No Legal Grounds (14 page)

“We don’t keep secrets in this family,” Sam said to Max. They were seated at an outdoor table at Tommy’s. Max’s favorite culinary fare was the Tommy Dog, a substantial beef wiener in a bun, covered with Tommy’s famous chili. It was an indulgence Max was allowed on rare occasions, and this was one of them.

It was Linda’s suggestion they come here. She knew Sam needed some alone time with Max. All she asked for was a Tommy Burger, which Sam would bring home.

“I know, Dad.” Max was trying to put on a happy face, but Sam knew he was anxious. Max had a sensory system that picked up vibes, and he always seemed to be aware of tension in the home.

“So I’m going to tell you about what’s going on. That guy from the game, remember? He’s really trying to cause me some trouble.”
“Why?”
“Not sure exactly, but he sent Mom those flowers. Just to mess with us. He’s a bully.”
“Is he gonna hurt you?”
“I don’t think we have to worry about that.” A deft, lawyerly answer. Sam was at least
concerned.
“But we need to get the police on this. We’ll get it taken care of.”
Max took a laborious bite of his Tommy Dog. It was impossible to eat those things without making a little bit of a mess. Chili smeared across Max’s cheek. Sam felt a wave of love for his son. Life was messy too, and it would smear them all. They had to get through it with God’s help.
“You remember that kid on the Dodgers?” Sam asked, referring to the team Max was on the year before.
“Peter,” Max said with a grimace.
“Not a nice guy, was he?”
“He was a jerk.”
“The coach’s son.”
“Yuck.”
“He made life miserable for you guys. He was always yelling at you, and his dad never did anything about it.”
“He put a dead squirrel in my bat bag.”
“I remember. That’s why I brought it up. There are people like that in this world, and we have to expect to meet up with them sometimes.”
“Why are they like that?”
“Who knows? Sometimes they’re just that way. This guy I’m telling you about, he’s that way.”
“What are you going to do?”
“We have the law on our side, Max. He can’t keep getting away with this.” Sam tried to make it sound like he actually believed that.
“When’s Heather coming home?” Max said.
“I don’t know, Max. Just keep praying.”

Tuesday ushered in an August that promised to give global-warming prophets something to scream about. For Pete Harper, though, it was his hopes that were melting, and Sam knew he was partly to blame.

“When I didn’t hear from you,” Pete told Sam, “I was afraid to call. I thought it would be bad news.”
They were on the patio of Pete’s backyard. Pete obviously took great pride in the landscaping. Said he’d done it himself. The grass was a thick green carpet, and the bougainvillea along the fence clipped and healthy. Sam couldn’t help feeling the contrast between the beauty of Pete’s yard and the despair he was in.
“I have to apologize for not calling sooner,” Sam said. “That’s part of the reason I’m here. I want to be up front with you, all the way.”
“What is it, Mr. Trask?”
“I’ve had a couple of personal issues to deal with, and that has affected my routine.”
“Nothing serious, I hope.”
Sam considered his words carefully. “Not health related, if that’s what you’re thinking. A family issue, a couple of other things that hit all at once.”
Pete nodded. “You don’t have to talk to me about things hitting. I know that’s what this life is made up of. You get knocked down. The only question is whether you get back up again.”
“I wanted to tell you this, Mr. Harper, because I’ve decided to take some time off from my firm. Catch my breath a little. But I asked my partner to let me stay with your case.”
“Thank you, Mr. Trask.”
“But I think you have to make that decision, if you want me to continue.”

“Because of what I’ve told you. If you don’t have confidence in my ability.”
Pete looked out at his yard, contemplating. He didn’t speak for a long moment. “I’ve worked with a lot of men in my business, building things. The real question is whether you have the confidence, Mr. Trask. When I signed on with you, it was because I had confidence in you. We sat down, I looked you in the eye, and I made my decision. I haven’t heard anything today to change that. But if you think you can’t handle it, then I’ll have to think it through again.”
He waited for Sam to answer. In that moment of silence Sam thought how much Pete Harper was like his own father. A man’s man, direct and to the point and without a duplicitous bone in his body. A man to inspire confidence, which Sam now felt with a welcome jolt.
“I can,” Sam said. “And I’ll give it my all.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
“And I want to do one more thing. I want to get Sarah all the compensation she deserves, and I don’t want our firm to take a third of it. That’s too much. I just ask for costs.”
“You don’t have to — ”
“That’s all, Mr. Harper. You let me take it from here.”

