There were none. In the past eighteen hours, neither Shenault of Northern Case Mutual nor Cohen of Monarch-Sierra had been able to determine who in their companies had authorized the hiring of Jack Stephano. It was unlikely they would ever know, now that tracks were being erased.
Both companies were large and rich, with lots of shareholders and big ad budgets used to protect their good corporate names. Neither wanted this headache.
"Thank you, Mr. Jaynes," Sandy said.
"I'm next door if you need me," Jaynes said, as if he would like nothing better than to return and do some more coffin-nailing.
His presence was baffling and ominous. Why was the Deputy Director of the FBI in Biloxi, and why did he seem so eager to place blame on them?
"Here's the deal," Sandy said when the door was shut. "It's simple, quick, non-negotiable. First, Mr. Shenault, as to Northern Case Mutual, your client's last assault in this little war is an effort to recoup its two and a half million paid to Trudy Lanigan. We prefer that you simply go back home. Dismiss the lawsuit, forget about Trudy, let her live in peace. She has a child to raise, and, besides, most of the money has been spent anyway. Dismiss, and my client will not pursue his claim for personal injuries against your company."
"Is that all?" Talbot Mims asked in disbelief.
"Yes. That's it."
"Done."
"We'd like a moment to consult," Shenault said, still hard-faced.
"No we don't," Mims said to his client. "It's a great deal. It's on the table. We take it. Just like that."
Shenault said, "I'd like to analyze-"
"No," Mims said, bristling at Shenault. "We take the deal. Now, if you want someone else to represent you, fine. But as long as I'm your lawyer, we're taking the deal, right now."
Shenault went speechless.
"We'll take it," Mims said.
"Mr. Shenault?" Sandy said.
"Uh, sure. I guess we'll agree to it."
"Great. I have a proposed settlement agreement waiting on you in the room next door. Now, if you gentlemen will leave us for a few minutes, I need to talk with Mr. Ladd and his client in private."
Minis led his crew out. Sandy locked the door behind them and turned to address Mr. Cohen, Hal Ladd, and his associate. "Your deal is a bit different from theirs, I'm afraid. They get off lightly because there is a divorce. It's messy and complicated, and my client can use his claim against Northern Case Mutual to his advantage in the divorce proceedings. You, unfortunately, are not in the same position. They put up a half a million for Stephano, you put up twice that much. You have more liability, more exposure, and, as we all know, a helluva lot more cash than Northern Case Mutual."
"How much do you have in mind?" Cohen asked.
"Nothing for Patrick. He's very concerned, however, about the child. She's six, and her mother burns money. That's one reason Northern Case Mutual collapsed so quickly-it'll be very difficult to collect from Mrs. Lanigan. Patrick would like a modest amount to go into a trust fund for the child, money out of the mother's reach."
"How much?"
"A quarter of a million. Plus the same amount to cover his legal fees. Total of a half a million, paid very quietly so your client won't be embarrassed by those pictures."
The Coast had a history of generous verdicts in personal injury and wrongful death cases. Hal Ladd had advised Cohen that he could see a multi-million-dollar verdict against Aricia and the insurance companies for what was done to Patrick. Cohen, from California, certainly understood this. The company was quite anxious to settle and leave town.
"All litigation is dismissed," Cohen said. "And we pay a half a million?"
"That's it."
"We'll do it."
Sandy reached into a file and removed some papers. "I have a proposed settlement agreement, which I'll leave with you." He handed copies to them, and left them.
Chapter 35
PSYCHIATRIST was a friend of Dr. JL Hayani's. Patrick's second session with him lasted for two hours and was as unproductive as the first. It would be the last.
Patrick asked to be excused, and returned to his room in time for dinner. He ignored most of it as he watched the evening news. His name was not mentioned. He paced the floor and spoke to his guards. Sandy had called throughout the afternoon with updates, but he wanted to see documents. He watched "Jeopardy" and tried to read a thick paperback.
It was almost eight when he heard Sandy speak to the guards and ask how the prisoner was doing. Sandy enjoyed referring to him as "the prisoner."
Patrick met him at the door. His lawyer was exhausted, but smiling. "It's all done," he said as he handed Patrick a stack of paperwork.
"What about the documents and tapes?"
"We handed them over an hour ago. There must've been a dozen FBI agents swarming around. Jaynes told me they would work through the night."
Patrick took the settlement agreements and sat at his worktable in the corner, under the television. Carefully, he read every word. Sandy's dinner was fast food from a bag, and he ate it standing beside the bed, watching muted rugby from Australia on ESPN.
"Did they squawk at the half a million?" Patrick asked, without looking up.
"Not for a minute. Nobody squawked at anything."
"Guess we should've asked for more."
"I think you have enough."
Patrick flipped a page, then signed his name. "Good work, Sandy. A masterful job."
"We had a good day. Federal charges are all dismissed, the litigation is settled. Attorneys' fees are taken care of. The kid's future is secure. Tomorrow we'll finish with Trudy. You're on a roll, Patrick. Too bad you've got this dead body in your way."
Patrick left the papers on the table and stepped to the window, his back to the room. The shades were open, the window was cracked six inches.
Sandy kept eating and watching him. "You have to tell me sometime, Patrick."
"Tell you what?"
"Well, let's see. Why don't we start with Pepper?"
"Okay. I didn't kill Pepper."
"Did someone else kill Pepper?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Did Pepper kill himself?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Was Pepper alive when you disappeared?"
"I think so."
"Dammit, Patrick! I've had a long day! I'm not in the mood for games."
Patrick turned around and politely said, "Please, don't yell. There are cops out there, straining to hear every word. Sit down."
"I don't want to sit down."
"Please."
"I can hear better standing up. I'm listening."
Patrick shut the window, pulled the shades, checked the locked door, and turned off the television. He resumed his customary position on his bed, sitting, with the sheet pulled to his waist. Once situated, he said, in a low voice, "I knew Pepper. He came to the cabin one day asking for food. It was just before Christmas of '91. He told me he lived in the woods most of the time. I cooked bacon and eggs for him and he ate like a refugee. He stuttered, and was very shy and uncomfortable around me. Obviously, I was intrigued. Here was this kid, he said he was seventeen but looked younger, who was reasonably clean and dressed and had a family twenty miles away, yet lived in the woods. I made him talk. I asked about his family, and got the sad story. When he finished eating, he was ready to go. I offered him a place to sleep, but he insisted on returning to his campsite.