Florida Is Murder (Due Justice and Surface Tension Mystery Double Feature) (Florida Mystery Double Feature) (7 page)

“You’re kidding!  Mrs. Mendel is about the healthiest woman I’ve ever known. When did this happen?”

Kate smiled. “About the same time Christian Grover signed her up as a plaintiff in the breast implant litigation.”

“You mean Mrs. Mendel has breast implants?”  I couldn’t believe it. “What for?”

“Apparently Dr. Morgan implanted her years ago after she had a mastectomy for precancerous fibroid tumors. Of course, she never told anyone. It used to be that people kept their medical conditions to themselves. Now, I think she’s planning to be a guest on one of the talk shows.”

This last was meant to be facetious. I think.

Kate’s right, though. Health concerns used to be private matters, particularly health concerns over breasts and other semi-sexual body parts. These days, it seems everything is public knowledge.

We exhausted this topic and I was trying to figure out a tactful way to bring up Carly when Kate saved me the trouble.

“You know, I really wanted both Jason and Carly to come last night. It’s been a long time since she’s seen her brother.”

“It would be even nicer if they could both be in the same room without snarling at each other. And you don’t have to give me the ‘disapproving mother’ look, either. Jason isn’t the only one Carly doesn’t talk to. Have you heard from her?”

I could tell from Kate’s expression that she hadn’t, and she was trying to come up with some acceptable excuse besides the truth--Carly doesn’t talk to any of us. I wouldn’t hurt Kate’s feelings for anything in the world. So I said, “You know I love Jason and Carly as much as if they were my brother and sister, but they’re not perfect.”

“No, and neither are you and Mark, as much as you both like to think so.”

This wasn’t going well. I tried another tack. “Carly called me this morning and left a message. If I talk to her, I’ll invite her to Minaret, and you can come over, too.”

This got the result I wanted. Kate promised to come, and she was happy. I do love Kate. She’s been a great mother to me since my mom died. I love my dad dearly, but he’s never around. I haven’t seen him in a year. So it was important to me to keep the peace with all the Austins.

We finished our salads, ordered cappuccino and a sinful dessert, and parted half an hour later.

I went back to my office and dictated a few orders on yesterday morning’s motions, looked over tomorrow’s case load and took care of a few other odds and ends. It was almost 4:30 when I remembered the call from the CJ. While I could have ignored it completely, there was no reason not to return his call and I asked my secretary to place it. CJ hates getting calls through a secretary.

Margaret came back to tell me that the CJ was gone for the day. She’d left a message and he’d likely call in the morning. I smiled to myself. This game of wills I’d been playing with the CJ was humorous. He calls me in the morning because he knows I don’t come in before nine o’clock; I call him in the afternoon because I know he leaves early. My amusement evaporated when I realized I’d need the CJ’s support to avoid the Justice Department’s public integrity unit if I didn’t get this thing with Carly resolved soon.

It was then I realized Carly had never showed up for our appointment. I’d worked right through.

I picked up the phone and called her again. Her secretary said she’d gone out about one o’clock and never returned.

I should call Chief Hathaway, report what Carly had told me and forget it. Not knowing the extent of her involvement kept me quiet. I couldn’t throw her to the wolves, even though it made me a dog in the road: Just a matter of time before a speeding truck flattened me, too.

Margaret reminded me that I was expected at the Federal Rules meeting ten minutes ago. Too late to cancel, and too late to spend time catastrophizing. I’d have to leave that for later.

But I determined to find Carly and shake the whole story out of her.

Then, I’d fix it, like always.

Or so I thought.

CHAPTER NINE

Tampa, Florida

Thursday 5:00 p.m.

January 7, 1999

The Federal Rules subcommittee of the local chapter of the Federal Bar Association, a committee I’ve been on for a number of years, was scheduled to meet this month at the offices of one of our newer members, Charles Smyth. Instead of taking the time to get my car, I asked Margaret to call another committee member for a ride. It really hadn’t registered with me where the meeting would be held until we arrived at the Landmark Tower offices of Able, Barnes & Worthington, where Smyth is a junior partner. Able and Bennett are dead. Elliott O’Connell Worthington is the senior partner here.

