Chapter 1

The murder wouldn't happen for three more weeks. For the time being, my conference room was still just a combined meeting place and law library, and not a murder scene. Daniel T. Scadman, attorney at law, wasd oing whatever he happened to be doing that sunny Monday morning in late July, no doubt abusing and bullying everyone who was unlucky enough to cross his path. He was infamous for that.

But, unbeknownst to both of us, the events leading up to his violent death were already well under way.

By eight-fifteen, I was sitting in front of the computer in my office, fretting over a legal brief I needed toe-file that afternoon. I tend to be a perfectionist, and somehow I just couldn't get the text to flow properly. Reorganizing my arguments only seemed to make things worse. Just after nine-thirty, the telephone on my desk began to beep. I finished the sentence I'd been tinkering with, clicked the mouse on the 'save' icon and reached for the receiver.

"Yes?" I asked.

It was my secretary, Diana Hollister. "Adam, Josie's on line one," she announced in her crisp British voice. "She sounds distraught."

Her tone struck me as amusing. "Distraught?"

"Quite distraught." She added archly, "More so than usual."

I let out a sigh and turned away from the computer, steeling myself for a different kind of argument. Josie Ballantine was a high-powered real estate agent with the most amazing blue eyes I'd ever seen. She owned her own company, with offices in the high rent district in Cherry Creek North and down in the Denver Tech Center. We'd been dating for nearly two years, but lately our smooth journey had become a bumpy road.

Sensing my hesitation, Diana asked, "Shall I tell her you'll call her back?"

"No," I said. "I'll talk to her." I pressed the button for line one. "Good morning. Diana says you sound distraught."

"You bet I'm distraught!" she erupted without bothering to say hello. "I've just been served with some papers. I'm being sued!"

"Oh," I said, adjusting my tone as I realized with some relief that this wasn't a social call. "By whom?"

"Jack Quinlan. I had the listing on a house he bought last fall."

"Quinlan?" The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. "What's his beef with you?"

"I don't know. The home burned down a few days after the closing. But -- "

I made a face. "What did you do, torch the place?"

"Of course not! This wasn't arson. It was stupidity! A couple of workmen were varnishing the wood paneling in the basement and they forgot to turn off the furnace. After the sun went down, the burners came on. You can imagine the rest."

"I get the picture," I assured her. "Didn't the painters have enough sense to shut off the pilot light?"

"This was a spark-ignition furnace. The burners only come on when the thermostat calls for heat."

"Oh. Was anyone hurt?"

"No. But the house was completely destroyed. Nearly five thousand square feet. Five bedrooms, three baths, and a full finished basement, including a home theater!"

I smiled to myself. That was quintessential Josie--and one of the biggest problems with our relationship: her mind was focused on real estate twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

"Five thousand square feet?" I asked. "This buyer must have money."

"He does. He owns a string of retail furniture outlets." She added distastefully, "They're called Quinlan's Furniture Emporiums."

The name finally clicked. Quinlan's television ads for his, "seven fantasmic stores," ran endlessly on every TV station in Denver, especially the cable channels. His tag line was, "We may not be fancy, but we care about saving you money."

"Oh. Him," I said. "So how does that translate into a lawsuit against you?"

"I don't understand the legal jargon, but they're claiming I was negligent in selecting the painting contractor. Which, by the way, is ridiculous! I'm not even the one who chose him. All I did was put together a list of names of people I've used before. The sellers--my clients--decided which one to use."

"Was anything wrong with the contractor?"

"No! I've worked with Johnny's Painting a dozen times before. They've always done good work."

"Okay. When were the papers served on you?"

"About fifteen minutes ago. The man who brought them was extremely rude!"

"Process servers get a lot of doors slammed in their faces," I explained. "It makes them a pretty surly bunch. Are you the only defendant in the case?"

There was a rustle of papers at her end of the line. "No. This says it's an Amended Complaint. He's sued the Vindells, too. They were my clients. It was their house that burned. He's also named the painting company and Metro Power and Gas."

"Metro Power and Gas? Why them?"

"How should I know?" she snapped. "I don't even know why he's suing me."

"I presume it's because you have errors and omissions insurance. You do have insurance, don't you?"

"Of course I do! It's mandatory in Colorado."

"Was the lawsuit filed in district court?"

"I don't know," she said. "Oh, I see it. 'District Court for the City and County of Denver.' Is that what you're talking about?"

"It is. That means you have twenty days to respond to the complaint. You'll need to let your insurance company know about--"

"I know that. I'm not an idiot!" I could hear more rattling of papers at her end. "There's something else in this package. Something called a Notice of Deposition. I'm ordered to appear and give testimony on--my goodness! Friday morning."

"This Friday?"

