Flinch Factor, The (22 page)

Chapter Forty-six

Counting Judge Flinch, there were seven of us squeezed into his chambers that morning. I was there as attorney for the settling defendants in the Frankenstein case. Jacki was there as my attorney. Rob Crane was there on behalf of Ruby Productions, along with his posse, which today consisted of a junior partner, a senior associate, and a junior associate—all male, all dour. Rob, Jacki, and I were seated on the three chairs facing Judge Flinch's desk. Crane's posse stood behind him.

We were there on my emergency motion for a rule to show cause why Ruby Productions should not be held in contempt, etc., etc. The full title ran on for another three lines. The essence of the motion was that the court needed to step back into the case to (a) enjoin Ruby Productions and its attorney from making baseless threats against me and my clients, and (b) declare that there had been no breach of the settlement agreement. It was, to put it mildly, an unusual motion.

We'd finished it around ten-thirty last night. On her drive home, Jacki served a copy on Crane, along with a notice that we'd be appearing in court the next morning to seek a prompt hearing. He'd met her at the door in his bathrobe.

Judge Flinch was delighted to see us. As I had confirmed with his clerk, he had nothing on his docket the whole week. He was leaning back in his chair now and twisting the end of his mustache with his right hand as he appeared to ponder the situation. He was staring at Jacki.

“Tell me, Counsel,” he said to her. “Is it Jacqueline or Jacki?”

“Jacki, Your Honor.”

“Jacki, eh?”

He nodded and smiled, twisting the end of his mustache.

“You are a fine strapping young woman, Miss Jacki.”

Jacki gave him a perfect Miss Manners smile. “Why thank you, Your Honor.”

She looked elegant—and imposing—in a dark blue skirt suit and white blouse. In her blue pumps, she actually stood taller than Rob Crane. She'd towered over Judge Flinch when he stood to greet us as his clerk ushered us into his chambers.

That Judge Flinch was taken with Jacki only improved our chances. The motion was a long shot to begin with—a strategy worth trying only in front of someone like Judge Flinch. On our drive to the courthouse Jacki and I had gone over every scenario we could come up with, including various arguments Crane might try and various persona the judge might put on—but neither of us had imagined a Casanova in a black robe.

Crane cleared his throat. “To repeat, Your Honor, I can assure the Court that there is no need for a hearing over this purported settlement dispute. I can further assure Court that I will speak with my client today. I will advise him of Ms. Gold's position, as set forth in her motion papers, and I will discuss with him the possibility of a quiet resolution of this matter outside of Court.”

Judge Flinch pursed his lips in what almost passed for a thoughtful expression and turned toward Jacki.

“‘A quiet resolution,' sayeth he. What sayeth thee, Miss Jacki?”

Oy
, I thought.
He's going Old Testament?

Jacki shook her head. “I am afraid there can no longer be a quiet resolution, Your Honor.”

“Really, Miss Jacki. What maketh ye say that?”

She gestured toward Crane. “Opposing counsel and his client have already broken the silence. They have rung the bell of breach. Frankly, Your Honor, as Judge Ito once said, ‘You can't unring that bell.'”

I could have kissed her.

Flinch nodded gravely and sat back in his chair. “Excellent point, Miss Jacki. Excellent point. You maketh me seest the light.”

I said, “If I may, Your Honor, let me also point out that the bell Mr. Crane and his client have rung is not some trivial sleigh bell. This Court fully grasps the significant public policy issues at stake in the underlying case. Indeed, I described to Ms. Brand this morning the Court's deep concern that the settlement of this matter would deprive the citizens of our community of the opportunity to observe a hearing on those crucial issues. So, no, Your Honor, the bell Mr. Crane and his client have rung is much closer in size and significance to the Liberty Bell.”

Crane snorted. “Oh, for God's sake, Rachel, that is absolutely—”

“Mr. Crane!” Flinch leaned forward, his bald head flushed. “Do not argue with Counsel! Not in my Court and not in my chambers. Have you no shame, sir? Have you no sense of decorum? If you have a response to Opposing Counsel, you address that response to me.”

“I apologize, Your Honor,” Crane said in a clipped voice. He took a breath. “Contrary to Ms. Gold's ridiculous metaphor, no bell—sleigh or otherwise—has been rung by anyone. I had a private discussion with her about my client's concerns regarding her compliance with all terms in the settlement agreement.
Her
compliance, Your Honor, and not her clients'. That was a purely private and confidential conversation.”

