Terry raised an eyebrow at him.
“Okay. Odds are great it was no accident, but we got down safe and sound and Reuben, the new kid at the airfield, came to get us.”
“I think that boy has a bit of a crush,” Jayne said. “He was wearing a brand-new flight jacket, just like Eric’s.”
Ridge’s mouth quirked. “He asked about it when we first met and I told him the brand. I can’t help it if I’m an example of sartorial splendor.”
Terry choked on a sip of coffee. “Sartorial splendor?”
Ridge laughed and shrugged. “Anyway, here’s where we are. We need to know more about 100 Royal Hill. But why risk security guards, fractured ribs, or encounters of a third kind? Dave Lake told me he’s test flying WebBird all next week. Up and down the coast. Endurance runs. I’ll call him later today. See if he’ll beam WebBird at Royal Hill, as a personal favor. It takes video and monitors phone calls from thirty-thousand feet. Unless they have missile silos at 100 Royal Hill, we should be good.”
“That’s a great idea,” said Terry, “if Lake will do it. I even have the coordinates of 100 Royal Hill for him. I used the new Google Maps to get the longitude and latitude of the place.”
Ridge pulled out a small note pad. “What are they?” As Ridge finished copying numbers onto a pad, he glanced up and noted Terry’s pained expression. “What?”
“Do you mind if I switch topics for a minute?” Terry sighed and tossed his napkin on the table. “I hate to do this to you, but I need advice. From both of you.”
“Sure,” Jayne said, glancing at Eric.
“Well, Ava is back. And she’s…I don’t know. Really intense. It’s strange, especially how we left it last time around.”
“Oh no,” Ridge and Jayne said at the same time. Then, they listened. Terry spent the next thirty minutes bringing them up-to-speed. At the end, Jayne and Ridge surveyed one another. Ridge said, “You first.”
Jayne nodded. “Sounds like a woman on a mission.”
“No doubt,” replied Ridge. “But why now? What changed between you two? I thought it was finally over. You both agreed to move on.”
Terry rubbed both hands over his face. “Me too. I don’t know. Nothing changed. We both agreed it wasn’t going to work, and I was fine with that. I thought we both were. But now…it’s just…I don’t know. I just have this weird feeling about it all. He planted both elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. “Right now, I’m…I’m…just not feeling well.”
When Ridge and Jayne returned to their apartment, Ridge called David Lake. As with 21st-century instant-communication, he got Lake’s voicemail. At 1p.m., though, Lake’s number flashed on Ridge’s cell, and he picked up. After Ridge brought him up to speed on everything that’d been going on, Dave said, “Of course, I’ll help. Flying the coast for over eight hours tomorrow in WebBird. All I have to do is point and click. Unofficial, of course. But I can get close-up video and monitor the phones while I film. To stay low-profile, though, I’ll limit it to 30 minutes, OK?”
“More than OK, Dave. It’s terrific. We just need a lead. Right now, we’ve got nada.”
“Consider it done, partner. We’ll flush out what we can.”
“Anything you can get will make us smarter.”
CHAPTER 43
Ridge’s First Rule of Sanity: In L.A., avoid freeways, especially during rush hours, 7 a.m. to 10 a.m., 11 a.m. to 2 p.m., and 3 p.m. to 8 p.m. Avoiding freeways was a big reason he moved his offices from Westwood to the Beach Cities. But Mondays could be rough, even near the beach and even with an easy commute. He finally reached the office at 9:30, and by 10 a.m., he was leading an all-hands meeting on the patio. It is Southern California, he figured. Might as well enjoy the incredible weather.
Everyone was seated around two large umbrella tables placed next to one another with pens, pads, and laptops at the ready. The first order of business: the ejection-seat case in Phoenix that Judge Sayor had dismissed the week before. Before Ridge could even get started on next steps, Kate jumped in. “When I called the court this morning to get information about our appeal, the court clerk started crying. She said that Judge Sayor died over the weekend, hiking alone in the desert south of Phoenix. Bitten by a snake, of all things. Found him yesterday afternoon, already dead.”
