Double Indemnity, page 15
Connor went to the counter and ordered a breakfast-blend coffee, an apple Danish, and a slice of toasted French bread for Liz. He returned to the table with his drink and the food.
“Perfect,” Liz said.
Liz carefully and evenly spread butter across the surface of the bread.
“I’ve never seen someone spread butter like that,” he said. “You’re reaching every corner.”
“That’s the way my father does it. I always enjoyed watching him butter bread when I was growing up.” Liz took a bite and nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Tell me about your conversation with Reg Bullock.”
Connor summarized his talk with Reg. The last thing he mentioned was the probe from the GBI investigator about Connor spending time with Elena, including sitting in her blue BMW in front of the coffee shop.
“I set that up to avoid being with her alone in private,” Connor said.
“That sounds like a soap opera, not police work. I’ve seen how careful you are about avoiding anything that looks inappropriate for a minister. You don’t have anything to worry about. But when I tell Elena the local sheriff’s department has brought in the GBI, she’s going to react. It was bad enough for her to consider the possibility of talking to Detective Norman. Now she’s going to be interviewed by a more sophisticated investigator from the state.”
“You’ll be with her, right?”
“Yes,” Liz said, then paused. “If we allow anyone to interview her at all. That’s something I’ll have to talk over with my boss.”
“Elena can be stubborn.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
Arriving back at the office, Liz checked her voice-mail messages. The last one was from the Etowah County Sheriff’s Department: “This is Detective Norman. I’d like to schedule a time to interview Elena Thompson either at the sheriff’s department or at your law office. Let me know as soon as possible.”
Liz forwarded the message to Harold, along with a request to discuss the issue as soon as possible. There was a light knock on her door, and it opened. Jessica had a serious expression her face.
“A friend called last night and said the GBI has been brought into the investigation of Matt Thompson’s death. Have you heard anything about that?”
“It’s true. Connor Grantham told me this morning over coffee at Sunnyside.”
Jessica’s countenance suddenly brightened. “Forget about the GBI. I’m here if you need me for relationship advice. Not that I have any experience dating a preacher, and it’s hard for me to imagine one keeping you interested.”
“We’re not dating. Both of us are trying to help Elena Thompson.”
The phone on Liz’s desk buzzed, and she pressed the speaker button on the receiver.
It was Becky: “Neil Peterson is on the phone.”
“I’ll take it,” Liz responded.
Jessica turned to go. “Remember, I’m available if needed,” the assistant said, tapping her heart with her right index finger.
For a second, Liz debated whether to record the phone call. It was legal in Georgia for one person to record a conversation without telling the other party, but she’d never asked Harold whether it was an acceptable practice at the law firm. She decided to place the call on speaker and take notes instead.
“This is Liz Acosta,” she said.
“Neil Peterson. We met at Matt Thompson’s funeral.”
“Of course, I remember.”
“You’re not recording this call, are you?” he asked. “If so, I’m hanging up.”
“No.”
“Are you on a speaker phone? I’m hearing an echo.”
Liz picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. “Is that better?” she asked.
“Much. This conversation is off the record, okay?”
“Agreed.”
“Everything I tell you can be independently verified, but I don’t want to be identified as the source of any information. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
“I’m calling because of my friendship and loyalty to Matt. Not only did we work together at Daughbert, but he also recruited and hired me.”
Liz wanted to believe Neil Peterson was trustworthy but knew she had to be cautious. “I’m listening,” she said.
“The biggest asset in Matt’s estate may not be the market value of Daughbert Technology. The company has been struggling and trying to find a buyer before the balance sheet scared off any suitors. We could point to past cyclical ebbs and flows to explain the current downturn as part of doing business in this field. But we all knew the company might not make it another eighteen to twenty-four months. And without Matt, it wouldn’t last that long. He kept it afloat.”
Liz cleared her throat. “If the company isn’t in good shape, what’s the biggest asset for Matt’s estate?”
“Life insurance proceeds. Hold on.”
The phone was silent for over a minute.
“I’m back. I know Matt took out life insurance payable to both Elena and Anne. He explained what he’d set up when I asked for his advice about what I should do for my current wife and my ex-wife and son. Matt even told me the amount he’d bought. But that’s not the insurance I’m talking about. The company took out high-value keyman life insurance policies.”
“’Keyman life insurance’?”
“For Matt and Winston. Life insurance policies that would pay if one of them died while the company was still in business.”
“Do you know the details of the policy?”
“Some, but not all. Winston asked me to be in charge of organizing a lot of the materials you requested. In an effort to save money, we’re handling that internally rather than bringing in a lawyer to do it. Scrolling through the file index, I saw a reference to life insurance policies. The file included a policy taken out on Matt’s life for ten million dollars. There was an identical policy bought on Winston’s life. According to a recent memo from Winston, the policy for Matt may pay out twenty million dollars.”
“There’s a double indemnity clause.”
