Phantom Point
by Gary Inbinder
July 1907: Chicago is sweltering, and hard-boiled detective Max Niemand has a hot, new case. A wealthy socialite hires Max to rescue her wayward artist brother from the clutches of a femme fatale and her dubious California artists’ colony. The job is lucrative, with the promise of a large bonus for good results.
Arriving on the West Coast, Max becomes embroiled in a murder case and a fight over oil rights. In the course of his investigation, he encounters hard-nosed cops, gangsters, an Old West marshal, a tycoon, a cagey lawyer, fast cars, faster women and a malevolent gold-toothed hitman. Before long, Max realizes the odds of living long enough to collect his bonus are definitely not in his favor.
Chapter 6: Lawyer Williams
As soon as Max returned to town, he tended to routine affairs. First, he opened an account at a bank near his hotel. He also rented a safe deposit box to hold the Phantom Point map. Next, as prearranged with Cassandra Van Dorn, he stopped by Western Union where he wired Jasper Morton for expenses related to the “Murphy Deal.” After taking care of his “housekeeping” business, he lunched at a restaurant before walking three blocks up Main Street to the office of Lawyer Williams.
Max entered a well-furnished outer office on the second floor of a two-story business block. The furnishings and a neatly dressed young female secretary gave a potential client an immediate impression of prosperity. The young woman clattered away at her typewriter with machine-like precision. At the sound of the doorbell, she stopped typing, looked up and peered at Max through wire-rimmed glasses.
“May I help you, sir?” the secretary asked.
“I’d like to see Mr. Williams.” Max politely removed his hat and smiled.
“Have you an appointment?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Max reached into his pocket and produced a card. “I hope it isn’t too much of an imposition to see him today. I can wait or come back later.”
The young woman studied the card for a moment before saying, “Please wait here, Mr. Rogers. I won’t be long.”
While waiting, Max scrutinized the nautical decor. He admired the paintings of racing yachts and several silver cups on display, awards given for a succession of second and third place wins in a regatta, the most recent of which had been awarded in 1902. A rich man’s sport, he thought. Was yachting the visible sign of a prosperous practice, independent wealth, or both?
The secretary returned to the outer office and caught Max’s attention with a nervous little cough. “Mr. Williams will see you now.”
Max turned away from the display case. “Your boss is quite a yachtsman, isn’t he, miss?”
“He was, Mr. Rogers.” She returned to her desk and the typewriter without speaking another word.
The lawyer’s inner office was even more impressive than the reception area. The nautical design imitated a boat’s interior. The ceiling was made to resemble the inner ribs of a yacht’s hull. The room was trimmed and finished in teak and mahogany, woods commonly used in boat building. Wall decorations included a brass chronometer, a barometer, and framed charts of California’s coastal waters.
Williams was a tall, muscular gent in his sixties, dressed in a spotless white linen suit. His face had the tanned, weathered look of a sailor. He got up from behind his massive mahogany desk to greet Max. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers. I’m Daniel Williams.” He extended a large, calloused hand.
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Max admired the firmness of the older man’s grip.
“Have a seat, Mr. Rogers.” Williams pointed to a comfortable arm chair.
Max sat, crossed his legs and smiled benignly. “My compliments, Mr. Williams. This is quite an office. It’s like being on a boat.”
“Thank you. Do you sail?”
“No, sir, I don’t. A friend of mine has a boat. He took me out on Lake Michigan a couple of times. Frankly, I like to keep my feet on dry land that doesn’t move.”
Williams laughed. He eased back in his large, leather-upholstered swivel chair and paused while sizing up Max. Then he said, “So you’re from Chicago. What brings you to our fair state: business or pleasure?”
“Both, Mr. Williams, although I’ll admit business comes first.”
Williams nodded. “That’s understandable, but it’s also fair to assume that a young man such as you would take advantage of Santa Teresa’s many diversions. As the saying goes, ‘All work and no play...’” The lawyer’s sly smile indicated he was familiar with all those diversions, including Doyle’s roadhouse and Miss Daisy’s.
