The weekend away in San Diego had been one of the best things he and Jayne had done in a long while. He still thought about everything going on, trying to figure out the connections and missing pieces, but the getaway gave him a chance to step back and see it with new eyes. By the time Monday evening rolled around, Ridge was almost relaxed. And then, as he was considering his dessert choices at the Oyster Bay Restaurant, his cellphone vibrated. “Damn.” He pulled his phone off his belt holster and looked at the caller ID. Terry.
“I’m going to take this out front,” he told Jayne. “I don’t want to bother anyone.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Terry?” Ridge said, heading for the entrance to the restaurant. “Give me a minute.”
When Ridge returned, he remained standing, cell in hand, slightly shaking. “We have to go.”
“We’re finished here anyway. I don’t need dessert.” She looked up at him, his face was so intense, she took his hand in hers. “Eric. You’re shaking.”
He looked down at his hand as if it didn’t belong to him. “Huh. Yeah. Worst since the Hulk. Doesn’t matter. We’ve gotta go. Now. I took care of the bill.”
She stood immediately. “What’s happened?”
“Kate’s been in a wreck. Really, really bad.”
Jayne nodded once. “I’ll pack. You check out and get the car.”
Tuesday morning, Jayne and Ridge met Terry in the hospital cafeteria at 8:30 a.m. Visitors’ hours started at 9:30. So Terry and Ridge had coffee. Jayne pulled a blue and white “Swiss Miss” packet from her purse and poured the brown powder into a mug of tepid water. Hot chocolate, on demand. As she stirred, Terry explained what he had learned.
“Her left arm and left leg were fractured. She took a hit to the left side of her head, but CT scans showed no skull fractures. The docs say she might develop TBI—traumatic brain injury—but it should be mild at worst.”
Jayne tried to smile. “Guys, I just know she’ll be OK. They don’t come tougher than Kate.”
Ridge smiled back. Sort of. “What did you find out about the accident itself?”
Terry lowered his coffee cup to the table. “Dan called his buddy at the Sheriff’s office. Got us into the compound to look at Kate’s Subaru. Like the Sheriff’s investigators, we found no denting or paint scrapes consistent with impact from another vehicle. Just the wide, rounded dents from the rollover.”
Ridge shifted in his seat. “Afraid of that. Single-vehicle crash, right?”
Terry looked at Ridge. “Seems so. But with no witnesses, we just don’t know. Could have been someone cut her off. That orange-cone thrasher in the Supra, a couple of weeks ago, comes to mind. Or maybe she had to swerve—to miss a dog or cat in the road. Hell, it was Palos Verdes. Steep hills. And they have peacocks running around loose up there.”
Jayne, sipping her cocoa, said, “What about Kate? What does she remember?”
Terry shook his head. “With the head injury, almost nothing. She was going to the office, then she woke up in the hospital.”
Ridge frowned and rubbed his forehead. “Well, thank goodness, she was in a Subaru. Former ship builders. They still manufacture with the high-tensile steel used in big boats. Strongest on the market.”
“Yeah. Almost no roof crush.” Terry glanced at his watch. “Time to go in.”
Jayne placed her cup on the table. “Wait a minute. Let’s get flowers first. There’s a shop, right off the lobby.”
When they entered Kate’s room, Ridge’s eyes riveted on her left arm. A white cast. And her left leg. In traction. Kate was looking the other way, toward a young woman sitting next to her bed. The woman, in her early 20’s, had long dark hair, and wore a brown sweater. Looked a lot like Kate. Kate stopped talking, turned toward the door and smiled. “Hey guys, meet Minnie-Me. She goes by the name Annie Gonzales, a.k.a. my niece.”
Annie got up but looked down at her aunt. “Kate, you’re a crack-up.”
“No. I was in one. Believe me.”
Ridge walked toward Kate’s bed. “Wow. Still with the wisecracks. Now I know you’re OK.”
After introductions all around, Jayne put the glass vase and flowers on Kate’s nightstand and hugged her. “Are you OK?”
Kate pointed at her left leg. “Will be as soon as they get me out of this contraption. Doctors say a month or two though until I’m back to 100 percent. Which is exactly what Annie, and I were talking about when you all came in.”
“Yes?” said Ridge.
Kate pointed at him with her right hand. “You’re going to need help while I’m recuperating.”
Ridge raised his eyebrows. “You know, actually, I always need help.”
“Exactly.” Kate laughed. “And that’s why Annie here is going to fill in for me. She’s going to El Camino College at night. Learning to be a paralegal. And she’s agreed to cover the office, during the day, while I’m gone. Whatta you think?”
Jayne moved to the foot of Kate’s bed and wrapped an arm around Eric’s waist. “God knows, he really does need help.”
Annie laughed. “And Kate tells me I can call her anytime—in the hospital, in rehab, at home—when I have any questions.”
Ridge clapped his hands. “That’s it then. When can you start?”
Annie looked to Kate who nodded at her. “As soon as you give me the go ahead.”
“I’m no Kate,” Terry said, “but I can show you the ropes around the office this afternoon.”