“That makes sense,” Neil replied.
“If Daughbert Technology is the beneficiary of the policy, it would increase the cash in the company by twenty million dollars with Matt’s estate entitled to forty-nine percent.”
“Is that how much of the company Matt owned?” Neil asked.
Liz wished she’d not revealed the percentage so casually.
“That’s my understanding,” she replied. “But there would be other factors that would go into a valuation. Was the company the beneficiary of the policy?”
“I’m not sure. It was payable to something called the Daughbert Technology Trust. I don’t know what that is and didn’t see another reference to it in the index. Yesterday, when I checked the index again, the references to the keyman policy, the trust, and Winston’s memo had been deleted from the main server, but I had a backup on my computer and downloaded it to a flash drive. I want Matt’s family to be treated fairly.”
Liz tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “Can you get that flash drive to me?”
“Yes.”
“Does the index contain the financial information revealing the bad state of the company?”
“It should. I saw references to our quarterly profit and loss statements.”
Liz tapped one finger against her desk. “Have there been any discussions at the company about the cause of Matt’s death?”
“Just what happened. Accidental gunshot to the abdomen. Why?”
“The police are conducting an investigation.”
“I’m not surprised. I think a detective from the local sheriff’s department interviewed everyone who was on the company retreat.”
“Were you there?”
“No, I had to cancel at the last minute. Sorry, but I have to go. You’ll honor my request for confidentiality, correct?”
“Absolutely.”
* * *
Connor walked out to Michelle’s desk. “What should the topic for my message be on Sunday?” he asked.
Michelle raised her eyebrows. “Shouldn’t you be asking God, not me, about that?”
“I did and didn’t get an answer.”
“Maybe that’s your message: ‘What to Do When God Is Silent.’”
“Would you want to hear that kind of sermon?”
“No, because I probably wouldn’t like the reasons. There’s probably some kind of repentance needed to remove any blocks to communication.”
“I like that,” Connor said. “I’ll also give you credit for the inspiration by telling the congregation that God spoke to me through you.”
“Please don’t do that.” Michelle shook her head. “For years, Duke has claimed I order him around the house like God. If he believes I’m doing the same thing here, he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
An hour later, Michelle buzzed Connor’s phone.
“Elena Thompson is on the line,” she said.
Connor took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll take it.”
Elena spoke immediately. “Tracy saw you and Liz at the Sunnyside Coffee Shop this morning. Were you talking about me?”
“Both of us want to help you as much as possible.”
“Don’t get defensive,” Elena said, then continued in a lighter tone of voice. “Tracy and I had a good day together. She helped me go through some of Matt’s things, which would have been extra tough on my own. We even laughed over some photos Matt tucked away in a chest of drawers in our bedroom. Also, there were trinkets and souvenirs he’d saved from our trips that I didn’t know about. Mementos that brought back happy memories.”
“I’m glad you had that time.”
“Yeah, I know I’m going to have a lot of ups and downs in the days and weeks ahead. I’d like to book a regular appointment on your schedule.”
“How often?”
“Weekly unless I need more.”
Connor couldn’t go back on what he’d just said about being there to help Elena. But he knew frequent interaction with her would be draining.
“We’ll set something up, but I think it would be good for you to also meet with a female counselor. Somebody with expertise in working through grief.”
“Is there a counselor like that in Bryson?”
“Not that I know of, but I’ll try to found out.”
“In the meantime, what day and time works best for you on a regular basis?”
Connor’s calendar was up on his computer monitor. It was peppered with meetings, appointments, and fewer time slots marked off for no activity than he liked.
“Nothing that I can set for the same time every week. Let’s start with next Tuesday morning at eleven if that’s good for you.”
“Let me check.”
The phone was silent for a moment. “Got it,” Elena said. “Maybe we can grab lunch after we finish.”
“Not next week.”
“Then after another meeting.”
* * *
“We have to move quickly,” Harold said to Liz as they sat in his office. “When you have insider access like Peterson you have to take full advantage of it before any lawsuits are filed and the ability to talk to people who can be classified as a corporate representative goes away.”
“‘Goes away’?”
“You can’t talk directly to another lawyer’s client. And when the client is a corporation, that usually includes almost anyone in management.”
“Okay, I’ve not had any experience with this sort of thing.”
“You’re about to. Have you talked to Elena about your conversation with Peterson?”
“No, I wanted to discuss it with you first.”
“Good, don’t. She already got the assistant of what’s-his-name fired.”
“Winston Boone.”
“Right. And I don’t want Elena messing this source up by calling him directly and scaring him off or discussing him with someone who informs on him and causes him to lose his job too.”
Liz shifted in her chair. “But don’t we have an obligation to let Elena know about Peterson? This is her case.”
“What do the rules of professional responsibility say? You took the bar exam a lot more recently than I did.”
“I’m not sure.”
Harold swiveled in his chair and picked up a thin book. He held it up for Liz to see.
