Next morning I walked over to Rothschild’s Boulevard. The old building, housing Jacob Keren’s law firm, looked as dilapidated as ever. So did the boulevard. The sparse shrubs along the centre lane had grown wild. They had not been pruned for months. Indeed, this ancient part of Tel Aviv remained as ugly and as untidy as it had been during my pupillage.
The door to the office of the Head of Bank Documentation was slightly ajar. Having knocked and entered, I looked Rachel over with amazement. In her days as a courtroom advocate, she had looked tidy and trim. Now no trace was left of her smart coiffure and her elegant posture. I was facing a woman past her youth. True, her confident manner and her captivating smile had remained unaltered. Somehow, though, she no longer looked like the woman I had worshipped.
“Have I aged that much, Eli?” As always, Rachel used my Hebrew Name.
“Rubbish. You are still the most beautiful woman in Tel Aviv, Rachel.”
“You used to say: ‘in the world’, my pet.”
“That goes without saying!”
“Flatterer,” she replied bursting into laughter. But she looked pleased.
For a while we talked about the four years that had elapsed since she sent me packing. I had gleaned from her letters, that her third husband, Uzi, was a highly regarded orthopaedic surgeon. Rachel, who had met him shortly after I went to Oxford, was his second wife. She knew that his work was his priority. Often, she had to prepare an improvised meal, or just a snack, when he had to rush back to hospital, for instance, because a patient’s bleeding could not be stopped. Uzi, in turn, knew that Rachel was immersed in her job. He did not protest when she came home late at night or had to leave early in the morning. When she was in a rush, he often prepared her breakfast.
All in all, theirs was a loose arrangement based on understanding and affection. In Tel Aviv, each had an independent agenda. Still, twice or thrice a year they travelled. During these periods both were ‘away on leave’.
“Was our own relationship suffocating, Rachel?”
“We did live in one another’s pockets.”
“Was that why you sent me away?”
“One of the reasons. But look, we better turn to the case I want you to handle.”
Rachel’s narration of the facts was clear. Both of us knew Zvi Fischer well. We had used him as expert witness in some cases and had to confront him when he was called by an adversary. Fischer was glib, self-assured and quick on the uptake. On a number of occasions, when he appeared against us, Rachel beat him. On others he managed to find a way out.
Fischer’s reputation as architect and designer left much to be desired. He excelled when he planned standard designs, such as factories and apartment blocks. When it came to more innovative projects, his plans were usually rejected. He lacked both imagination and originality. At the same time, he was an excellent engineer and a meticulous surveyor.
My main concern was the man’s lack of integrity. It was known that, on at least two occasions, he gave expert evidence on industrial accidents without even visiting the site. Rumour had it that some of his plans were, likewise, based on photographs and measurements taken by others. You could never predict what he was up to.
In consequence, Fischer’s earnings remained modest. Usually, he was not the developer’s first choice. At the same time, he was a popular expert witness. Lawyers knew he was always ready to give battle.
The accident that took place in the instant case was banal. Fischer was in the course of a supervisory visit to a construction site of a factory he had designed. In the process he stepped on a wooden plank that was not part of the scaffolding. It gave way. Fortunately, one of the labourers arrested Fischer’s fall. He ended up with a twisted ankle and a broken foot. His suit against the developers was taken over by their insurance company. As no settlement was reached, the case was put down for trial.
“What is so special about the case, Rachel? There is the fine legal point of the extent of a duty of care owed by a developer to a building surveyor. Surely, an experienced professional – like Fischer – ought to know how to handle himself on a scaffolding. Didn’t he know the plank was not part of the scaffolding as erected?”
“He claims he didn’t!”
“Surely, you are one of the best lawyers to make mincemeat out of him.”
“You better have a look at Rotem’s instructions.”
The perplexing words were in the last paragraph of the letter instructing Jacob Keren’s firm to take charge of the case. Ruth Schwartz, the Head of Rotem’s Law Department, requested that Fischer be ‘handled gently’ when he gave his testimony. That ruled out a searching cross- examination à la Rachel. The case was to be fought on the legal issue.
“Why does Ruth give us such a strange instruction? I know Rotem uses Fischer regularly as expert witness. I can understand they don’t wish to discredit him. So why don’t they settle amicably?”
“Have a good look at the amount Fischer demands!”
“Good God,” I exclaimed when I took in the figures. “Has Fischer gone berserk?”
“I don’t know. But I have one important clue: he is Ruth’s current boyfriend!”
“I thought the blighter was married?”
“He is. But since when has this become an obstacle?” retorted Rachel with gusto.
For a while, I reflected. There was something fishy about the case. It deserved the attention of a lawyer subtler and more experienced than me.
“Have you thought of using Boaz Tamir, Rachel? I know he has given up practice and has become a back bencher of a left-wing party. But I’m told he still appears from time to time.”
“He does. A back bencher’s earnings are meagre. But, you see, Fischer stole a march on us there. He engaged Boaz right from the start.”
“Shit,” I muttered.
“You mean ‘shut’, my pet. The legal world uses clean language. Jacob Keren would have a fit if he overheard you. He uses foul language only at home.”
“You have a point there: our beloved legal world has its own double standards.”
“Not an original observation, Eli. But be this as it may, how about the case?”
“It is an interesting case, Rachel. If Boaz is not available, why not use one of the firm’s own lawyers. I am sure you have engaged a few good ones.”
“Any hawk would refuse to take the case. Ruth’s instruction would be bound to turn him off. And the less efficient old guard fellows would be unable to handle Fischer. They might turn us into a laughing stock. You are up to it. I am sure of it.”
“I didn’t really want to take a case during such a short visit but, very well, I’ll take it. I need the money, Rachel. Further, I’d love to brandish swords with my old mate and adversary, Boaz. We had great times together: in moots, in debating societies and in court. How is he?”
“I haven’t met him for years, Eli. He lives in Kibbutz Yokneam.”
“I’m sure he’ll have a lot to tell me. I better go carefully through the documents. Has the case been set?”
“It’s to be heard in ten days. I believe Ehud Morag is the trial judge.”
“So, I better hurry.”
“Quite so. And look, Eli, I can’t have lunch with you today. Ruth Schwartz booked me two weeks ago. Why don’t you prepare your notes? If you come over at about 11.30 on Friday, we’ll have a business lunch.”