The news that Jack Gallagher had filed a civil suit against Austin Rooney was brought to Father Dowling by a shocked Marie Murkin.
“Just when it had all died down.”
“Surely there can't be a case.”
“You'll never guess who his lawyer is: Tuttle!”
Father Dowling did not laugh. Jack Gallagher was not in good hands but that did not ensure that there would not be unwelcome publicity. Quite the contrary. Sometimes it seemed that only the local press took Tuttle seriously.
“He was here quizzing me and I never guessed what he was about. He's such a nosy little man, I thought that's all it was. And he talked with Edna too, and some of the old people. How were we to know he was gathering evidence? I'm surprised he didn't talk to you. But then he would have, if you'd been in.”
Marie keened on and Father Dowling felt no disposition to calm her. This was indeed a dark moment. Some moments later, an ashenfaced Austin Rooney was at the door.
“Father Dowling, I had no idea that even Jack Gallagher would stoop this low.”
“He must be getting very bad advice.”
Austin had come for reassurance as well as to make an apology,
but Father Dowling did not know what to tell him. For better or worse, Austin and St. Hilary's parish were in the same boat. That was Amos Cadbury's view when he telephoned.
“I would like to talk with Austin Rooney, Father.”
“He is with me now.”
“Would he still be there in half an hour's time if I came?”
“I'm sure he would.”
“Good. I will be coming as the attorney for the parish, Father. I would not like it thought that I was soliciting a client.”
“No one would think that, Amos.”
This was good news indeed. If there was a legal way to handle this crisis, Fox River's premier lawyer would know. His question had suggested that he would arrange for someone to defend Austin Rooney, perhaps from his own firm. But Amos had even more than that in mind.
“Is anyone representing you, Mr. Rooney?” Amos asked when he arrived. Tall, dignified, his white hair accented by the dark suit, as it had been by the black overcoat and hat Marie had taken from him, Amos Cadbury was an imposing and reassuring figure when he took a seat in the study and put this question to Austin.
“I just heard of this on the radio. I came immediately to see Father Dowling.”
“That was wise.” Amos looked expectantly at Austin Rooney.
“Could you suggest someone, Amos?” Father Dowling said.
“If I were asked.”
Father Dowling too now looked expectantly at Austin. Austin said, “I would be grateful for any help you can give me.”
Amos stretched out his arm, causing a starched cuff to appear, and shook Austin's hand. “Very well, since you ask, I shall act as your attorney.”
“You yourself, Amos?”
Amos nodded. “It is these nuisance suits that are ⦠well, the
greatest nuisance. It is imperative that they be taken with the utmost seriousness.” He paused. “Tuttle filed the suit on behalf of Jack Gallagher.”
“Who is Tuttle?” Austin asked.
“You will learn the answer to that question soon enough,” said Amos. “Now then, I took the liberty of obtaining a copy of the complaint. It is a very vivid statement. And I have to say thisâsurprisingly effective, to have come from Tuttle's office. They are asking damages of two million dollars.”
Austin Rooney laughed. But immediately sobriety returned. The sum was symbolic. The suit was meant to impoverish him.
“My own fee will be a mere token,” Amos said. “I am on a retainer from St. Hilary's parish and I shall treat this suit as effectively aimed at the parish as well as you.”
Amos's retainer was
a façon de parler,
a hundred dollars annually, which would not cover a fraction of an hour of his working day. Austin was understandably relieved. A retired professor could not contemplate the expenses of such a lawyer as Amos Cadbury without blanching.
The defense strategy had been worked out in large part by Amos as he was driven to the rectory. Young Joseph Castlemar would do the legwork. He would be at the parish the next day and everyone with information about the set-to between the two men must be interviewed and depositions taken. It was Cadbury's hope that such a mass of exculpating evidence could be gathered that he could convince the judge to throw out the suit. But the mention of a judge made him thoughtful.
“Bertha Farner has been assigned the case.”
He looked at Father Dowling. The name meant nothing.
“I take it she is a judge.”
“She is a judge. Having raised her family, she went to law school, after which she clerked for old Francis Reiner. When Reiner retired, she was named to take his place. All her legal experience is from the other side of the bench. She is known somewhat irreverently as Big
Hearted Bertha, when she is not known simply as Big Bertha. Of course, those who use the latter name have no knowledge of the Krupp cannon also so named. Judge Farner is a sizeable woman, doubtless glandular, as I am told she eats like a bird. I could have wished for another judge, but be that as it may.”
