THIRTY
I WENT TO see Rudolph Vallone, the lawyer for the Clive estate, who also represented Dolly Hartman. He had a suite of offices upstairs in a Civil War-era brick building next to the courthouse, right on the square in the middle of Lamarr, where he could look out his window at the pyramid of cannonballs and the statue of the Confederate soldier that grounded the town in the lost glory of its past.
Vallone sat in the biggest of the several offices, at a desk in front of a Palladian window with the best view of the cannonballs. He had on a gray seersucker suit and a very bright floral tie. His white hair was long and brushed back. His white Vandyke beard was neatly trimmed, and there was about his person the faint aura of bay rum and good cigars and satisfying fees.
"Nice to see you again, Mr. Spenser. I recall you from the funeral."
I'd met him very perfunctorily. One point for Rudy.
"I was wondering if you could tell me a little about Walter Clive's estate," I said.
"Well, you're direct enough, aren't you."
"You bet," I said.
"In all honesty, Mr. Spenser, I'd need to know a little more about why you're asking, and a little more specifically what you want to know."
"Of course you would," I said. "What would be the point of law school if you didn't."
He smiled.
"I'm representing Dolly Hartman," I said. "I wish to know who benefits from Clive's will."
"Why, for God's sake, man, I'm Dolly's attorney. She has only to ask me directly."
"She asked me to ask you directly," I said.
"I don't know that."
"No, nor should you care a hell of a lot. We both know if I want to go to a little trouble I can find this out. It's a matter of public record."
"So why come to me?"
"You're closer," I said.
He smiled a wide smile, a good old Georgia boy, friendly as lemon cake.
"But not necessarily easier," he said.
"And there are things I want to know that may not be a matter of public record," I said.
"I don't see how I can help you," he said.
"You represented Walter Clive?"
"Yes."
"And now you represent the Clive estate."
"I do."
"You represent Dolly as well," I said.
"I just told you I do."
"Dolly feels that the estate is screwing her and her son."
"She's never said that to me."
"She claims she has."
"Spenser, you better understand some things about Dolly," Vallone said. "She is not one to miss anything she sees as the main chance."
"So if this ends up in court, are you going to be attorney for both sides?"
"It won't end up in court."
"It might, or I might boogie on up to Atlanta and talk with the Georgia Bar Association."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"It makes people laugh when I mention it," I said. "But the bar association has an ethics committee."
"I'm perfectly aware," he said, "of the bar association. My efforts in this case have been motivated solely by the best interests of everyone involved."
"So who are Clive's heirs? The three daughters?"
Vallone dipped his head a little in some kind of acknowledgment.
"Yes," he said.
"Solely."
"Yes."
"Was he planning to rewrite his will, or in the process of it, or any such thing?"
"No."
"Never mentioned looking out for Dolly or her son?"
"Her son?" Vallone said. "I understand why he might have taken care of Dolly, but the son rendered him no service."
"Dolly says he was Clive's son as well."
"Walter Clive's son? That's absurd. The boy is in his middle twenties. Walter was only with Dolly for, what, eight or ten years."
"There's a story there, but it doesn't matter."
"I'd be happy to listen."
"In all honesty, Mr. Vallone, I'd need to know a little more about why you're asking, and a little more specifically what you want to know."
Vallone let his chair lean forward. He opened a cigar humidor. He offered me one, and I shook my head. He selected one slightly smaller than a Little League bat and snipped it and lit it and leaned back and smoked it for a minute. Then he laughed.
"By God, sir," he said. "Just, goddamned, by God."