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  You’ll compensate. Dive deeper into your work. Become less communicative. There’ll be squabbles about money. The kid needs this, the kid needs that. The kid needs a college fund. She’ll complain you don’t spend enough time with the kid. Or with her. She’ll have left her job for the kid and won’t have much to say over dinner. Once she exhausts stories about nursery school or later how the kid’s in the school play, there’ll be long silences. Your interests will broaden with your legal practice. Hers will narrow with the kid.

  You’ll find more satisfaction in working late at the office, or a drink out with the boys. More interesting than going home to endless kid stories in minute detail about how it moved this finger, or that toe, or had this thought or that dispute at school. She’ll find more satisfaction in social interaction with other moms, sharing each nuisance of development of the blessed offspring.

  She’ll grow weary of pretending to understand and be interested in your complicated stories of law practice and your small victories and defeats at the hands of clever opponents. The dinner silences will grow longer. And so will the inertia that keeps you later at the office and more often out with the boys.

  I’ll give it four years, Judge. I’ll be 30. You’ll be who you are. Who you’ve always been. Mine to take. I’ll look you up.”

  She showed the Judge more teeth. Stood up. Extended the graceful hand for another small shake. And gracefully floated away toward valet and her car. A small young thing in white Chiffon.

  She left the Judge sitting there. Silent. Thoughtful. And …. Apprehensive?

  CHAPTER 34

  2:00 PM Thursday

  The Judge was back in his office, trying to catch up on other client work. Both sides in the Greene arbitration were arguing in probate court now over the right of the Greene Estate to proceed in the arbitration case in the stead of Carl. The Judge had made his ruling the Friday before, the day after his nocturnal swim, and it had been promptly appealed by Hicks’ attorney, seeking a court order on who now actually owned rights to the technology and patent. It was out of the Judge’s hands for the moment, and just as well. He had lots else to do.

  Katy had packed up and headed back to their hillside villa in Palos Verdes with Annie the dog. It appeared no less safe than the boat now and it was a hell of a lot more comfortable.

  His cell phone rang and he answered, hoping it might be a new client in need.

  “Judge?” He recognized the gruff Boston accent. It was Kaminsky. Crap, what’d he want now?

  “Yes?”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “At my office, working.”

  “Anyone with you?”

  “Don’t tell me I need another alibi?” the Judge said, half in jest.

  “This isn’t a joke, Judge. Anyone with you?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone been with you this morning?”

  “No. Yes. A lunch from 1 to 2.”

  “Where’d you spend the night last night?”

  “In the Marina, with my wife, on my boat. Where all hell broke loose. Someone tried to kill us last night with carbon monoxide.”

  “I thought as much.” Said Kaminsky. “What time did you get up on the boat this morning?”

  “About 9:30 am.”

  “What time did you leave the boat?”

  “About 10:00 am.”

  “For your office?”

  “Yes. Then my lunch meeting at noon. I came back to my office from lunch about 1:15.”

  “Where’s your wife?”

  “After an unfortunate experience on the boat last night, we’ve decided to go back to our home in Palos Verdes. She left with the dog right before I left. 10:00.”

  “Where’s your wife now?”

  “No doubt in Palos Verdes. What’s this about?”

  “I’m on your dock in the Marina. Get your ass over here, and I mean now. You’ve got fifteen minutes. Then I’m sending a black and white.”

  The phone went dead before the Judge could respond.

  He retrieved his car from the garage and headed to the Marina, calling Katy on the fly to be sure she was okay. She was at her high school in Lunada Bay, doing some consulting. The dog was relaxing at home.

  His dock was crowded. There were two cruisers and a County Morgue Van parked long the bulkhead, along with a nondescript dark blue four-door the Judge guessed to be Kaminski’s. A Fire Rescue truck was just leaving. A Harbor Patrol boat was slowly tooling around the docks, two Harbor Patrol leaning over the side and scanning the murky water. There were two officers and two morgue people on his dock.

