Due Justice

Chapter 25

My second putt tapped solid, the ball rolled the final six inches smoothly, and dropped in.

Carolyn didn’t see my little victory dance because she’d turned to retake the cart.

“Maybe,” she said, speeding to the next tee. “If a cynic might say jurors are stupid. Truth is, Grover’s highly manipulative; he can talk a banana out of its peel. A few million dollars from unsophisticated polite southerners is easier for him to get than a winter cold.”

We lurched to a stop. Again, she jumped out, set up, and hit her tee shot a country mile on a par five, 509-yard hole.

She watched her ball land safely in the fairway before she resumed the constant chatter. This, too, was a tactical distraction. Gamesmanship, not sportsmanship. All the more curious because she could beat me easily playing appropriately.

She asked, “Have you ever heard the story about how he got his first million?”

Continued my setup. Pretended to ignore her. Whacked the ball well enough. We moved to the fairway.

She said, “Grover was three years out of law school. He defied his bosses. Accepted a plaintiff’s case, after his request was refused. Handled the case at night, on weekends. When he couldn’t get a quick and hefty settlement, he took the case to trial. The jury gave him what the defense attorney wouldn’t. Awarded five million dollars to the family. Grover got fired the moment the verdict came back. And made the headlines as the youngest member of the million-dollar club. All in the same instant.”

“You admire him for that?” I asked.

“Hell, no.”  She’d hit her second shot another 200 yards with her three wood and stood aside.

When I duffed my next shot, she snorted under her breath before she rushed away.

I wondered if Carolyn Young knew the rest of Grover’s story.

Grover didn’t hold on to that first verdict. He’d settled the case at a substantial discount to avoid the loss on appeal. But he’d made his reputation as “the people’s lawyer.”  The next day, he hung out his shingle at the corner of Kennedy and Tampa Street and attracted more business than he could handle. He joined the Trial Lawyers’ Association and rapidly became its rising star. He took on case after impossible case and won every time.

Or so it seemed.

Truth was that he lost as many cases as he won; settled quickly at steep discounts; hid his losses and denied any existed.

By the age of thirty-five, Grover was a multimillionaire. And then he decided he needed respectability, which he couldn’t get from a random jury selected from the motor-voter registration rolls.

Grover joined another prestigious firm and married a state senator’s daughter in a splashy wedding at St. John’s Church followed by a splashier reception at the Tampa Commander’s Palace. They promptly delivered four children in five years, including a set of triplets. He seemed conventional for the first time, perhaps, in his life.

And respectability proved too much for him.

Maybe the burdens were too heavy, or the fish bowl too transparent. He began using drugs and traveling with a faster crowd.

When George and I arrived in Tampa, Grover had been divorced three times. His children didn’t speak to him. And he was in the process of rebuilding his fortune as he’d created the original one: taking on lost causes.

How much of this did Carolyn Young know or care about? Her antipathy originated elsewhere, I felt sure. But what had caused it? Carly?

Time to find out. I’d had enough. I felt a sprained ankle coming on, from a hard twist somewhere during the next three shots.

“Why are you taking referrals from him on explant surgeries, then?”

I’d meant to offend, shove her back a few notches.

Haughty toned reply. “Because I’m a surgeon and his clients are patients.” Eyes narrowed. “I suppose Marilee Aymes has been talking about how much money I get for the work.”  Nostrils flared. Snorted.

Not a particularly attractive habit.  “She mentioned it.”

“I’ll bet. Marilee seems to think a doctor should donate her talents for the good of mankind. Making money on the practice of medicine is sinful in her book.” Carolyn’s tone was nasty now. “If I’d inherited money, maybe I’d agree. As it is, even Michael Morgan didn’t leave me his shares in our company. I’m not apologizing for making money while I can, Willa. Last I heard, your husband was a healthy capitalist, too. It’s no crime.”

She’d finally raised my blood pressure with her condescending words about George.

“You’ve got a few years to make money yet,” I snapped at her, looking around for a convincing place to stage my minor accident.

“True, but this explant business won’t last forever and I’m planning to make all the hay I can while the sun shines.”  She sunk another fifteen-foot putt.

The sand trap to the right of the next green was a good spot for an ankle twist. I deliberately hit my ball there and headed over. While she had her back to me returning to the cart, I fell down and yelled as if I’d landed at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

Of course, when I devised this plan, I forgot she was a doctor. She didn’t buy it for a minute, but she seemed as glad to quit as I was.

I took the driver’s seat, ignoring that I’d claimed a right ankle sprain.

“Does Grover refer many explant patients?”  I asked.

“Yes, but not as many as his partner, Fred Johnson. I could make more money if I took referrals from Johnson.”

“Why don’t you?”

Her venomous retort could have killed alligators through her breath. “I wouldn’t do business with Fred Johnson if I was starving to death. That man is a snake and anyone who doesn’t believe it should have talked to Michael Morgan.”

Whoa! Jump back!

She really was a ruthless bitch. Good to know. Wise to avoid.

The Clubhouse was straight ahead. Very little time left in captivity. Make the most of it, Willa.

“You’ve mentioned Dr. Morgan several times today,” I said, trying to act like I’d just noticed. “Did you know him well?”

“I knew Mike Morgan better than anyone did. We were planning to be married.”  Quietly, fighting for composure. Her chin quivered and eyes filled. She took a couple of deep breaths and wiped her tears. Theatrics?  I didn’t think so.

“I  had no idea, Carolyn. You must be devastated. I’m so sorry.”  I said, with real sympathy.

If she had loved Morgan, maybe everyone was being too harsh. But I knew this would be my only chance to ask her, so I softened my tone and pressed on.

“Do you have any idea who killed him?”

“I’m sure Ben Hathaway will tell you that there were enough suspects to fill the Tampa telephone book. But a woman scorned is most likely.”

“I’ve heard Dr. Morgan had a number of affairs,” I said, letting my voice trail a bit. “Who might have been jealous enough to do such a thing?”

“I’ve thought about that a lot these last few days, Willa. I’ve developed a narrow list. If I was a betting woman, which we know I am, I’d look for one who stands to gain the most now that he’s gone, and that obviously wouldn’t include me.”

Obvious answer. Hathaway had said the same thing.

Trouble was, Carolyn Young might be the only woman who knew Morgan and didn’t profit by his death.

Had she orchestrated that, too?