A Dead Sister (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery) Page 13
The word may have already spread that she was being hired into an office in the desert resort cities. That’s what Paul told them when he introduced her. She was not likely to be perceived as much of a threat. At least, not by those who loped through the expanses of the main floors at the firm. There might be more junior members hidden away in the dark recesses of document review hell or equally unglamorous nooks and crannies of the firm who coveted a foothold in the new ground being broken in Palm Desert. The desert was the antithesis of the sought-after mega-city habitat. No one “on the make” in big law would want to be too far from that center of action.
An ambitious newcomer might well perceive an office in the desert as the Gulag. Jessica could live with that. In fact, she preferred to think she wasn’t stepping on anyone’s toes. She loved the scaled down life she led in the desert and already felt a twinge of homesickness. It was fine with her if Palm Springs and the surrounding area served as a playground where LA go-getters came to rest up between scrimmages. Dropping wads of cash into resort city coffers, the desert area was disproportionately blessed by amenities not found in communities of similar size. The arrangement proposed by Paul suited her just fine.
By 4:00, when Jessica and Paul settled in to the plush privacy of the conference room in Paul’s office suite, Jessica was ready for the espresso he offered her. Arranging to meet at 2:00 had been a great idea. She had not only completed the tour but signed her contract and had been given a copy for her records. She also picked up the business cards printed for her, along with a key card to gain access to the on-site parking garage for future visits to the LA office. The key card also allowed her to enter the building after hours or on weekends, should she need to do so. Information about the firm’s structure and organization, a brochure about employee benefits, the latest annual report, and an eloquently succinct account of the firms’ history were provided in a hand-tooled leather portfolio with the firm’s logo etched on it.
Paul had also given her a bit of background about the couple she was about to meet. This archetypal LA couple, he a plastic surgeon and she an executive at a public relations firm, was well-off and ready for retirement. They owned a house in Pacific Palisades, a condo in Maui, and an impressive portfolio of stocks and bonds, mostly in IRAs and 401ks, as well as substantial savings in cash accounts. Once Nick Van der Woert divested himself of his share of the clinic he owned and operated with several other surgeons, they stood to increase their liquidity considerably. They had few debts or liabilities, having paid off the mortgage on their house in Pacific Palisades, and purchased the condo in Maui outright. Their one child, Elizabeth Van der Woert, about the same age as Jessica, was out on her own, although it wasn’t clear how she was supporting herself.
As Paul had indicated, their daughter was the reason they had first contacted the firm. In true Hollywood party-girl fashion, she was arrested and charged with vehicular homicide after being involved in a serious automobile collision. The accident left her with minor injuries but the passenger in her car was killed. Elizabeth Van der Woert and her dead passenger were both “under the influence” at the time of the accident. The firm had been able to keep the report about her level of intoxication out of court based on some procedural error committed by the officers at the scene. Without evidence of gross negligence, the charges were reduced to involuntary manslaughter. By also getting a previous DUI expunged from her record, the firm had seen to it that she was given probation rather being incarcerated. Loyal clients for life after that, they had been invited to investigate what else the firm might do for them. That was two years ago, and here they were ready to forge ahead.
When the Van der Woerts arrived, the doubts that had been dogging Jessica vanished. She liked both of them instantly. They soon found, despite the difference in ages, that they had a number of acquaintances in common. Mostly people Jessica knew because of her father’s business or charitable activities. She was also able to converse knowledgably about life in the desert. They discussed the rhythms of the “season” in the desert and events on the charity circuit, initiating the conversation they needed to have about the causes and concerns that interested them.
Thanks to Paul, the Van der Woerts already knew that Jessica had excelled in her coursework at Stanford, a top ranked law school, and had passed the bar exam on her first attempt. They also knew she had sought out and been hired by a mid-size firm that accommodated her interest in environmental law. It was her expertise regarding environmental issues that had most interested them, given their desire to create a legacy around such matters.