  And of course Kaminski, strutting around like the popinjay he was, with the young Los Angeles County detective from last night, Lieutenant Cochran, in tow. Apparently this was a joint investigation of some sort by the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department and the Santa Monica Police Department, although Marina Del Rey was clearly L.A. County territory.

  There was also a stretcher, with what looked like a body covered by a white plastic sheet. Water was oozing out from under the edges of the sheet, staining the dock. A small crowd had gathered at the dock gate to watch. His pretty dock master (or was she his dock mistress? That sounded so much better), was back, restraining the crowd from coming down the ramp or blocking the gate. She looked tired. Not surprising. She’d also been out here at 1:00 a.m. If this thing continued she might kick him out of the Marina docks.

  She stepped aside as the Judge approached, allowing him through the gate and down the ramp. Kaminsky made a grandiose movement with his index finger, pointing at his feet on the dock where he expected the Judge to come. As though the Judge were a small boy.

  The Judge ignored it, choosing instead to walk over to the body where a morgue attendant obligingly raised a corner of the sheet.

  Christ! Randall Hicks stared up at the Judge, pale blue eyes unfocused, void of expression, his mouth open in a kind of gasp. Water was still leeching out from his clothes onto dry dock. They must have just pulled him out.

  There was a smattering of blood still matted in the hair at the side of his head. He’d smashed it badly on something in his fall into the water. Or someone had smashed it for him and pushed him in.

  Kaminski strutted over, notebook in hand.

  “Well, well, it’s the good Judge. Come to visit his dock, see what’s going on. Death seems to follow you around like a bad smell, Judge. Every time I turn a corner there’s a body. And there you are, connected somehow to the victim. You know the deceased?”

  “Randall Hicks.”

  “You’re right, Judge. Got it first try. Had his wallet on him. Had your business card in it. Question is, what the fuck’s he doing in the water beside your dock?”

  The Judge spread his hands and shrugged his shoulders.

  “How do you know him this time, Judge?”

  “He’s the president of 1st Enterprises, Inc., a public company.”

  “And? Come on, don’t leave us hanging.”

  Lieutenant Cochran had carefully walked over to listen. He looked as uncomfortable on the floating dock as he had before.

  “He was the Plaintiff in this patent dispute case where I’m the arbitrator.”

  “The case Carl Greene was involved in?’

  “Yes”.

  “Well, well. And this patent case is the same patent case your law clerk, Frank Wolin was involved in?”

  “Yes.”

  “And these folks are all dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t that make you a little nervous, Judge? Make you want to take some life insurance out or something?”

  “Was this an accident?” asked the Judge, ignoring Kaminsky’s barb.

  “What do you think, Judge?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “Well it’s your dock, Judge. You knew the guy. It’s your case people are dying over. Where you been all day?”

  “As I told you, Lieutenant, we got up late, I went to my office, then had a lun
ch meeting..”

  “And that young wife of yours?”

  “We got up together. She and the dog left for Palos Verdes before 10.”

  “And you saw nothing unusual when you walked off the dock this morning.”

  “No, nothing unusual.”

  “See anyone else on the dock?”

  “Like who?”

  “Anyone?”

  “No.”

  “There must have been a hell of a splash, Mr. Hicks is a big fellow. You sure you didn’t hear a big splash sometime last night after the police left?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Didn’t hear any altercation? Or perhaps a struggle, before you say you left?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. hear no evil, see no evil, say no evil, huh?”

  “You got it Kaminsky.”

  “When’s the last time you saw Mr. Hicks?”

  “On Tuesday, about 4:30 p.m.”

  “In your arbitration hearing?”

  “No. We met privately at Chaya Venice.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “What?”

  “To meet someone you’re judging outside the case proceeding? Was his attorney present?”

  “No.”

  “No, Hicks’ attorney wasn’t present? Or no, it’s not illegal?”