“Not anymore, eh?” Judge Flinch held up the motions papers, which included as Exhibit A my affidavit detailing Crane's threat and his client's offer of a multi-year $250,000 retainer. “This is public, Mr. Crane. Filed down there in clerk's office for the whole doggone world to see.”

“Which brings me to
our
emergency motion,” Crane said. “The one we filed this morning. My conversation with Ms. Gold was strictly confidential. She should never have revealed it in a public filing. That is why we are asking this Court to enter an order placing her motion under seal.”

“That'll be granted…when hell freezes over.” Flinch laughed. “Denied.”

Crane nodded, expressionless. “We would also ask the Court to deny Ms. Gold's motion. We have filed no claim of breach of the settlement agreement, and we have no present plans to do so. We are investigating the matter and we will be happy to discuss it further with Ms. Gold and her Counsel. But at present there is no justiciable controversy, Your Honor. Nothing for this Court to consider or to rule upon.”

Crane paused and gave the judge an exasperated man-to-man smile.

“Frankly, Your Honor,” he said, “this whole proceeding today is based upon nothing more than idle—or more precisely—overheated speculation. If Ms. Gold really wants to play in the big leagues, I would suggest that she try to develop some thicker skin.”

Jacki leaned forward and rested her imposing forearms on the desk. “Your Honor?” she asked in a sweet voice.

The judge almost blushed. “Yes, Miss Jacki.”

“I realize the Court prefers that Counsel address all comments to the Court and not to one another.”

“Ah, you are correct, Miss Jacki. Dost thou haveth something for thy Court?”

“I do, Your Honor. I wish to express my disappointment at hearing Opposing Counsel make that disparaging personal comment about my colleague. It is unseemly and unprofessional, Your Honor. I was wondering if perhaps you could advise Mr. Crane that if he ever says something like that again to Ms. Gold or about Ms. Gold, I will personally kick his ass.”

“Ha!” Judge Flinch leaned back in his chair, eyes wide with delight. “What a gal!”

He turned to Crane. “Better watch your tongue, sir.”

He looked back at Jacki and glanced at her arms, which still rested on his desk. “Do you lift weights, young lady?”

“I used to.”

“How much could you bench press back then? Two hundred pounds?”

Jacki gave him a demure smile. “Actually, Your Honor, three hundred and twenty pounds.”

“Whoa!” Flinch applauded. “What a gal. Well, Counsel, I am ready to rule.”

“Your Honor,” Crane said. “Opposing Counsel's motion has blown this matter way out of proportion. No matter how much they try to puff this up, this is a minor dispute.”

“Minor?” Flinch said, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “If this is so minor, why did you bring all those lawyers with you. Hell, you outnumber the womenfolk here two to one. Four lawyers, and now you claim it's no big deal?”

He chuckled and turned to us. “You know why the lawyers in Mr. Crane's firm are like wolves? They travel in packs.”

He looked up at the three lawyers standing behind Crane and gestured toward the door.

“Speaking of which, would one of you los lobos go out there and call in my clerk?”

The youngest of Crane's associates stepped outside and returned a moment later with the judge's docket clerk, a middle-aged black woman.

“Lucinda,” Judge Flinch said. “Today is Tuesday. Block out this Thursday and Friday for a two-day evidentiary hearing on this emergency motion for—” he reached for the motion papers and frowned at them “—rule to show cause and so on and so forth. And notify the boys and girls down in the press room that it's open season for the media.”

He turned back to us. “See you folks on Thursday at ten a.m. sharp. Be sure to dress pretty for the cameras.”

Chapter Forty-seven

I assumed Rob Crane and Ken Rubenstein would take the gamble, despite the considerable risks.

And they did.

I hoped they would lose.

And they did.

The official time of defeat—according to the time stamp on the two-sentence per curiam opinion faxed over from the Missouri Court of Appeals the following afternoon—was 1:37 p.m. The ruling denied Ruby Productions' emergency petition seeking a reversal of Judge Flinch's order granting a hearing on my motion or, in the alternative, seeking a reversal of Judge Flinch's order opening his courtroom to all media. In plain English, the Court of Appeals ruled that the hearing could proceed on Thursday with full media access.