The Landmark Tower building, the most expensive office space in Tampa, sits at the corner of Florida and Jackson and takes up an entire city block. It is one of the newer “A” buildings in downtown Tampa, and it’s the most architecturally interesting. The building is over 40 stories high and topped by a white lighted dome. The dome’s lights are changed to red and green for Christmas and red, white and blue for the fourth of July. It’s easily seen for miles around after dark, and finding your way back to town is not as difficult as it used to be before the building went up.

The walk to the front door is lined with grey granite pillars and in the lobby sits a larger than life size, multicolored metal sculpture of Don Quixote on his horse. This was the first time I had ever been in the building and it certainly had all the indicia of high-priced real estate.

The offices of Able, Bennett & Worthington were on the top four floors. As the elevator whizzed up, I was reminded of my lunch. After a 35 second ride, the elevator doors opened onto the lobby--less than one second per floor. I stepped out into the lobby the same way cartoon characters leave an out of control carousel.

I’ve been in some extravagant law offices but it’s not an exaggeration to say that the lobby of AB&W, as it’s known around town, was the most ostentatious lawyers’ lobby I’ve ever seen. The floor was granite in three colors, with “AB&W” inlaid under foot. Windows at right angles gave one the feeling of standing on air outside, 420 feet above the ground.  Glass walls allowed a floor-to-ceiling view of the Port of Tampa, Harbour Island, Davis Island, Plant Key and the Bayshore on the south side and the city, the University of Tampa and north Tampa opposite. The office was furnished in museum-quality antiques, the likes of which George’s Aunt Minnie would have been proud to own.

The receptionist was a statuesque blonde Barbie look-alike selected for her acting ability. She played the receptionist part perfectly. When we entered the lobby, she greeted us both by name, said we’d been expected and someone would be out to escort us to the meeting shortly.

After about sixty seconds, Smyth’s secretary, another exceedingly attractive and briskly competent greeter, escorted us to the meeting in the main conference room.

When we arrived, the meeting was already in progress and we slipped quietly in and sat down. A review of the last meeting’s minutes was being concluded. While the familiar recitation droned on, I took the opportunity to look around. This room had a spectacular view of north and east Tampa. The conference table was made in the same shape as the building, of grey granite and various shades of wood inlay. The firm logo was again inlaid in the center of the table. The chairs were mahogany leather and the walls were lined with grey, granite-topped cabinets upon which were perched china cups and crystal glasses in patterns I recognized.

Oil paintings of the firm’s named partners lined the long wall opposite the windows and above the paintings in large brass script were the words “The Founder’s Room.”

The decorating budget for this room alone must have exceeded the cost of a private college education.

After the meeting adjourned, Smyth said, “Mr. Worthington wants a few moments with you, Judge Carson, if you can stay.”

“I have a transportation dilemma. I caught a ride over. If I don’t leave now, I’ll have to walk.” Everyone knew walking around downtown Tampa after dark wasn’t a wise choice.

Smyth said, “We’ll get one of the firm’s cars to drive you to your garage. This way, please.”

I followed Smyth to O’Connell’s office.

Winding through the corridors, Smyth delivered a running tour. Each wide hallways was lined with original work by artists I’d admired in places like the Smithsonian and the Metropolitan Museum. Vases and antique pottery was displayed in alcoves under spotlights.

Smyth said, “The firm believes in investing in art. One of our partners is quite knowledgeable. He travels to New York galleries and auction houses. Our collection adds significantly to the firm’s net worth.” He sounded like a docent. Was the entire firm was populated by the law office equivalent of Stepford wives?

“That’s a rather unique practice isn’t it?”

“Unique for Tampa. Firms in major cities invest in art. Here we are.” He knocked on a large mahogany door, grasped the crystal doorknob and pushed simultaneously.

O’Connell stood to greet me and dismiss Smyth while my mouth hung open.

The opulence was awesome.

