Death Benefits Read Free Page B

salary and overhead, and one Melvin Needlebaum delivers more than $325,000 of pure profits to the partnership’s bottom line each year. Numbers like that invariably tap into hitherto unknown reserves of tolerance among the partners. Sterling Grant, one of those partners, was once overheard in the hall reverently describing Melvin to another partner as “a cash cow.”
    Melvin the Cash Cow sounded more like Melvin the Mad Dog when I walked into his office to discuss his work on the Stoddard Anderson situation. He was barking into the telephone, the receiver pinned between his neck and shoulder. His desk was a cluttered jumble of yellow legal pads, computer printouts, pleadings binders, and deposition transcripts. There were documents scattered in piles throughout the office. A dead rubber plant sagged against the wall in the corner of the office, one withered yellow leaf drooping from an otherwise bare trunk.
    â€œPatently absurd,” Melvin snorted into the phone in his nasal staccato. He was rapping a pencil on the red Lexis terminal on his desk. “Anyone with the brains God gave a goose would know that was patently absurd.”
    I lifted a stack of pleading files off a chair and sat down to wait. There was a beep from the Lexis terminal, and I realized Melvin was running a research project on Lexis while talking on the phone. The other computer terminal on his credenza displayed a full screen of text, no doubt the court document Melvin had been typing when the telephone rang.
    Melvin slammed down the receiver and leaned forward to squint at the Lexis screen, his face gradually breaking into a manic grin.
    â€œSuperb!” he said, and he spun his chair toward the word processor on his credenza. “Just a moment, Miss Gold,” he barked as he typed rapidly on the keyboard. He finished typing, spun back toward his desk, typed a new search instruction into the Lexis terminal, and then looked up, his eyes blinking rapidly. “Yesssss?”
    â€œStoddard Anderson,” I said.
    â€œAh, yes. The dearly departed managing partner of our St. Louis office.” Melvin removed his glasses, tilted the smudged lenses up to the light, and then put them back on. He leaned back with a lopsided grin. “I have been advised that you, Miss Gold, have been anointed special insurance counsel to the widow Anderson. Your mission is to convince the insurance carrier that her husband was mad as a hatter at the time he, shall we say, cut himself shaving.”
    I had to smile. Melvin was definitely a trip. “That’s not my mission. At least not yet. Ishmael said you’ve already done some work on the matter. I came here to find out what you’ve learned so far, and to learn why his sanity has to be an issue.”
    Melvin nodded his head rapidly while he rubbed his hands together. “How much do you know about the life insurance laws of Missouri?”
    â€œAbsolutely nothing.”
    â€œThen we shall begin with the most common misconception.” There was a beep from his Lexis terminal. Melvin leaned forward and squinted at the terminal screen. “Another Posner opinion! Lord have mercy.” He started typing a new search instruction.
    â€œWhat’s the most common misconception?” I asked.
    â€œAh, yes.” Melvin pressed the TRANSMIT key and leaned back in his chair. “Most people erroneously believe that death by suicide is not covered by life insurance. Wrong. Indeed, in many states, including Missouri, the legislature has enacted a statute that forbids any attempt to deny life insurance benefits on the ground that the decedent committed suicide. Unless,” Melvin leaned forward and rhythmically jabbed his index finger at me for emphasis, “unless the insured intended to commit suicide at the time he purchased the policy. If so, Miss Gold, the bastards don’t have to pay.”
    â€œIs there any evidence that Stoddard Anderson intended to kill