Chapter 19

Leaving the detectives’ depressing little hole in the wall, I returned to my place. Jennifer had an appointment at my lawyer’s firm, and I’d promised I’d take her. Driving home I remembered the folded picture of the John Doe body inside my jacket pocket which reminded me I might have a way of getting an identity on Mr. Doe. Walter! If anyone might recognize John Doe it would be Walter.

Since his return from the war, Walter has been dealing with PTSD. Walter found the best way for him to deal with these problems was to live apart from society. He now lives on the Olympic Peninsula across the Puget Sound from Seattle on a piece of land I gifted him. He refuses to get either a landline or a cell phone. This presents a problem since the only way for me to contact Walter is by sending him a letter telling him when I’m coming over. Every couple of days he walks the four miles from his place to the little general store below his cabin. While he’s there, he picks up mail and any supplies he might need. I knew it would be a couple of days before I could arrange to go over and see him. When he gets a letter from me, he calls me collect from the little general store and we arrange a meeting time.

Later this afternoon was Jennifer’s appointment to meet with my attorneys and I only had a few minutes before I’d pick her up at her hotel. This meant I needed to get ready, and fast. Since I had no idea how long I’d be with Jennifer, I decided it was best to leave BJ at home.

When I got home, the first thing I did was take BJ outside for a brief run. After we returned, I started to put on my suit and from the look on BJ’s face, I could tell she knew this time she was not going with. She crawled up on the corner of the bed, laid down with her head between her paws. She was looking sad and trying her best to make me feel guilty. She was succeeding. While I changed into my suit I mused if Jennifer should ever see the way I usually dress, she’d be in for a real letdown.

When I think about lawyers, I always compare them to gunfighters from the old westerns. It was all about reputation! If a gunfighter had a good reputation, sometimes he could avoid a gunfight simply because the other cowpoke had heard how fast the gunslinger was on the draw. Because of a reputation, the fellow going up against the gunslinger didn’t want to take a chance of losing. Maybe the cowboy thinks he might be a little faster, but finding out the answer could be a real tough lesson. That would be especially true if you aren’t as quick as you thought, or hoped, you were. Thus, because of a reputation, people tended to back down.

When a lawyer has a good reputation, the question you ask is, “Do I really want to go to a courtroom and find out how good that lawyer is?” Sometimes it’s in your best interest to just back down, pay out a little money, and by doing so, actually end up winning. I’ve found having one of the top law firms in the state behind me has saved me from some “gunfights” I didn’t want to take on. I was hoping my lawyer’s reputation, and his abilities would be of help to Jennifer, too. From the sound of it on the phone, Mr. Green didn’t sound like he was in the same arena as my gunfighters.

Jennifer was staying at the Sorrento Hotel. The Sorrento, in downtown Seattle, is an older, smaller, but very plush hotel. The service is excellent, and the entire place feels like something out of a movie version of a very upscale hotel from the 1930’s. I thought to myself it suited Jennifer very well.

I went to the desk in the hotel lobby, and they called up to her room. A few minutes later, she walked off the elevator looking breathtaking. For a moment I wished I were twenty years younger. Here was obviously a woman of class. I was sure she only saw me as some old codger just trying to help her with a problem.

I gave her my best smile. “You look wonderful. You realize every person in this lobby is staring at you?”

She was blushing a little as she glanced around the room and replied, “You’re too kind, but I notice you and the desk clerk are the only ones here.” She finished with a cute chuckle.

“You fill up a room all by yourself!” I had no idea what that meant, but I was so taken with her looks I was at a loss for anything intelligent to say.

We headed off to the offices of Goldstein, Bradson & Silversmith in the Columbia Tower. They occupy two complete floors near the top. To reach their offices, you have to take an elevator to their lobby on one floor before they take you up to the important offices above the receptionist desk.

The receptionist told us it would be a few minutes and asked if we wanted a cup of coffee. Jennifer and I both declined. As we sat down, she turned to me and quietly remarked, “I can’t get used to American coffee. It’s so bland when compared to European coffees. I find it too weak for my taste.”

“That’s odd. With all the stands that exist in Seattle, and how famous and great our coffees are, I’d think that some of the different blends are like what you drink back home.”

“I’ve tried what you call European Blend, and it doesn’t compare. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but the taste does leave a lot of room for improvement.” She gave me a dazzling smile. “Are you as big a nut about coffee as the rest of Seattle people are?”

“I just have my cup or two in the morning, and that’s it for me for the day. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m somewhat careful of what I eat and drink. People my age have to act with greater care than you youngsters.”

That remark brought forth her dazzling smile and another cute chuckle. She leaned over and placed her hand on top of mine. “I’m afraid I’m a bit older than you think. Be- sides, when I look at you, you’re doing well against the ravages of time. It would appear the ‘home’ is taking very good care of you!” She followed her remark with a big blast of that great smile.

“I guess I deserved that, but when I look at you it makes me feel like some dirty old letch.”

Jennifer patted my hand and replied, “And you make me feel like a schoolgirl again in her uniform,” she gave me a large grin and finished, “which then makes you a really dirty old man. Yes? No?”

“You win, I quit!” Again, she blessed me with that great smile.

When the receptionist called us to her desk, she told us in a clipped English accent that Mr. Silversmith would see us now. I thanked her and told her I knew the way to his office. I led Jennifer up the broad circular stairs to the office suites and Mr. Silversmith’s personal secretary. When she saw me, she greeted me by name, making it obvious I’d been here before.

