Free Shadow of Death by William G. Tapply Page B

to me, he was steaming with fire and brimstone. He wanted to fight it.
    I reminded him that it didn’t work that way. In Massachusetts, if one party wants a divorce from the other, it happens. All that’s left is working out the details of the settlement.
    Randy said okay, fine. She wanted a settlement? He’d give her nothing. How’s that for a damn settlement?
    I told him it didn’t work that way, either.
    So over the past couple of months there had been a lot of back-and-forthing between me and Barbara Cooper, Susan’s
lawyer, working out the details, and what it finally came down to was the collection of watercolors by various semiwell-known Cape Cod artists that Randy had given to Susan over the years as birthday, anniversary, and Christmas presents.
    Randy claimed that since he’d bought them, by God, they were rightfully his and he intended to have them.
    Susan, of course, claimed that inasmuch as Randy had given them to her, they were hers, and she had no intention of relinquishing them.
    Well, divorce always has that effect on people.
    When Julie ushered Randy St. George into my office, he was, as usual, huffing and puffing in wounded indignation. The issue for Randy wasn’t really a collection of watercolors. It was the inconceivable absurdity of the notion that any woman would not want to be married to him.
    I let him vent for about five minutes. Then I said, “She’s not going to change her mind, you know.”
    â€œIt’s ridiculous,” he grumbled.
    â€œDoesn’t matter. We’ve got a date at Concord District Court, and on that day, which is a little over a month from now, November 3, a Thursday, at ten A.M., regardless of how ridiculous it is or what you want, you’re going to get divorced. All that’s left is the division of assets.”
    â€œI want those damn watercolors,” he said.
    â€œSo does Susan,” I said. “We got two choices. You and Susan can agree on what to do with them before November 3, or we can have a trial and let Judge Kolb decide.”
    â€œFuck it,” said Randy. “Let’s have a trial.”
    â€œKnowing Judge Kolb,” I said, “he’ll just send us out to the lobby to work it out, and if we can’t, he’ll bring us back into court and make us argue about it for a long time in excruciating
detail, and when we’re done, he’ll give all the paintings to Susan. Judge Kolb gets irritated whenever these things aren’t ironed out ahead of time, and he’s a notorious wife’s judge, so he’ll probably give Susan a lot of other stuff you thought you were going to keep, too. Meanwhile, Attorney Cooper and I will pile up a lot of billable hours arguing our old arguments that won’t get us anywhere.”
    Randy ran the palm of his hand over his bald head. “So I get screwed no matter what. I’m losing my wife, and I’m losing my possessions, and it’s costing me a shitload of money.”
    I nodded. “It’s the way of the world, I’m afraid.” I leaned across the conference table and tapped his arm. “Look,” I said, “it’s time to put aside all the hurt feelings and the self-righteous indignation and the vindictiveness. Let’s settle this thing, huh?”
    Randy frowned. “You’re my lawyer. You’re supposed to stand up for my rights.”
    â€œWell,” I said, “as I’ve been trying to tell you for two months now, your legal claim to those paintings is questionable at best. An old friend of mine used to say, ‘When you’re right, go for the kill. When you’re wrong, go for the compromise. ’ You’re pretty much wrong here. But I bet we can convince Susan to compromise on the watercolors.”
    â€œHm,” he said. “Compromise. Goes against my grain.”
    â€œThen let’s just give her the damn paintings and be done with it.”
    He waved that