Maximum Security by Rose Connors Read Free Book Online Page A

it’s obvious the Kydd’s been in here working for a while. He looks up as I enter, dog-ears his spot, and takes his glasses off to clean them on his shirttail. “Marty,” he says, examining his lenses under the brass lamp at the edge of the table, “I have to thank you. What a career-enhancing assignment you’ve given me. I don’t know that I’ve ever been exposed to such intellectually stimulating reading material.”

    “Sarcasm suits you, Kydd.” I sink into the chair across from his, awaiting his list of complaints.

    “Jesus,” he says. “People spend their lives handling this stuff? Day in, day out?”

    It occurs to me that the members of our esteemed insurance defense bar might be at least equally appalled by the daily fare we criminal types handle. I don’t mention it, though.

    The Kydd puts his glasses back on, pulls our copy of Herb Rawlings’s life insurance policy out from under an open casebook, and flips to a section highlighted in yellow. The Kydd intends to enlighten me, it seems, whether I like it or not.

    “The party of the first part,” he recites, “hereinafter the Company, agrees, subject to the provisions and limitations of this Policy, to immediately pay to the party of the second part, hereinafter the Beneficiary or Beneficiaries…”

    The Kydd sounds a lot like those guys who spit out too many words in too little time at the end of car commercials. He pauses for an elaborate, drawn-out yawn.

    “…the death benefit, the amount of which is set forth in the Policy Specifications, if and when due proof is furnished to the Company at its Home Office that the Insured, while this Policy is in full force and effect…”

    He stops again, this time for a dramatic intake of breath. “These sentences don’t end,” he says, “none of them. Not in this policy…”

    He holds the document up in front of me, as if I might not otherwise know what he’s talking about, then taps on the text in the open casebook between us.

    “…and not in any of the policies discussed in the cases. The sentences never end and no one seems to notice. People must either fall asleep halfway through, or they die of asphyxiation.”

    The Kydd stares accusingly across the table at me, as if I single-handedly drafted every life insurance policy in the Commonwealth.

    I can’t help laughing. “Don’t worry about the policy language,” I tell him. “We can’t do anything about that anyhow. We’re stuck with whatever it says. Just worry about the law. Find as many reasons as you can for the company to deny coverage. At least find the authority that says there’s no recovery if the insured’s death is caused by suicide.”

    The door opens behind me and Harry appears, looking well rested and comfortable in jeans and a light gray hooded sweatshirt. His thick hair is still damp from his morning shower. He’s carrying three tall coffees in a cardboard tray and a box that’s undoubtedly filled with morning treats from Sticky Buns, Chatham’s best-kept little secret of a neighborhood bakery. The Kydd looks up at him for a moment and eyes the goodies, then turns his attention back at me. “No can do,” he says.

    Harry nudges a couple of casebooks aside, deposits his treasures in the middle of the pine table, and then drops into the old wooden chair next to mine. “Tonto,” he pleads, looking stricken, “say it isn’t so. Kimosabe believes you can do anything.”

    The Kydd grins at him and takes a coffee from the cardboard tray, along with three plastic thimbles of cream. “Not this time, Kimosabe,” he says. “Turns out suicide negates life insurance coverage only if the death occurs within three years of the date the policy issues.”

    Harry leans toward me over the arm of his chair, tearing open a half dozen packets of sugar all at once. “Uh-oh,” he says, dumping a white avalanche into his coffee. “Maybe you missed a class or two after all.”

    I frown at him. It’s true, though; I