“I think they wanted to strike quickly while the story was still fresh and the press was still reporting each new development. Check out the section labeled General Overview.”
Ben did as she instructed. It read:
While the H. P. Blaylock Industrial Machinery Corporation regrets the loss of children’s lives and sympathizes with the grief of their parents, Blaylock nonetheless states that it categorically and without exception is without fault or blame with regard to those deaths. H. E Blaylock has always maintained and rigorously enforced a systematic policy for the disposal of its industrial waste, which has not at any time involved removal of such waste to any place where it could even conceivably contaminate the water supply of Blackwood or of any other community.
“Well, that just about covers it, doesn’t it?”
“I have a question,” Christina said, “as a struggling law student who can’t possibly understand all the nuances of big-time litigation. What exactly is the purpose of a General Overview?”
“There isn’t one,” Ben said. “At least not in terms of the pleading. That section was clearly added for the press. They know the reporters will pick up copies of the Answer at the courthouse. This was designed to give the fifth estate a succinct, quotable quote for the front page.”
He flipped to the second page, where the actual pleading began. The purpose of an Answer was supposed to be a paragraph-by-paragraph response to the allegations contained in the plaintiffs" Complaint. Here, the defendants managed to deny everything without actually saying anything:
“With regard to the allegations contained in Paragraph Four of Plaintiffs" Complaint, Defendant H. P. Blaylock either denies them or is without sufficient information to form a belief as to the truth of the allegations and therefore denies them.”
A quick scan told Ben that most of the Answer repeated this unenlightening language. Only the number of the paragraph referenced changed.
“Not very helpful, is it?” Christina said.
“Answers rarely are,” Ben replied. “I wonder why courts require us to go through these hoops anymore, since they almost never convey any useful information.”
“You mean this isn’t unusual?”
“Unfortunately, no. Typical. This is time-tested language.”
“Because defendants like to play it safe?”
“Actually, I think it’s mostly laziness. You can draft this kind of response without doing the least bit of investigation. A lawyer can draft an Answer like this without even calling his client up on the phone. Heck, his secretary could probably draft this, without knowing a thing about the case. Just plug the names into the word processor and recopy it over and over.” He rifled through the pages. “Is there anything useful in here?”
“Check out the last page.”
Ben found one lone paragraph that broke the pattern. Christina had marked it with yellow highlighter:
H. P. Blaylock admits that the land behind its plant in the Blackwood area consists in part of forests and marshlands. Although this land has occasionally been used for the temporary storage of industrial equipment and drums, the contents of the drums have never been permitted to escape and no industrial waste materials have ever come into contact with the ground, ravine, or any groundwater stream.
Ben looked up. “Now that’s interesting.”
“I thought so. Why did they suddenly become so verbose?”
“Well, they had to say something. They could hardly claim that they "lacked information sufficient" to know what was going on in their own backyard. Did we say anything in our Complaint about a ravine?” Christina shook her head. “I didn’t know there was one.”
“And why single out drums? That’s hardly the only way to transport waste.”
“It must be the one they used.”
“And they must think we know that. They’re trying to suggest that the mere presence of drums on the land—to which there are probably witnesses—doesn’t prove contamination. They’re drawing the line at the point they think we can’t prove—that the drums leaked.”
“And what does that tell you?”
Ben placed a finger thoughtfully against his lips. “That they probably did.”
Something about being in the presence of an ungodly attractive woman wearing a bikini put a man at an immediate disadvantage, Mike reflected, as Helen Grace stepped out of the pool, beads of water cascading down the sleek curves of her nearly naked body. Didn’t matter how tough the man was. Didn’t matter how attractive the man was. Didn’t matter who he was or what he was doing. When a woman built like that stood there in as little as the law would allow, exuding sexuality from every exposed pore, she had the upper hand. And anything else she wanted.
Which made Mike more than a little uncomfortable. When he conducted witness examinations, he was accustomed to running the show. It wasn’t ego; it was necessity. He almost never got to talk to anyone who actually wanted to talk to him. If he wasn’t in a position to put on a little pressure, he would probably come up with a great big goose egg.
He handed the woman a towel, careful to keep his eyes up where they belonged. “Ms. Grace?”
“That’s me. Are you the detective?”
“Guilty as charged.”
She dabbed the towel against her body, drying herself. “It’s such a nice day, I thought I’d take a little swim while I waited for you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” And you wouldn’t mind if I took a few pictures, would you? Just to show the boys back at the office?
“Did you have any trouble getting in?”
“Not to speak of.” Which was a bit of an understatement. Southern Hills was one of the most exclusive country clubs in Tulsa. Visits from cops were neither frequent nor welcome. He’d had to bellow and bluster for ten minutes before he got in.
“I’m glad. Personally, I find all the elitism and exclusivity most annoying.”
Really. Then why did you ask me to meet you here? “Is there someplace we could talk?”
“Sure.” She led him to a small cabana near the north end of the pool. It was air-conditioned and, as he soon saw, equipped with a television, stereo system, and a stocked bar. Well, he supposed, it was important to have a nice place to change into your swim trunks.
She started to close the door, but he stopped her. “Leave it open a crack. If you don’t mind.”
“I … thought you’d want some privacy.”
“This is private enough. We’ll talk quietly.” He didn’t want to be paranoid, but with a woman like this, you couldn’t be too careful. If the interview didn’t go well, he didn’t want any wild stories starting up about what went on while the two of them were alone in the cabana. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about Harvey Pendergast.”
“Oh. Poor Harvey.” A fraction of the strength and confidence washed out of her face. Her grief seemed genuine. “Sad enough to see him go before his time, but to go in such a hideous way …”
“It was pretty grim. So you can see why we’re investigating every possible avenue. I don’t want his killer to strike again.”
“Oh, my God. Do you think there’s a chance?” Her hand pressed against her very exposed cleavage. “That’s terrifying.”
“It is. I have a friend who tells me sales of security systems in Tulsa tripled the day after the World reported that murder.” He paused, contemplating the best approach. “I’d like to ask you about your relationship with Harvey.”
“What about it?”
“Well, for starters—what was it?”