I came by to ask you something. I need a favor...
"But of course I'm pleased that you're available. All wrongful death litigation involves thorny evidentiary matters. And I know that will be particularly true in this case. You have quite the reputation." He looked around. "Is Detective Sachs here?"
"No, she's downtown. Working a homicide case. But last night she told me about your client. Sandy, that's her name?"
"The widow. Mrs. Frommer. Sandy."
"Her situation's as bad as Amelia told me?"
"I don't know what she told you." A precise correction of Rhyme's imprecision. He doubted Whitmore would be fun to share a beer with but he would be a good man to have as your counselor, especially when cross-examining the other side. "But I'll confirm that Mrs. Frommer is facing some very difficult times. Her husband had no life insurance and he hadn't worked full-time for some years. Mrs. Frommer works for a housecleaning service but only part-time. They're in debt. Significant debt. They have some distant family but nobody is in a position to help much financially. One cousin can provide temporary shelter--in a garage. I've been practicing personal injury law for years and I can tell you that for many clients a recovery is a windfall; in Mrs. Frommer's case, it's a necessity.
"Now, Mr. Rhyme... Excuse me, you were a captain on the police force, right? Should I call you that?"
"No, Lincoln is fine."
"Now, I would like to tell you what our situation is."
There was a robotic element to him. Not irritating. Just plain odd. Maybe juries liked it.
Whitmore opened his old-fashioned briefcase--again, circa the 1950s--and withdrew some unlined white sheets. He uncapped a pen (not a fountain pen, Rhyme was mildly surprised to see) and in the smallest handwriting that was still possible for the unaided eye to read, he wrote what seemed to be the date and the parties present, the subject of the meeting. Unlined paper, yes, but the ascenders and descenders of the characters were as even as if they butted into a ruler.
He looked at the sparse notes, seemed satisfied and lifted his gaze.
"I intend to file suit in New York trial court--the Supreme Court, as you know."
The forum, the lowest in the state, despite the lofty name, handled criminal cases as well as civil suits; Rhyme had testified there a thousand times as an expert witness for the prosecution.
"The complaints will be for wrongful death on the part of the widow, Mrs. Frommer. And their child."
"A teenage boy, right?"
"No. Twelve."
"Ah, yes."
"And for pain and suffering on behalf of Mr. Frommer's estate. My understanding is that he survived for perhaps ten minutes in extreme agony. That recovery will, as I say, go into his estate and inure to the benefit of whoever is mentioned in his testamentary documents or according to determination of the probate court if he had no will. In addition, I will be filing suit on behalf of Mr. Frommer's parents, whose support, to the extent he was able, he was contributing to. That will also be a wrongful death action."
This was perhaps the least flamboyant, if not the most boring, attorney Rhyme had ever met.
"The ad damnum in my complaint--the demand for damages--is, frankly speaking, outrageously high. Thirty million for the wrongful death, twenty million for pain and suffering. We could never recover that. But I picked those sums merely to get the defendants' attention and to create a little publicity for the case. I don't intend to go to trial."
"No?"
"No. Our situation is a little unusual. Because of the absence of insurance and any other financial support for Mrs. Frommer and her son, they need a settlement quickly. A trial could take a year or more. They'd be destitute by then. They'll need money for shelter, the youngster's education, to buy health insurance, for necessaries. After we present a solid case against the defendants, and I indicate a willingness to reduce the demand considerably, I believe they'll write some checks that are minuscule to them but sizable to Mrs. Frommer, and roughly in the amount that sees sufficient justice done."
He'd be at home in a Dickens novel, Rhyme decided. "Seems like a reasonable strategy. Now, can we talk about the evidence?"
"A moment, please." Evers Whitmore was going to steam forward true to the course he'd set, no matter what. "First, I would like to explain to you the intricacie
s of the relevant law. Are you familiar with tort law?"
It was obvious that whether he said yes, no or maybe was irrelevant. Attorney Whitmore was going to make him familiar.
"Not really, no."
"I'll give you an overview. Tort law deals with harm caused by the defendant to the plaintiff, other than a breach of contract. The word comes from--"
"Latin for 'twisted'? Tortus." Rhyme had an affection for the classics.