“I have to find a reason for him to set me free.”
“You have another problem to worry about.”
“My entire career might be on hold for three years. Nothing could be as bad as that. Oh, you mean finding Jamie, or my love life?”
“Something else came up. You are being sued for the wrongful death of Bruce Banks.”
“Me? You’re crazy! You just explained why Moran has to drop the phony charge against me eventually. Wrongful death actions are civil not criminal. Who the hell cares anyway if creepy Banks comes down here sniffing around Abby and gets himself accidentally shot?”
“Apparently his widow.”
“Oh, my God!”
“She’s retained Martin Bronner, a local attorney, and he phoned me today. They’re meeting with Moran tomorrow morning and then coming to my office to see us.”
Chapter Thirty
Juanita Banks was small and neat and could have been a pretty package; perhaps under other circumstances she would have been. She was merely a couple hundred dollars away from a contemporary hairstyle, newer clothing, and those indescribable extras that can bring women out of the shadows. Apparently, she didn’t have the money for enhancement of any kind. She did have a great smile. Which she offered to Jerry Kagan but not to Sandy.
They were standing around the long table that together with eight sturdy oak chairs took up the majority of the space in Kagan’s small conference room. Just enough space in the room to accommodate the principals in a real estate closing or a few nervous heirs for the reading of a will. A side door led to Kagan’s adjoining office, and the other door opened out to the front reception area where Sandy’s ancient desk and squeaky chair were positioned. It was a suite of three small rooms adequate for no more than a solo practitioner. The office had sufficed for Kagan for over fifty years. He had purchased the entire building years ago with the large fee he’d received from a successful wrongful death suit. Consequently, he had no landlord and no rent to pay. A life-saving financial situation that had made all the difference during his many lean years.
Kagan stood at the head of the table. “Martin Bronner, I’d like to introduce Sandra Reid.”
“How do you do?” Bronner stood stiffly with feet together and made a very nice bow. He didn’t offer his hand across the table. That part was okay with Sandy. She nodded and smiled politely.
“Miss Reid, this is Mrs. Banks, Juanita Banks.”
“How do you do? Mrs. Banks, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Juanita Banks didn’t nod and didn’t raise her head to look at Sandy.
“Okay. Please be seated. Everyone get comfortable.” Kagan settled in and continued, “Welcome Mrs. Banks, nice to meet you, but I’m sure Mr. Bronner explained that it isn't necessary for you to be here to Florida in person. He can easily pursue this civil action for you by mail. Mainly a file of legal papers passing back and forth. Important papers to be sure, but nothing that can’t be handled by mail to you in Delaware. You may not even have to appear in court.”
“I took the bus. I’ll drive Bruce’s pickup back up to Delaware. How soon can I get the money?” Her slightly accented voice was weak and uncertain. This wasn’t her type of meeting.
“I tried to explain things to her, Jerry,” Bronner said.
Martin Bronner was half Kagan’s age. Early forties perhaps. Well-dressed to the extreme, right down to the precisely folded suit pocket square which matched his soft blue tie. Sandy thought he appeared far too elegant for a law office in south Florida. She imagined her grandmother referring to him as a “dandy.”
Mrs. Banks said, “I need to take the money back as soon as possible.”
Sandy looked at Kagan with wide eyes. Kagan looked at Bronner with a frown. Bronner looked at Juanita Banks with an open but silent mouth.
“Don't you people understand? My husband’s dead at forty leaving me with three children to take care of and no money.”
Bronner didn’t know what to say.
“We have bills to pay—I’m not embarrassed to say that—everyone has bills to pay. My husband had a small insurance policy from his job. I used all of it to ship his body up there and for the funeral expense. He won’t be bringing any more money home now will he?”
Kagan glared at Bronner, waiting for him to explain the situation to this woman. Finally, “Please tell her, Martin.” Bronner didn’t know where to begin.
“Tell me what? You’re going to tell me there is no money! Aren’t you? You’re going to tell me someone else gets the money, or you lawyers get the money. I already owe Mr. Bronner a thousand dollars which I don‘t have.” Her head went down and her shoulders shuddered as she cried. She looked up angrily at Sandy. “You’re going to tell me that woman sitting there kills my husband and doesn’t have to pay me money.”
“For chrissake Bronner, talk to her,” Kagan pleaded, then said, “Mrs. Banks a wrongful death suit doesn’t work that way. It’s not that simple.”
“You mean I’m simple and you’re all clever.”
Kagan stood, walked around the table, and sat next to her. “Mrs. Banks you’re entitled to be compensated, to be paid, for the wrongful death of your husband. There is no question about it. But there’s no immediate money waiting here for you. There may be some money eventually. Right now, we don’t know how much or even where it might come from. Everything will be in the hands of a judge and he is a very fair man. Mr. Bronner here will go before the judge on your behalf and explain the situation. He’ll explain to the judge how you were wronged. He’ll prove to the judge exactly who is responsible. He’ll ask the judge to order that person to pay you. If the person has any assets, any money, and if Mr. Bronner can find it, then you’ll get it. This can take a long time.”
“You’re a nice man and you’re letting me down easy. You’re telling me to just sit and wait and trust all of you, and I don’t know what to feed my kids tomorrow and they’re always hungry.”
Sandy moved her chair closer. “Mrs. Banks....”
“Don’t you talk to me! I can’t stand to look at you. Why is she here? Why is she here?”
Bronner snapped, “She’s here because she’s one of the people accused of causing your husband’s death. She’s the one we’re going to go after and take every cent she has.”
Kagan said, “Bronner! You’re throwing gasoline on the wrong fire. Miss Reid here is a victim herself. Your target is Abigail Olin.”
“Not according to the state attorney. We spoke to him this morning. Miss Reid here is named as a co- conspirator for murder. Mr. Moran can prove prior animosity toward Mr. Banks.”
“What animosity?” Juanita Banks asked.
“Someone made up a story I wanted your husband dead. I certainly didn’t want him dead.” Sandy looked directly at Mrs. Banks. “I saw your husband get shot. I was there sitting with a sheriff’s detective in his police vehicle. We were trying to stop the shooting. I was there while the ambulance driver tried to save your husband’s life. Jerry go ahead and explain to Mr. Bronner what Moran is up to.”
“Abby Olin pulled the trigger. Even though Moran would dearly love to get Miss Reid involved as a conspirator, any supposed charges against her are merely legal maneuvering. Abby is claiming she shot a prowler, which is a very minor charge and a hopeless one for you to collect on. The good news is, when the smoke clears, Moran is going to charge Abby Olin with felony murder.”
“Which is much more serious and is perfect for your subsequent wrongful death suit,” Sandy added. “Mr. Bronner, you put this woman in front of any jury in the country and they’ll hand her the moon and then throw in all the stars for good measure.”
“Is all this true, Jerry?” Bronner asked.
“Every word. Mrs. Banks the reason you are going to be successful and get at least something out of this, is because of the efforts of Miss Reid. She’s the one who developed all the evidence.”
Bronner adjusted his tie. “I apologize, Miss Reid.”
“Call me Sandy.”
Juanita Banks spoke up, “Call me Nita.”
