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Blanche, and I think she’d be very unhappy with me for dragging her son into court. Arthur has always struck me as being smart and hard-working. I don’t think he’d do what you’re suggesting here. He could just be making what he considers to be a wise investment with his inheritance. You have no physical evidence for anything else.”

      “You’re not being supportive, Randal,” said Blanche softly. “You’ve been my lawyer for years, but that can end right now.”

      Randal didn’t even flinch. “It will end right now if you don’t answer my question. Will you accept any judgment of a Show Cause Hearing? If not, then find yourself another lawyer.”

      Blanche glared at him. She did not like being pressured by hired help, but she needed the man. “If I’m convinced my sister wasn’t murdered, I’ll not press for anything beyond the judgment of a hearing,” she said.

      “Good,” said Randal, then closed the file on his desk and gently hammered on it with a fist. “Let’s go to court.”

      * * * *

      The call came late at night, when Blanche was preparing for bed. The kitchen help had left for the night, and Paula had retired to her basement bedroom after leaving a warm brandy and a cookie on the nightstand for her mistress. So when the telephone rang, Blanche picked it up quickly so Paula would not be awakened.

      It was Arthur Winslow.

      “I was served with a summons this afternoon. Wrongful Death? Have you totally lost your mind?”

      “It’s only a hearing, Arthur,” said Blanche. “There are questions to be answered before I proceed with further litigation.”

      “For what? This is all about mom’s will, isn’t it? All the money you have, and you’re greedy for more. That’s why mom cut you out of it in the first place. You don’t need more!”

      “It isn’t about money,” said Blanche. “My sister died under mysterious circumstances, and I want them explained.”

      “You’re nuts! Paranoid! Do you know what this hearing can do to my business if it gets into the papers?”

      “That’s nonsense. I’m just trying to—”

      “You’ve always been a greedy bitch. Mom told me so. You were always after her to finance your social butterfly events, even when dad was alive. He went along with it. Well, I don’t. You badgered mom for money when she was alive, and now you’re doing it when she’s dead. Finance your own social status, and leave us alone!”

      The cell phone clicked in Blanche’s ear.

      “That’s not fair,” she said, but Arthur was gone.

      * * * *

      A Show Cause Hearing was held in the court of Judge James Maxwell on a Friday. A team of lawyers from the firm of Abercrombie, Nels, and Faber represented both Advanced Technologies and Arthur Winslow. They requested a private hearing in judge’s chambers. Randal Haug opposed the request, arguing that the public had a right to know about the operations of the company. Judge Maxwell compromised when Advanced Technologies rebutted by saying that in order to adequately defend themselves it might be necessary to reveal company proprietary information related to pending patents.

      The hearing was held in court, but was closed to all but participants on that Friday. Arthur arrived in financier’s uniform, his pudgy, soft body encased in a finely tailored woolen suit that made him indistinguishable from his lawyers. They sat behind one table, Blanche and Randal behind another, facing the bench. There was a bailiff, court reporter, and physicians who could be called as witnesses. They all arose when Judge Maxwell entered court in the matter of Packard vs. Winslow and Industrial Technologies re the Wrongful Death of Helen Winslow.

      Maxwell was in his fifties, respected by his peers, and known as a no-nonsense judge who got right to the point without theatrics. “This is a hearing, not a trial,” he told them. “I don’t want to hear objections, or attempts to withhold evidence. I do want to hear reasons why this issue should, or should not, go to trial, and I am confidant we can accomplish all of this today. Mister Haug, it’s your serve.”

      Randal smiled, and arose chuckling at the judge’s reference to his devotion to tennis. His opposition sat glumly silent.

      Haug outlined his case: the mysterious death, an unseen contract, the bizarre beheading and storage of a client with only a son’s knowledge of what was happening, and that son a major investor in Advanced Technologies, Incorporated. He demanded proof that all had been done according to the wishes of Helen Charlston Winslow, that she had indeed been dead before decapitation, and that an autopsy be ordered to prove cerebral hemorrhage as the cause of death.

      Arthur Winslow stared straight ahead, and never made direct eye contact with Blanche. The spokesman for the legal team at his table, a wiry, little man named Richard Camus, described Arthur as a loving son whose mother had died in his arms, a devoted son who made sure her every wish was carried out by rushing her to a laboratory for preservation and hopeful rejuvenation in the future. Helen Winslow herself had had a long-term interest in their work, contributing considerable funds for the development of new technologies in the freezing and rejuvenation processes.

      “Your Honor, we doubt that a loving son would allow his mother’s body to be mutilated if he wanted her to be rejuvenated in the future,” said Randal Haug.

      “The head was the relevant part of the body in question, and there was considerable cost savings in preservation,” rebutted Camus for the defense.

      Haug snorted rudely. “The woman had a cerebral hemorrhage, we’re told. It seems the rest of her body was fine, and you have disposed of that part of her when she could easily afford the cost. I don’t accept that, and neither will a jury.”

      “It was all in her contract,” said Camus.

      “Then let’s see it,” returned Haug.

      There was a long silence. Camus whispered to his colleagues, and Arthur leaned over to listen, frowning.

      “As written, contracts with our clients include company confidential information on procedures, and the medical conditions they’re applied to. Patents pending approval can be put at risk by public exposure, but the client approves each step of the procedure, and company-sensitive information must be included in the contract.”

      Judge Maxwell smiled, and looked at Haug.

      “Then let’s go to trial so I can subpoena the contract and any other admissible documents I need for my case,” said Haug. “Your Honor, this is a possible felony case. I have the right to know if legal procedures were followed during and after the death of Helen Winslow, and if those procedures were indeed according to her will.”

      Judge Maxwell folded his hands in front of him, and looked down at Richard Camus. “The contract is admissible, counselor. Your patents are applied for, and protected under patent law. Why the resistance?”

      “I’ve just explained that, Your Honor,” said Camus.

      “I see. Well, let me explain something to you. I’m a simple man who likes simple solutions to problems. I’ve studied the briefs you gentlemen have submitted on behalf of your clients. The mystery is clear enough to justify further investigation at the least, and it seems to me we could learn a lot by having a look at that contract. We can learn even more by ordering the autopsy requested by Counselor Haug in his brief. Now, if I see nothing to substantiate a claim of Wrongful Death, there’s no reason to move forward with a long and expensive trial. We could all be home in time for lunch, so to speak. Showing us the contract makes a lot of sense, counselor. What do you think?”

      “I don’t want to set a new precedent, Your Honor,” said Camus. Arthur was pulling at the man’s sleeve, whispering something.

      “No precedents to be set, counselor. This is a hearing. We’re seeking evidence to justify a trial.”

      Haug and Blanche had been hastily conferring, and Blanche nodded her head.

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