The Jezebel Remedy (40 page)

“I'll testify under oath that's been seriously spliced and manipulated,” Lisa said the moment the recording ended. “It's as fake as the bank video, the contract, the cash withdrawal, the—”

“The will Mr. Stone presented to the clerk's office?” Slayton added, her eyebrows raised. “There sure is a lot of ‘fake' involved in this case. We're almost, Mrs. Stone, down to the Richard Pryor defense: ‘Are you going to believe me or your lyin' eyes?' Your husband brings with him a sterling reputation, and I'm aware he's highly regarded, but I'm sensing that even if we went back into the hearing and he confessed in front of a packed room, it would somehow be yet another ‘fake.' ”

“Are you going to offer this?” Anderson asked. “Play it for the panel?”

“This is an ethics hearing, Phil, so I want to be ethical. I learned about the recording the very same moment you did. I didn't conceal it, didn't sit on it for a tactical advantage. Tell you what: I won't play the CD unless Mr. Stone testifies and denies making the statement or claims it's being taken out of context.”

“That's fair,” Anderson conceded. “Thanks.”

The hearing resumed a few minutes after three o'clock, and Helen Allyn was the bar's final witness. She identified Joe and testified she'd met him in the Greensboro airport parking lot and watched him sign an agreement. She didn't read the agreement, she stated, didn't pay attention to the contents, but she produced a UPS receipt from the overnight envelope used to send the papers to Mr. Garrison personally. She'd asked Mr. Stone for an ID, and he'd shown her a driver's license. Phil Anderson stood and wearily admitted the control number on the contract beside Joe's signature matched the number on his
license. “I'll probably get scolded by my friend Mrs. Slayton,” Anderson added, “but it makes no sense for Mr. Stone to sign an agreement and put this in the spotlight if in fact this was a scam.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Slayton shot back, “if this was the only way he could receive his payoff. At the time, no one knew the will was fake—except Benecorp, possibly—so why wouldn't Mr. Stone go through the motions of making this appear aboveboard? More to the point, Mr. Anderson is just assuming that Benecorp would agree to some illicit cash payment. I can certainly recall Mr. Garrison to refute that idea.”

After Slayton rested the bar's case, Lisa, Joe and Anderson returned to the cramped side room, and as soon as the door closed behind them Joe said he wasn't planning to testify. “There's no need,” he told them. “I'll come off as a dolt and a grifter.” He stared at the floor, kicking at the carpet with the toe of his black wingtip. “Plus I'll get hammered by the boat CD. Shit.” He shook his head. “You know, I wish everyone hadn't come to support me. Losing my law license won't be the worst part of this. Nope. It doesn't hold a candle to my friends seeing this debacle and leaving here thinking I'm a crook, twenty years straight down the fucking tubes.”

“You at least have to deny it, Joe,” Lisa urged him. “You can't just roll over. Sheriff Perry is here and can confirm
he
found the will at Lettie's and it left her estate to you. I'll swear the CD is cut and pasted.”

“Phil's welcome to announce I deny all wrongdoing or some such, but I worry it'll only be worse if I sit there with nothing more than my word against tapes and documents—and hell, a very real set of phone calls to Benecorp—and trot out feeble denials and a string of ‘yeah, but' hedges. ‘Yeah, that's me talking to Pichler, but…' ‘Yeah, that's me demanding five million, but…' ‘Yeah, my wife was in Nassau the day the money was withdrawn, but…' No thanks. I'll keep the tiny speck of dignity I still have and not look like every other desperate defendant.”

Lisa began crying, and Joe told her it was okay, hung his arm around her. “I can't believe this,” she sobbed.

When—after less than ten minutes of deliberation—the panel gave its unanimous decision suspending Joe's privilege to practice law in
the Commonwealth of Virginia pending a full hearing, his expression didn't change, held stable and inscrutable, and it was only after the chairman announced the panel found it prudent to also examine Lisa Stone's role in the dealings with Benecorp that Joe cinched his face and slammed the table with his fist and shouted “Bullshit!” and landed himself in deeper trouble, drew a warning from a capitol cop.

“Keep your head up,” Joe told her as they were walking to their car. “I didn't do a fucking thing wrong.”

She took his hand. “No, you didn't. I couldn't be more proud of you.”

During the drive home from Richmond, around South Boston, near the stretch of fast-food joints and gas stations, Joe's cell phone sounded and he pressed the green Send button, accepted the call.

“So you took the Fifth,” Toliver declared. “Didn't testify.”