O’Connell’s personal office was on the south west corner of the building, the best view the building had to offer. He had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Harbour Island, Davis Island, Plant Key and the Bayshore. I could see our Minaret clearly in the distance. The floors were hardwood, with antique Iranian rugs under the desk, the coffee table and the conference table. Navy and Burgundy leather upholstery covered most of the room. On the credenza and several of the walls were pictures of O’Connell and Cilla at various milestones: their wedding, their children’s weddings, their 45th anniversary party and last year’s awards banquet where O’Connell was named Lawyer of the Year. The opposite wall was O’Connell with the governor, O’Connell with our Senators, O’Connell with our last four presidents.

“Wilhelmina, I’m so pleased you were able to stop in for a few moments. Can I get you a cup of coffee or a glass of wine?”  I told him I would take a glass of Merlot and watched him open the door that concealed a wet bar. The wine rack held a selection of red wines, about twenty bottles. The white wines were in the wine refrigerator visible below. As he opened the bottle, I told him how impressed I was with his offices.

He handed me a Baccarat balloon glass, about two thirds full of Stag’s Leap and motioned me onto a sofa. While he remained standing, we were eye to eye. “I didn’t realize you hadn’t been here before. We’ve had these offices about four years. One of the first firms to lease space in this building. It’s been a pleasure putting it together.”  We raised our glasses in a silent toast. To what?

“How much space do you have, O’Connell, and how many lawyers have you got?”  I might not be a practicing lawyer anymore, but I still know how success is counted in the business.

“We have four floors here, 42, 41, 40 and, just recently, 39. We added ten new lawyers last year, bringing our total to 85.”  The open pride was uncharacteristic, but unmistakable.

“I had no idea you had so many lawyers in your office. Twenty percent growth in one year must make you about the fastest growing firm in Tampa. What’s your secret?”

He smiled, smoothly conspiratorial. “Since you’re not in competition with me, I’ll tell you. We’re strictly a litigation firm. We’ve been involved in some of the largest litigation in the country over the years. In 1991, when it all started, we were hired by one of the large manufacturers to defend breast implant cases. We’ve been on their national trial team since then. That’s really fueled our growth.”

“Didn’t that company go into bankruptcy a year or so ago?  That impacted your business significantly.”

“Fortunately, no. By that time, we had also picked up the defense of another large manufacturer, even larger than the first. I’m sure you’ve heard of them--General Medics.  Because of trial team experience and ground floor work with the first company, we were able to take an increased role with the new client immediately. That assignment has led to additional work from the second company, and others, and the result is what you see.”  He spread his left arm out, indicting the office, the view, everything.

“Well, I’m sure you’re the envy of all your colleagues. In fact, didn’t I hear that some of the firms involved in breast implant litigation have gone out of business?”

He nodded. “We’ve been fortunate, but it’s impolite to say so.”

I sat my wine glass down, and leaned forward, “Tell me, just because I’m interested. With all the experience you’ve had defending breast implant cases, what do you personally believe the problem is?”

“There’s still a debate among the experts over that subject, and I’m certainly no expert.”  He looked away.

“I know that, but I also know that good lawyers, such as yourself, learn a great deal about the cases they’re defending. I always had my personal opinions, unrelated to what I could prove or not prove, about the facts in my cases. Surely you must have some opinions of your own based on the work you’ve done.”  Seeing his reluctance, I added “Which wouldn’t, of course be admissible at trial.”

He paused with his wine glass held out as if he were about to make a formal toast. His voice took on the stentorian quality he used in opening statements and he started to walk around the room, still carrying his wine glass. “On a personal level, and not as lawyer to judge, I’ll tell you that I think this is the greatest miscarriage of justice that has happened in this country since the McCarthy hearings. There is no evidence that breast implants, or any form of medical grade silicones, cause any type of health-related problem whatsoever.”

“If that’s true, how did we get to the point where there are more than 200,000 claims filed by women around the world?”  I was challenging him, and it was clear he didn’t like it. He began to get red in the face and his tone took on a sterner quality. I was grateful not to be one of his junior lawyers.

“If my car is wet, does that mean it’s raining outside?”  He expected an answer.

“Of course not. There could be any number of explanations for a wet car.”