“I’m drafting the product-liability complaint for Judge Millsberg’s family. Describing the defect is easy, and how the keyless remote results in the engine running and carbon monoxide buildup. We did that in our earlier lawsuit. But I need some help with pleading causation in Judge Millsberg’s particular case—to make sure it’s consistent with the evidence.”
Terry spoke up. “You’re talking about her facial scratches?”
“That and the carbon-monoxide levels.”
Ridge tapped a finger on the table. “And the condition of her bike. Those things were ignored by the police investigation. The keyless remote design is defective, no doubt, but did it actually cause her death or were other things going on?”
“That’s exactly what I’m wondering about,” said Brenda. “And with what you just said about this Jack Flynn guy down in San Diego and Sayor suddenly dying…I don’t know. My spidey-sense is telling me you might be right about the judges dying.”
Ridge twisted fully toward her. “OK. Call the good doctor, Tim Sanchez. See if he’ll be our consultant in the civil case. If so, retain him. Let’s get his input, before we get too far down the road.”
“Right,” said Brenda.
Ridge and his staff went on to cover a few more cases, then the meeting broke up, and he returned to his office to call Uncle Cho about the settlement offer. It was a quick conversation. How many ways can someone say ‘no’? Uncle Cho did it at least six times in four different languages, and then said little else other than he’d never give up. With that, thought Ridge, the meeting at 6 p.m. with Gryme and Kachingski will probably go fast. Better order my margarita up front, as soon as Gryme mentions a drink.
Then, breaking his concentration, Ridge got a call from Jayne. The owner of the alarm system company had telephoned her: The assistant installer, the one allergic to cats who’d helped put the system in last Thursday, was missing. He’d never returned to the office, and they couldn’t reach him by phone. Company protocol called for re-coding any security systems he worked on before his disappearance. And since he was brand new to the company and had only been on a few installations, the owner himself, as a precaution, had arrived at 11 a.m. to re-code the system personally.
“Strange as that sounds, it fits with my Monday so far.”
“Bad start to the week?”
“Weird start. But the last few weeks have been weird, and they just seem to keep getting weirder.”
“You better take down these codes because I’ll be gone before you get home. I decided to drive down to Palm Desert this afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s right. I completely forgot about your gig. Two days, right?”
“I’ll drive back Wednesday night. Ready for the code?”
“Yup.” As Ridge finished copying the numbers, Kate came into his office.
“Todd Valentine of the L.A. Times is on line 30 for you. He’s on deadline in another matter. Just wants to pass along some information before he disappears.”
“Gotta go, Jayne. Call before you leave and as soon as you get there.”
“You’re sounding a bit paranoid, but I will. Love you.”
“Love you too.” He switched over to pick up the call on line 30. “Todd, Ridge here.”
“I did some more digging this morning,” Todd said, “and wanted to pass it on to you and Terry before I got wrapped up in another project.”
“OK, fire away. I’m ready for anything today.”
“Well, it might not be important. But I noticed on-line this morning that Judge Christian Gimuldin is taking over Judge Millsberg’s caseload, including your Silent Conflict case for Terry’s uncle. So, because I’m an out-of-control maniac, I went back to my search routines related to Santa Barbara.”
“And?”
“Again, may be nothing. But Gimuldin owns property in Santa Barbara County. A swanky address in Montecito. This may be coincidence, but when I search, I assume nothing’s a coincidence. The address is 12 Oaken Drive. Just felt you’d like to know.”
“Interesting,” replied Ridge. “Real interesting.”
“There’s something else. Researching Gimuldin’s name along with Santa Barbara County on some of my more arcane databases, I got an interesting hit. Way back in 1966, then-lawyer Christian Gimuldin represented a hippie commune in a federal eviction case. Couldn’t find any paperwork on it except a short squib, Case No. 56-1876(RV), United States v. Luv Freedom, with a listing of the lawyers for each side and a description of the property at issue. It was a large, fenced area in a forested section of Santa Barbara County.”
“Whoa,” said Ridge, writing the address and case number on his notepad. “Christian Gimuldin represented a hippie commune called Luv Freedom against the United States government? Some of his friends might be thrilled to hear that. Bet he never listed it on his resume.”
Todd laughed. “Bet he didn’t.”
“Did it say where the property was located in Santa Barbara County?”
“No. But it described the two main structures on it—a cabin and a barn. Look, gotta run now. Anything else you want me to look into?”
“Not now, but thanks. The cabin and barn thing is very interesting. And when you’re circling the drain, any information helps.”
After hanging up, he ripped the notepaper—now with his new security codes and Todd’s info—and stuffed it in his pocket. Barn and cabin. Gotta tell Terry. As soon as I finish the Toyota brief.
Ridge pulled out his papers and began editing a long brief that had to be filed the next day in a Toyota sudden-acceleration case. But minutes later, his concentration was interrupted again. It was a call from David Lake.
“Eric, WebBird and I did that favor, regarding 100 Royal Hill.”
“How’d it go?”
“I monitored the filming and phone calls real-time. Didn’t see or hear anything unusual. Some talk about insurance and business matters. Not much movement around the property. But, what a house—like an English estate. Not much going on though in the thirty minutes we had. I downloaded it onto an unmarked thumb drive. Fed Xed it to your attention just now. Original version, erased. Never happened.”
“Got it.”
“We tried our best. Hope it helps. Talk later?”
“Later, my friend.” Ridge disconnected and turned back to editing his brief. He knew he had the 6 p.m. meeting. And with Jayne gone, if he didn’t get home by 7:30 to feed Mister and Pistol, there’d be two very unhappy roommates waiting.
