Steve Martini - The Arraignment

I agree to talk to Dana, make no promises beyond that. There’s not a lot of choice.

“Good. Now that that’s done.” Adam gives up a sigh. You can almost see the tension rise from his body like heat waves. “Not a pleasant task,” he says, “but I had to play the cards I was dealt. I hope you understand?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Have you folks heard anything more about Nick’s death? The police are coming and going here,” he says, “asking questions, but offering no answers.”

“They’re known for that,” I tell him. “We read the papers. That’s about it.” I don’t tell him about Espinoza. For the time being, those details are best left between Harry and me.

“Same here.” He shakes his head, takes off his glasses, and settles back into his chair. “You know, what I can’t figure is why would a man like Nick get involved with someone like Metz?”

He’s not talking about attorney-client relations now, but the partnership, Jamaile Enterprises.

Following our meeting on the insurance settlement, Adam told me that the cops were probing, questioning some of the partners and staff. They brought up the limited partnership. According to Tolt, who has now turned over every rock in the firm, this is a mystery to all of them.

“I’ve wondered the same thing. Let me ask you, did the cops ever mention a name, Grace Gimble?”

He looks at me, then Harry, thinks about this for a second, then shakes his head slowly. “No. Not that I know of. Why? Who is she?”

“I’m not sure. The name cropped up on the partnership records. One of the original directors.”

“Probably a secretary. Somebody who was around when they put the thing together. When was this, the formation?”

“A little over a year ago.”

He allows this to settle in as he calculates. “Nick was with the firm over three years,” he says.

“That’s why I thought you might know the name.”

“I don’t think anyone by that name works for us now, but I could have somebody check personnel records. Assuming we have them that far back.” He makes a note to himself on a pad on his desk, then puts the pen down on top of it.

“So what we have are two points of contact, this business Nick was involved in and his wife Dana, who was on the arts commission with Metz.”

“There’s another aspect to this thing,” I say. “Nick tried to hand Metz off to me, before he was charged. He told me the firm had a conflict with Metz, so he couldn’t handle it. Something about some contracts Metz had, that Rocker, Dusha was on the other side of.”

“I can check. But if we had an adverse interest, how did Nick get around it for the arraignment?” he asks.

“He told me he disclosed it to Metz, and I assume the other client, and they all waived.”

“The man seems to keep turning up in Nick’s life like a bad penny,” says Tolt. “We don’t know why or how they got together on business. Does anybody know how Metz got on the arts commission?”

“Zane Tresler appointed him,” says Harry.

I look at my partner, surprised at the source of this information and how readily it comes pouring forth.

“Well, you were getting wrapped around the axle, so I just thought I’d check it out,” he says. “He also appointed your pal, Fittipaldi.”

“Who is this?” says Tolt.

“A friend of Dana’s,” I tell him.

“Dana’s term is up in three years, unless she gets reappointed. Fittipaldi has a year,” says Harry. “Metz had two years when his ticket got punched. Anything else you want to know? It’s the same Tresler as the museum they’re planning downtown. You have heard about that?” he says.

Word of the museum has been in the papers two or three times in the last year, a thirty-million-dollar museum and gallery planned for a location somewhere near the waterfront, set to start construction in the next year or so.

“Actually the museum is being named for his father. Zane, Senior.” Tolt is leaning forward, elbows on his desk, smiling at the verbal swordplay between Harry and me. “A combination of some public money, mostly federal grants, and matching contributions from the Tresler Family Foundation. The old man died back in the late sixties. There’s a son, grandson, and I’m told a great grandson.”

“Which one is on the board of supervisors?”

“Zane, Junior, the son. He’s been on the board twenty years I guess. As long as I can remember. He chairs the board’s courts committee. I know that much. The judges have to grovel in front of him yearly to get their heat turned on in winter and the air turned up in summer. He controls funding for staff, desks, pens, paper clips. He has more juice with the local courts than the appellate bench. I’d bring him into the firm as a full partner. He wouldn’t even have to come into the office,” he says, “but unfortunately he’s not a lawyer.” Adam makes it sound as if this might be only a minor impediment.

“What does he do besides supervise?” I ask.

“Not much. The grandson runs the family businesses now. Mitchell Tresler. He’s in his thirties. Not quite as quick as his father. I guess the genes have been watered down,” he says. “I’m told there’s a fourth running around out there somewhere, probably in grammar school. If I had a pretty little granddaughter, I’d send her to that school and tell her to make friends. The kid’s going to be rich someday.”

“Where did the family money come from?”

“Mostly real estate development,” says Adam. “They do large projects, malls, major subdivisions. That and give a lot of money to charities.

“The family started in real estate back in the early part of the last century. Zane One put most of it together. I never actually met the man, but from what I’ve heard, you wouldn’t want to get in his way if there was a land rush. The wheel ruts in your body would be deep. And he was well connected. A friend of William Mulholland, the engineer who built the Owens Aqueduct. Anyway, the family ended up owning a good part of the eastern end of the county. This was back when it was nothing but sagebrush and jackrabbits. The Treslers bought it up for a song. Then the water project came through, the diversion from the Colorado River. Suddenly old man Tresler was sitting on a fortune.”

“Funny how that works,” says Harry.

“Isn’t it?” says Adam. “The rest is history. Zane, Junior, grew up with the county, and now he runs it. This year it’s his turn to be chairman of the board. He also heads the regional joint powers commission.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“The city, the county, and the port authority signed a joint powers agreement a few years ago. They formed a special regional powers entity to govern land along the waterfront and most of the commercial property downtown. They have the final word on development in that area. Tresler’s the chairperson. It gives him a huge hammer. What he wants he gets.”

“That’s a little dicey, isn’t it?” asks Harry. “I mean sitting on a county governing body that settles zoning disputes when your family’s company is doing development?”

“Tresler is a careful man,” says Adam.

“And if you’re smart, you don’t ask questions, is that it?” says Harry.

“Not if you want his vote on anything that’s important,” says Tolt. “And to be honest, I think you’ll find him above reproach. There’s nothing anybody can give him that he doesn’t already have-money, power, you put it on a list, Zane Tresler has it. They call it politics, and as I said, he’s a careful man.”

Though many might not believe it, the most potent side of government resides at the local level in this state. Here things like contracts for picking up your garbage, down-zoning and obtaining variances to do as you please on your own land can make you a millionaire, or a pauper, overnight.