  “Hicks’ attorney wasn’t present. And no it’s not illegal, but it can be a violation of the Canon of Ethics. It’s never a good idea.”

  “So why’d you do it?”

  “Hicks said it was an urgent matter. Not involving the arbitration case. He needed to meet immediately. In person. I told him to bring his attorney. But he showed up alone. He waived having his attorney present and all that. I explained it wasn’t a good idea. He promised it wasn’t about the arbitration case. Said he was desperate to talk. Said I should just listen. I considered all that was going on. The attack on me. Your bodies, Kaminsky. So I sat down and listened.”

  “And what’d he have to say?”

  “Hicks said he was in a mess. Said he sold control of his company to some shadowy Hong Kong group who instructed him to start the patent suit. But what they wanted was Carl Greene’s new technology. The technology he hadn’t disclosed to anyone or filed a patent for.”

  “Was that new technology part of the arbitration?”

  “Plaintiffs were trying to make it so. I ordered an in-chambers report on the technology. What it was about. How it worked. What would be in a patent application once filed? All confidential. For my eyes only.”

  “Did you get this report?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “I don’t know. Someone stole the report before I had a chance to review it.”

  “Who took it?”

  “I suspect it was Frank Wolin.”

  “Your dead law clerk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now we’re finally getting somewhere, Judge. What else did Hicks say?”

  “He said Frank was promised money for the report. Frank thought it was Hicks’ money. That Hicks was behind it. Hicks claimed he didn’t know anything about it. Hicks said he wanted away from the whole deal. He sounded scared. Wanted to cancel the patent arbitration and walk. But his attorney was dragging his feet.”

  “Who’s the attorney?”

  “Dick Harper.”

  “And what did you say, Judge?”

  “I told him I’d speak to Harper.”

  “Who was this shadowy group he sold control of his company to?”

  “He said it was a Hong Kong conglomerate. His contact was over the internet. A Mr. Wang.”

  Kaminsky sighed. “This case just keeps spiraling in circles. But I know who’s at the center. And I’m looking at him. Go now, Judge. But as soon as I have an autopsy, I’m going to want you back in my office. If this is a homicide, you’re going to have a lot more explaining to do.”

  The Judge gave Kaminsky a mock salute, and retreated back up the gangway and to his car. He didn’t need to be told to leave twice.

  The Judge returned to his office, got his cell phone out and dialed the direct line he had for Dick Harper. Dick answered at once.

  “Hi Dick. This is the Judge.”

  “Yes your honor. What’s up?”

  “It’s something of an emergency, Dick. It concerns the patent arbitration and it concerns you. I thought we’d better meet as soon as possible.”

  There was silence on the other end as the Judge’s words were digested. The Judge waited the silence out.

  Dick exhaled a big breath he must have taken, and said, “Why don’t we meet for brunch tomorrow at one p.m. at the Johns Club on the beach.”

  “That will be fine, Dick.”

  CHAPTER 35

  1:00 PM Friday

  The Johns Club was private club on the beach below the bluffs in Santa Monica. Sort of a family outreach facility for the membership in the stuffy Johns Club Downtown. The Judge pulled into its hedge-enclosed parking lot and waved the attendant away, preferring to park his own car. He opted for an end spot at the back of the lot. Leaving ample room between his car and the next car slot over. Hoping it wouldn't be filled with some huge SUV whose large swinging doors would nick his paint.

  He signed in with the valet as Dick Harper's guest. Then proceeded down the long sidewalk bordering tennis courts where 30ish women were pounding balls back and forth, all kitted out in the latest tennis skirts, dresses and visors. Their kids were in school during the week, their husbands were downtown workaholics, and their fancy degrees and boundless energy had little outlet beyond tennis and charity work. This morning it was tennis.

