a cause of loss isn’t specifically excluded by the contract, then that cause is covered and the insurance company has to pay for the damages.
“‘Proximate cause’ doctrine—which is basically an amalgam of a number of decisions in cases—states that the insurance company, in analyzing coverage, has to determine the nearest, most important cause of the loss—the ‘proximate cause,’ if you will. Unless the ‘proximate cause’ of the loss is specifically excluded, the loss is covered.”
“So,” Petra says, “in the case of houses that were destroyed by falling into the sinkhole, the ‘proximate cause’ is earth movement, which is specifically excluded, so the insurance company is not liable.”
“Not so fast, counselor,” Boone says. “ ‘Proximate cause’ doctrine used to be the precedent, but in more recent cases, such as
Christ, that’s sexy, Petra thinks. She leans in a little closer and asks, “So, what impact does that have on your analysis of these cases?”
“The real issue seems to be negligence.”
“Negligence?”
“Negligence,” Boone repeats. And what is that perfume? Because it’s really affecting his concentration. But he pushes through it and says, “Negligence is not specifically excluded as a cause of loss. But ‘weak link’ doctrine, if you will, holds that if negligence is found
in the chain of events, then the loss is covered.”
“Is that what it holds?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” Boone says, looking into those amazing violet eyes. “See, if negligence occurs in the chain of events, the insurance company must pay the insured even if it intends to pursue subrogation—”
“What’s subrogation?”
“Subrogation . . .” Boone says. “Subrogation is when an insurance company sues the negligent party to recover the money it paid the insured.”
“That’s right. You’ve got it.”
“I do?”
“Oh, yes,” she says. “You know, you might want to think about law school.”
“Do you feel the same way about desktop sex as you do kitchen-counter sex?” he asks.
“No,” she says, “they are two entirely separate entities in my mind.”
“That’s good.”
“That’s very good.”
He has one leg of his jeans off when they hear a door open, then footsteps come down the hall. Boone hops over and closes the door.
“Becky?”
Petra gets up and straightens her clothes as Boone does the same. Then she rearranges her hair and opens the door.
“Well,” Becky says, “it’s nice to know that someone gets in before me from time to time. Good morning, Boone.”
“Good morning, Becky.”
“We were doing some research,” Petra says.
“Well, there you go.”
“We’re almost finished.”
“I’m sorry I interrupted.”
“Boone,” Petra says, “I think that’s about as far as we can get on this—for the moment, anyway. I think I’ll just go splash a little water on my face and track down a coffee.”
She walks past Becky.
“Yeah,” Boone says, “I think I’ll . . .”
“Fly?”
“Yeah, you know, take off.”
“
fly, idiot,” Becky says with a smile. “Zip your fly!”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
It’s a long drive to Pacific Beach.
He doesn’t bother to catch the end of the Dawn Patrol.
109
Cheerful looks up from the desk as Boone comes in.
“You’re in early.”
“Yeah, well,” Boone says, “you gotta grow up sometime.”
“You look like hell.”
“And feel worse,” Boone says. “But I do know about negligence.”
“You’ve
known about negligence,” Cheerful says.
“No, I know about capital N negligence,” Boone says. He runs down what he learned in the all-night session with Petra, leaving out the coitus interruptus part. Or, more accurately, he thinks, the Becky interruptus.
“We don’t know,” Cheerful says, “what Schering’s report was going to say, because he didn’t live long enough to produce it. But if he was billing for the insurance company, it probably meant that they hired him to produce a certain result, and that result would be that there was no negligence involved in the chain of events, which would get them off the hook.”
“Maybe,” Boone says, “or that there was clear negligence that they could successfully subrogate.”
“If Schering was killed over this,” Cheerful says, “somebody knew what his report was going to say, and it was dangerous enough that they killed to prevent him from testifying to it.”
But how would anyone know? Boone wondered. Did Schering talk about it? Telegraph it somehow? Write a preliminary report? Or . . .
“Was he putting himself up for auction?” Boone asks.
“His opinion for sale to the highest bidder?”
“Which could mean that the losing bidder might have decided he didn’t want to lose,” Boone says.
“Or,” Cheerful offers, “the highest bidder decided that he didn’t want to pay.”
110
“You’re saying that Phil Schering was a whore?” Alan Burke asks, a little out of breath because he and Boone have just paddled out to the break and Alan hasn’t hit the Gentlemen’s Hour in a while.
You want to know what kind of cardio condition you’re in, paddle a surfboard, even in a mild sea. It will tell you all you need to know. It tells Alan he needs to hit the Gentlemen’s Hour more often, or maybe get one of those
