Poisoned Page 3

  Two

  Justin McPhee

  June 3, 2007

  “You can’t fall in love with me,” I said to the arm that Casey Cort had wrapped around my middle. From chest to hip, her warm skin was pressed against mine. Lying prone and naked on the right side of my bed, I could feel her breasts against my arm. I tried not to let that distract me from what I needed to say to her.

  She peeled her arm from my middle and rolled onto her back. The lazy sweep of the ceiling fan was the only sound for a long minute. It had gone from near freezing to nearly eighty degrees in just a few hours. All the stupid phrases about waiting a minute for northeastern Ohio weather to change were true.

  “There’s no danger of that, Justin,” she said, her reaction coming out on a long sigh. Casey’s postcoital husky voice was disappearing like fog after the sun.

  I wish I could say why her words hurt when they held the exact things I’d asked for: space, distance, understanding.

  “I’m not marriage material either,” I said. I needed her to know that what we were doing, what we had between us, was all there ever was going to be. I’d had too many women misunderstand sex with me.

  They got attached.

  I never did.

  “No one’s trying to get you to walk down the aisle, Justin, especially me. Morro, your dog, is your ride-or-die person…thing…being…whatever.

  “You’re not commitment material. Got it. I don’t think a wedding ring is going to fall from the heavens and land on the third finger of your left hand along with a Catholic priest and a church full of our families. You’re safe from me.”

  She lifted her right hand in a Catholic priest’s sweeping absolution motion. “I pronounce you free from matrimony,” she intoned.

  The relief I felt was palpable. Casey didn’t need me. She wouldn’t be secretly planning a wedding, shopping for diamond engagement rings, or trying to tie me down.

  “How is it going with Ron?” I asked. Just the mention of that guy’s name made my gut twist. But he was the guy that Casey should marry. I didn’t want her to forget that. I also wanted advanced warning if our time was going to be cut short by that guy’s diamond ring landing on her left hand’s third finger.

  Casey lifted my comforter and pulled it up over her breasts. I tried to figure out if she was cold or if that meant there’d be no second round. In another ten minutes or so I’d be very much interested in a second round.

  “Why are you asking me about this?”

  She looked at me sideways.

  “I don’t really care.” I heard my voice catch on that one. I cleared my throat. “Just curious.”

  “About what?” Her sex voice was all gone now. Midwest, friendly Casey, the one I had drinks with and shared legal gossip with was back. I immediately missed the other.

  “What you’re looking for,” I said. “You’ve been engaged twice in the time I’ve known you.”

  Not that I approved of her choices. How did a defense attorney end up dating two prosecutors—one of whom was known to be corrupt when she was the exact opposite of that?

  I’d never met a more ethical person than her. I figured they must have some other traits I couldn’t see. Like big penises or something.

  Or rich.

  They’d both been that. I tried not to compare my modestly sparse apartment to digs I imagined were filled with smoking jackets and humidors. Rich was something I wasn’t.

  I hadn’t even revealed to Casey that I was using a litigation loan to fund the Brighthill case. I’d be hellishly underwater without multiple settlements. Not only from the principal on the loan, but the interest wasn’t favorable either.

  In another world, the kind that cared for consumers, these litigation loan outfits would have been classed as loan sharks. But I lived in this world with its hypercapitalism.

  “I want to get married and have kids, obviously,” Casey said, interrupting my thoughts. “If you’ve been counting my engagements, maybe you’ve also noticed that I’m thirty-six, not twenty-six like when you met me. Time is kind of running out.”

  “Time?” Casey had at least fifty, if not more, years between now and death. “Is there something I should know?”

  “Biological clock.” Her sigh was deep. “It’s ticking, okay? I won’t be able to have kids forever. Not biologically at least.”

  I wasn’t much older than her and I’d never thought much about it. The tabloids at the checkout counter were full of silver-haired male celebrities having kids. Now that I thought of it though, their wives were always well south of forty.

  “And Ron Pinheiro is your choice?” I tried to picture her with my law school classmate…and couldn’t. Instead I was somehow in the picture. I needed to clear that film loop out of my mind. Mentally, I played back our last few months, making sure we’d used a condom every time. I could only think of a single slipup, maybe two, but well outside any margin of error.

  “I haven’t ruled him out. He’s available. He wants the same things.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a lot of sparks, fireworks.” That was something Casey and I did have. “When we’re together it’s like lightning in a bottle,” I admitted.

  “And what does that have to do with the price of tea in China?” Her squint pierced me.

  “Nothing.” I paused for a long second trying to think of why it was so important to me for Casey to admit that we were well suited. I couldn’t think of a single reason. I turned the spotlight back on her. “You were saying?”

  “Right. Ron. I like him a lot. We get on well. There’s not much else I could ask for.”

  Butterflies?

  Sparks?

  I think she should have asked for those. In my mind, that kind of connection was essential. Would be essential for me if I ever found a woman I wanted to settle down with. One who had all of the qualities Casey had…plus that intangible something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  “Then where is he?” I asked.

