makes me believe he is telling the truth. If the information is accurate, he’s already gone farther than he should have to protect Dana, and he’s assumed some risk in doing it.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Talk to her,” he says.
“Did you know this when we met with the carrier?”
“If I had, I would not have participated,” he says.
“But you realize the settlement may be the only source from which she can make reimbursement?” I tell him.
“I’ve considered that. I would not like to put pressure on her to settle on terms you feel are unfavorable. But you have to understand our position as well. If the insurance company were to get wind of this, they would no doubt withdraw their offer.”
Tolt is right. They would force Dana into court and take their chances there. In the meantime, they know we would have to involve the cops. Criminal charges would be filed against her.
“You see the problem?” he says.
I offer him nothing but a painful expression of concession. It’s one of those times when words can only make things worse.
“And then there is the one final aspect,” he says.
“Which aspect is that?” says Harry, as if it couldn’t get any worse.
“I prefer not to go there. I don’t believe it for a minute,” says Adam. “But if the police have to be told about this, given their natural suspicion, an open and unsolved double murder. Well…” He cocks his head to one side and shrugs that shoulder.
“They might wonder whether a woman that desperate for money might not hire somebody to kill her husband for the insurance on his life. Is that it?” I say.
“As I said, I don’t believe it for a minute.”
But it does add a whole new dimension. It looks as if Dana will be compromising her share of the settlement whether she likes it or not. If what Tolt tells me is accurate, I have little interest in laying my body on the blocks to push the carrier farther, even if I could.
“I would ask you to talk to your client and see what can be worked out. And to do it as quickly as possible. Of course, I’ll send you copies of the trust records for your review.”
I agree to talk to Dana, make no promises beyond that. There’s not a lot of choice.
“Good. Now that that’s done.” Adam gives up a sigh. You can almost see the tension rise from his body like heat waves. “Not a pleasant task,” he says, “but I had to play the cards I was dealt. I hope you understand?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Have you folks heard anything more about Nick’s death? The police are coming and going here,” he says, “asking questions, but offering no answers.”
“They’re known for that,” I tell him. “We read the papers. That’s about it.” I don’t tell him about Espinoza. For the time being, those details are best left between Harry and me.
“Same here.” He shakes his head, takes off his glasses, and settles back into his chair. “You know, what I can’t figure is why would a man like Nick get involved with someone like Metz?”
He’s not talking about attorney-client relations now, but the partnership, Jamaile Enterprises.
Following our meeting on the insurance settlement, Adam told me that the cops were probing, questioning some of the partners and staff. They brought up the limited partnership. According to Tolt, who has now turned over every rock in the firm, this is a mystery to all of them.
“I’ve wondered the same thing. Let me ask you, did the cops ever mention a name, Grace Gimble?”
He looks at me, then Harry, thinks about this for a second, then shakes his head slowly. “No. Not that I know of. Why? Who is she?”
“I’m not sure. The name cropped up on the partnership records. One of the original directors.”
“Probably a secretary. Somebody who was around when they put the thing together. When was this, the formation?”
“A little over a year ago.”
He allows this to settle in as he calculates. “Nick was with the firm over three years,” he says.
“That’s why I thought you might know the name.”
“I don’t think anyone by that name works for us now, but I could have somebody check personnel records. Assuming we have them that far back.” He makes a note to himself on a pad on his desk, then puts the pen down on top of it.
“So what we have are two points of contact, this business Nick was involved in and his wife Dana, who was on the arts commission with Metz.”
“There’s another aspect to this thing,” I say. “Nick tried to hand Metz off to me, before he was charged. He told me the firm had a conflict with Metz, so he couldn’t handle it. Something about some contracts Metz had, that Rocker, Dusha was on the other side of.”
“I can check. But if we had an adverse interest, how did Nick get around it for the arraignment?” he asks.
“He told me he disclosed it to Metz, and I assume the other client, and they all waived.”
“The man seems to keep turning up in Nick’s life like a bad penny,” says Tolt. “We don’t know why or how they got together on business. Does anybody know how Metz got on the arts commission?”
“Zane Tresler appointed him,” says Harry.
I look at my partner, surprised at the source of this information and how readily it comes pouring forth.
“Well, you were getting wrapped around the axle, so I just thought I’d check it out,” he says. “He also appointed your pal, Fittipaldi.”
“Who is this?” says Tolt.
“A friend of Dana’s,” I tell him.
“Dana’s term is up in three years, unless she gets reappointed. Fittipaldi has a year,” says Harry. “Metz had two years when his ticket got punched. Anything else you want to know? It’s the same Tresler as the museum they’re planning downtown. You have heard about that?” he says.
Word of the museum has been in the papers two or three times in the last year, a thirty-million-dollar museum and gallery planned for a location somewhere near the waterfront, set to start construction in the next year or so.
“Actually the museum is being named for his father. Zane, Senior.” Tolt is leaning forward, elbows on his desk, smiling at the verbal swordplay between Harry and me. “A combination of some public money, mostly federal grants, and matching contributions from the Tresler Family Foundation. The old man died back in the late sixties. There’s a son, grandson, and I’m told a great grandson.”
“Which one is on the board of supervisors?”
“Zane, Junior, the son. He’s been on the board twenty years I guess. As long as I can remember. He chairs the board’s courts committee. I know that much. The judges have to grovel in front of him yearly to get their heat turned on in winter and the air turned up in summer. He controls funding for staff, desks, pens, paper clips. He has more juice with the local courts than the appellate bench. I’d bring him into the firm as a full partner. He wouldn’t even have to come into the office,” he says, “but unfortunately he’s not a lawyer.” Adam makes it sound as if this might be only a minor impediment.
“What does he do besides supervise?” I ask.
“Not much. The grandson runs the family businesses now. Mitchell Tresler. He’s in his thirties. Not quite as quick as his father. I guess the genes have been watered down,” he says. “I’m told there’s a fourth running around out there somewhere, probably in grammar school. If I had a pretty little granddaughter, I’d send her to that school and tell her to make friends. The kid’s going to be rich someday.”
“Where did the family money come from?”
“Mostly real estate development,” says Adam. “They do large projects, malls, major subdivisions. That and give a lot of money to charities.
“The family started in real estate back in the early part of the last century. Zane One put most of it together. I never actually met the man, but from what I’ve heard, you wouldn’t want to get in his way if there was a land rush. The wheel ruts in your body would be deep. And he was well connected. A friend of William Mulholland, the