“Yes, sir. Santa Teresa is quite scenic. Plenty of sites worth seeing and opportunities to mix business with pleasure.”
“Indeed.”
Williams folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Now, Mr. Rogers, how can I help you?”
“As you can see from my card, I’m a real estate broker. I’m out here scouting properties for a group of investors back in the Midwest, and I’ve been told when it comes to real property in Santa Teresa county you’re the man to see; that is to say you know where all the bodies are buried.”
“Buried bodies, eh? That’s an interesting expression, but I guess it’s about the truth. After all, I’ve been practicing law hereabouts for the better part of forty years. May I ask who it was who referred you to me?”
“Oh, no one in particular, but word gets around. Folks speak highly of you, that’s for sure.”
“Do they now? Well, that’s good to know. Is there a particular property you have in mind?”
“As a matter of fact, there is. I was out this morning looking at a place called Phantom Point. A lovely location in a healthy environment. It seems ripe for development, ideal for a resort and health spa. A place like that could bring a lot of dollars into Santa Teresa.”
“It might, if the land were available for development. I’ll give you good advice, Mr. Rogers, and it won’t cost you a dime. Forget about Phantom Point; it’s a lawsuit just waiting to happen.”
“Would you mind telling me why?”
“If you’ve been out there, I suppose you ran into the squatters?”
“I saw a couple of members of the artists’ colony, but I don’t get the reference to ‘squatters.’ Aren’t they there at the landlady’s invitation?”
“Artists? A bunch of anarchists, more likely. As for their landlady, are you referring to Mrs. Paul Merwin?”
“Yes, I was under the impression she owned the property.”
“May I ask what gave you that impression?” Max was about to answer when Williams broke in: “Never mind. I’ll come straight to the point. Mrs. Merwin has what might be called a colorable claim to Phantom Point. The most she could convey to you and your investors would be that questionable property right in the form of a quitclaim deed, assuming you could persuade her to do that, which is doubtful. At any rate, if such a conveyance were made, adverse claimants would emerge from the woodwork, dragging your clients into costly and protracted litigation. Take my advice, Mr. Rogers, and avoid Phantom Point like the plague.”
“I certainly appreciate that advice, sir. Would you be willing to tell me the names of the adverse claimants?”
Williams stared at Max for a moment before saying, “Mr. John Merwin would be one.”
“Thank you. Can you provide me with any other names?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Max paused a moment before saying, “Is that because you don’t know? Or is it — please forgive me for asking — could it be that one of your clients has a claim to the property?”
Williams glanced at the wall clock. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Rogers, but I’m afraid I must cut it short. Like you, I’m a busy man.”
“I understand your reluctance to discuss the matter further, Mr. Williams. What if I were to retain your services on behalf of my clients?”
Williams frowned and got up from his chair. “I’m honored, Mr. Rogers, but if the matter involves Phantom Point I must respectfully decline.” The lawyer extended his hand. “Good-day, sir.”
They shook hands. Max figured Williams had plenty to hide, including his covert meeting with Burgess. Whether he was lawfully protecting a client or covering-up illegality, that was yet to be determined. Max risked a seemingly casual inquiry. “One more thing before I leave. Does the name Arthur Burgess ring a bell? I heard he was in Santa Teresa about a week ago. Seems he was interested in Phantom Point.”
“Can’t help you there, Mr. Rogers.” Williams loosened his grip. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for a meeting with a client.”
“I understand. Thank you, sir. You’ve been most helpful. Good day.”
On his way out, Max stopped at the secretary’s desk. She glanced up from her paperwork.
“May I help you, sir?” she asked with a suspicious squint.
“No, miss. Just wanted to let you know what a swell guy your boss is. You’ve been very helpful, too. I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name?”
She hesitated an instant before saying, “My name is Moore... Virginia Moore.”
Max thanked her and walked to the door. Then he stopped, turned and added with a warm smile, “See you around, Virginia.” He tipped his hat and exited.
The flustered young woman stared after him for a moment before returning to her typewriter.
Copyright © 2022 by Gary Inbinder
