'I wanted to make sure you're going to be around tomorrow. We need to
talk.'
'We are talking.'
'No, I need to show you something. Can you come to my office?'
I was too tired to try to pry the information out of him. If he was
going to insist on meeting, better to get it over with. 'Fine,' I
said, 'but let's make it early. I'll meet you at seven.'
'a.m.? When do you sleep, Kincaid?'
'Who says I sleep?' I said, hanging up.
So much for a full Sunday off.
We met at his office at seven sharp. I noticed that in his khakis and
navy pullover, he dressed better on the weekend than he did at the
courthouse.
'It better be good, Slip.'
'I don't know if it's good, but it's definitely notable.'
My usual Sunday routine of reading the New York Times over dim sum at
Fong Chong was notable. This had better top it.
Slip led me into a small library that appeared to double as a
lunchroom, coffee bar, and chat area. There was a tiny television on
the countertop. Four men in jellybean colored T-shirts were wiggling
up a storm with a room full of toddlers.
'You better have something better for me than a show that transforms
perfectly cute kids into annoying little freaks.'
'Very funny,' he said, hitting a button that turned the screen to an
even blue. 'I think this is big, Samantha.'
'Enough with the dramatics. Just show me why you brought me here.'
He pulled a plastic Gap bag from a nearby chair and set it on the card
table in the center of the room.
'My investigator found a safe deposit box at First Coast Bank rented by
Clarissa Easterbrook. The key was a match.'
'And that's what he found?' I asked, looking at the bag.
He nodded.
'And how exactly did your investigator convince the bank to turn over
the contents of a safe deposit box that didn't belong to him?'
'Do you really need to know?'
The truth was, I didn't. If there was any legal violation, it was
probably only civil. Anyway, courts don't care if evidence is obtained
illegally, as long as the government's hands were clean.
He pulled out a manila folder, a videotape, and a computer disc.
He handed me the folder first. Inside were photocopies of what
appeared to be a case file for Gunderson Development v. City of
Portland.
Slip must have seen a flash of recognition cross my face. 'Does that
mean something to you?'
'I'm not sure yet,' I said, flipping through it. This little joint
venture definitely fell outside the lines of normal procedure. I
wasn't about to tell him everything until I figured out for myself how
the pieces fit together.
From what I could gather in my quick review, the city had denied
Gunderson's request for a variance to convert an historically
significant building into condominiums. Gunderson appealed, arguing
that the city employee who denied the request had been untrained,
filling in for the usual specialist who was on maternity leave.
Gunderson argued that the employee had failed to consider whether his
redevelopment plan preserved the original architecture to a significant
degree, which was required to obtain a variance.
I didn't know squat about administrative law, but Gunderson's appeal
looked like a major loser. No judge administrative or not wants to be
in the business of second-guessing the discretionary decisions made by
front-line bureaucratic implementers.
But Clarissa had agreed with Gunderson. Result? Gunderson threw some
plumbing and a few walls into a run-down old church and ended up with
condominiums that probably sold for four hundred dollars a square
foot.
The case sounded familiar. Had I seen it when I reviewed Clarissa's
files at City Hall? I looked at the dates. Clarissa had ruled in
favor of Gunderson almost four months ago, and I had only seen the
cases that were currently pending.
