Steve Martini - The Arraignment

This ratchets up her anxiety so that she squeezes my hand until the blood leaves my fingertips.

“You were Nick’s friend. You wouldn’t let them do this. I mean not to your friend’s wife. Tell me you wouldn’t.”

“You need to get a good lawyer,” I tell her. Harry would be proud of me.

“I’ve got one,” she says. “You.”

“No, I mean a lawyer who knows how to find his way around an insurance policy. Trap all those little wiggle words, nail down the exclusions, screw the definitions to the floor so the insurance company can’t move them around on you. And that settlement agreement Nick had with Margaret. I hope he had a good lawyer draw it up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Because that’s the key,” I tell her. “If that wasn’t drafted properly, well, let’s just say no lawyer, especially a good one who knows insurance, is going to want to waste much time on it.”

“You don’t think I have a chance?” I’ve seen people accused in capital cases with less apprehension etched in their eyes. “Have you looked at it?” she says. “The settlement agreement.”

“No. But contract law is not my strong suit.”

She drops my hand like a dead fish.

“Who, who should I get?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must know somebody. If it’s money, I can pay,” she says.

“I thought you were broke.”

“I can get it.”

“It’s not just money.”

“Then what is it?”

“Let me think about it for a few days,” I tell her.

“Oh, good. Of course. Take all the time you need. You must think I’m awful. I mean to get you involved like this.”

“What are friends for, right?”

“I knew you’d help me.” At the moment the friends she’s thinking about all have Grant’s picture engraved on them.

“Nick must have shared a great deal with you,” I tell her.

“What?” Her mind is other places.

“I mean about his work. What he did?”

“Not really.”

“From what he told me, the two of you were very close.”

“Well, yes, we loved each other, if that’s what you mean.”

“And I’ll bet there was pillow talk.” I look at her. She looks at me. I smile. She blushes.

“Well, a little.”

“Good. Then he must have told you about Jamaile Enterprises?”

She looks at me, a quizzical expression. “No. I don’t think so. What is it?”

“It’s a corporation-or was until it failed to pay its franchise tax fee.”

“What does it have to do with Nick?”

“He was one of the corporate directors.”

“I don’t know anything about it. I’ve never heard of it. He never said anything to me,” she says.

“I thought he might have, since the only other officer in this company was an acquaintance of yours.”

“Who is that?”

“Gerald Metz.”

Her eyes grow dark with this news, pupils shifting as she processes the information. “What? No. He never said a thing.” I can sense questions fulminating in her mind like popcorn over a hot fire. “When did they do this? Did Nick tell you?”

“Over a year ago, and no, Nick didn’t tell me.”

If she knows anything, you would not be able to detect it from the expression of confusion on her face. “I don’t understand.”

“That makes two of us. Nick told me you met Mr. Metz on the arts commission.”

“That’s right.”

“When was that?”

“I don’t know. Probably the first meeting I attended,” she says. “Now that you mention it, he seemed to know who I was.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. He just came up and introduced himself. Said, ‘You’re married to Nick Rush, aren’t you?’ ”

“Then he admitted he knew Nick?”

“No. I asked him, and he said he only knew him by name. He’d seen it in the paper. That sort of thing. With the kind of clients Nick had, he couldn’t keep his name out of the papers even if he wanted to, which he didn’t.”

I sit there silently mulling this information. Dana’s not looking at me. Instead her eyes are cast down at the carpet.

“How did you find out about this, this business thing between the two of them?”

“The police,” I tell her. “We were able to confirm…”

“The police?”

“Yes.”

“They never said anything to me.”

“Maybe they didn’t want to bother you with it.” I can tell this weighs heavily.

“How did they find out?”

“I don’t know.”

There’s a long silence as she thinks. “I told them that I had referred Metz to Nick,” she says.

“Well, as far as you knew at the time, that was the truth. Right?”

“Absolutely.”

I can tell from the stark expression this has not been one of Dana’s better days. First the insurance, now the cops with information that her husband had dealings with Metz before she knew him, information that is inconsistent with what she had told them. She has to wonder what they are thinking.

“How did Metz approach you regarding his legal problems?” I ask. “What exactly did he say?”

I can tell her mind is already headed in the same direction, trying to reconstruct events. “It… it was at a meeting.” Now she’s flustered. Information overload, too much of it disturbing, or maybe she just wants me to think so.

“I think it was in March. Last spring anyway. He came up to me after the meeting and said he knew that I was married to a good lawyer and that he needed some help with a business problem he was having. I told him my husband did criminal law, and he said that-that’s what he needed.”

“Did he give you any details about this problem?”

“Nothing. Just that he had needed a lawyer.”

“Had you ever talked with Metz before this conversation?”

“Sure. I mean there’s twenty-eight people on the commission. We meet. We talk. We serve as a clearinghouse for NEA grants in the county. National Endowment for the Arts.”

“Is there much money involved?”

“It depends. Some of the grants are large. We’re reviewing one for a new opera house that could involve a few million dollars. Most of them are small individual grants.”

“How about Metz? Did he usually show up for meetings?”

“Most of the time. We had talked socially a few times, discussed things. I can’t say that I knew him well.”

“Do you know how Metz got on the commission?”

“I assume the same way we all did, by appointment of one of the county supervisors.”

I consider this as she looks at me.

“Just out of curiosity, who appointed you?”

“I knew you were going to ask. The cops did, and I couldn’t remember. How embarrassing,” she says. “But I looked on my appointment papers afterward. It was Supervisor Tresler.”

“Do you know him?”

She shakes her head. “Not personally. I mean I may have met him at some function or other. If I did, I don’t remember. I’m not really into politics.”

I am thinking, “Yes you are, just not the kind where people cast secret ballots.”

“Then how did you get appointed?”

“Nick thought it would be good for me. I think he was trying to find something I’d enjoy. It’s not a big deal,” she says. “I mean it’s not one of the best commissions. There are some boards, advisory groups that pay a salary. There’s no compensation for the arts commission. They cover some expenses. Once every year, a small group gets to go to Europe, for meetings with art exhibitors. It’s on a rotating basis. I haven’t had a chance.” She looks down. “I guess now I may not have a chance. I mean I may have to resign and find a job. I don’t know what else I can tell you. You will help me, won’t you?” Dana’s back to my hand again, giving it the squeeze treatment, so that when I stand up I have to stoop over to release her grip.