search for towns named Amity, turned up more than a dozen, and found the St. Louis suburb on page two of the search results.

  I clicked on the link and the screen opened onto the Amity home page, which featured a bright collage of flowers, a fountain, a red-brick home, a pair of smiling boys in soccer uniforms, and a maple tree in full autumn red.

  “There,” Benny said, pointing to the City Government icon, which was one of several along the top of the page.

  I clicked on the icon, which opened a drop-down menu of links, including one entitled Mayor and City Council. I clicked on that one, which opened yet another set of links:

  Bios of Mayor and City Council

  Current Agenda

  Recent Minutes

  Public Hearings

  I clicked on the first link, which opened a page with a photo and brief biography of the mayor and each of the four council members.

  “Bingo,” I said.

  “Which one?”

  “Both. These two.” I pointed. “Randy Gunn and Kathy Perkins.”

  “Amazing. You got to give Corundum its props. Those bastards must have a lock on city pols.”

  “Where do you think these council members find out about Corundum?”

  “Maybe at those annual conventions for city officials. Maybe Corundum has a booth there.”

  “Maybe.”

  As we talked I clicked my way back the town’s homepage. The other icons across the top of the page included City Services, Boards & Commissions, Calendar, History, Maps, Contact Us, and News. I clicked on News, which opened to a page of what appeared to be headlines of Amity press releases in reverse chronological order, the most recent at top. Each headline was also a link to the full piece. The sixth one down, about three months old, caught my eye: Ruby Productions Breaks Ground On Stony Glen Estates.

  I clicked on the story:

  With a pair of shiny new shovels in hand, Amity Mayor Phil Kirkton and Ruby Productions President Kenneth Rubenstein officially broke ground this morning on Stony Glen Estates, a 40-home gated community whose amenities will include a health club, swimming pool and hiking trails. Mayor Kirkton heralded the new development as “the feather in the Amity redevelopment cap.”

  The land for the new development, which will occupy the site of the former Southwest shopping district and the long-shuttered Amity West strip mall, was cleared and leveled after the City Council granted powers of eminent domain to Ruby Productions. Although some citizens had questioned the special real estate tax waiver granted to Ruby Productions during the construction phase of the project, Mayor Kirkton assured the crowd of onlookers that the city’s treasury would be more than replenished once Stony Glen Estates was complete.

  “Well, well,” Benny said. “Your boy is everywhere, eh?”

  “But no TIF this time.”

  “Yeah, but sounds like the city gave him a sweet deal on taxes.”

  ***

  Later that night—after I took Yadi for a walk, got ready for bed, checked on both of the kids, and turned off the reading lamp on my nightstand—I started thinking again about the Town of Amity and Ruby Productions and that Stony Glen Estates development.

  Eventually, I turned on the lamp, put on my robe and slippers, and padded back downstairs to the den, followed by Yadi, who’d come out of Sam’s bedroom as soon as he heard me on the stairs. I turned on the computer, logged onto the Internet and went to the Town of Amity’s website. I clicked on the City Government icon, clicked on the Mayor and City Council link, and clicked on the Recent Minutes link, which opened to a column of dates—one per month stretching back for twenty months.

  I clicked on the oldest month, which opened a document entitled: “MINUTES OF A REGULAR MEETING OF THE CITY COUNCIL.” According to the date and time at the top of the page, the meeting started at 7 p.m. on a Tuesday twenty months ago. The meeting opened with the Pledge of Allegiance and the Invocation, which was given by Mayor Kirkton. Next came the roll call. All four council members were present. The meeting moved through a variety of city business—approval of an application for a retail liquor license for a tennis club, approval of a resolution authorizing the Mayor to execute an agreement with a nearby city for the purchase of 300 tons of salt for winter road maintenance, approval of a proclamation to a local Catholic girls’ high school declaring a particular day Math Day, consideration of a series of bills for ordinances approving annexations of properties or issuances of permits for other properties, and various other seemingly routine city business.

  I closed that set of minutes and clicked on the next one, skimmed the minutes, closed it, clicked on the next one, skimmed the minutes, and closed it. The meetings appeared to be held on the second Tuesday of each month. I kept opening and closing the minutes until I reached the meeting thirteen months ago. Under New Business was an entry in which the Mayor described a proposal from Ruby Productions for the creation of a redevelopment district comprising the Southwest shopping district and the closed Amity West strip mall. Under the proposal, the existing structures would be removed and replaced by a gated residential community. Ruby Productions was requesting certain real estate property tax relief and a commitment from the city regarding the costs of certain road and sewer line construction.

  According to the minutes, Ruby Productions had already submitted the proposal—which included a lengthy set of drawings and specifications and a detailed pro forma—and was requesting approval of its proposal at the next regularly scheduled city council meeting. One of the council members—Patricia Welch—spoke against the proposal, but the Mayor ruled her out of order, since the only issue before the council was whether to place the matter on the agenda for the next council meeting. Council Member Norm Presberg moved that the proposal be placed on that agenda, Council Member Randy Gunn seconded the motion, and it passed four votes to one.

  I closed the minutes for that meeting and opened the next one. As with the others, it opened with the Pledge of Allegiance, the invocation and a series of relatively routine matters. The rest of the meeting, according to the minutes, was devoted to the consideration the Ruby Productions proposal, which was now identified as Ordinance No. 4098. Present on behalf of Ruby Productions with Kenneth Rubenstein, two of his employees, and Rob Crane. They answered various questions posed to them by different member of the city counsel. Patricia Welch, the council member who had opposed even putting the proposal on the agenda, asked the most questions. After the Ruby Production
s officials answered all the questions, the council members each had an opportunity to express their own observations. Once again, Patricia Welch spoke at great length against the project. And finally, the vote. As set forth in the minutes::

  MAYOR KIRKTON CALLED FOR A VOTE ON BILL NO. 5057. COUNCIL MEMBER GUNN MOVED, SECONDED BY COUNCIL MEMBER PERKINS, APPROVAL OF BILL NO. 5057 AS ORDINANCE NO. 4098, WITH THE VOTE UPON SUCH MOTION BEING AS FOLLOWS, TO WIT:

  MAYOR KIRKTON—AYE

  COUNCIL MEMBER GUNN—AYE

  COUNCIL MEMBER WELCH—NAY

  COUNCIL MEMBER PRESBERG—NAY

  COUNCIL MEMBER PERKINS—AYE

  THE VOTE ON THE MOTION BEING 3 AYES AND 2 NAYS, ORDINANCE NO. 4098 WAS APPROVED.

  I stared at that roll call vote for long time before shutting down the computer and going back upstairs.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  I didn’t fall asleep until after three that the morning, but at least by then I had a plan. I needed to bring this Corundum investigation to a head one way or the other—more for Nick Moran’s sister than anything else, but enough was enough already. I had to find the mysterious big guy and find out what he knew—or didn’t know—and wrap it up.

  By two in the morning, I had my plan. By three, when I finally rolled over in bed and closed my eyes, I had my partner. And by nine-thirty the following morning, I was parked across the street from 359 Dorantes in Amity, Missouri. In the driveway was the same black Dodge pickup, and along the curb in front of the house were the same three pickups from the day before.

  To be safe, I restarted the engine, drove to the end of the block, and parked far enough around the corner to be out of the sightlines from 359 Dorantes.

  I turned off the engine, angled the rearview mirror, and checked my appearance. I had on one of my mother’s oversized sunglasses, bright red lipstick, and a pink scarf that covered my hair. Not bad.