“Word travels fast,” Joe said. He was driving, steered with one hand, held the phone in the other.

“Not really, chief. I was there.”

“Oh, okay. I didn't see you.”

“I was in the hall to begin with. Too many lawyers clogging the room. I finally made it in. Had a good view to see Seth Garrison come upside your head with a two-by-four. Pretty nasty.”

“Yep.”

“Yep,” Toliver repeated.

“What brought you to Richmond?” Joe asked.

“I heard about the e-mail your fine wife sent. I told your lawyer I'd be a character witness for you. He thought I'd be helpful, though it seems we never got to that point. Besides, I'm still aggressively investigatin' this whole case.”

“Oh…thanks for volunteering,” Joe said.

“Bad day for the home team,” Toliver noted. “Sorry.”

“Oh well.”

“How about I cheer you up? You ready? What do you call a criminal lawyer?”

“Beats me,” Joe said.

“Redundant.”

As soon as Joe finished with Toliver, Lisa called a Roanoke number, muttered “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” while it rang.

“Hey,” Billy Hamblin said when he answered on the fourth ring. “So? How'd the Richmond thing go?”

“Extremely poorly,” Lisa told him. “Listen.” She did her best to sound normal. “Any luck at all with my shoes? Certainly we have some news or a possibility. I'd really like to have them.”

“No report,” Hamblin replied. “Sorry. We're looking day and night for you. So far, nothing in stock at Charlotte or anywhere else.”

“I thought you guys were the best personal shoppers in the business?” Lisa said impatiently. “How hard can it be to find a pair of blue Louboutins in my size?”

“We're on it, Lisa. We're doing all we can. I'm cracking the whip, believe me.”

“Well, if we don't find them soon, I'll miss the party.”

“Understood,” Hamblin said. “Tell Joe I'm thinking about him. Sorry it didn't go well.”

Three mornings later, despite not being able to practice law, Joe went to his office, and around ten, Betty brought him his mail, and she stacked his letters and magazines in a neat pile near the center of his blotter, didn't hand them to him even though he was sitting there watching her. On the bottom was an oversize envelope that was sealed with masking tape. There was no return information, the address was written in stilted, felt-tip print, and the postage was not metered—instead, two rows of mismatched stamps were stuck across the top-right corner, many of them in penny and nickel denominations. The postmark was from Greensboro, North Carolina. Joe immediately opened the envelope, and at first it seemed to be empty. He turned it upside down and shook it, and a half sheet of cheap stationery floated out:

The writing was hers, as best he could tell, though several words were shaky and sloppy. “Pee-kon-nes,” he said, sounding the word. “Pee-konknes.” He read the letter again. “Shit. Pekingese. I can't spell it, either.” He called and left a message for Toliver, told him he had an envelope and another letter and was in high hopes they could both be checked for prints and DNA, the sooner the better—it was damn urgent.

According to every Northern Virginia lawyer Phil Anderson and Robert Williams had contacted, Judge Dennis P. Klein was always—no exceptions—the smartest person in the courtroom, a nimble legal mind who, for kicks, taught constitutional law as an adjunct faculty member at George Washington University Law School and was all the more imposing because he still retained the residue of his native Brooklyn accent, chopped off an occasional vowel or whipped quickly through whole sentences if he became peeved or annoyed. He was unanimously regarded as a fair, thoughtful and scrupulous jurist, which is no doubt why the Supreme Court selected him to travel five hours from Arlington and preside over the case of
Joe NMN Stone v. Benecorp, Inc. et als
.

At the beginning of their motions hearing, Klein was professional and polite, mentioning how much he liked the Henry County Courthouse's architecture and thanking the bailiff for making him feel welcome in a new jurisdiction. Klein asked the lawyers for their names and wished them a good morning when they replied. “Let's take up this request by the plaintiff for additional time to answer discovery,” he said after he'd finished with the preliminaries. “There's nothing unusual or difficult about the interrogatories, not that I can see. Why do you need a delay, Mr. Williams? In addition to the extension Mr. Nicholson has already graciously volunteered?”

Robert Williams stood. “Judge, perhaps I can short-circuit this. We just received some new information that will have a dramatic impact on our case. It will also determine whether we even require discovery.
I'm not going to waste time squabbling about the interrogatories and requests for admission. Nor am I going to go through our original grounds for a modest delay.”

“I read your motion,” Klein told him, thumbing through the papers inside a stiff green folder. “So what's changed? I don't see anything new in here. Did I miss something recent?”

