Judgement Day

by Andrew Neiderman

  Kaye continued to stare at him. She looked afraid to utter a word.

  He smiled. “Good morning,” he said, with some cheerfulness in his voice, which would suit her anytime but especially this particular morning. He closed the door and stepped forward.

  “Good morning. Can I help you?”

  “I’m sure you can. You look like someone dependable, as dependable as a mother.”

  Kaye didn’t smile. What an odd thing to say, she thought. She wasn’t in the mood for any humor today, dry or otherwise. “Well, I am a mother and, as far as I know, quite dependable. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m John Milton,” he said. He said it as if he thought she should have known.

  “Oh, yes.” Mr. James had personally informed her of John Milton’s appointment. She could see in the senior partner’s eyes that this was a very important man, at least to him. “I’ll let Mr. James’s personal secretary know you’ve arrived.”

  “Thank you . . .” He looked at the nameplate on her desk. “Kaye.”

  “Please, have a seat.”

  “Not necessary,” he said. He looked up at the painting and shook his head. “Great painting. When you want to work wisdom into any argument, it helps to know your Bible.”

  “Yes.” Kaye moved quickly to buzz Rose Blum, Alexander James’s personal secretary, as if she wanted to get this man away from her as quickly as possible. “I have Mr. Milton for Mr. James,” she said. She hung up and looked at him. “She’s coming right out.”

  “Of course,” he said. He looked around again, nodding to himself or for Kaye’s benefit. She wasn’t sure. “The lobby could use some vibrant color,” he said. “These flowers are beautiful, but they’re not going to be here long.”

  Kaye raised her eyebrows. “They’re not meant to be here long.”

  “Yes. Please don’t mind me. Can’t help myself. When I see wrong, I always try to right it.”

  “We’re not in the mood for redecorating the offices today. I don’t know if you know, but—”

  “Of course, I know. That’s why I’m here,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I’m sure Mr. Murphy was well liked.”

  “Loved,” she corrected.

  The door to the inner offices opened, not soon enough for Kaye.

  “Mr. Milton?” Rose Blum said.

  “I am.”

  “Welcome. Please. Right this way.”

  “Merci,” John said.

  He smiled at Kaye, but the smile didn’t warm her heart. It sent a chill up her spine. There was really nothing about him to encourage these cold feelings. She even felt a little guilty about it. So he was opinionated, so what? What lawyer wasn’t? He was very good-looking, stunning, in fact. There was even something impish about him. Even before this dreadful tragedy, the office could have used some lightness once in a while, she thought. Everyone was so serious, probably because just about every case was very serious. They were, after all, one of the premier criminal defense firms in the city. Lately, no high-net-worth individual who needed a criminal defense went anywhere else.

  She wrote off her reaction to John Milton as part of the gloom that had settled like a heavy fog of soot over the office and everyone in it, and then she went back to her thank-you notes. She had volunteered for the task just so she could keep busy and not think, and here she was, thinking.

  On her way to her boss’s office, Rose Blum couldn’t help but pause when they had reached Warner Murphy’s office. His secretary, Nicole Joseph, looked up from her desk. She was wearing a black dress and had her dark brown hair pinned up somewhat severely, John thought. Almost devoid of makeup and ashen-faced with bloodshot eyes, she reminded him of one of those hired Greek mourners he thought were quite amusing. She looked easily fifty. She’s going to have to go, of course, he thought. The reverberations of his actions never seemed to end. Nor should they.

  They stopped at Alexander James’s office. Rose’s desk and some file cabinets, with another settee and two side tables, plus another coffee table, furnished her small enclave. There were more baskets of flowers and fruit expressing condolences on the table, so many, in fact, that there were some on the floor.

  “Looks like Mr. Murphy had many friends.”

  “The entire firm does,” Rose said, “and everyone knows what a blow this is to all of us in the legal world.”

