Wrongful Death by Robert Dugoni

officer who visited my client in the hospital is the nephew of a prominent politician whose name I am not at liberty to divulge pursuant to a confidentiality order I would never deliberately violate—Jack T. Miller.”
    “The senator?”
    Kannin put up both hands. “I can’t say. But when I bring this up in the hallway with the assistant U.S. attorney, along with my intent to tell the media, she’s suddenly willing to kick over the hearing. Two days later I have a settlement offer on my desk, which, of course, I rejected. Two offers later we’re in the six-figure range and the first figure, which I am also forbidden to reveal, was not a one, or two, but comes before four.” Kannin sat back. “Enough of my war stories. Tell me about your case.”
    Sloane explained what he knew about James Ford’s death. As he did, Kannin shook his head. “You’re right in the jaws of Feres, I’m afraid, and it’s especially tough in your situation because the Federal Tort Claims Act prevents soldiers from recovering for injuries incurred serving during a war in a foreign country.”
    Sloane sighed. “Sounds like I’m at a dead end.”
    “What you need is something to bargain with,” Kannin said.“The government is sensitive—the war hasn’t exactly gone as the administration led us all to believe. You need to make someone important’s ass pucker.”
    “And if I can’t?”
    “Based on what you’ve told me, you’ll lose. Unless you can do what about three thousand other lawyers couldn’t.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Find a loophole in the Feres doctrine.”
     
    CHARLES JENKINS STOOD waiting on the sidewalk outside John Kannin’s building looking like a well-paid bodyguard in a black leather car coat, black jeans, and sunglasses.
    “You can be arrested for loitering,” Sloane said.
    “Elvira gave me the address. My alternative was to wait for you in your office with her giving me the evil eye. I’d rather be arrested.”
    “Carolyn’s harmless,” Sloane said.
    “That’s what they say just before the vampire sinks her teeth into your neck. I recommend a garlic necklace.”
    Sloane slipped on sunglasses. A breeze rustled the leaves in the dwarf maple trees and kicked up pieces of litter, creating small tornadoes in Occidental Square. “So why are you waiting for me?”
    “I found someone who was with James Ford the day he died.”
    “That was fast.”
    “It will be reflected in my bill.” He handed Sloane a piece of paper with an address and phone number.
    “Marysville?” Sloane checked his watch. It was getting late, and like the Bay Area, Seattle had too many cars and not enough means to escape the downtown. Traffic would be heavy on I-5 heading north, which was the opposite direction from Three Tree Point. “You sure this guy will talk to me?”
    Jenkins shrugged.
    “You haven’t talked to him?”
    “You just said to find them. I found him. Besides, you told me you like to talk to the witnesses yourself.”
    “But you’re sure he served with Ford.”
    “Same platoon, same squad, injured the same day.”
    “What type of injuries?”
    “Don’t know. But he also received a Purple Heart. Five of them did.”
    “Must have been a hell of a battle,” Sloane said.
    “Must have been.”
    “How many died?”
    “Just your boy Ford.”
    MARYSVILLE, WASHINGTON
    SLOANE TOOK THE exit just past a salmon, rock, and waterfall sculpture in the front of the Tulalip Indian casino. Tribal money was abundant in the area. The forest along the freeway had been recently clear-cut, and according to a large construction sign, nature was to be replaced by both a Home Depot and a WalMart. During the drive north, clouds had rolled in overhead and the weather had changed quickly—not unusual for the Northwest, as Sloane had learned. He should have become a weatherman. He only needed to be right fifty percent of the time and he’d still get a paycheck. Rain began to splatter the windshield and soon the wipers beat a