  “Beachwood, probably.” Casey looked up at the ceiling. “Downtown in his office, maybe. Though he’s trying to cut down on weekends. But he’s on the cusp of junior partner, so he needs all the face time he can get.”

  “I didn’t mean literally.” Was she being deliberately obtuse, I wondered.

  She turned back to me. Again, her hazel eyes were focused, intense. “Then what do you mean?”

  I tried not to squirm under her scrutiny. Physically, I pushed back putting more distance between us. The sheets whispered across the mattress.

  “If this is the guy for you, your future husband and all that, then why are you here in my bed, instead of in his?”

  That got to her. Casey’s face screwed up into a frown.

  “You know what, Justin?” She lifted her left hand, spread her fingers wide, then lowered her pinky, then her ring finger then the others in quick succession while she counted. “In five, four, three, two, one, I’m not going to be in your bed either.” Casey threw off the covers, stood, and pulled on her underwear. “Easy peasy.”

  “I wasn’t trying to throw you out,” I backpedaled. My hopes of a second go deflated at the same time a certain part of my body did as well.

  “Could have fooled me,” she said.

  “Don’t go.” I was surprised to hear those words come from my mouth. I’d never said them to anyone before. This was getting confusing. I needed to talk to her again about Brighthill. I needed her help for my biggest case ever way more than I needed her in my bed.

  Priorities.

  “Why not?” Casey had her bra fastened tight and was pulling on first jeans, then a well-washed Ohio State T-shirt I’d found incredibly soft against my bare chest when she’d walked in my door last night. I’d hugged her long and hard once she’d gotten the dog greeting out of the way.

  “I want to talk to you about the case.” I hadn’t mentioned it when I’d invited her over. But I’d planned to talk about it…after round two. Without that happening, it was now or never.

  “Your big plaintiff’s thing?” She was at socks and shoes. My time was running out.

  “Have you considered my offer?” I rushed out. I got out of bed and copied her, pulling on my own underwear, then a Case Law T-shirt and some plain heather gray sweats. “I really need the help.”

  She didn’t ask for clarification.

  “It was two days ago. Have you asked anyone else? You must have some trustworthy friends from Case.”

  She was out of the bedroom and back in my living room. Casey sat on the couch, straightened her socks, then pulled on first one shearling boot and then the other. I’d always thought that Uggs were a play on the word ugly, but they looked cute and warm and snug on Casey even if it was creeping up to eighty outside.

  I kind of wanted to scoop her up in my arms and keep us both warm. Instead, I channeled my energy into the case that was very much in need of better staffing. With Brighthill, I’d bitten off more than I could chew. My enthusiasm was not enough to make up for the sheer man hours I’d need to battle the firm representing Strohmeyer Breweries—Morrell Gates.

  “I think I trust you more than most people I know.” That was the absolute truth. “You never have an ulterior motive.”

  Casey cocked her head.

  “You just accused me of having an ulterior motive.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Is it really, Justin? Either you think I’m honest and truthful or you don’t. When I told you I was only looking for something casual, I meant it. I haven’t pushed you for anything more. I don’t want to push you for anything more. We get along. This works between us. And if or when it doesn’t, I’ll pick up my toys and take them home.”

  “I very much want your toys here,” I admitted.

  “In what capacity?”

  That one question made me feel uncomfortable. If I didn’t shift something in the conversation, I was going to sweat or stutter or worse. Work was somewhere I could squarely land.

  “Let’s start with the case. Brighthill.” I named the city with the growing childhood cancer cluster.

  “A small city in the south-central part of Cuyahoga County. Yes, Brighthill.”

  “And Clearwater Park.”

  “Another tiny city. Are they towns? Villages?”

  “Clearwater is a village. Brighthill is a city.”

  “Does that make a difference?”

  “When it comes to this case? No. I want you on this. I want you to join me.”

  Casey’s silence presupposed the big question.

  Why.

  “I know you’re not the only lawyer in Ohio or even Cleveland for that matter. But I need someone with a strong moral compass. A clear sense of right and wrong.”

  “Me. You’re talking about me?”

  “Not a Taxi Driver reference is it?”

  Casey shook her head.

  “Our parents’ generation—those were the moral and righteous ones. The greatest generation who fought the Nazis and ushered in a new era of civil rights.”

  I couldn’t disagree. But our generation didn’t have those big fights. Ours were of a different kind. For me, it was representing the little guy.

  “You stood up for yourself against the Strohmeyers even though it was against your interest.”

  This was the thing I’d always admired about her. Whether it was Strohmeyer or Hudson, Casey always stuck with her principles even when it cost her.

  “If I’d known how it would go, maybe I wouldn’t have done it. It’s easy to seem like a strong and moral person after the fact.”

  “Either way, the Strohmeyers are bad people.” I paused. “They’re killing children.”

  Casey blinked. She moved back just enough for me to know that what I’d said had hit the mark.

  “That’s a pretty strong charge. When I flipped through a few files, it seemed like a garden variety toxic tort case. God knows there’s a history of those going nowhere in the courts. Look at the asbestos cases here in Ohio. The bar journal said there were like forty or fifty thousand in the court system. That was three years ago, I think. The federal EPA has to have hundreds, if not thousands of lawsuits going on at any given time.