Williams stepped out from behind the counsel table. Joe was seated to his left, Phil Anderson at the opposite end. “Sir, we recently received a remarkable piece of information. We have every reason to believe Miss Lettie VanSandt is alive.”

“The testator?” Klein asked. “The author of the will we're all here to debate?”

“Yes sir,” Williams replied. “We're as flabbergasted as can be, but we hope to make her available to the Court and, of course, once that happens the complexion of this suit will change drastically. To state the obvious, much of why we're here becomes moot—neither Benecorp nor my client will own the VV 108 formula. If Miss VanSandt is alive, and we believe she is, then she is the owner of her Wound Velvet.”

Edwin Nicholson walked to where Williams was standing. Anton Pichler and Mack MacDonald were still seated at the defendant's table. “Judge, the first we heard of Miss VanSandt's resurrection was around thirty minutes ago, and I have to say the timing and motives really cause my radar to alert. If Miss VanSandt is alive, I'm curious to know how the DNA from the female body found at her property matched up. I'm curious to know where she's been for months and months, and I'm really curious to learn why—exactly when the plaintiff appears to be in dire need of a delay—we suddenly hear this tale about wanting to check to see if she's truly deceased.”

“Mr. Williams, what, precisely, does ‘received information' mean?” Klein asked. “A thirdhand rumor she's living in a cave in Tora Bora? A sighting by a local at the Memphis Baskin-Robbins? Or did she appear in the flesh to you or your client?”

Williams smiled. He moved sideways, close enough to Nicholson that their shoulders nearly touched. “I understand the Court's concern. I certainly understand Benecorp's concern. Miss VanSandt has contacted both Mr. and Mrs. Stone. Mrs. Stone has personally met
with her. A letter she recently sent to Mr. Stone has been analyzed by the state forensics lab in Roanoke, and the prints match those on Miss VanSandt's gun permit.”

Nicholson shook his head theatrically. “Judge, as I understand matters, this fantastical report of a meeting comes from Mr. Stone's wife and law partner. His coactor in collecting my client's money from an offshore bank. As for the so-called print match, the new prints came from a half sheet of paper provided by Mr. Stone. The same Mr. Stone who represented Miss VanSandt for years and no doubt has files full of her paperwork. Am I the only person who thinks that's convenient? A little
scrap
of paper? Of course, none of our experts have had a chance to check the prints or the handwriting.”

“So where is she?” Klein demanded.

“We're not certain,” Williams said, but there was no hesitancy, no chagrin in his voice. “However, we plan to present her to the Court. In person.”

“A death certificate and a DNA analysis confirm that Lettie VanSandt is deceased,” Klein said. “How do you explain away those facts?”

Williams leaned forward and gestured at Pichler. “Judge, I think perhaps the issue of how her death was manipulated is best answered by the defendants. Or by Miss VanSandt herself.”

“So you're planning to produce a person who claims to be VanSandt?” Klein asked. “Then what, we play twenty questions and compare old yearbook photos?”

“Here's our proposal,” Williams offered. “And let me give the Court a brief bit of history and context. Miss VanSandt is eccentric, and that's putting it mildly. She was—well, is—a local character. She's very, very different. We now know that she believed the arrival of Benecorp's representatives was a biblical sign. If the Court would like, we can play a 911 call from Miss VanSandt that occurred as a result—”

“Judge Klein,” Nicholson interrupted, “none of this has been raised in pleadings, it's all conjecture and hearsay, and we're just being ambushed. We had no notice of any of this.”

“I apologize for that,” Williams said. “I do. I will say, in our defense, that the state expert only provided the print report late yesterday, and it was done as a priority rush job. If the Court would prefer, I can put
this all down on paper, and we can leave and give Mr. Nicholson time to review it and respond, and then set another hearing.”

“Which would only serve to grant them the delay they're so anxious to have,” Nicholson complained. “They're stalling because if they answer discovery truthfully, this nonsensical case will be dismissed.”

“Let me hear what Mr. Williams has for us,” Klein said. “I'm still on the skeptical side of the fence as well, and I'll certainly protect the defendants' interests if we somehow reach the point of my taking this seriously. I might simply listen to counsel's colorful narrative and be done with the whole issue.”

“Miss VanSandt,” Williams continued, “truly believed that the arrival of Benecorp on her doorstep signaled apocalyptic events. That's not conjecture. I have the recording here with me and will be glad to play it. We have the records custodian from the 911 office on standby if authenticity is a problem. We have an extra copy for the defendants.”