The talk with Peter Harper, and Pete’s confidence in Sam, was a proverbial shot in the arm. It came from God, Sam had no doubt. An answer to prayer. A little grace in the dark, telling him it was going to be all right.

He didn’t see how yet, but he was going to trust. This was going to be a change of direction. He was going to hang on to that hope.
Things had to get better now.
Sam called Larry Cohen’s office from his car, planning to leave a message, but Cohen was in and Sam was put through.
Cohen’s voice was sharp over the phone. “You ready to deal this thing?”
Deal. Sam fought hard not to snap something at Cohen. “Are you ready to settle this thing for fair value?”
“Let’s not waste any time here, Sam. We’ll go up to a mil five. That’s our final offer.”
“You really want to end up in court over this?”
“You really think you can try a case?”
There was a knowingness in Cohen’s voice. Sam shook it off as paranoia. “You can call me with a serious offer,” Sam said.
“Don’t wait up.” Cohen clicked off.
So it was going to be a trial. Sam figured that had been Cohen’s plan all along. Cohen loved going to court for the insurance companies. He loved wearing inexpensive suits in front of juries, and playing the down-home working-man’s lawyer.
A month ago, Sam would not have flinched in going up against Cohen in court. Especially with Sarah Harper’s case.
Now he was not so sure. The stakes were incredibly high. He could lose it all. Sarah could get nothing. It was all on his shoulders.
Some faith you have there, Sam.
His cell phone rang.
“We need to meet,” Gerald Case said. “I mean, right now.”

No,
playing
wasn’t the right word. Max was in the far corner of the yard and Buzz was nuzzling at him. Max petted the dog’s head with one hand but was otherwise not too playful.

“Hey, kiddo.” Linda knelt down, and Buzz turned his affectionate attentions to her, putting his forepaws on her knee. Linda stroked his back. “What’s up?”

Max shrugged.
“You doing okay?”
No response. Getting Max to open up was a delicate process.

But he had to be encouraged to talk, or he bottled it all up until it burst out of its own accord.
“You worried about anything?” Linda said. “You want to talk about it?”
Max shook his head.
So she would have to guess and avoid the direct approach. “I was reading in the Bible about Paul the apostle. You know about Paul, right?”
Max squinted and reached for Buzz, who came obediently to him.
“Paul was the guy Jesus appeared to,” she explained. “He was an enemy of Christians, then Jesus blinded him with light and told him to go to this town. And a man met him there and told him that God had chosen him to be a special messenger of Christian ity. And so Paul gave up all the power he had and for the rest of his life went around making Chris tians out of people. Because of that, he was beaten, whipped, stoned. But he never gave up.”
“Whipped?”
“Really bad.”
“That stinks.”
“But he kept right on going. Because he knew what God wanted him to do.” Linda paused, making herself believe what she was about to say. “Your dad is like that. He’s had some rough things happen to him. Like that guy at the baseball game. He told you about that.”
Max nodded.
“Well, Dad’s not going to let that stop him taking care of things, or us, like he always has. Can you believe that?”
He nodded again.
“You need anything right now?”
“Nah. I just want to sit out here for a while.”
“Then you do that.”
She got up. Max lay down on the grass so Buzz could lick his face.
Lord, protect him. Protect us all.
Instead of going through the back door, Linda walked along the side of the house, checking her garden, a reliable haven, always had been for her. Flowers were one of God’s best ideas. The miracle of a blossoming rose was astonishing. Only a God of beauty could have created roses.
She passed through the gate to the front yard, where she had planted geraniums only last year. They were in full bloom now, an orchestra of color. She smiled.
And for some reason looked up.
The man was half a block away. His hair was blond and his chest and shoulders wide. He wore sunglasses and was leaning against a red car. He was looking directly at her.
He held the gaze. Intentionally.
Linda looked away and walked quickly into the house, feeling the man’s eyes on her back.
Come on, she told herself. He’s not watching the house. He’s not —
She went to the window.
With as slight a movement as possible she pushed aside the curtain with her finger.
She looked out the window at the street.
But the man was gone. Gone too was any semblance of peace she had experienced in her garden.

At four thirty, Sam met Gerald Case in the empty parking lot of a closed steak house on Balboa. The property stood slightly above Ventura Boulevard, affording a view.