“She does not sound lean and hungry.”
“No, she is rather plump and compassionate. Mr. Rooney, I would like to begin with you, and now, if that is agreeable.”
“Of course.”
Lawyer and client adjourned to the front parlor and immediately Marie looked in.
“What did he say?”
“He is in consultation with his client in the parlor.”
“His client! Oh,
Deo gratias.”
As he had shared Marie's apprehension, so now Father Dowling shared her relief. “Marie, you might see if Amos would like tea brought to the parlor.”
Amos was an unstinting admirer of Marie Murkin's tea. She bobbed her head and was off. In a moment she was back. “And I have some of the oatmeal cookies he loves.”
“With raisins?”
“Of course.”
“Marie, if Amos should want me, I will be at the school. I think Edna should be told what portends on the morrow.”
“What does?”
“One of the young lawyers in Amos's firm will be here to do what Tuttle apparently already did.”
Edna sat at her desk with a blank look on her face. Obviously she had heard the bad news. Father Dowling was glad to be able to give her the good news.
“Amos Cadbury himself? I almost feel sorry for Tuttle.”
“We must not be overly optimistic. There are other factors.” He told Edna of Judge Farner.
“Oh, I like her.” Edna too was in favor of the underdog and had followed accounts of Judge Farner's compassionate decisions in the local media. It did not occur to her that as the plaintiff, Jack Gallagher would be considered the underdog in this matter.
“One of the lawyers from Amos's firm will be here tomorrow to talk with those who witnessed the events.”
“So he'll talk to you too, Father?”
This thought had occurred to Father Dowling as well, and he felt decidedly ambiguous about it. Amos was right to see that the parish was implicated in this suit, if only because the events had taken place on the premises. But it did not behoove Roger Dowling as a priest to take sides in the matter. Jack Gallagher had, after all, been knocked down twice. But how could he avoid being deposed? He had witnessed Austin knocking Jack Gallagher down on the dance floor. After he told Edna to alert those who would need to be deposed by young Castlemar, he walked slowly back to the rectory. If only Austin Rooney had controlled his temper.
It had been decided that Austin would go to Amos's office in the morning to repeat his account of what had happened so it could be taken down for the record. After Austin had left, Amos waxed eloquent about Marie's tea. “And the oatmeal cookies, Marie. If I were a decade younger I would make love to you.”
A confused and giggling Marie retreated to the kitchen. Amos once more took a chair in the study.
“They were quarreling about a woman,” he said wonderingly.
“Maud Gorman.”
Amos looked surprised. “Maud Gorman!”
“Do you know her?”
“Yes, I know her.” Amos paused. “During a period of prosperity, the Gormans belonged to the country club. Maud was one of the prettiest women I have ever known. Even in middle age ⦔ His voice
drifted off. Father Dowling wondered what would have happened if Amos had come to the senior dance and attempted to cut in on Jack Gallagher.
“It no longer seems completely farcical, Father.”
“She has cut quite a swath here.”
“I often wondered what had become of her.” Amos had half a dozen years on both Austin Rooney and Jack Gallagher, but there was something in his voice that suggested that what had been regarded as comical in those two had stirred in Amos's breast as well.
“If you like, Father, I will depose you myself.”
“Is that necessary?”
“You were there, were you not?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is imperative. You may be sure that Tuttle will be calling on you. I gather he missed you on his first foray. We must be prepared for whatever nefarious use he attempts to make of your testimony.”
That night Phil Keegan came by, his brow clouded. “It almost always happens, yet I am always surprised.”
He was speaking of the death of Linda Hopkins. Apparently there had been a copycat attempt at a local stop of the El. Someone had brushed past a woman standing on the platform, deliberately, and for a terrifying moment she had teetered on the edge of the platform, the tracks below, a train pulling in. But someone had grabbed her coat and pulled her back. By then the culprit had fled. Once safe, the woman had fainted, 911 was called and paramedics had restored her to a measure of calm. She had shuddered at the thought of taking a train so officers had driven her to her door.
“Now I suppose there'll be more.”
