Perri O'Shaughnessy - Unlucky in Law

“It was his grandmother’s.”

“Tradition is good.”

“No need to fall out of your chair celebrating or anything.”

“Congratulations, of course.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s a big step.”

“Forward,” Nina said firmly.

“How did Bob take the news?”

Bob had spotted the ring the minute she picked him up from her father’s house. She tried to explain, but he put up a hand. “I know what a ring means, Mom.” His reaction had been mixed, not altogether positive, but not harsh, to her relief.

“He’ll need time to adjust to the idea,” she told Sandy, realizing she was using Paul’s words.

“So you’ll be staying here. With the golfers and the retirees.”

More assumptions. “We haven’t worked out the details.”

“Hmm.” Sandy turned back to the paperwork on her desk. “I made up the files and left a list of the D.A.’s office and other numbers on your desk. Mr. Pohlmann says the firm’s taking you to lunch. He dropped off some of his files for you.”

“Great.”

They had a month to work through everything, including the upcoming trial. Although Nina had succumbed to Klaus almost immediately, she hadn’t actually committed to Stefan Wyatt’s case until she had found out Sandy wasn’t just available, she was eager to take a break from Tahoe. Solid, matter-of-fact, and smart, Sandy was a friend too, for all her crankiness and obstinacy. With her along for the ride, Nina felt strong and supported.

After finishing up a job in Washington lobbying for more Washoe ancestral lands, Sandy had come down to Monterey County with her husband, Joseph, and established herself immediately with some old friends who ranched near Big Sur, where her son, Wish, was already staying. As she explained it, one of her daughters had shown up unexpectedly a month before at their ranch near Markleeville, kids in tow, husband glaring.

Sandy didn’t go into what had brought her daughter home, she just said the tepee up in Alpine County, actually a small horse ranch she and Joseph owned, was feeling mighty cramped these days. Joseph was recovering from surgery and needed fresh air, riding, and “no more of what that girl of ours has to give at the moment.” She had accepted Nina’s offer of a temporary position at the Pohlmann firm without bothering to ask a single question.

If Nina stayed here in Carmel with Paul, she would lose Sandy. Sandy was rooted to Tahoe deep as the white pines and ancient oaks on her property. The idea made Nina quake. She needed Sandy.

“How did it go with Wyatt this morning?” Sandy asked.

“It’s a long story.” Nina gave her an abbreviated version. “Could you get my interview notes into the computer today?”

“Sure. Guilty or not?”

“Don’t know.”

“Didn’t you form a first impression?”

“He looks harmless.”

“But then so did Jeffrey Dahmer. I heard Stefan Wyatt went to school at CSUMB for a while before he got arrested,” Sandy said. Her son, Wish, had also attended California State University at Monterey Bay that summer, picking up more credits toward a degree in criminal justice. “You know their thing, right?”

“No,” said Nina. She picked up the top file Klaus had left and scanned it.

“Holistic studies,” Sandy said, her voice passing stern judgment.

“Okay.”

“Good place for kids with bad attitudes who can’t cut it in the real world.”

“Wait a minute. Your own son goes there. Wish says he has terrific teachers.”

“He’s not doing that holistic stuff. He’s on the vocational side.”

“I think it sounds interesting. And it sure fits Wyatt’s style. He’s young, loose, in the tearing-down phase politically.”

Sandy, shifting in a borrowed chair, black eyes narrowed, expressed the mood of the displaced and dispossessed, saying, “Other people have to be practical about what they study so they can get along after college. Other people settle down, pay a mortgage, keep a business going…”

“Without gallivanting around the Monterey Peninsula, grabbing diamond rings, when they should be back practicing law at Tahoe with their long-suffering secretary. Is that what you’re saying?”

Sandy put on her poker face.

“I’m not sure I need a hard time from you this morning, Sandy.”

“You call this a hard time? Where’s the groom?”

“Paul’s due in a few minutes. I called him on my way in from Salinas and told him about my interview with the client.”

“That Dutchman’s a bad influence on you.”

“Yeah?” Nina said, putting one report aside and picking up another. “Seems like you always used to promote him as the solution to my problems.”

“Did not,” Sandy said.

“What are you working on there?”

“Paperwork, to do with your temporary employment here, health insurance forms, tax info. As usual, you generate more stuff to be assembled than a four-year-old at Christmas. Meanwhile, take a look at this.”

Nina took the file. “What have we here?”

“When Stefan Wyatt first retained the firm, Klaus hired a detective. This is his report. Read it and weep, while I finish copying the rest for you.”

Nina went into her temporary office. Yellowing oak bookshelves covered three walls, mostly full of California codes. The stately blue leather compendiums of yore were quickly becoming obsolete in law firms. She could rely on her computer for most of her research these days.

One wall held a big window to the courtyard with its beach fog, bees, and weeds. She sat down at the unfamiliar desk, into a chair molded to fit some other body. She opened a drawer in the desk she had been loaned for the duration. Inside, lint, dust, and moldy mints had accumulated. Not allowing herself to think of her bright and pleasant office at Tahoe, now in the hands of a young lawyer friend, she shut the drawer, picked up the file, and began to read with concentration this time.

“So?” Sandy asked from the doorway a few minutes later.

“Aside from its brevity,” Nina said, “what surprises me most about this report are Klaus’s notes about it.”

“What notes?”

“Exactly. There aren’t any notes. No follow-ups. No signed witness statements. The report itself-this investigator interviewed witnesses, but he gave Klaus a couple of no-content paragraphs on each interview. I question whether he talked to these people in person or just gave them a quick call. Why did Klaus hire this guy anyway? He’s known and used Paul for years. Why didn’t Klaus call Paul?”

Sandy wore an expression that looked exactly like the first and the last time she had eaten squid in Nina’s presence. “Sandy?”

“Mr. Pohlmann did call Paul.”

“Oh, no,” Nina said. She already knew: Klaus had called Paul, but Paul didn’t know; ergo, interception.

“If Bob was in jail, what would you do?”

Sandy’s son, Wish, had been charged with a serious crime earlier in the summer. Abandoning her temporary job in Washington, Sandy had come to make sure Nina and Paul were going to keep him out of jail.

“You’re telling me that while we were using Paul’s office this summer, at his kind invitation, you took a call for him from Klaus?”

“I did answer a few of his calls. Paul was really strapped for time.”

“Klaus said he needed Paul’s help on the Zhukovsky case but you never told Paul?”

“Triage is what they call it in an emergency,” Sandy said. “Caring for the sickest first. So when Klaus called, I told him Paul wasn’t available. He was busy.”

“That wasn’t right, Sandy.”

“Yep.” Sandy pulled at her lower lip, a sign of deep thought.

“Does Paul know?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. I don’t like this. We’re going to have to help Klaus get organized. Call this investigator and find out if you have all the reports. Find out who he actually interviewed. I’ll give you a list tomorrow of the people he should have spoken with. Call them and try to get some appointments for him. Coordinate schedules with Paul, so he’s free when we need him. We have to catch up, and there’s no time. Paul’s going to miss some sleep, and so are we.”