Louis studied Brian, his clothes, his hair, his posture. He had known a few gay men in college, but they were all guys who were open about it. What about the ones who weren’t?
Brian suddenly met his gaze and Louis looked away.
Shit, Kincaid, there’s no way you can tell from just looking at him.
“Mr. Kincaid?”
Louis looked back at Scott.
“I asked you what it was you wanted to talk about? Why you came here?”
Louis needed to find a way to switch gears. He had a feeling Brian was hiding something, but there was no way to get anything out of him with the big brother here protecting him.
“Jack Cade was planning to sue Spencer Duvall,” Louis said.
Scott nodded. “I heard. Legal malpractice. Fascinating. .”
“Susan Outlaw told me your firm specializes in malpractice cases. I was hoping you could shed some light on it.”
Scott smiled. “Well, I can try.”
“You’re familiar with the details of the Kitty Jagger case, I take it,” Louis began.
“Not all of them. Just what the newspapers have been dredging up lately.”
“Scott, we’ve got work to do,” Brian said tightly.
“In a minute, Brian. Christ, go take an Alprazolam or something.”
Brian got up and left the office. Louis watched him, then came back to Scott.
“I’m trying to find out if Cade had a chance of winning his suit against Duvall,” Louis said.
“It would have been very difficult,” Scott said.
“Because of the statute of limitations.”
“Theoretically.”
“Theoretically?”
“Well, a smart lawyer could argue that the statute of limitations begins when the victim-or client in this case-came to believe malpractice actually occurred.”
“So assuming Jack Cade discovered this last year, he could still sue?”
Scott nodded. “He could make a legitimate attempt, yes.”
“What could he get?”
“He would have to show a tangible economic loss and sue for things like breach of contract, negligent misrepresentation and of course fraud. But the client would have to prove it was intentional.”
“And not just stupid,” Louis said.
“Right. But let me assure you, Spencer Duvall was not stupid.”
“So what could Duvall have done to sabotage Cade’s case?”
“Theoretically?”
“Theoretically.”
“Duvall would have had to deliberately withhold or alter evidence, or provide Jack Cade with information he knew not to be true or commit some other act that cost Jack Cade his right to a fair trial or intentionally force an action that would not have otherwise occurred.”
Scott smiled. “Sorry, let me know if I’m talking over your head.”
“I’m still with you.”
“Has Cade told you Duvall did anything like that?”
Louis shook his head. “Cade gave up on the lawsuit when Duvall ended up dead. He said you can’t sue a dead man.”
Scott ate another square of the chocolate. “Well, that’s not really true. You can bring suit against almost anyone or anything. Like I said, that’s how we pay the rent here.”
“So Cade could have sued Duvall’s estate?”
“And his law practice, most likely.”
Scott wadded up the Hershey wrapper and tossed it into the trash.
“Two points,” he said. “The crowd goes wild.”
Louis’s beeper went off and he turned it off without even looking at it.
“Need to use the phone?” Scott asked.
Louis shook his head. “No, but I better get going.”
Scott walked him to the door and opened it. Louis extended his hand. “Thanks for your time. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
Scott shook his hand. “Any time, Mr. Kincaid. Glad to be of help.” He paused. “You know, even if Jack Cade is convicted, he can still bring suit against Spencer Duvall.”
He saw the look of surprise on Louis’s face and added, “The law is a hocus-pocus science.”
Louis shook his head grimly. “Susan Outlaw says no judge will ever look at Jack Cade’s suit now.”
“Well, let’s just say Miss Outlaw is not a malpractice attorney.”
Louis could see Brian out in the lobby, pouring water from the cooler into a paper cup. Louis turned back to Scott.
“Mr. Brenner, would you consider representing Jack Cade’s family in a civil suit against Spencer Duvall’s estate?”
“Now there’s an intriguing idea.”
“Would you consider it?”
Scott’s mouth tipped up. “Let’s just say I’d be interested in seeing the evidence first.”
The beeper went off again.
“Sure you don’t want to use the phone?” Scott asked.
Louis switched the beeper off. He was eager to call Susan, but he didn’t want to do it here. He finally had something to take back to her. Lyle Bernhardt, Candace, Hayley Lieberman-any of them had something to lose if Jack Cade had sued. He also had something to take back to Ronnie-that one of the top malpractice lawyers in the state was willing to take a look at his father’s civil case.
“Thanks, Scott, I’ll keep you posted,” Louis said.
“We’ll be talking, detective,” Scott said.
Chapter Twenty-Three
He was on the road to Immokalee first thing the next morning. It was Saturday and traffic was light, so he opened the windows and pushed the Mustang up over seventy, heading east on Corkscrew Road.
It didn’t take long for the small subdivisions to fade away, and then he was out in the scrub lands that formed the northern border of the Corkscrew Swamp. As he passed through a preserve, the light grew dimmer and cooler, filtered through the canopy of slash pines and ancient live oaks. He was only about thirty miles east of Fort Myers. But out here, away from the coast and in the vast nothingness of Florida’s gut, it was another world. Or maybe just another time, before man had left his mark.
He slowed, seeing signs warning: PANTHER CROSSING: Only 60 Left.
He thought of Susan and how happy she had been with what he had found out about Hayley and Brian Brenner. He had called this morning, catching her and Benjamin just as they were going out the door to Benjamin’s Bible study group. She had been so pleased, she told him to take the day off.
Orange groves lining the road led him into town, where a Rotary sign declared “Welcome To Immokalee, ‘My Home’.” The air grew ripe with the smell of rotting fruit. He had never been to Immokalee before, and had heard only two things about it: It was a farming town of Mexican migrants who worked for big fruit cooperatives, and that you didn’t want to pick a fight in the bars on Friday nights.
The directory had listed Stan Novick’s address on Armadillo Drive. A guy at the Sunoco station directed Louis west of town toward Lake Trafford. Louis found the house, a small but well-kept ranch house, its yard facing the entrance to a cemetery. He went to the door and rang the bell.
Someone was screaming. Louis could hear it through the closed front door. He rang the bell a second time, then opened the screen and knocked hard.
Finally, the door jerked open and a woman peered out at him.
“What?” she demanded.
She was in her mid-thirties, a shag of flaming red hair around a pale freckled face. Except for the lines around the eyes and thirty extra pounds, Joyce Novick looked pretty much the way she had in Kitty’s old snapshot.
“Mrs. Novick?”
“Yes?” she said warily.
“I’m Louis Kincaid, a private investigator.”
She used her forearm to brush her hair back from her face. “Is this about Sean?” Her voice sounded tired.
Louis shook his head. “No, Kitty Jagger.”
Her pale blue eyes widened slightly, then she blinked rapidly several times. “Kitty. . good God,” she said quietly.
“Do you have time to talk?”