“Shoot.”
“Judge Moore invited me to a judicial conference last weekend. He’s still trying to talk me into taking the bench.”
“When you’re ready, you should. You’d make a fine judge.”
“But that’s not it. It was the conference. Guess who made presentations?”
Ridge snickered. “Some judges?”
“Not just some. Gimuldin’s three floating brethren. And they all sounded like ad men for the insurance industry.”
Ridge’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean?”
“The first presentation was “Insurance Matters in Your Cases.” The second dealt with conflicts of interest—as in your Uncle Cho’s Silent Conflict case. The charts, for both, were basically neutral, as you’d expect in a judge’s speech. But what the brethren actually said sounded like they were shills for the insurance industry. Trying to indoctrinate other judges.”
“Indoctrinate how?”
“When you boil it down, they were saying prior court decisions against insurance company interests were incorrect. Bad precedents, without ‘real’ constitutional basis. Should be disregarded in future cases. The second floating brother emphasized, over and over again, that allegations of conflicts-of-interest, whether between insurance-defense lawyers and clients or health professionals and patients, were meritless. Frivolous allegations. Bogus.”
Ridge shook his head. “Bet there were no video or audio recordings of the presentations, right?”
“Right. Forbidden. Maybe they thought the charts might get outside the room, but without audio no one could really prove what was actually said.”
“Makes sense. What about the third presentation?”
“It dealt mainly with tax-related cases. Again, the charts looked neutral, almost scholarly. But based on the cited statutes and cases, it was basically a pitch about why it’s OK to locate insurance companies off-shore.”
“Tax avoidance by insurance companies is incidental. For the greater good, right?”
“Right. You’re getting the gist of the message.”
“The gist is Gimuldin and his brethren are insurance industry shills.”
“Yeah. But look, I really gotta run now. Late as hell. Talk later?”
“Sure. Thanks, brother.” Ridge hung up, as Annie told him Jayne was on line 30. Ridge took it and was hanging up as Terry walked into his office and took a seat.
“You don’t look happy.” Terry said. “What’s up?”
“Jayne just got hammered by a client. Some huge computer project gone sour. They literally begged her and said only she could salvage it. She’s packing right now for Palm Desert and driving out this afternoon. She won’t return until Saturday.”
“That doesn’t sound like fun. I was hoping we could have dinner together. And it’s your turn to pay. But I just found out I gotta be downtown this evening.”
“I’m tired as hell anyway. But look, I’ve got some interesting news. I just talked with my friend Elliot Green. He told me another judge, named Stevens in San Francisco, died mysteriously last week. That makes four area judges in less than three weeks. At that rate, they’ll be no one left on the bench. Can you look into Stevens’ death? Charge it to the Millsberg case.”
“Of course. Anything else?”
Ridge smiled. “We finally might be getting somewhere. Remember Millsberg’s funeral reception? And the three judges, gliding around with Gimuldin in their long robes?”
“Who could forget that sight? Night of the living dead.”
“Well, Gimuldin’s three floating brethren were speakers at a conference Elliot Green just attended. And all of ’em sounded like shills for the insurance industry trying to indoctrinate other judges.”
Terry’s eyebrows went up like dark flags. “That’s interesting. I have news too.”
“Shoot. I’m all ears.”
“Remember the ropes and grappling hooks Spiderman left behind at your place?”
Ridge grimaced. “How could I forget?”
“On Friday, I traced the grappling hooks to a sporting goods store in Santa Barbara. Unfortunately, the buyer used cash. The trail dead ended.”
“Another dead end in Santa Barbara,” said Ridge. “Not only routine but seriously depressing.”
“Yeah, but while there, following Jayne’s research techniques, I went to Public Records in Montecito. Checked out 12 Oaken Drive. Sure enough, Gimuldin owns the property. Interestingly, he took out a permit to add three bedrooms to that already-humongous house. Strange for a guy who isn’t married, no?”
“Maybe he gets visitors? Family members?”
“Maybe. The permit’s been out for two months already.”
Just then, Annie came into Ridge’s office. “Eric, sorry to disturb you. But we got a call from a Jack Miles at WingX. He’ll be in the area today. Wanted to know if you could meet with him, here, about 3 p.m. Says it’s important.”
Ridge shot Terry a look. “Sure. 3 p.m. works.”
When Annie left, Terry said, “Too bad I’ve got a meeting downtown from 3 to 5 today I can’t get out of. I’d like to meet Miles.”
“Next time. Anything else on our Santa Barbara lead?”
