I rang De Luca first. I congratulated him on his new position. He did likewise. I still wasn’t feeling well. I would be in later in the morning, though, and I needed to see him.
‘What about?’
‘A new claim,’ I said. ‘Public liability. Horrendous injuries. Brain damage, loss of a leg, and quadriplegia. The complete catastrophe. Medical student, would you believe? We’re shot on liability.’
‘What? When did this come in?’
‘It depends what you’re asking me. The Statement of Claim was served a few days ago. I’ve been reading it in my sick bed. There are some medicals that were served too. Those ambulance chasers at Black, Ackerman act for the plaintiff.’
‘Are we only hearing about this now? When was the accident? We must have been –’
‘The insured put us on notice immediately. It looks like there was some internal stuff-up. The claims officer who got the original notifications left.’
‘Who? Is this in the bordereau? Why are you –’
‘Did you listen to me? I’ve only just found out about it. Can we discuss it when I get in?’
‘See me as soon as you do.’
I thought he’d be interested.
After a shower, I caught a cab to Laura Green’s. She looked frailer already. Her voice was distant, even when she was close to me.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked when she took me into the library where she was resting.
‘So-so.’
‘You’re still going up north?’
‘Oh, yes. We fly out Friday morning.’
‘Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?’
She nodded. ‘There are people to say goodbye to.’ Somebody tell me what to say next. ‘How are you?’ she asked.
‘Making progress,’ I said.
‘Good.’
‘Laura?’
‘Yes.’
‘While you’re away, can I stay at the house?’
She looked at me closely. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘None at all.’
‘You still have your flat?’
‘I’ve been staying with a friend. I’m about to outstay my welcome.’
‘You’re always welcome here.’
‘Thanks. Bill will be here some of the time too. We thought we’d finish getting the garden back into shape.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘What are you really up to?’ Even frail, even with her voice weakened, she suddenly sounded strong.
If I explained everything one more time I would stop believing it. ‘This will sound stupid, but I’m saving a life,’ I said again. ‘Don’t ask, please. Just trust me.’
‘That sounds noble. And mysterious. Whose life?’
‘Mine,’ I said. ‘I think.’
‘I’m very pleased, then.’ Nothing else was said for a few seconds. ‘You’re not going to get yourself into trouble again, are you?’ she said.
‘Probably,’ I answered. ‘But it’s for a good cause this time. If there’s going to be trouble, I can handle it. I’ve decided that I’m braver than I thought I was.’
‘I’ve always thought you were brave.’
‘Have you?’ Maybe. Brave would have meant placing my signature after the obscene word on Bob Green’s car. Oh well, I guess Bankruptcy Man was just waiting for the right moment in history to emerge. ‘Is Heather okay?’ I asked. ‘She’s happy?’
‘I think so,’ Laura said. ‘Yes, I’m sure she is.’
Well, that’s good. It’s also another lost opportunity to rue, but I’d promised myself no more regrets. ‘She loved having you boys around here,’ Laura said. ‘Even when she pretended you irritated her to death, as she used to phrase it. Even when you did actually irritate her to death.’
I smiled. I did irritate her. Deliberately. My greatest talent with women since I was ten.
‘Helena called me,’ Laura said. ‘If you need –’
‘I’ve got enough,’ I said quickly.
‘What are you doing with it?’
How could I put it? ‘Remember what I wrote on Bob’s car?’
She nodded, not smiling. ‘That’s very difficult to forget, Chris. It’s an awful word.’
Used by a man, it is. Inga Muscio made that very clear. It still has its uses, though. In very exceptional circumstances. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘same tactic. Much bigger target.’
I rang Toffee next. He had no visa, but he did have the latest videophone.
‘Toffee? Chris Blake.’
‘Mate.’
‘You working?’
‘Knocking out a few chimneys today.’
Probably with his bare hands, I thought. ‘What about on the weekend?’
‘Need some work done, mate?’
‘Not building work,’ I said. ‘You know how you said if I ever needed a favour?’
‘Anything, anytime, mate,’ he said slowly, but with meaning. That’s the spirit. Why aren’t more clients this grateful?
‘I may need a bit of . . . muscle.’
There was laughter down the other end of the line. Deep. Cavernous. From the heart of an active volcano. ‘Mate,’ he said, ‘I am your man.’
‘How about your nephew? Is he around?’
‘If I say so. Need more than two?’
‘How many do you have?’
‘How many you need? Gang?’
Jesus. A gang. A Samoan forward pack. Things were falling into place nicely. ‘Let’s stick to you two first. Can you put the gang on standby, though?’
There was a pause down the other end of the line. ‘Somebody owe you money?’
‘Um . . . not me. Other people. People who were in accidents. They owe their families.’
‘I’m angry.’
‘Hold that thought,’ I said.
I told him where and when. He said they would bring their own tools.
I didn’t ask, but I liked the sound of that.