What made the gamble so risky for Crane and Rubenstein is that any effort to gag the press not only heightens its interest in the dispute but elevates the story's significance in the reporters' minds. Nothing is more important to the press than a story about an attempt to muzzle the press—as evidenced by the flurry of media coverage generated in response to Crane's efforts. He had filed the emergency appeal Tuesday afternoon. We were the lead story on all local TV stations Tuesday night. By Wednesday morning, attorneys for two local TV stations had intervened in the appeal.

If Crane had won his gamble—
i.e.
, if he had prevailed in the court of appeals—the story would have faded quickly, along with whatever leverage I had. But the denial of his petition transformed the upcoming hearing, at least in the eyes off the press, into the biggest Missouri court battle since the Dred Scott case. It was, by any measure, a public relations catastrophe for Crane and his client. Indeed, Judge Flinch's docket clerk notified the parties Wednesday afternoon that she'd received inquires from representatives of the
Wall Street Journal
, the
New York Times
, CNN, MSNBC, Fox News and, of course, all of the local TV news shows.

I suspected that the publicity nightmare posed by the upcoming hearing would be the least of the concerns for Ruby Productions and its attorney. Although I still hadn't been able to fit all the pieces together, the pattern that had emerged from the connections among Ruby Productions, Corundum Construction, and the various city officials certainly resembled a criminal scheme. And if Milton Bornstein's experience was typical of the city officials, the list of co-conspirators included Rob Crane. And if that was so, then Rubenstein and his attorney had good reason to be flustered.

My first call from Crane came on Wednesday at eleven-thirty—almost two hours before the Court of Appeals ruled on his petition. The timing didn't surprise me. Crane's firm was wired into the system, which meant that someone at the Court had tipped him off. He said his client was prepared to settle the dispute by filing a stipulation in court that there had been no breach of the settlement agreement and, further, by agreeing to reimburse the plaintiffs for all legal fees and costs incurred in connection with the proceedings. I turned him down and replaced the receiver as he was trying to convince me to discuss the offer. He called back five minutes later. I had my secretary tell him I was busy.

And I was.

Jacki and I had been preparing for Thursday's hearing ever since returning from Judge Flinch's chambers on Tuesday. Benny taught two classes on Wednesday morning but came by after lunch to help us out. By the time he arrived, we'd sent off the last of our process servers with subpoenas and were in the process of selecting which of the exhibits needed to be added to the big-screen presentation for the judge (and the TV cameras).

I'd placed a takeout lunch order with Adriana's on the Hill—an assortment of her Italian meatball and salsiccia sandwiches and a triple order of her homemade eggplant caponata. By the time Dorian returned with the order, we had received the fax from the Court of Appeals announcing the decision denying Crane's emergency petition. High fives all around.

Thirty minutes later we were in the conference room finishing our lunches and going over hearing strategies when my secretary cleared her throat. I looked up. She was standing in the conference room doorway.

“Rob Crane,” she said.

“Again?”

She help up her hands. “He says it's urgent.”

“Tell him I'm at lunch, Dorian.”

“No,” Benny said. “Take it.”

“Why?”

“Think about it, Rachel. Tomorrow's hearing is
your
hearing. That means
you're
the only one with the power to stop it. No one knows that better than Crane. He and his client are strapped inside the Flinch Flyer, a/k/a the Roller Coaster from Hell. If they're starting to shit bricks over their predicament, then this just might be the right time to lay a real demand on those bastards.”

I mulled it over and turned to Dorian. “Sometimes he's right.”

She smiled. “Line two.”

I used a napkin to wipe my hands and mouth, picked up the receiver, and pressed the Line 2 connection.

“Yes, Rob.”

“My client wants to settle this dispute once and for all.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“I'm serious.”

“I've heard that line, too.”

“Jesus, Rachel.”

“Go ahead. Make it fast.”

“Number one: we will file a stipulation that there has been no breach of the settlement agreement. Number two: we will pay all fees and costs incurred in connection with this dispute. And number three: as a show of respect to your clients and a sign of our sincerity, we will make a payment of two-thousand dollars to each household in Brittany Woods.”

He paused.

I said nothing.

He said, “I think even you would have to admit that my client has made an extraordinarily generous offer to your clients. It covers every possible concern of yours.”

“Not quite.”

“For chrissake, Rachel, what else could you possibly want from us?”

“The real story of Nick Moran's death.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“What are you talking about? Who is Nick Moran?”

“Ask your client.”

“I'm serious.”

“So am I, Rob.”

I could hear him breathing on the other end.

“Nick Moran?” he said.

“Yes.”

“He's dead?”

“Yes.”