“Shit.” It wasn’t a very articulate reaction, but it perfectly summed up how he felt about the news.
Ridge’s associate, Jim Hall, who never dwelt in emotion, immediately added, “What does this mean to the appeal? I was going to start drafting the papers today.” Jim was a tall, lanky, no-nonsense 35-year-old of Hispanic ancestry with dark eyes, black hair, and a crewcut short on the sides and higher on top.
Ridge turned toward him. “Draft away. The Judge’s death won’t affect it. We’re headed upstairs to the appellate court. Remember, I promised our client, Wanda James, we’d appeal full speed ahead. This involves a national issue—whether military contractors can benefit from the government’s immunity in every military crash case. So, we need a sexy opening brief that captures mind and soul. Let’s get started now.”
“Done,” said Jim.
Ridge then glanced over at Terry Pao. “Terry, all that said, Judge Sayor’s death may very well be completely coincidental, but keep an eye on the news and stay tuned to any investigation.”
“You got it.”
“OK, next up is Uncle Cho’s case,” Kate said. “Remember, Eric, you need to call him today about the settlement offer. And then get back to that defense lawyer, Gryme.”
“Will do. But I know he’ll reject the offer.” Ridge turned to his star research paralegal, Jessie Ward, who looked more like a blocking tailback for the UCLA Bruins. “The facts are clear in Uncle Cho’s case. His insurance-defense lawyer is in a pure conflict-of-interest position. Uncle Cho wants him to settle with the patient’s family, and the insurance company won’t let him. There’re hundreds of other ‘Ringstone Mesh’ cases out there—hundreds the insurance company would have to settle if a precedent were set in Uncle Cho’s case.”
“So how do we handle it?” asked Jessie.
“They won’t expect this—let’s take the offensive. Move for summary judgment on the Silent Conflict issue. Take it on point-blank. Draft a brief that asks our new judge to decide, as a matter-oflaw, that an insured person is entitled to a neutral lawyer, whenever his insurance-defense lawyer has to choose between him and what’s best for the insurance company.”
“Make it a killer brief,” said Kate. “This morning we got word by email that all of the late Judge Millsberg’s cases have been temporarily transferred to Judge Christian Gimuldin. He’ll probably be making the decision.”
“Shit.” Another super-articulate reaction, Ridge reflected. “Gimuldin’s a loose cannon. Jessie, call Elliot Green. He’s had cases before Gimuldin and can give you hints about how to pitch the brief. Get ready for side stories though—about Gimuldin’s robes, his office, and other weird quirks. Look, we’re in trouble on this one. But we press on. When Gimuldin rules for the defense, we’ll take that one on appeal too. Structure the papers accordingly.”
Ridge took a long sip of his coffee and then turned to Terry. “Kapow, is it just me or have you noticed judges dying mysteriously, left, right, and upside down? Elliot Green told me about a Jack Flynn in San Diego who recently drove off a cliff, survived, and then died after what had supposedly been a successful surgery. Now Judge Sayor in Phoenix gets bit by a snake. And, of course, we have Judge Millsberg’s death. What if this is all about attacking judges? Intimidation. Coercion.”
“Damned if I know,” said Terry. “There’s no real evidence of that. But I’m staying tuned to all of it, as best I can. So far, both the Flynn and Millsberg deaths have been ruled ‘accidental,’ and a snake-bite death, although rare, seems like an accident too.”
Ridge shook his head. “I don’t know…and I don’t like it.” He turned to Kate. “Any good news this morning?”
“I’ve got something,” said Ridge’s other associate, Brenda Jameson, who sported long, straight blonde hair, striking facial features and the athletic look of the long-distance marathon runner she was. She brought an analytical mind and the persistence and tenacity of a marathoner to the job.
“What do you have?” said Ridge.