Sam wanted to know why this spot.
“This used to be one great place,” Case said. “Thick steaks, cold beer, gave you a sense of what the Valley used to be like. Back when there was some sense of history here. I did a lot of business in that place.”
“So why’d it close?”
“The low-fat craze did it in. Funny. Red meat’s making a comeback, but real-estate prices make this place a hard sell. One thing it does have is a nice high lot so you can see if anybody’s around.” “Is that important?”
“From this point on,” Case said, “you’ve got to count on being followed.”
Sam took in a hard breath. “Why?”
“Let me tell you about our boy.” Case took out a small flip pad and opened it. “Nicholas Oberlin. Hometown Sacramento. Odd jobs since college.”
“He said he was into construction, I think.”
“You see any calluses on his hands?”
“No.”
“Father dead, mother still very much alive. I also imagine Mom is there to pick up his pieces.”
“What’s that mean?”
“In ’84 he was arrested for felony battery. Beat up a guy with a baseball bat. It was going to be a big deal, according to the
Sacramento Bee
. But the case was suddenly dropped at the request of the prosecution. Lack of evidence.”
“A guy getting beat up with a bat?”
“There’s a dozen reasons it could’ve happened. Maybe the vic was the violent type. Self-defense maybe. Who knows? So the DA drops it, but the guy sues Oberlin in civil court. The case never goes to trial.”
“They settled.”
“Mom paid ’im off. Don’t know how much, but there you go. He had two DUIs, one in ’94, the other in ’97. Did a couple days in jail on the second one. And all this time he’s living with Mama.”
“That’s a little Freudian.”
“A little Norman Bates-ish.”
“Don’t go there, please.”
“I go where the information leads. Anyway, nothing in the public record, at least in California, that I can find after that. But you need to know you’re not just dealing with some college chum. He’s a guy with a violent past and no relationships to speak of except with his mom. That kind of profile, along with all his behavior to date, spells trouble.”
Sam looked at the eucalyptus trees lining the street. They always seemed haphazard to him, these trees that were probably planted fifty years ago in the Valley. Like no one had any idea what they’d look like full grown.
“So now what?” Sam said.
“I’d like to have a look at the guy. Find out where he’s hanging his hat.”
“You want to see him?”
“You have a problem with that?”
“No, but how are you going to find him?”
“You’re going to find him for me.”
Sam shook his head.
“Set up a meeting,” Case said. “Mention that you have some information to share with him, about his mother up in Sacramento. That will rock his boat.”
“Where?”
“You pick the place. A park would be good. Plenty of room for me. My guess is he’ll try to change the place, to be in control. He may even change it when you’re on your way to see him. But I’ll be following you.”
“And what if he catches on?”
“He won’t.” Case smiled, put the pad back in his coat pocket. “Because I’m the best there is, Mr. Trask. I don’t get seen unless I decide that’s exactly what I want.”
After Case left, Sam composed an email on his BlackBerry.

Time for us to meet again, Nicky. We need to talk about the next move. Your mom up in Sacramento must worry about you. Don’t want her to. There’s a way to make sure she doesn’t. Two o’clock tomorrow, Lanark Park.

“You sure he wasn’t scoping out something else? The house?” “Why would he be staring at the house?”
“Could be any number of reasons. Maybe he’s house shopping.” “Our house isn’t on the market, Sam.”
“He could have been checking out the neighborhood.” “Do you really believe that?”
Sam sighed. “I don’t know what to believe. I didn’t see him. I

don’t think this has anything to do with Nicky Oberlin.” “Why not?”
“Because Nicky’s a lone wolf. That’s what I think. I met with

Gerald Case today, and it sounds like he’s a bit of a mama’s boy.” “What does that mean?”
“He’s got a mother in Sacramento who always gets him out of

trouble. Anyway, Case is going to follow him and figure out where he’s staying.”
“How is he going to find him?”
“I’m going to meet with him.”
Linda stiffened. “Did he contact you again?”
“I contacted him.”
“But why?”
“Honey, this is what I have to do. I have to meet with him so Case can tail him. I also want to tape our conversation. He may say something that we can take to the DA.”
“Sam, what are you doing?”
“Huh?”
“You’re not a detective. This is dangerous.”
“I’m not about to let it go on any longer.”
“What if he tries to hurt you?”
The possibility had crossed Sam’s mind on more than one occasion. “If I just wait and do nothing, he could try it anyway. Linda, we’ve got to take action now or he won’t stop harassing us. We can’t let him be the one in control.”
Linda laughed. It was the sort of laugh that carries sadness and hilarity at the same time.
“What’s so funny?”
“Control. God’s supposed to be the one in control of everything, right? This is some sort of funny control.”
And then she began to cry. Sam took her in his arms and held her.