Jessica spoke about experience gained at that firm and elsewhere, including two clinics sponsored by Stanford Law where she handled a broader range of legal matters. She didn’t add that, as a trust-baby, she had grown up learning about wills, trusts, and foundations. The Huntington and Baldwin families had both engaged Jessica in family business meetings once she turned twelve. They briefly discussed a range of options that they might use to protect and preserve their assets, convey gifts and bequests. Jessica admitted that, like most lawyers, she had never gone to trial, although she had been inside courtrooms or at the bench for pretrial proceedings on many occasions. Her role was to ensure that her clients never got into the kind of trouble that required litigation.
Their freewheeling conversation carried them along so pleasantly that they were all a little surprised by the arrival of the limo driver who would take them to dinner. Paul had made a 6:30 reservation at Providence, noted for their seafood, Nick Van der Woert’s favorite. Like their meet-and-greet at Canady et al., the rest of their evening was thoroughly enjoyable: good food, wine and conversation. After the Van der Woerts said good bye, Paul and Jessica lingered at the restaurant. They ordered a brandy and debriefed.
“That went well, Jessica. Here’s to what I hope will be a long and prosperous association between us.” Jessica raised her glass and, after a little clink, took a sip.
“And, to you, Paul, for giving me this chance, I do not take it for granted.”
“Let’s just say the timing was right for both of us. I like you, Jessica, and I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, as a person, as well as a colleague.”
“The timing is not so good on that front, I’m afraid. I feel way more ready for lift-off when it comes to my career than I do when it comes to sharing my personal life with anyone. I need a year to clear my head and decide if I’m ever going to be serious girlfriend material again, much less a wife or mother. I haven’t had much luck on either of those fronts. Where did I go wrong? I thought I was in love, and he loved me, or so it seemed. Then, I find him in a very compromising situation with a Hollywood celeb who, by the way, I stumbled upon making a scene on Rodeo Drive yesterday. I didn’t have a clue about the guy I was married to for years. I’m still angry enough to kill him at times, although I think the new woman in his life may do that for me!” Jessica stopped talking to take a breath. It was like a dam had broken and all the concerns she had been harboring about how to manage her relationship with Paul had surged in a deluge of disclosure that might or might not have been relevant to Paul’s statement.
“Yeah, I know who and what you’re talking about. The media has been having a field day with her, and, of course, Jim doesn’t come off looking too great. You actually saw that?”
“That’s my luck lately. There’s a fiasco going on somewhere, and I’m right there in the middle of it. Here’s part of my problem, Paul. My ex is an obvious ass. He’s making a damn fool of himself, and I still feel sorry for him. Even worse, I start wondering what on earth I might have done to push him into the arms of that monster. That tells me I’m not even solidly on the rebound yet. I’m just praying I’ve got my act together enough not to let you down as a colleague. Case in point, the worst thing I could be doing right now is talking about my ex and my divorce. I’m sorry, Paul, you deserve better. How come you haven’t married, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Well, timing is eve
rything isn’t it? There have been a couple women who mattered a lot to me. They were important, but nobody that I felt the way you seem to have felt about Jim. Not only have I never been married, but I can’t even remember thinking seriously about it. Now I’m at a different stage of life. Forty is right in front of me, and I’m wondering the same thing you are: why haven’t I married? I’m sure 70-100 hour work weeks are part of the problem, but not the whole answer to that question. I take responsibility for the fact that there hasn’t been much time to invest in another person. I suppose that would not have made me good boyfriend, husband or father material. Hell, if I had married, who knows. We might both be sitting here discussing the “ex.” To friendship, Jessica! Let’s toast that, and see if we can’t figure that part out, along with building a working relationship. I don’t know about you, but I could use a friend. I’ve let even that part of my personal life languish in pursuit of my career.”