The world had become irrational in its violence. Drive-by shootings took the lives of people unknown to those who fired at them. Violence on the expressways at least had some semblance of motive,
perhaps a car cutting into a lane and nearly shearing off the fender of the vehicle it passed. Of course, no one could justify a motorist who had been given such a scare chasing the reckless car down the expressway; on occasion, efforts had been made by the victim to force the offender off the freeway. Judge Farner had handled such a case and her sympathies had whipsawed between the two offenders. But then she came up with a Solomonic decision. The two drivers must take turns driving one another to work for a month. At last report, they had become fast friends.
Tim Gallagher called his father and said without explanation that he would stop by his condo on the way home from work. Jack had been pleasantly surprised by the media reaction to the suit he was bringing against Austin Rooney, although he had not liked the reference to the “battling brothers-in-law.” That aside, the stories had dwelt on Jack's formidable career as the former king of Chicago nighttime radio. Testimonials were sought from old fans, and they were fulsome enough even for Jack. Of course Tim would have heard of the suit. Jack looked forward to discussing it with his lawyer son. The references to Tuttle had been equivocal, but there seemed to be the suggestion that just such a street fighter as Tuttle was needed in a case like this. The assumption that he had his pick of attorneys caused a moment of regret. Maybe he should have shopped around before taking Tuttle on. Perhaps it was not too late ⦠.
When the doorbell rang, Jack pulled open the door. “Don't tell me you resent the fact that I took another lawyer.”
But Tim brushed past him and flung himself into a chair. “What the hell is going on with you and Aggie?”
In a flash Jack remembered the occasion years ago when his son had confronted him on just such a matter. For all that, the question
came as a surpriseâhis head had been full of his coming revenge on Austin Rooney. But now he remembered that Colleen had enlisted his help because of her fears that Tim was misbehaving with Aggie.
“Just the question I was going to put to you, Tim,” Jack said, delighted by his own cool aplomb.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Jack sat and adjusted the crease of his trousers. He assumed a sad expression as he looked at his son. “Colleen came to me with her fears. This young woman had apparently been bruiting about the office that she was having an affair with you.”
All Tim's accusatorial superiority dissolved. Guilt was written all over his face.
“First she went to your uncle Austin.”
“Oh my God.”
“Then she came to me, as she should have in the first place. Tell me about it, Tim. Man-to-man.”
Tim looked at his father abjectly, destroyed by the suggestion that they were peas in a pod. After a minute he said, “Can I have a drink?”
“What will you have?” It was tempting to say that he would be happy to have a drink with his son, although he could not promise to be as good company as the young lady. But he was in the catbird seat so why should he crow?
“Whiskey and water.”
Jack poured the same for himself, very light on the water. This was Jameson, and it was sacrilegious to dilute it.
“Now, what is this about Aggie?”
Tim, robbed of his righteousness, was laudably confused. Jack had the tactical advantage of having been enlisted to save his son's marriage and family. While Tim searched for a way to put it, Jack added, “Of course she chose to divert suspicion to me.”
Tim looked at him desolately. No need to dilate on the significance of that, of course. His son had suspected that in his heyday Jack had
strayed from the beaten path, but now must think it ludicrous to imagine that a man his father's age was still susceptible to sins of the flesh. Jack himself had been surprised to learn that it was not ludicrous at all. Nonetheless, he was glad to be rid of Aggie. Her disconcerting phone call the morning after had given him some moments of unease. But it was foolish to think that such a delectable damsel would dally with him when there were more youthful pickings to be had.
“I've never known anyone like her,” Tim said.
“And you would have been better off remaining ignorant that there are women like that. Women are different from you and me, Tim. I shouldn't have to point this out to a married man. Or perhaps I should. A woman who is wife and mother is one thing, liberated from the purpose of corralling a man. But the professional woman is a new phenomenon. She wants to be conquered so she turns to conquest as being second-best. It means nothing, finally. If she really wanted to settle down, nothing would be easier. But she prefers to compete in a man's world. Her psyche is altered in ways we have yet to understand.”
He was enthralled with the sound of his own voice, of its message of world-weary wisdom. He himself had succumbed to the unaccustomed directness of Aggie, the New Female. He sympathized with Tim, a far less experienced man.
“Have you resolved to put all this behind you, son?”