  The Judge marched up the stairs and through the center hallway of the club facility, all pale green and turquoise with rose color accents. Ignoring the obligatory black and white photos of old L.A. scattered here and there along the walls. He’d seen them all before. They hadn’t changed in twenty years. He moved onto the outside dining deck overlooking the pool and the beach.

  The Johns Club was a favorite for breakfast and lunch for the professionals who serviced business on the Los Angeles plain. Lawyers, accountants, bankers, real estate brokers, securities brokers, financial planners, computer consultants, insurance salesmen, they were all there like ducks on the rocks. Hunkered down on the deck at the tables, nodding at competitors and potential clients alike. Talking in guarded voices to partners, associates, or potential new clients. All very serious, secret and competitive. Only partially masked by broad smiles pasted on as acquaintances trooped by.

  The Judge spotted Dick Harper sitting with his back to the ocean at a table shaded from the sun by a green striped umbrella.

  Dick was wearing a blue striped dress shirt with cuffs rolled up, light tan chinos, and sockless loafers. His clothes read relaxed, but the deep wrinkles above the bridge of his nose read worried.

  "How you doing, Judge? It's nice we're in this arbitration, more informal than the court room.”

  "We were, Dick. I think the arbitration is over.”

  “How so Judge?"

  “We’ll talk about that in a minute,” said the Judge. “But there are other issues to discuss related to the arbitration.”

  Dick flashed his broad smile. "What’s up?"

  "You've heard about Frank Wolin, my law clerk?”

  Dick's features immediately changed, taking on a mild funeral countenance. He seemed to have a face for every occasion.

  "I heard about that. Took his own life. Young too. A whole career ahead of him. What a waste."

  The Judge decided to lay it out for Dick even before the coffee arrived.

  "Was Frank Wolin spying on me for you, Dick? Reporting back on everything I said in chambers about the case? Trying not so subtly to push me toward a favorable ruling for your client?"

  Dick's mouth dropped open, but no sound came. He apparently had no face for this question. He looked like a gasping fish. Finally he stammered a "No… No… Of course not."

  "Have you been secret
ly recording conversations between me and Frank in my office?"

  Dick's face was turning pink. He was having trouble looking the Judge in the eye.

  "Why would you say that, Judge?"

  “That's evasive, Dick. It’s a simple question. Is that your equipment in the adjacent office? The DVD recorder, motion detector, and antenna to the mini camera burrowed into the clock in my office?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about, Judge."

  Dick had recovered quickly and was trying a bluster. It was actually a pretty good bluster.

  "I found the whole setup, Dick.”

  “I’m appalled, Judge. That someone would stoop to do that. But even more appalled that you’d think it was me.”

  “I took the DVD back to a geek friend of mine and he ran some recovery software to see what had been erased. There was a billing memo on it. Prepared on your law firm’s letterhead. You shouldn't have been so cheap, Dick. You should have floated the two dollars and bought a brand new DVD to use."

  Dick suddenly found great interest in studying his hands. He looked like he might be sick. The Judge was silent, waiting him out. Finally Dick looked up, heaving a sigh, his lips pursed into a solid line.

  "My client made me do it," he said. "Threatened to go somewhere else if I couldn't keep up with the technology. Said everybody used stealth methods these days. Said I had to catch up with the times or quit practicing. Said it was only an arbitration. Not a court room trial. Gave me an ultimatum. It's been a lousy year for the law firm what with the recession and all. I needed the money."

  "It was unethical. It was illegal. And if my decision in the arbitration case were to go for Randal Hicks and his public company, it would be invalidated. It was also stupid. You know you can be disbarred for this. Sued. Jailed."

  "It was dumb I know, Judge. It wasn't even that helpful. It gave us some slant I suppose on how to make our arguments to you. That was all."

  "Was my law clerk, Frank Wolin, involved?"

  “Yes. My client asked me to approach Frank. Pay him on the side to be sort of a second advocate for us inside your chambers. Try and ease you into the right decision.”