“To friendship,” Jessica said, giving his glass a clink. “That’s important and why I’m so keen to find out what happened to that friend of mine who was killed years ago. I’ve let friendships go too. It wasn’t just my career, but my marriage and the crazy everyday life I lived trying to make two careers work. I’d like to chalk up the dearth of friends in my life to the divorce. I can’t think of anyone I met, in all the time we lived there as a couple, that I want to contact. My circle of friends in the desert is pretty small, too. Although my family and I have lots and lots of acquaintances, I can count my close friends on one hand.”
“Maybe that’s all anyone has a right to hope for, Jessica, that you find four or five people in a lifetime that you can count on. Relationships take time and energy, both in scarce supply under the best conditions. If you’re really lucky, maybe one of those people turns out to be someone you can connect with in the way you hoped you had done with Jim, a soul mate waiting to find you.”
“Paul Worthington, you are a true romantic. Thanks for being so understanding. It’s a relief to be able to talk about all of this. I’d say that puts us well on the road to friendship. While we’re at it, let’s keep the dream alive: To soul mates!”
“I can be very understanding, and patience is a virtue I possess in scads. So let’s give it a year and see where things stand, on all fronts: To soul mates!” They clinked glasses again and polished off the last of their brandy.
Their eyes met for a brief moment. She could see in them the openness that had drawn her to him that day at the office in Palm Desert when they first reconnected. Recalling what her father had said about Jim’s lack of depth, she took stock of the man sitting across from her. This older, more reflective version of Paul Worthington than she remembered from law school was a man she looked forward to getting to know better. Add another surprise to the list accumulating in her unpredictable life, this one a pleasant one. In her mind, she made another toast: “To surprises!”
CHAPTER 11
When Jessica returned to her dad’s house, it was nearly ten o’clock. She and Paul had lingered over a cup of decaf coffee after the brandy, engaged in amiable chatter about nothing much. The brouhaha on Rodeo Drive came up again, and this time they both had a hearty laugh about it. Shortly after she had left, a TV crew had raced to the scene in time to catch the flavor of the month smashing the photographer’s camera in a fit of unbridled rage. She and Paul both agreed the publicity couldn’t hurt, given the crass nature of her most recent film. It might even help the tantrum-throwing diva. The incident could, however, play out differently in James Harper’s life.
“How would you all handle such an incident if it was one of your associates?” She had asked.
“Speaking for myself, I’d be on alert about a guy like Jim, concerned that his judgment was as poor at work as it was in his personal life. Of course, not all of my comrades-in-arms would agree.” He went on to explain. Jessica laughed as Paul described how each of the partners, the half a dozen men instrumental in founding the law firm in the 1950s, would handle the matter.
That led to a conversation about the role the firm played, now and in the past, in relation to the film industry. From there, they moved on to talk about art and theater, more broadly. They discovered that she and Paul shared a passion for old movies, especially film noir. Paul had quite a collection. They even made a date of sorts. Setting a whole evening aside, they would watch a couple of their favorites, as well as a film Jessica had not seen before from Paul’s collection. “He’s serious about this friendship thing,” Jessica thought as they planned. She felt a bit of eagerness, too, at the prospect of seeing him again. There was something so centered about the man. It was a pleasure to be around him.
After an hour or so, they had called it a night. The town car dropped them back at the parking structure used by law firm employees. Paul walked Jessica back to her car, then stood there watching, with his hands in his pockets, as she drove away. She was sorry that he stood there alone and prayed, silently, that his soul mate was out there somewhere, as he believed.
Jessica had to be underway early, in order to get to the County jail in Riverside by 10:30. She was too wound up to sleep, so she went to work packing her things. Before midnight, she had the car all loaded up, except for the things she needed in the morning. The sleeveless gray dress hung on a stand in her closet, along with the caramel pumps and one of the paisley scarves that had hints of both colors in it.