Bob Silversmith and I have had multiple dealings with various problems over the years. Because of that, I felt that Bob was the best lawyer at the firm to help Jennifer. Bob’s specialty is in business law, which is just what Jennifer needed for this situation. When the secretary started to lead Jennifer off to the next office, I dropped back. When Jennifer saw I was not walking with her, she turned around and with a puzzled look on her face asked, “Aren’t you coming with me?”

“No, this is something you need to talk about with Mr. Silversmith first. You’ll need to tell him all the details without any second-guessing what I should or shouldn’t hear. Then later you can decide what you want me to know. Trust me; you really want to do it this way. This way you can tell him everything about your situation.”

As she turned to walk away, I smiled at her. Then I turned and headed off to Albert Bradsons’ office. Albert acts as the defense attorney at the firm. And as much as I hate to admit it, I have occasionally had to take advantage of his services as well.

I’ve met most of the other barristers in the firm, but Albert has been of the greatest help to me. His “fast draw” reputation is one of the best; not just in the state but on the entire West Coast. His rep has definitely worked to my benefit. Over the years, we’ve found we share similar passions for automobiles, blondes, and single-malt Scotch. More than once, we’ve tasted some fine single malts, while trying to unravel some of the great mysteries of the other two passions of our lives.

It’s never Al, always Albert. In Albert’s earlier days, he’d played semi-pro baseball. Even though he’s just a bit younger than I am, he’s still in excellent physical shape. Albert told me back in the day he had had the skills to move up in the ranks of professional ball. However, because he was so young, and lacked the motivation to work hard enough to advance, he never made it to the majors.

Albert was happy to see me, and as we shook hands, I was still impressed by how fit and trim he looked. Even with the silver temples, he still looked like he could turn out for spring training tomorrow. I was jealous. For the next few minutes, we brought each other up to date on what was happening in our lives. I briefly explained my problems with the houseboat and Slim’s demise. I also told him what had brought me to his offices. Previously, Albert had sat in on a couple of our poker games, so he understood how I could win the houseboat. He’d won his share of my money.

The phone on his desk rang, and when I realized this would be a lengthy call, I motioned I was leaving. We waved goodbye to one another and with that finished, I walked down the hall to wait outside Silversmith’s office. Jennifer’s visit took about thirty minutes longer than I expected, but when she came out, she seemed happy with her meeting. I decided I’d wait until she was ready to tell me what had so greatly improved her attitude.

As we rode down the elevator, she asked me if I was going to buy a lady a late lunch. I held back a smart-assed remark, and we agreed upon a restaurant. Since we were close to the waterfront, I decided we could just walk down to the wharfs and go to a rather touristy place. It serves fantastic fish and chips, along with clam chowder, which is some of the best Seattle has to offer.

After we ordered, we found a couple of seats right at the end of the building where we could look out at the boat traffic, sea gulls, and mountains in the distance. I waited for Jennifer to talk first.

She seemed hungry, and quickly ate her chowder, and then started in on the fish and chips. For a woman who had such a great figure, I was somewhat surprised at how much she was eating. About halfway through, she slowed down a bit and grinned at me. “Wow, I was a lot hungrier than I thought. This is really good. I’d thought English fish and chips were good, but this is great.”

Finally, she looked around at the scenery outside. A ferry was heading off across the sound, and two tugs were escorting a large container ship. She leaned over and put her hand on mine, “This is a very interesting place! Thanks.” She poked at the rest of her food for a moment and then looked up at me. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Shoot!”

“About my, how do I say this properly, about Bottomsley,” She stopped and frowned. I had to smile, she was still trying to get a handle on what to call her, “Go on.”

“I am at a loss to completely explain my feelings about her. I feel certain that something is wrong with all of ... with her. I can understand why father never mentioned her to me, but if she’s who she says she is, I can’t believe she knew nothing about me.”

“Why?” I had my own opinions, but I wanted to hear hers.

“If my father’s lawyer actually spoke to that nasty lawyer, Mr. Green as often as Bottomsley claims,” Jennifer paused to collect her thoughts. I waited a moment, and then I nodded for her to continue. “Well, from the past few letters father wrote letting me know how much he wanted to see me...” She stopped talking, and there was an uncomfortable pause. I sensed she was still trying to accept the fact her father was dead. “Anyway, he told me he wanted to see me and try to start to make things right between us,” there was another long pause before she continued. “Ah ... I find it very difficult to believe somebody wouldn’t have mentioned me ... to somebody.” A slight smile came to her lips, as she continued, “You would need to read his letters ... they were very warm and nostalgic.” Her face had a wistful look as she continued, “He apologized for my childhood and all he’d missed. He’d mentioned he was going to move back to his beloved Southwest. He even told me he wanted me to visit him there. I wish I had some of his letters so that you could—well—read between the lines and see what I mean. I mean, his letters seemed so open and he,” she paused again, almost embarrassed to continue. “He seemed almost proud of me and wanted to make me part of his life.”

I could tell she was fighting to explain her feelings. It was clear to me she really didn’t fully understand them herself. “Anyway, if father was being truthful, and I really believe he was, I can’t believe he wouldn’t say something about me to his attorney. Matt, each letter was an outpouring of his heart. He was truly sorry for what happened. I know—well, I believe he was trying to begin some sort of relationship with me. If that’s true, then why wouldn’t he tell his only other relative?”