“You think his death has some connection to your case?”

“It doesn't matter what I think. You made me a settlement offer, Rob. I rejected it. You asked me what else I wanted. I just told you.”

I paused and winked at Jacki.

“Rob,” I said, “if you want to play in the big leagues, then listen carefully. You get me what I want, and we'll have a deal. And just so we're clear, when I say I want the real story, that includes admissible evidence to verify it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

I hung up.

Benny chuckled.

“What?” I said.

“You got some Kong-sized
beitzim
, woman.”

I shook my head. “We don't have to go forward with the hearing tomorrow. This whole circus is for Nick and his sister. We're just trying to get the prosecutors interested in these TIF scams in the hope that maybe they'll stumble across Nick's killer in the process. If we can get to that same result quicker this way, if we can find out the real story behind Nick's death and turn it over to Bertie Tomaso without that hearing, that's fine with me.”

“You think Crane knows anything about his death?” Jacki asked me.

“It didn't sound like it.”

“So what do you expect him to do?” she said.

“I'm guessing he calls back in an hour to tell me that Nick Moran died of a drug overdose in Forest Park.”

“What do you say then?” Jacki asked.

“I repeat my settlement demand: I tell him I want the real story—not the one that was faked up for the cops.”

“Reality check,” Benny said. “How's he going to get the real story?”

“If I'm right—if Corundum is somewhere in the background—then we get the answer by motivating the lawyer for Corundum.”

“How?” Jacki asked.

“Fear. We need to be able to tie Crane directly into this kickback scheme, and then we need to make sure he understands his predicament.”

“Can Bornstein do that?” Jacki said.

“In a heartbeat,” Benny said.

“Yes and no,” I said to Benny. “We promised him we wouldn't use his name.”

“That's okay,” Jacki said. “We'll have all those other dirty city officials under subpoena for tomorrow.”

“Don't count on it,” I said. “If those officials were really doing what we think they were doing, they're going to be lawyered up by the time they get on the witness stand tomorrow. I'm guessing most of them will take the Fifth, and the rest will lie. For our sake, I'm hoping for the Fifth.”

“That'll still make them look guilty as hell,” Jacki said.

“But not Crane,” I said. “That's why we need to find an innocent city official. Someone who can tell the truth without fear of incriminating himself.”

Jacki frowned. “An innocent city official? What does that get us?”

Benny laughed. “Rachel is a genius.”

He turned to Jacki.

“You want to know what an innocent city official gets us? Rob Crane's balls in a vise, that's what, and Rob Crane's balls in a vise might just get us the name of the killer.”

“Assuming he can find that out,” Jacki said.

I poked my head out of the conference room. “Dorian?”

She came around the corner. “Yes?”

“How are you doing with the contacts information?”

“I have home addresses and phones for most of them.”

“What about Cloverdale?”

She smiled. “All of them.”

“You're awesome, Dorian. Bring in what you have and go home and get some rest. We're going to have a long day tomorrow.”

I returned to the conference room.

I said, “Dorian found us home addresses and phone numbers for most of the aldermen and city council members who voted against these TIFs, including all of the Cloverdale no votes. We need to divide up the list and try to reach each of them tonight.”

Jacki was frowning. “I'm still lost. You want us to talk to city officials who voted
against
the proposed TIF in their town? The good guys?”

“Right,” I said.

“Why?”

“Remember Milt Bornstein's story. He told us that Rob Crane was the go-between. Crane was the one who proposed the deal with Corundum. Bornstein wanted an in-ground swimming pool. He'd already priced them out. It would have cost him at least thirty thousand dollars. Crane told him that if he voted in favor of the TIF, he could get that same pool built for five grand.”

“Okay,” Jacki said, uncertainly.

“Now we need to find someone who got the same offer from Crane but said no. Someone who listened to the proposal and rejected it.”

Jacki frowned. “Crane wouldn't be crazy enough to make those kickback offers blind.”

“I agree,” I said. “I'm sure he was careful. I'm sure he and Rubenstein sized up each council member and only approached the ones who seemed susceptible. And I'm sure he was careful to raise the subject in a subtle way to gauge the other party's reaction before going any deeper. But no one is perfect. Maybe he misjudged one or two of them. If so, maybe we can find one who'd be willing to take the witness stand and describe the kickback offer. If we can do that, we'll put that person's name on our witness list and serve it on Crane. It'll be his very own Sword of Damocles.”

Benny laughed. “I love it.”