It was odd how her work as a lawyer had come back to her, in a different form than she had ever considered. How odd, too, that this outcome had started with Roger’s death and her desire to help her friend, Laura. Roger’s death had not only led her to call Paul Worthington, but had rekindled her relationship with Frank Fontana. Sitting on the edge of her bed in her father’s house, Jessica thought about the two men. They could not have been more different, at least superficially. What they had in common was more important. From what she could tell, both had pursued careers in law and criminal justice, led by an underlying conviction about the importance of fair play and playing by the rules. Too soon to know for sure, both seemed to be decent, straightforward men. Jessica appreciated those traits after discovering her husband was a deceitful, coward, unwilling to confront her with the fact that their marriage was over.
When she got up at dawn the next morning, Jessica went through her routine. Coffee was followed by a half hour of laps in the pool. She took a shower, after rinsing out her suit and putting it in the dryer, so it could dry for the trip to Riverside. Finishing the last of the yogurt and berries in the fridge, Jessica dressed and did her hair and makeup. The scarf was the perfect accent for the gray sleeveless Max Mara, and those caramel shoes gave her a few extra inches of height. One last look in the mirror assured her that she was ready for another day of lawyering.
The drive to Riverside was as uneventful as being on the road with about a million other cars can be. Most drivers were pretty well-behaved on the freeways. Occasionally, some guy on a motorcycle sped by, driving between lanes when traffic backed up. That was legal in California. She had never seen one of them get nailed, but it didn’t seem like the smartest choice you could make when surrounded by F-150s and SUVs the size of tanks.
She was headed to the city of Riverside which serves as the county seat. In it were located the courthouses and administrative buildings, as well as the county Sherriff’s department, where Jessica needed to pick up Kelly Fontana’s cold case file later on. Chester Davis was being held at the Robert Presley Detention Center downtown, not too far from where he had been arrested.
One of five jails, it was reeling from overcrowding, as were all the others in the county. Two decades of rapid economic growth in Riverside County had been accompanied by a commensurate growth in crime. The county jail had already added beds, but was still overcrowded. In 2011, local jurisdictions were mandated to keep non-violent, non-sex-offending felons out of state prisons and hold them in county jails. In the past, jails had held arrestees only while they were awaiting trial and/or sentencing
, typically only for a few weeks or perhaps a few months. Now they were faced with burgeoning numbers of inmates needing to be housed sometimes for years.
Beds that would have “turned over” quickly remained occupied, so crowding and the shortage had worsened. A major expansion was underway in Indio, one of the eastern-most desert cities in the county. Nearly 300 million dollars was being spent to revamp the Indio jail and the complex of courthouses and administrative buildings surrounding that facility. Poorly equipped to house inmates long-term, jails were scrambling not only to find enough beds, but to accommodate inmates’ needs for physical and mental health care, as well.
Jessica took the University Avenue/Mission Inn exit toward downtown and merged onto Mulberry St. After a couple quick lefts, she was on Orange Street, where the Presley detention center was located. With ten minutes to spare, she found parking in front of the Riverside Courthouse across the street from the detention facility. When her interview with Mr. Davis was over, she could walk to the Sherriff’s Department, nearby, on Lemon Street. The Mission Inn was only a few blocks farther away, so it would be a short jaunt afterward from where she was parked to the lot situated behind the hotel.
The street between the courthouse and the Robert Presley Detention Center was lined with palms. Built in 1989 to expand the old jailhouse, the detention center occupied a modern-looking, high-rise with tinted-glass windows. Well, maybe only a mid-rise by LA standards. Seven or eight stories tall, it towered over the gleaming white, more ornate Spanish-colonial courthouse. The lobby Jessica walked into was also modern. It was more like a bank than a jail, with several “teller” windows operated by Sherriff’s department personnel. A number of people were milling about, standing in line, or sitting, waiting for one thing or another. To her right was a sign leading to restrooms, a locker room for visitors to store the things they were not allowed to bring with them to their meetings with detainees, and an elevator.