Patrick Maguire rang and a secretary brought in two cups of coffee on a sterling silver tray.
Maguire said, “Now what is it I can do for you?”
“It’s about the Connie Garrett case.”
“Ah, yes. As I recall, she lost the case and the appeal.”
As I recall. Jennifer would have bet her life that Patrick Maguire could have recited every statistic in the case.
“I’m going to file for a new trial.”
“Really? On what grounds?” Maguire asked politely.
Jennifer opened her attaché case and took out the brief she had prepared. She handed it to him.
“I’m requesting a reopening on failure to disclose.”
Maguire leafed through the papers, unperturbed. “Oh, yes,” he said. “That brake business.”
“You knew about it?”
“Of course.” He tapped the file with a stubby finger. “Miss Parker, this won’t get you anywhere. You would have to prove that the same truck involved in the accident had a faulty brake system. It’s probably been overhauled a dozen times since the accident, so there would be no way of proving what its condition was then.” He pushed the file back toward her. “You have no case.”
Jennifer took a sip of her coffee. “All I have to do is prove what a bad safety record those trucks have. Ordinary diligence should have made your client know that they were defective.”
Maguire said casually, “What is it you’re proposing?”
“I have a client in her early twenties who’s sitting in a room she’ll never leave for the rest of her life because she has no arms or legs. I’d like to get a settlement that would make up a little bit for the anguish she’s going through.”
Patrick Maguire took a sip of his coffee. “What kind of settlement did you have in mind?”
“Two million dollars.”
He smiled. “That’s a great deal of money for someone with no case.”
“If I go to court, Mr. Maguire, I promise you I’ll have a case. And I’ll win a lot more than that. If you force us to sue, we’re going to sue for five million dollars.”
He smiled again. “You’re scaring the bejeezus out of me. More coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Jennifer arose.
“Wait a minute! Sit down, please. I haven’t said no.”
“You haven’t said yes.”
“Have some more coffee. We brew it ourselves.”
Jennifer thought of Adam and the Kenya coffee.
“Two million dollars is a lot of money, Miss Parker.”
Jennifer said nothing.
“Now, if we were talking about a lesser amount, I might be able to—” He waved his hands expressively.
Jennifer remained silent.
Finally Patrick Maguire said, “You really want two million, don’t you?”
“I really want five million, Mr. Maguire.”
“All right. I suppose we might be able to arrange something.”
It had been easy!
“I have to leave for London in the morning, but I’ll be back next week.”
“I want to wrap this up. I’d appreciate it if you would talk to your client as soon as possible. I’d like to give my client a check next week.”
Patrick Maguire nodded. “That can probably be worked out.”
All the way back to the office, Jennifer was filled with a sense of unease. It had been too simple.
That night on her way home, Jennifer stopped at a drugstore. When she came out and started across the street, she saw Ken Bailey walking with a handsome young blond man. Jennifer hesitated, then turned into a side street so that she would not be seen. Ken’s private life was his own business.
On the day that Jennifer was scheduled to meet with Patrick Maguire, she received a call from his secretary.
“Mr. Maguire asked me to give you his apologies, Miss Parker. He’s going to be tied up in meetings all day. He’ll be happy to meet with you at your convenience tomorrow.”
“Fine,” Jennifer said. “Thank you.”
The call sounded an alarm in Jennifer’s mind. Her instincts had been right. Patrick Maguire was up to something.
“Hold all my calls,” she told Cynthia.
She locked herself in her office, pacing back and forth, trying to think of every possible angle. Patrick Maguire had first told Jennifer she had no case. With almost no persuasion, he had then agreed to pay Connie Garrett two million dollars. Jennifer remembered how uneasy she had been at the time. Since then, Patrick Maguire had been unavailable. First London—if he had really gone to London—and then the conferences that had kept him from returning Jennifer’s telephone calls all week. And now another delay.
But why? The only reason would be if—Jennifer stopped pacing and picked up the interoffice telephone and called Dan Martin.
“Check on the date of Connie Garrett’s accident, would you, Dan? I want to know when the statute of limitations is up.”
Twenty minutes later, Dan Martin walked into Jennifer’s office, his face white.
“We blew it,” he said. “Your hunch was right. The statute of limitations ran out today.”
She felt suddenly sick. “There’s no chance of a mistake?”
“None. I’m sorry, Jennifer. One of us should have checked it out before. It—it just never occurred to me.”
“Or me.” Jennifer picked up the telephone and dialed a number. “Patrick Maguire, please. Jennifer Parker.”
She waited for what seemed an eternity, and then she said brightly into the telephone, “Hello there, Mr. Maguire. How was London?” She listened. “No, I’ve never been there…Ah, well, one of these days…The reason I’m calling,” she said casually, “is that I just talked to Connie Garrett. As I told you before, she really doesn’t want to go to court unless she has to. So if we could settle this today—”