Hannah spent two weeks in the dental laboratory of an old acquaintance. In due course, Kadmon’s secretary handed me the documents received in respect of Omri Tal’s claim . To my delight, Boaz Tamir had stepped into my trap. The verbose documents served on us had been prepared with a view to confusing Kadmon. They failed to state a plain ‘case’ as was appropriate for a skirmish with down to earth protagonists like Hannah and me. Suppressing a malicious grin, I retired to my office to prepare our response.
The main object of the Rules of Court was to achieve clarity in pleadings and to combat surprises and sharp practices. To this end, the plaintiff had to file a ‘Statement of Claim’, setting out the facts of his case, the formal ground on which he based his claim (known as the ‘cause of action’) and his ‘prayer’ or, in other words, the remedy for which he applied. The defendant, in turn, was expected to file an equally clear and detailed ‘Defence’.
Both documents had to spell out full details respecting each point. If, for instance, the victim of a running down case averred that the driver had been negligent, he had to provide particulars of the negligence alleged by him. If, in his Defence, the driver claimed that the victim had been equally careless, he, too, had to furnish full details.
If either party’s pleadings failed to meet the mark, the other party was entitled to demand ‘Further and Better Particulars’. The ostensible object of such an application was to force the evasive party to show his hand and to nail him down. In real life, though, such applications were often utilised as a delaying tactic. In theory, a case could be set down for its hearing as early as thirty days following the last exchange of pleadings. That stage, however, was not reached until all relevant particulars and details had been provided. A request for further particulars could readily buy the applicant six weeks of grace and, if his opponent decided to respond by filing a similar application of his own, the trial would, usually, be delayed by at least three or even four months.
Boaz’s Statement of Claim left the door wide open for such manoeuvres. In one clause, for instance, he asserted that Solomon Vered had driven his truck in a “reckless manner devoid of any consideration for the safety of others”. Utilising the strict Rules of Court, I asked, first, for details of Solomon’s alleged recklessness and, secondly, demanded to know what measures of safety he should have observed “in consideration of the safety of others”. In another clause, Boaz averred that Solomon had undertaken his last trip for the day in “blatant defiance of the elementary guidelines on driving shifts”. Seeking to get matters straight, I asked ‘my Learned Friend’ to cite the guidelines in point. Boaz, who had anticipated that his high flying rhetoric would drive Abraham Kadmon to a quick and favourable settlement, was going grind his teeth when he encountered our dispassionate reaction.
It took me two days to draft my Application for Further and Better Particulars. The end product comprised 120 queries. I then drafted our Defence, leaving Boaz ample opportunity to demand further particulars on our contentions respecting Omri Tal’s own carelessness, technically described as ‘contributory negligence’. Boaz was certain to bite and, in this way, make room for another six or seven weeks of delay. Once these skirmishes were over, the courts would be getting ready for their summer recess. The case would, obviously, have to be set down for trial in the next session.
As was common in those days, my initial drafts had been illegible scribbles. My immediate task was to transform them for submission. In an era in which word-processors were still the subject of science fiction and in which only senior executives were equipped with dictating machines, the exercise required skill, patience and stamina. My first step was to transcribe my untidy notes into neat pages written in as clear a handwriting as I could command. It took one of our secretaries three days to type them.
Two days after Hannah returned to the office from her spell in the dental laboratory, we had our strategy meeting with Jacob Keren. Having regard to the nature of case, there was no need for the ceremony. Hannah was an experienced court room gladiator, and I could be trusted to lay the legal foundations soundly and carefully. Keren, though, reserved to himself the right to say the last word in every matter. His philosophy on this point was, in the ultimate, commendable: he was the head and sole proprietor of Jacob Keren & Associates. A blemish on its record was bound to stain his own impeccable record. He was not prepared to take such a risk!
Snug in his opulent leather chair by the huge, neatly kept, desk, Jacob Keren’s sharp eyes watched the two of us keenly.
“Excellent detective work, Hannah. Our Omri Tal doesn’t have to stand when he’s at work. He can sit down and still function efficiently. What a stroke of good luck to find out that three excellent dental technicians in Tel Aviv do their work from a wheelchair!”
“Still, his new work technique will slow him down for a while,” Hannah commented judiciously.
“For a year?”
“A year or two. He’ll get used to the new pattern of work gradually. Sachs was working again at full speed two years after his spinal injury.”
“And what do you say about the liability?” Keren asked me.
“I still think it’s about fifty-fifty. Omri could have got a new battery for his torch before he rode to the club. There are three hardware shops on the way. But Vered could have taken the well lit road instead of the dark and narrow lane; and he knew he was tired!”
“We’ll settle on 50-50 liability for his loss of future earnings. The problem is our Valentino’s loss of enjoyment of life: his dancing career has come to an abrupt end! That’s our Achilles heel!”
“Surely, we’ll tell him to concentrate on his second hobby – you must have seen Ratosh’s note?” said Hannah.
“I have,” grunted Keren. “And you did the right thing when you followed up the trail. But do you think the information is helpful?”
“Why not?” Hannah tried to sound adamant. “Ratosh says Omri Tal played fifth and fourth board in tournaments of the Emanuel Lasker Club. I’ll try to convince our Omri, in cross, that with extra time at hand he can end up as first board!”
“What do you think, Eli? You play chess. Well, what are Omri’s chances? Ratosh says Omri is good at openings but freaks out in the middle game. What do you make of this?”
“Excellent memory but poor strategy and initiative. Not the type of chap who rises to first or even second board.”
“So, his prospects at chess are nothing like his record as an amateur dancer!” Keren summed up.
“Perhaps. But you didn’t think too much of his prospects as a dancer in our first meeting,” said Hannah. “What made you change your mind?”
“The Registrar has assigned the case to Ehood Morag!”
“What a rotten piece of luck,” said Hannah. “So, we start with a handicap!”
“A two barrelled handicap,” muttered Keren, adding pointedly: “and I gather that you, Eli, aren’t – in a manner of speaking – one of Morag’s favourites!”
“True,” I admitted.
“I’m told he snaps at you?”
“He does sometimes!”
“Well, Eli” said Keren, his eyes fixed on a point over my shoulder, “a good general knows how to profit from a tactical disadvantage.”
“I understand,” I affirmed, taking note of Hannah’s sympathetic glance.
“Then see what you can come up with when he hears this application. You are to handle it. It’s time you leave your mark!”
“Oh, very well, then,” I said with resignation.
Keren smiled malevolently: “Good; but now Hannah and I must turn to another matter. You’ll excuse us!”