Part 14 (1/2)

”Don't say that.”

”It's true,” he says. ”At least they'd have a roof over their heads. I've got a million-dollar life-insurance policy. Paid up.” He tells me his parents had bought this for him years before, in case something happened on one of his jobs.

”Borrow against the cash value,” I tell him.

”There is none. Straight term policy.”

I tell him to relax, to calm down. But my words sound like what they are, the bravado and encouragement of the unaffected.

”Let's think about options,” I tell him.

”What options? There aren't any.” He finishes his drink and raises his bottle toward the waitress. ”This one's on me.”

The waitress comes over. I order a beer. Frank needs the gesture, if only to buy some pride back.

”When did you find out about the medical-insurance cap?”

”The million-dollar cap I've known about, but I didn't know we were hitting up against it until last week. I guess I just didn't think. The hospital bills went to the insurance company. We got copies and stuck 'em in a drawer. Went on for what, I don't know. Two years, maybe.”

”Do you have any kind of appeal, to the insurance company?”

”I don't know. You look at it.” He reaches under his coat, to the inside pocket, and hands me an envelope, ripped across the top like somebody opened it in a hurry with a finger. ”It's been burning a hole in my pocket for two days,” he says. ”You keep it. Please.”

I read the letter. It is a notice of cancellation for the reason that the maximum lifetime benefits of the policy are about to be exhausted.

His second bottle comes, and Frank starts on it.

”Do you have a copy of the policy?”

”At home,” he says. ”Someplace.”

”We need to look at it.”

”Why? I suppose I could argue with them over the numbers. But I don't think I'd win.”

”You think you're into them for that much? A million dollars?” I ask.

He nods. ”Yeah, all the experimental stuff. The treatment at the university. She was hospitalized four times last year with respiratory problems, three times the year before. She can't control the saliva. It goes down her windpipe and gets in her lungs. She gets pneumonia and then she's in there for a month, sometimes six weeks.”

”And a divorce will solve this?”

His eyes light up like those of some grifter with a good idea. He sits up straight in the chair and leans across the table toward me, salesman about to make a close.

”Here's what we figured. The hospital bills are gonna break our back. In two months our savings will be gone. We'll be broke. We have the other children to worry about. I talked to Doris, and she agrees. If we get a divorce, she takes the house, my retirement and custody of the other two kids. I'll agree to it. Division of property. That's what they call it, right?”

”a.s.suming some judge is willing to accept this,” I say.

”Why wouldn't they? If I agree to it.”

”Judges are funny,” I tell him. ”Especially if they think you're doing this to defeat creditors' claims.”

He ignores me. ”I'll have to pay support from my salary, whatever I take home in pay. They can't touch that. Right?”

I make a face, like maybe. ”Who're 'they'?”

”The state,” he says. ”Here's the deal. I take Penny and all the bills. That would qualify her for state aid. I'd be broke.” He smiles at the thought of being dest.i.tute and immediately reads the negative response in my eyes.

I start shaking my head.

”There's no other way,” he says.

”Even if you did it, it wouldn't work,” I tell him. ”The state would see through it in a heartbeat. The Medicaid auditors would be all over the two of you before you could cash the first check.”

It is a fact of life that some cagey live-on-the-edge con artist might get away with it, drive a Mercedes and live the high life on somebody else's laundered checks using a different name each day, bouncing from state to state always one hop ahead of investigators. But Frank and Doris Boyd are not cut out for this kind of life. I can see them in jail togs with their kids in tow.

I tell Frank this. From the desperate look in his eyes, I can tell immediately that this was a mistake. He looks at me like the enemy.

”That's okay,” he says. ”If they put us in jail, then the county could take care of Penny and the other kids, while Doris and I do time.” He is serious. It is the kind of mindless escape the middle cla.s.s, people who have never seen the inside of a jail cell, might come up with when they are desperate. Frank has now sold his wife on this.

I argue with him, but he doesn't want to hear it. Frank feels he's found the only way out of a desperate situation. If I say no, he'll sell his van and his tools to come up with a retainer and find some low-life shyster who will take his money to file for this ill-conceived divorce. If I can keep him under my umbrella and talk some sense into him and Doris, maybe I can convince them not to do it. Frank is the mover here, the shaker in the family. Doris would follow him to h.e.l.l if he told her this was the way out. She's too busy trying to raise three kids, keeping one of them alive.

We talk some more. I tell him I would have to think about it, look at the insurance policy first to see if there is any other way.

”Carriers get dicey when you threaten lawsuits, especially for bad faith. There's a chance that you haven't hit the cap yet. They are notorious for inflating costs. It could be you've got some more time.”

His eyes light up with the thought. ”You think so?”

”It's possible. Even if you don't, we may be able to buy you some.”

He reaches across the table, his hand cold and wet from squeezing the bottle of beer, and cups his palm over my forearm. ”You'd do that for us?”

I nod and for the first time, he settles back in his chair and takes a deep breath, a moment of relief, eyes cast up at the ceiling.

chapter.

nine.

we are headed north on I-5, Harry at the wheel of his new Camry, the air conditioner humming. My partner is beginning to draw the line at riding in ”Leaping Lena,” my ragtop Jeep with its isingla.s.s windows pulled out in good weather.

But the quiet hum of the tires on the road is not enough to dispel the growing sense of dissatisfaction I feel from Harry. Warnake's testimony put a hole in our boat. The only question is whether it's below the waterline.

As we work our way up toward La Jolla and the university, Harry finally breaks the silence.

”You realize we dodged a bullet on the tensioning tool? We owe the G.o.ds of evidence on that one.”