“Oh, God, yes. It was the stupidest thing I ever did in my life. She was so obvious, but somehow that didn't seem to matter.”
Jack nodded sagely. After a moment's silence, he said, “Do you know what I thought brought you here tonight?”
“What?”
“I have filed a suit, through my lawyer, against your uncle Austin.”
“Good God.”
“I am assured that I have a very good chance of enriching myself at his expense.”
“But, Dad, the publicity ⦔
“I have never been a foe of publicity, Tim. In itself, it is neutral, it can be turned to good or evil. Austin has always been a sanctimonious ass. It may be good for his soul to be exposed as a fool.”
“Are you sure that is how it will come out?”
“Tim, it is safe as real estate. If you could see the spontaneous expressions of support I have received!”
“But a suit goes before a judge. Do you know who will hear the case?”
“Judge Farner.”
“You live a charmed life.”
“Hadn't you heard of the suit?”
Tim had not heard. Publicity is an odd thing, touching some, leaving others untouched. Fame was like that. For a select few he had once been a god, but even then there had been countless millions who had never heard of Jack Gallagher. Concentrate on those affected and ignore the rest, that was the trick. Tim wanted to hear of the suit, if only as a diversion from his woes; Jack cast himself in the role of initiator of the action, seeing intuitively that there was redress to be had for what Austin had done to him.
“How did you end up with Tuttle?”
“Do you know him?”
“He is a laughingstock. I am surprised he hasn't been disbarred. Amos Cadbury has done everything possible to drive him from the bar.”
“Amos Cadbury. I believe he is representing Austin.”
“You're doomed!”
“Tuttle is a diamond in the rough, no doubt, but shouldn't I have a man like that in a case like this?”
“Only if you want to lose.”
“Whom would you suggest?”
“I don't know many trial lawyers who would be willing to go up against Amos Cadbury.”
“Isn't Mario Liberati a trial lawyer?”
Tim was struck by this remark, Jack saw it. Everyone sang the
praises of Mario's courtroom pyrotechnics. “You couldn't afford Mallard and Bill.”
“Tuttle is doing it on spec.”
“That is not unusual. The problem is that Mallard and Bill would not want to get involved in such a suit. Dad, think of it. It's incestuous already. You are taking your brother-in-law to court. And you want your future son-in-law to represent you?”
“It's worth a try.”
“I wouldn't count on it.”
“I'll put it to Colleen.”
“I suppose it can't hurt. What will you tell her about me?”
“That nothing happened. On the proviso that nothing ever will.”
“I give you my word of honor.”
“That is more than enough for me. I'll fix it with Colleen, don't worry.”
Tim embraced him and Jack felt a fleeting impulse to tell his son that they were alike sinners. “Get along home to Jane.”
When he opened the door to let Tim out, there was Aggie.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked, unperturbed.
“Right on the button,” Jack said, consulting his Rolex. And then, to Tim, “Aggie has agreed to give me her legal advice on my suit.”
Tim seemed to accept that. The sight of Aggie obviously made him want to flee. Aggie and Jack stood in the doorway, waving him on his way to wife and family.
“What was that all about?” Aggie asked, when the door was closed.
“Have you heard about my suit?”
“Birthday?”
“Be calm. I thought we would go over to the clubhouse.”
“Only if you insist.”
“I do. How often does the Old Man of the Sea have an opportunity to be seen with a naiad like you?”
“I know you will explain that to me.”
Jack draped a camel-hair coat over his shoulders, marveling at his
own calm reaction to her surprising appearance on his doorstep, and at such a moment. A lesser man would have collapsed at her appearance, but he had brought it off nicely, if he did say so himself. Everything he had gained with Tim would have gone out the window if he had expressed the surprise he felt at seeing Aggie in his doorway. The suggestion of the clubhouse had been an inspiration. He had to get this fascinating young female out of his apartment, bringing as she did memories of his dalliance with her the other night. But perhaps he might ask her back for a nightcap. After all, the sun of life was setting and opportunities for carnal folly were not apt to be many.
When they left, deciding to hoof it through the light, early-December snow, Jack noticed the drapes of the next condo flutter and then fall still. Dear Isabel, the snoop. Well, let her play Leporello to his Don Giovanni. Another allusion he would have had to explain to the voluptuous but unsophisticated Aggie.