  “Honestly, Justin, dying kids or not, I’m not interested in signing up for something that’s going to take the rest of my life. Is this your retirement plan? Is this why you’re doing it? The payout?”

  I tried not to be hurt by her reference to the nearly thirty-three percent payout I’d likely see from any settlement. Personal injury lawsuits and the large attorney’s fees that resulted were a necessary evil. Someone had to advocate for the rights of the injured, and without incentivized lawyers to do it, no one else would.

  “I have a Roth IRA for that.”

  “Then what makes this one so compelling? Something that’s going to be worth putting all the time in? Because make no mistake…this will take all of your time, and if I sign on…a lot of mine too.”

  “It’s the kids. I have thirty-five cases now. We have brain tumors, malignant bone cancer, astrocytoma, sympathetic nervous system tumors, neuroblastoma, malignant bone cancer, soft tissue sarcomas, acute lymphocytic leukemia, and so on.”

  “So on? I couldn’t spell any of that, much less repeat it back in front of a judge and jury.”

  “Hopefully neither of us would have to.”

  “Your plan?”

  “Settlement, of course.”

  “Seriously? Why would Strohmeyer settle? Have they given up their holier-than-thou, above-reproach attitude?”

  Casey’s huff of disbelief was a bit unsettling. I was used to our relationship having a certain balance. One where she came to me for referrals and advice, mentor/mentee conversations not one of working equals. Maybe if she were on this case with me, that part of our relationship would have to change as well.

  “No. That’s the problem. They think that if they throw all the paper in the world at me, that somehow I’m going to forget about the Mullinses, the Lowerys, the Beallses, the Serranos, the Poulins.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The first families that retained me,” I answered. When the first family, the Mullins, had contacted me, I’d thought they were off their rocker. Kids got cancer. It was no one’s fault, or everyone’s fault. But they’d invited me to their ‘families of cancer patients’ support group meeting, and when I’d gotten back to my office, I’d done some research and crunched the numbers.

  One kid’s cancer or two in a population was normal. Maybe not normal, but expected. Three or thirty strongly suggested an outside cause. Before I’d known what I’d be taking on, I had signed twenty families as contingency clients. Which meant that I’d fight for them, but that I’d have to finance that fight myself.

  “It’s Morrell on the other side?” Casey asked. I knew she was back to the same question as before—why did I want her on this case with me? Even I wasn’t sure of the answer, though I knew somehow in my gut that she was essential to the future of the Brighthill families.

  “You worked there.”

  It was one of the first things she’d told me about herself.

  “For a single summer. Ten short weeks. The Strohmeyers got me fired, remember?”

  “Do you want to know who’s on the cases?”

  “Is that going to make a difference?”

  Hooking her into this was like fishing. I kept throwing out different bait and lures to see what would make her nibble. I wanted her any way I could get her.

  “Maybe.” I gave an exhaustive list of everyone who’d appeared on any pleadings.

  “You have a photographic memory?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “No. These cases are just important to me. I can’t set it and forget it. I need to be down in the trenches.”

  “You want me in there with you?” Casey asked the obvious question.

  “More than anyone.” My answer was as honest as I’d ever been with her.

  “No offense or anything, but what makes you think you can handle it?” Casey shrugged. “We’re two common pleas lawyers and not even two full-time personal injury lawyers. I mean, I think I handled exactly one PI case and that was because the plaintiff had negotiated her own settlement and needed me to draft documents for her and collect the check.”

  Her thought process was completely logical.

  From Casey’s perspective, I wasn’t the guy to do this. It could be handled better and maybe more efficiently by one of those firms who advertised in English and Spanish on bus benches and the glossy back cover of the yellow pages. It was time for me to lay all of my cards on the table. This hook had bait and a fly and a spinner.

  “I worked at a big firm.”

  Her reaction was about what I expected. Her eyes had gone wide with shock.

  “Wait? What? When? I met you at some bar association breakfast or luncheon…the domestic relations lunch, if I remember correctly. You were solo even back then.”

  She was right. I’d portrayed myself that way. Maybe even on purpose so we’d relate to each other better.

  “I wasn’t before, Casey.”

  “I think I’m going to need a drink for this.” She made as if she were going for the fridge with its half bottle of wine left over from last night. Instead, she looked at her watch. Shook her head. “Crap, it’s too early for a drink. Tell me.”

  I lifted and lowered a single shoulder, relieved I’d finally found the lure that was going to reel her in even if it was likely going to embarrass me.

  “What makes you think there’s going to be a story?” I asked. It was straight-up deflection. I was dreading the answer I’d have to give. Confessionals weren’t fun when sober. Suddenly I too wanted to get myself a glass of that wine.

  “Because this is Cleveland. No one leaves a firm voluntarily unless they’re moving in-house or elevating to the judiciary. That’s about it. You’re not working as corporate counsel and I don’t have to call you ‘Your Honor.’”