“You should keep one of these handy,” he said. “If not a paper copy, then an accessible file on your computer.”
Harold read excerpts from rule 1.4 regarding the client-lawyer relationship out loud. “Sound familiar?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Now, listen to this,” the senior partner said. “‘In some circumstances a lawyer may be justified in delaying transmission of information when the client would be likely to react imprudently to an immediate communication.’”
Harold looked up at Liz. “Does that apply here?” he asked. “Based on this, can we ethically delay telling her about Peterson?”
“Yes, because Elena has already shown she can act imprudently.” Liz paused. “But she’ll be furious when she finds out we withheld information from her.”
“Not if we wait until the right moment, and she can see that we’ve set her up for success. A client is less concerned with the process than the outcome.”
Liz returned to her office and immediately marked a copy of the rules for instant access via her computer. While she was on the clock for Elena, she decided to call the sheriff’s department about the request to interview the client. Expecting to leave a message for Detective Norman, she was surprised when he was available.
“You’d asked me to contact you about interviewing Mrs. Thompson,” Liz said. “I hope we can schedule in a couple of weeks.”
“Next week would be fine if she’s ready to meet with me,” the detective replied. “I suspect she’s still grieving. When you talk to her, please reassure her that I’m just doing my job. I don’t want to upset her more than she already is over her husband’s death.”
Liz was startled by the difference in the detective’s words and attitude from the way he came across at the Burnt Pine Tree Lodge.
“Thank you,” she said. “Is there anything she needs to bring with her? Paperwork? Documents?”
“Not that I can think of at this time. I’ll let you know if that changes.”
Liz decided to take advantage of the detective’s collaborative tone and pose the question she knew Elena would expect her to ask: “What’s the status of the investigation and how close are you to wrapping it up?”
“It’s impossible to say at this time.”
Liz regretted the compound question. The detective had responded to the second part and ignored the first.
“Is there any indication that Mr. Thompson’s death wasn’t an accident?” she asked and then held her breath.
“Is his wife concerned that’s the case?”
“No,” Liz replied quickly. “She believes it was an accident.”
“What’s the basis for her belief?” the detective asked.
“Uh, what she understands happened at the hunt and what the doctor told her about the gunshot wound.”
“How does she know what happened at the hunting preserve? Who has she talked to? What information does she have regarding the cause of death other than what the doctor told her?”
Liz regretted bringing up the subject. “I’m not sure,” she replied.
“Then I’ll ask her when we get together. Anything else today?”
“No,” Liz said, relieved to end the call.
Liz put Elena’s case to the side and worked on something else.
Chapter 17
Connor stopped at the Hamilton house on his way home from the church. Rascal, who seemed twice as big as the last time he’d seen him, was in a pen at the rear of the house. The dog yelped and started racing around the enclosure when he saw Connor. Josh opened the front door of the house.
“Hey!” he called out. “I’ll get my dad.”
Connor waited on the front porch. Lyle wheeled himself to the door. Josh stood behind him.
“Would you like to see what I’ve taught Rascal since the last time you were here?” Josh asked.
“Sure.”
“I’ll get him,” Josh said, running off.
Lyle rolled his chair outside.
“Should we go down the ramp to the yard?” Connor asked.
“No, this is fine,” Lyle said in a subdued voice.
Josh appeared with Rascal pulling hard on a blue leash. The boy had an orange Frisbee in his hand.
“I think I know what’s about to happen,” Connor said.
“Yeah, they’ve been working on this every day for the past week,” Lyle said.
Josh unleashed the dog and waved the plastic disc back and forth. Rascal tried to jump up and grab it from the boy’s hand. Josh threw it, and Rascal took off as fast as he could go. The dog snagged the Frisbee out of the air before it hit the ground. He trotted back to Josh, who ran over to Connor and his dad.
“Great,” Connor said to the boy. “And what’s most impressive is that he brought it back to you.”
“Will you throw it, Dad?” Josh asked.
“I’m not feeling too good,” Lyle started. “You—”
“Please?” Josh interrupted. “Mr. Connor hasn’t seen you throw a Frisbee.”
“And I’d like to,” Connor said.
“Okay,” Lyle said reluctantly. “But just once.”
His eyes glued to the orange disc, Rascal stood attentively in front of the stoop. Leaning forward in his wheelchair, Lyle curled his arm around the Frisbee and then released it with a snap. It shot out and then began to climb in stages, higher and higher in the air. Connor had never seen anything like it. When it reached the end of its flight, it came down softly, as if descending on an elevator, and into the waiting mouth of the dog, who grabbed it in his teeth.
“How did you learn to do that?” Connor asked.
“Disc golf,” Lyle replied. “I’ve played since I was a kid.”
“Getting it to drop out of the sky where you want it to is the hard part,” Josh said. “That way it lands in the metal basket.”
“You could still play disc golf, couldn’t you?” Connor asked.
