"Yes, the principal litigation firms. But these companies are from a dozen different cities, so of course they brought their local counsel with them. There were lawyers from Dallas, Chicago, and several other cities. It was a circus."
"What's the status of the lawsuit?"
"From the trial level, it will be appealed to the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals. That appeal has not been perfected, but should be in a month or so."
"Where's the Fifth Circuit?"
"New Orleans. About twenty-four months after it arrives there, a three-judge panel will hear and decide. The losing party will undoubtedly request a rehearing by the full panel, and this will take another three or four months. There are enough defects in the verdict to insure either a reversal or a remand."
"What's a remand?"
"The appellate court can do any of three things. Affirm the verdict, reverse the verdict, or find enough error to send the whole thing back for a new trial. If it goes back, it's been remanded. They can also affirm part, reverse part, remand part, sort of scramble things up."
Gray shook his head in frustration as he scribbled away. "Why would anyone want to be a lawyer?"
"I've asked myself that a few times in the past week."
"Any idea what the Fifth Circuit might do?"
"None. They haven't even seen it yet. The plaintiffs are alleging a multitude of procedural sins by the defendants, and given the nature of the conspiracy, a lot of it's probably true. It could be reversed."
"Then what happens?"
"The fun starts. If either side is unhappy with the Fifth Circuit, they can appeal to the Supreme Court."
"Surprise, surprise."
"Each year the Supreme Court receives thousands of appeals, but is very selective about what it takes. Because of the money and pressure and issues involved, this one has a decent chance of being heard."
"From today, how long would it take for the case to be decided by the Supreme Court?"
"Anywhere from three to five years."
"Rosenberg would have died from natural causes."
"Yes, but there could be a Democrat in the White House when he died from natural causes. So take him out now when you can sort of predict his replacement."
"Makes sense."
"Oh, it's beautiful. If you're Victor Mattiece, and you've only got fifty million or so, and you want to be a billionaire, and you don't mind killing a couple of Supremes, then now is the time."
"But what if the Supreme Court refused to hear the case?"
"He's in good shape if the Fifth Circuit affirms the trial verdict. But if it reverses, and the Supreme Court denies cert, he's got problems. My guess is that he would go back to square one, stir up some new litigation, and try it all again. There's too much money involved to lick his wounds and go home. When he took care of Rosenberg and Jensen, one has to assume he committed himself to a cause."
"Where was he during the trial?"
"Completely invisible. Keep in mind, it is not public knowledge that he's the ringleader of the litigation. By the time the trial started, there were thirty-eight corporate defendants. No individuals were named, just corporations. Of the thirty-eight, seven are traded publicly, and he owns no more than twenty percent of any one. These are just small firms traded over the counter. The other thirty-one are privately held, and I couldn't get much information. But I did learn that many of these private companies are owned by each other, and some are even owned by the public corporations. It's almost impenetrable."
"But he's in control."
"Yes. I suspect he owns or controls eighty percent of the project. I checked out four of the private companies, and three are chartered offshore. Two in the Bahamas, and one in the Caymans. Del Greco heard that Mattiece operates from behind offshore banks and companies."
"Do you remember the seven public companies?"
"Most of them. They, of course, were footnoted in the brief, a copy of which I do not have. But I've rewritten most of it in longhand."
"Can I see it?"
"You can have it. But it's lethal."
"I'll read it later. Tell me about the photograph."
"Mattiece is from a small town near Lafayette, and in his younger years was a big money man for politicians in south Louisiana. He was a shadowy type back then, always in the background giving money. He spent big bucks on Democrats locally and Republicans nationally, and over the years he was wined and dined by big shots from Washington. He has never sought publicity, but his kind of money is hard to hide, especially when it's being handed out to politicians. Seven years ago, when the President was the Vice President, he was in New Orleans for a Republican fundraiser. All the heavy hitters were there, including Mattiece. It was ten thousand dollars a plate, so the press tried to get in. Somehow a photographer snapped a picture of Mattiece shaking hands with the VP. The New Orleans paper ran it the next day. It's a wonderful picture. They're grinning at each other like best friends."