"That's what it says. July 21, 2006. At nine a.m. I'm supposed to bring, 'all documents in my possession, custody or control relating to--'"

"Josie, they can't start taking depositions so soon after serving the papers on you. Who's the attorney who signed the notice?"

"The name at the bottom says Daniel T. Scadman. Have you ever heard of him?"

Inwardly, I groaned. This was not good news for Josie. "I'm afraid so. He's the most aggressive, no-holds-barred, plaintiff's lawyer in Colorado. Some of the defense attorneys refer to him as Scadman the Madman. Privately, of course. Setting a deposition this way is par for the course for him."

"Scadman the Madman? Are you serious?"

"Very serious. The man is a maniac. A certifiable lunatic. He thinks he can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants to do it. In his mind, the Rules of Civil Procedure apply to everyone else but him."

"And I have to let this nut case take my deposition on Friday?"

"No, Josie," I assured her. "You don't."

"Then how do I get out of it?"

"You let me call him and tell him you won't be appearing."

"Can you really do that?"

"Of course. Meanwhile, you'd better go ahead and notify your insurance carrier."

"I will. As soon as we hang up. I'll tell them I want you to represent me."

"You can tell them whatever you want, but it doesn't mean they'll agree to it. They'll want to use one of their usual defense firms. I'd be glad to serve as co-counsel if you want me to."

"Then that's what I want to do. If they won't pay you, I'll pay you myself. I don't expect you to work for free."

"Josie, I'm not going to charge you for this." I added lightheartedly, "You're the love of my life. My very reason for--"

"We'll talk about that," she muttered. "Meanwhile, call this Scadman character and get me out of that deposition on Friday. I have a closing and two showings that day."

"Will do."

* * * *

My conversation with Scadman was brief. After I explained I was calling on behalf of Josephine Ballantine, he demanded, "Are you a lawyer?"

That was ridiculous and we both knew it. "The Colorado Supreme Court thinks I am," I said. "That's--"

"Yeah? Well, how do I know it? What's your registration number?"

"Five-fifty-six," I told him. "What's yours? Let's compare and see whose is bigger."

Scadman didn't think that was funny. "What do you want?" he growled irritably. "Your client hired a bunch of incompetent painters. For all I know, she did it on purpose. Maybe they even paid her a big kickback."

"I'll ignore the slander, Scadman. You've scheduled her deposition for this Friday."

"So?"

I let my eyes drift down toward my desk, to Volume 12 of the Colorado Revised Statutes. "You can't do that. Under rule twenty-six, you can't even start conducting any discovery until--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know all about rule twenty-six. And twenty-seven and twenty-eight. You don't want me to depose her? What does she have to hide?"

"Nothing at all," I assured him. My legal assistant had slipped into my office. I gestured for him to sit down and he made himself comfortable while I continued with Scadman. "But Ms. Ballantine needs time to prepare for your ferocious onslaught. She also has malpractice insurance. If you depose her before the insurance company can hire someone to represent her, there might not be coverage for this claim. Which means your client might never collect any of his damages."

"Okay, that makes sense to me. But I want to depose her as soon as possible. Pick a new date."

"There are other defendants in this case, Scadman. You'll need to clear the date with their lawyers."

"The hell I will! Just pick a date and I'll send out a notice. If any of them don't like it, they can kiss my behind! They've dragged their feet every step of the way. I'm fed up with the whole bunch of them!"

"Well, I'll leave that part up to you," I said with a shrug. I thumbed through the pages of my calendar. "How about the week of August seventh?"

"Can't. I'm in trial. Try the next week."

"I'm available any day except Friday."

"Fine. Thursday, August seventeenth. Nine a.m. My office. "

"No. My office. Ms. Ballantine prefers--"

"Whatever," he said. "I don't care where we do this. Just make sure your client shows up!"

With that, he hung up on me.

Maurice White had planted his two hundred and thirty-five pounds on one of the black leather chairs facing my desk. Before joining Adam Larsen & Associates, P.C. as my legal assistant, Maurice had played linebacker for the Broncos for four years.

"Good morning," I said.

"Good morning," he answered. His raspy voice made him sound like he always needed to clear his throat. He tapped the thick file on the table beside him. "I came in here to show you our proposed settlement agreement in the Astrid case." He gestured toward the telephone. "Did I just hear you mention Scadman?"

"You did. He's suing Josie. Have you heard of him?"

"If it's Daniel T. Scadman, I have. I'd be very careful around him, Adam. They say he'll do anything to win his cases. And I mean anything."

"I know. Scadman and I have crossed swords in the past. I'll be careful."

Maurice shook his head in amusement as he handed me the file. "Oh, yeah, you'll be careful. How many times have I heard you say that before?"

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