I was at South Pacific by ten thirty, putting the final touches to my fictitious Jonathon Bartlett file. The medical reports had been easy. An amateur job, but good enough. I had drafted them. Different fonts on the computer, depending on the doctor’s preference. Rehabilitation specialists tend to favour Arial. Orthopaedic surgeons go for Calisto. The neurologists, on the other hand, seem to prefer Times New Roman. Psychiatrists are into New Gothic.
The rest of the ruse was easy. I’d used real doctors’ letterheads. It was then a cut-and-paste job with a photocopier, or, better still, with reports that had been e-mailed, just a cut-and-paste job on my screen. It wouldn’t survive the CSI treatment, but these reports weren’t headed for a lab.
The Statement of Claim was the first document in the file. Duly filed in the Supreme Court by Black, Ackerman. I had placed a draft Defence on top of that, together with a written ‘statement’ from Bill Doyle taken by SP’s investigators. If the shit hit the fan I would admit that the investigators had never been instructed, Bill knew nothing, I’d just made it all up.
Next was a letter from Black, Ackerman quantifying damages, and briefly stating their liability argument. Graham Harold of Black’s and I had separately worked up the damages claim, and ended up within half a mil of each other. My money was on me being more accurate. I was a barrister, after all. We settled on $15.2 million as an initial figure. The letter on top of the file was the next one I had instructed him to write. Our client is leaving the country. In seven days.
Finally, on the inside cover of the file on a computer-printed sticker, I had made obvious the most vital piece of information. The plaintiff’s address. Lang Road, Centennial Park. Laura Green’s house.
I handed the file to De Luca in his office at eleven. I gave him a memorandum summarising South Pacific’s potential exposure. Dead duck on liability. Plaintiff’s figure $15.2 mil. A top end figure, but within the range. Eleven million was where the low end dollars were.
‘How the fuck did this get missed? This accident happened eighteen months ago.’
I told him that it had been handled by the late Greg Stewart. Somehow the file had been sent for archiving when he ‘left’ rather than being passed on to another claims handler. The matter only came back to life recently with the filing of the Statement of Claim. I’d gone out to Penrith personally to retrieve the file.
‘But all Stewart’s files were on the system, like everyone else’s,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand how this could have been missed or sent to storage.’
I shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t even employed here then.’
De Luca shook his head. He scanned the memo and started to flip through the documents in the file. ‘So, there’s no way of defending this? Liability-wise?’
I shook my head. ‘It was the poor guy’s first day on the job. He was a contractor. They sent him up a huge fig tree. He told them he’d never been up a tree in his life.’
‘And what happened? A fucking bat attack?’ I nodded. ‘Jesus Christ. I didn’t know they were vicious,’ he said.
‘Some are,’ I said. ‘Apparently.’ In the Amazonian rainforest, for example.
De Luca rubbed his chin. Wheels churned and creaked in his head. Steam blew. The noise was deafening. The mental apparatus he had between his ears was Manchester, circa early Industrial Revolution. ‘How’d he lose his leg? If he fell?’
‘The bat bit him.’
‘What? Off?’
‘No, Angelo. Not off. Some of them carry a virus. I’ve forgotten its name. Licivirus, I think. It caused an infection. They had to amputate.’
‘From a bat bite? Fucking hell.’
‘These things are a menace. I’m telling you, the insurance industry should lobby the government to exterminate. It’s a wonder this thing doesn’t happen more often.’
He looked at me, a little puzzled, a soft whir in his head now. ‘I don’t suppose there’s an indemnity issue? No way we can deny coverage?’
I shook my head. ‘The defendant has our standard public liability policy. And there’s no attacked by a bat exclusion.’
He gave me a dirty smile. ‘What’s life expectancy? Any evidence?’
‘Read Dr Love’s report. It’s bad news. The brain damage has deprived him of real insight into his condition. No depression. No lack of will to live. And he hasn’t had any urinary or other complications so far. He’s had excellent health care – his parents are quite wealthy – nice home near Centennial Park, apparently. They’ve already gone overseas ahead of him, so he’s on his own — with a full-time carer, of course. They’re unlikely to settle cheaply, and it looks as though we’re stuck with ninety-five per cent life expectancy. Another fifty-plus years for this bloke.’
De Luca rubbed his chin again. ‘So, your view then is best case scenario, about eleven million. Worst, about fifteen?’
‘Something like that,’ I said. ‘Barring mishap or unexpected complication.’
De Luca stared at the file. The cogs cranked up again. ‘You know what,’ he said, ‘no offence, but this is probably the perfect matter to be referred to my new group – now that you’ve done the initial assessment.’
‘No offence taken,’ I said. ‘I was thinking that myself.’
‘Good,’ he said, standing up, inviting me to leave. ‘Thanks for the memo.’
‘That seven-day thing,’ I said on my way out. ‘Do you want me to draft a without-prejudice reply? Maybe offer two to three? See if we can get a bite?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Leave it with me. Good idea, though. Sounds like a matter we should try and get rid of fast.’
I nodded. I think I knew what he meant.
We’d be waiting for him.