"It'll be easy to get."
"I stuck it on the last page of the brief, just for the fun of it. This is fun, isn't it?"
"I'm having a ball."
"Mattiece dropped out of sight a few years ago, and is now believed to live in several places. He's very eccentric. Del Greco said most people believe he's demented."
The recorder beeped, and Gray changed tapes. Darby stood and stretched her long legs. He watched her as he fumbled with the recorder. Two other tapes were already used and marked.
"Are you tired?" he asked.
"I haven't been sleeping well. How many more questions?"
"How much more do you know?"
"We've covered the basics. There are some gaps we can fill in the morning."
Gray turned off the recorder and stood. She was at the window, stretching and yawning. He relaxed on the sofa.
"What happened to the hair?" he asked.
Darby sat in a chair and pulled her feet under her. Red toe-nails. Her chin rested on her knees. "I left it in a hotel in New Orleans. How did you know about it?"
"I saw a photograph."
"From where?"
"Three photos, actually. Two from the Tulane yearbook, and one from Arizona State."
"Who sent them to you?"
"I have contacts. They were faxed to me, so they weren't that good. But there was this gorgeous hair."
"I wish you hadn't done that."
"Why?"
"Every phone call leaves a trail."
"Come on, Darby. Give me a little credit."
"You were snooping around on me."
"Just a little background. That's all."
"No more, okay? If you want something from me, just ask. If I say no, then leave it alone."
Grantham shrugged and agreed. Forget the hair. On to less sensitive matters. "So who selected Rosenberg and Jensen? Mattiece is not a lawyer."
"Rosenberg is easy. Jensen wrote little on environmental issues, but he was consistent in voting against all types of development. If they shared common ground with any consistency, it was protecting the environment."
"And you think Mattiece figured this out by himself?"
"Of course not. A pretty wicked legal mind presented him with the two names. He has a thousand lawyers."
"And none in D.C.?"
Darby raised her chin and frowned at him. "What did you say?"
"None of his lawyers are in D.C."
"I didn't say that."
"I thought you said the law firms were primarily from New Orleans and Houston and other cities. You didn't mention D.C."
Darby shook her head. "You're assuming too much. I can think of at least two D.C. firms that I ran across. One is White and Blazevich, a very old, powerful, rich Republican firm with four hundred lawyers."
Gray moved to the edge of the sofa.
"What's the matter?" she asked. He was suddenly wired. He was on his feet walking to the door, then back to the sofa.
"This may fit. This may be it, Darby."
"I'm listening."
"Are you listening?"
"I swear I'm listening."
He was at the window. "Okay, last week I got three phone calls from a lawyer in D.C. named Garcia, but that's not his name. He said he knew something and saw something about Rosenberg and Jensen, and he wanted so badly to tell me what he knew. But he got scared and disappeared."
"There are a million lawyers in D.C."
"Two million. But I know he works in a private firm. He sort of admitted it. He was sincere and very frightened, thought they were following. I asked who they were, and he of course wouldn't say."
"What happened to him?"
"We had a meeting planned for last Saturday morning, and he called early and said forget it. Said he was married and had a good job, and why risk it? He never admitted it, but I think he has a copy of something that he was about to show me."
"He could be your verification."
"What if he works for White and Blazevich? We've suddenly narrowed it to four hundred lawyers."
"The haystack is much smaller."
Grantham darted to his bag, flipped through some papers, and presto! pulled out a five-by-seven black and white. He dropped it in her lap. "This is Mr. Garcia."
Darby studied the picture. It was a man on a busy sidewalk. The face was clear. "I take it he didn't pose for this."
"Not exactly." Grantham was pacing.
"Then how'd you get it?"
"I cannot reveal my sources."
She slid it onto the coffee table, and rubbed her eyes. "You're scaring me, Grantham. This has a sleazy feel to it. Tell me it's not sleazy."
"It's just a little sleazy, okay? The kid was using the same pay phone, and that's a mistake."
"Yes, I know. That's a mistake."
"And I wanted to know what he looked like."
"Did you ask if you could take his photograph?"
"No."