Ridge and Jayne got back to the apartment around eleven. Ridge strolled out to the north balcony to check on the hummingbirds, then hurried back inside, whispering. “Jayne…come here. Wait til you see this.”
Peering into the geranium pot, they found two perfectly-round eggs, each the size of a small jellybean, sitting in the tiny nest. Ridge looked around. “But where’s mama? Where’s papa?”
“Fill up the feeder. We’ll find out,” said Jayne.
Sure enough, after Ridge topped the feeder with nectar and went inside, the two tiny birds were back. And after feeding, the female settled into the nest. Ridge turned to Jayne. “I could watch ’em all day. Really. But gotta get to the office. With Kate out, things will be different.”
A few minutes later, as Ridge said goodbye and pulled the door open to leave, Jayne’s phone began buzzing like crazy.
At noon, Ridge arrived at work. A note on his desk said Elliot Green had telephoned earlier. Ridge dialed. “Elliot, how you doing?”
“Good. Heading to court. Look—really quick—I found out this morning Judge Stevens in San Francisco died last week. Unexpectedly.”
“Sorry to hear that. But I didn’t know him.”
“Eric, remember our talk at the Millsberg funeral? This makes the fourth judicial death we know of in just over two weeks. All unexpected. And all, so-called, accidental. A Judge Sayor in Phoenix died of a snake bite—of all things—about a week and a half ago. My friends there told me, at the time, he was walking alone in the desert. Which was beaucoup strange. Sayor was a purebred city boy. They don’t remember him ever taking a hike in the desert, let alone by himself.”
Ridge didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but a sick feeling had taken up residence in his gut. “I knew Sayor. Judge on one of my aviation cases. But didn’t know he was a city boy. Maybe that’s why he got bit by a snake. Out of his element?”
“Eric. My gut tells me its more than that. Stevens allegedly fell into a moving subway train last Thursday night. But my friends in San Francisco tell me he drove everywhere. Never took the train. Makes no sense. Look, I’ve been doing this stuff a long time. Never heard of anything like it. Four deaths of area judges in only two weeks? It’s beyond suspicious. Anyway, knowing you represent Judge Millsberg, I thought you should know.”
“I appreciate it. Does anything else connect the four deaths?”
“Nothing that I know of. But look, one more thing.”
“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?”
“Saved best for last. Got hold of Joshua Censkey. The producer Ava talked about. Unfortunately, not with my hands, but on the phone. The guy’s in Bolivia.”
“Bolivia? How’d you ever track him down there?”
“Strangely enough, he called me. I found his assistant here in L.A., a Ryan Stacey, through bankruptcy records downtown. Their company just filed Chapter 11. I used a different name and Stacey said he’d give Censkey my number. Sure enough Censkey called back a couple of days later.”
“What’s his deal?”
Terry shook his head. “At first he tried to sell me some Bolivian treasury bonds. When he realized that was going nowhere, he opened up a bit. I mentioned Santa Barbara and that I was a private investigator, and he started spilling his guts about some attack on him by a bunch of crazies in the Santa Barbara area.”
“Attack?”
“According to him, they kidnapped, tortured, robbed, and tried to kill him by tying him up and dumping at sea. Even branded him. Or sliced something in his chest while he was hanging from the rafters.”
“Holy shit. That sounds like something out of a movie.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the best part. He said they kept him in a cage. In a barn. That’s where it all took place.”
Ridge shifted and sat up straighter. “Go on.”
“Said the guy who tormented him was big with scary almost-blank eyes, thin lips, bony face. And, his henchmen were all bald.”
“Reminds me of Mr. Hulk. And bald guys? You know, as Spiderman was scaling down his rope and running along the beach the other night, it was dark, but I thought he might be bald.”
“More coincidences, huh? I’m really starting to like this asshole. At least he’s talking to us. Although I think it’s just that he thinks he’s safe now that he’s in South America.”
“I hate to ask,” Ridge said, “but did Censkey say anything about Ava?”
Terry grimaced. “Well, when I figured I couldn’t get more out of him about Santa Barbara or the barn, I brought it up.”
“What happened?”
“The phone seemed to go dead but then, after a long silence, he said he was sorry, he had been desperate and that he’s now a new man. I pumped him more. He told me one of his nosy clients made him do it—pushed him. The client wanted information about you and Uncle Cho’s Silent Conflict case. As a result, Censkey approached Ava, to get to you through me.”
“How the hell did Censkey find Ava, or her connection to you?” asked Ridge.
“His assistant, that Ryan guy, found it all on the internet—some new service called ‘face book’ that he subscribes to as a Harvard graduate. And you know Ava. Any publicity is good publicity—even if it’s about her breakup with me.”
“Wow. Small world and getting smaller all the time. But—great job tracking down Censkey.”
“Yeah. But I saved the best for last.”
“Don’t tell me. You got the name of his nosy client?”
“I did indeed. A Mr. Richard Chesterfield at 100 Royal Hill in Santa Barbara.”
Ridge leaned back in his chair and wiped both hands through his hair. “No shit.”
“No shit.”