Paul Goldstein - A Patent Lie

“Are you happy there?”

“I'm in a holding pattern. It's mostly busywork. St. Gall wants to keep their eye on me until the trial is over.”

“You could get a job anywhere. Dozens of companies would hire you.”

“Not without a visa. All St. Gall has to do is call Immigration and I lose my H-1.”

That was the hold that St. Gall had on Lily. Deportation. It was why they didn't need her signature on a secrecy agreement.

“You're a citizen of this country,” she said. “You have no idea what it's like to live with the constant threat that, if you look at somebody the wrong way, you get deported.”

“Is your family still in China?” If family was neither an attraction nor a consolation for Seeley, it might be for Lily.

“My parents are in their sixties. They live in Wuhan.”

Seeley was certain she was going to tell him more, but she glanced quickly at a mirror in her purse and, after removing a business card, snapped the bag shut. “Have you ever done science, Michael?”

“Football practice got in the way of biology lab when I was in college.”

“Then you have no idea how different my world is from yours.” While she spoke, she wrote on the back of the card. “Whatever else is wrong with your country, America is still the best place in the world to do science. It's one of the few places where a woman can hope to get recognized for what she does.”

The dining room had emptied. A lone waitress leaned against the cash register. Warren handed him the business card, on which she had written her address and Tuesday, 7:30.

Seeley said, “You must want something very much to risk having St. Gall see you with me.”

She sipped her tea. “You're afraid that something is going to come out in court and ruin your case.”

Seeley nodded, once again admiring how quick she was. “And you've told me what you're afraid of. So why don't you tell me what it is you want?”

“Look, Michael, we each have our own reasons, but the way things are arranged, St. Gall's not going to say anything, in court or out, and I'm not, either. So this secret you think I'm hiding is not going to be a problem for you.”

Her logic was as impeccable as she was. But it was lawyer's logic, and for Seeley that had never been enough.

Paul Goldstein

A Patent Lie

It felt illicit being in his brother's house with him not there. Renata told Seeley that Leonard was working late and would meet them at Joel Warshaw's party. “Leonard loves parties,” she said. “Take your tie off. The only one there with a tie will be the headmaster.”

“Headmaster?”

“It's a benefit for the Hill School. Joel's on the board.” Renata's hands went to Seeley's collar and deftly loosened the tie, opened the top button, and slipped the tie from its knot. She let one hand stay fl at on his chest. “Healthy heartbeat,” she said and handed him the tie.

Seeley looked down at her, flustered.

A quizzical smile played on her lips. “Next time,” she said, “I'll use an anesthetic.”

It was late October, but the evening was balmy and Renata suggested walking the short distance to Warshaw's house. The light sleeveless dress clung to her slender figure, and she threw a sweater over her shoulders on their way out the door. “You made a conquest, you know.”

Seeley didn't know who she meant, and didn't want to hear that it was her.

“Judy Pearsall called this afternoon and asked if you were going to be at Joel's. She's on the school's board-she's on lots of charity boards-but she doesn't usually come to these things.”

“She said she'll be there?”

“No, but the way she asked about you, I'm sure she will.”

Judy didn't impress Seeley as someone who chased strangers on a whim. He said, “She doesn't believe the police, that her husband killed himself.”

“How could any wife believe that?”

“Especially if her husband's life insurance has an exclusion for suicide.” Seeley didn't like to think that about Judy, but the apartment with its good address, high ceilings, and fine plaster walls was not cheap, nor was her daughter's private school tuition.

“I'm sure you have a soft spot for widows and children, but Judy doesn't need insurance money. She's from one of the old San Francisco fortunes-sugar, something like that.”

They were crossing a broad avenue, and parked cars lined both sides of the street ahead. For some reason, in this flat, well-paved town, almost all of the vehicles were mammoth four-wheel-drive SUVs.

Renata said, “I'm sorry I never met your wife.”

“Clare.”

“Do you have a lady friend back in Buffalo?”

Before he could answer, Renata said, “Here's Joel's.”

“No,” Seeley said.

White-jacketed valets collected keys and cars at the entrance to the property. Warshaw's house, at the end of fifty yards of cobblestone drive, was two stories of light-colored stucco, fl at-roofed and vaguely French, as if the architect had Versailles in mind with the rooftop balustrade and stacked quoins where the two wings joined the main part of the house. Contemporary sculptures, two of them brightly painted, dominated the sloping lawn. The other, of twisted rusting iron, Seeley recognized as the work of a former client in New York. The wail of a saxophone pierced the air.

With Renata, Seeley passed through a bright, high-ceilinged foyer to a flagstone terrace. The band, saxophone still soaring, was on the terrace, and more sculptures followed a gravel pathway that wound through three or four acres of lawn ending in a line of redwoods.

A striped tent the size of a house had a small stage and rows of folding chairs inside. An amateur-sounding auctioneer, his voice amplified by loudspeakers hidden in the trees, was soliciting bids for a spa weekend for two at Big Sur donated by a resort. Guests, wineglasses in hand, moved between tent and terrace. A few of the older men were in blazers and sport shirts, but most, like the younger ones, were in jeans or rumpled shorts, polo shirts, and running shoes. The women, glossy blondes, formal in skirts and heels, looked like they had dressed with more elegant companions in mind. The faces were lean, tanned, and, for all the smiles, fierce.

Renata touched Seeley's elbow and whispered, “Your new groupie.” He turned to see Judy approaching them. Renata gave her a quick greeting. “I'm going to find the drinks,” she said, and left.

“It's good to see you,” Judy said. “Bob used to meet Joel here, rather than at the office.” She frowned. “Apparently the CEOs down here like to stay close to home.”

Like kids in a sandbox, Seeley thought. “Is this for Lucy's school?”

She shook her head. “Lucy goes to school in the city.” She saw the question in his expression. “I went to Hill School when it was all girls. They started admitting boys fifteen years ago.” Again, her expression told Seeley that she didn't approve.

“Was there a reason you asked Renata if I'd be here?”

Her mouth moved for a moment, but no words came-Seeley realized that he had been too direct-but she quickly recovered. “What does someone do if they think the police aren't looking sufficiently into a crime?”

“You could hire a private investigator.”

She shook her head. “I don't think so.”

“You could have a lawyer look into it. Have you talked to any of your husband's partners?”

“Heilbrun, Hardy's a San Francisco firm. That's where its influence is. They don't know anyone in San Mateo.”

Seeley remembered Barnum saying that he had started out as an assistant district attorney in San Mateo. “Do you know Ed Barnum? Vaxtek's general counsel.”

The noise from the tent had grown and Seeley noticed that more guests were crowding into it.