“Okay, I have a lady who thinks the world's about to end.” Klein folded his arms over his chest. “A lady you admit is not exactly…normal…in terms of her personality.”

“She's afraid of Benecorp. Frightened. She feels threatened. She—”

Nicholson objected again. “How do we know any of this?” he demanded. “This is entirely cut from whole cloth.”

“Judge, if we can't prove it, then we expect you will have no problem handling matters appropriately. As I volunteered, if Mr. Nicholson would like for us to jump through all the formal hoops, we'll be more than happy to. We can adjourn and I can write all this down for him.”

“I'll note your continuing objection,” Klein told Nicholson.

“Essentially, Miss VanSandt went into hiding. I'm guessing the defendants will scoff and object and complain about this fact as well, but we can also offer proof from several witnesses that Benecorp played very similar hardball with a man by the name of Dr. Steven Downs, a Benecorp employee who was instrumental in discovering the value of the VanSandt formula. Downs and Miss VanSandt were friends, and she had every reason to believe she would receive the same gross intimidation that Dr. Downs suffered. Benecorp constantly followed
and harassed him, and we have the Henry County sheriff available to confirm this. Dr. Downs is now dead.”

Judge Klein removed his arms from across his chest. “So you're claiming VanSandt fled because she was fearful of Benecorp?”

“Yes.”

“And another individual by the name of Dr. Downs—who had a connection to her formula, or whatever you want to call it—was being bothered by Benecorp, which would justify her fear?”

“Precisely,” Williams replied.

“I hate to interrupt,” Nicholson said, wagging a finger to emphasize the important correction he was about to make, “but I'm far more familiar with Dr. Downs than anyone else here. He was the subject of numerous police interventions and court orders. He was unbalanced and had threatened Mr. Garrison. Mr. Garrison had him watched as a matter of legitimate self-protection. Dr. Downs is dead because, unfortunately, he took his own life. I have a cache of court orders and police reports I'd be pleased to share with the Court—simply put, Dr. Downs was dangerous and a threat to my client, and we have the paperwork to establish that. How Downs's years of misconduct have any bearing on Mr. Stone's dishonesty and fraud is beyond me. Mr. Williams's sinkhole keeps growing and growing. Soon it will swallow the entire room, all of us included.”

“Have the bailiff pass your information to me,” Klein said. “But at least we finally have a point of agreement: Dr. Downs, mentally ill or not, was of interest to Benecorp, and now he's deceased.”

Williams continued the instant Klein stopped speaking. “And his death only confirmed Miss VanSandt's suspicions. Whether there is any legitimate reason for her being afraid really isn't our issue. We concede Miss VanSandt is erratic and very much her own woman. The point is, Your Honor, we can demonstrate that she was afraid. We can present you with evidence of the world as seen from her perspective, which will explain her disappearance.”

“So when do I get to meet her?” Klein challenged.

“Here's our proposal,” Williams answered. “We believe she is extremely paranoid at this point. She's very fragile. On the verge of full collapse. She would physically meet with the Court, but only the
Court. Fair or not, she believes Benecorp and Mr. Garrison mean to do her harm. She wants her whereabouts kept secret. So she will meet with you, Judge, at a Virginia location you and you alone select and communicate to us twenty-four hours in advance. The attorneys will watch and participate via closed-circuit video and audio. She will not, however, agree to being in the same space with anyone connected to Benecorp, even my esteemed colleagues. She especially does not want her son in the room with her, inasmuch as she feels he betrayed her and has sided with the defendants.”

“How the heck will that accomplish anything?” Nicholson snorted. “Judge Klein, gifted as he is, won't be able to discern whom you've run in on him. He's never met this woman, nor have I. This is a wild-goose chase and a distraction. Come on, Mr. Williams.”

“She can't disguise her DNA, and we propose to have her son in the building at the same time, along with a lab tech, and we'll do the DNA test there and then. We only ask that it be done immediately, while you watch and wait, Judge. We worry that if the saliva leaves your sight, Benecorp has the reach and resources to taint it. We also request that there be two labs, and that the Court select them both without letting us know their identities until after the tests are completed. Mr. Stone will pay all costs associated with the testing. He will pay for Neal VanSandt's transportation to the site.”

“Now there's some judicial adventure,” Klein said. “Sounds more entertaining than the usual picking fly dung from discovery pepper. What do you think, Mr. Nicholson?”