  “Yes, how tragic,” John said. “ ‘Tragedy’ is not an uncommon word in this world, but we never get used to it. It’s always a big surprise, as if rainbows were all we were promised.”

  He smiled. His eyes seemed to dance on the surface of hers. She nodded and opened the inner office door to announce him.

  “Thank you,” he said as he passed her to enter.

  She caught a whiff of his seductive cologne and couldn’t help the fluttering under her breasts. She surprised herself by closing her eyes and hesitating, and then she practically had to lunge to close the door behind him and not look like some teenage girl stirred by a fantasy.

  John stood back against the closed door. He almost laughed aloud at the expression of doom-and-gloom the two senior partners wore. If they only knew how useful those expressions could be. To discourage hope in the human heart was almost an unexpected pleasure. But then again, so many things were.

  Alexander James rose first and offered his hand. “John, we are very glad you’ve accepted our offer.”

  “You guys know how to wine-and-dine, but regardless, I knew I’d be happy here,” he said, turning to Bill Simon, who was the taller and leaner of the two. Alexander was more rotund, with thinning salt-and-pepper hair but no gray in his eyebrows or the goatee that helped reduce the roundness in his face. His lips were a little too thick, and he had a well-developed second chin. To John, he was a wonderful advertisement for gluttony. He could be the poster child.

  Bill Simon, on the other hand, was more puritanical. He wasn’t a terribly good-looking man. In fact, he looked like a beardless Lincoln, with that perpetual visage of a troubled heart and shoulders that sagged with the weight of the world’s suffering sick and poor. He was less inclined to humor and very focused on his work. John didn’t trust men who refused even to consider desserts at lunch and dinner. However, it didn’t take him long to realize that Simon was harder, more invulnerable, and clearly far more intelligent.

  “Who wouldn’t be impressed with your record of successful defenses and want to work here? There’s a built-in cachet with this firm. Just the mention of your firm’s name makes prosecutors tremble. They know they have a terrific fight on their hands. It’s a perfect fit for me. You guys have done all the groundwork, laid the foundation. I can see great opportunity to build and expand. In a short time, we’ll have need for half a dozen new associates. As I suggested at dinner, we should be defending corporations and attracting international business, with offices in other states. With all the new regulations enacted almost daily in this country and the expansion of existing laws and prohibitions, we have an endless well from which to draw new business.” He paused. He didn’t want to overwhelm them. It was his biggest flaw, being too passionate about what he did, what he loved to do. After all, that was how it had all started, he thought, and subdued a private smile.

  “Please,” James said, indicating the settee on the right. John sat, and James and Simon pulled two chairs up to sit in front of him.

  He felt as if he had a box seat to a private play. He couldn’t help softening his lips into a slight coy smile. “This looks like what they call a full-court press, no?”

  James smiled, but Simon nodded. “It has to be,” he said. “We’ve got to move swiftly, but we’re impressed with your courtroom accomplishments, John, as you know. We feel confident that you’ll be able to step in quickly.”

  “Ah, our unfortunate Warner Murphy, his current caseload. I suspected that was why you hired me so soon.”

  “You were always on our radar screen,” Simon said. “Matter of fact, Warner, Alex, and I were discussing you just days before Warner’s trag
ic death. Warner himself did the background research on you.”

  “I was told someone was inquiring, yes,” John said. “The upper echelon of the legal community in this state, as in most, is smaller than most people think. I probably know just as much about each of you as you know about me.”

  He could see that the way he had said it made James a little uncomfortable. He suspected Simon didn’t know about his partner’s sexual indiscretions. John’s favorite way to tease some priests, rabbis, and imams was to tell them that Adam and Eve had no idea what new pleasures awaited them. Yes, there was pain, too, but in his way of thinking, it was obviously worth it.

  “So you want me to pick up Murphy’s caseload quickly—yesterday, matter of fact.”

  “Yes. The Heckett case in particular,” James said.

  “Absolutely. It’s very interesting. However, from our discussion at dinner, I had the feeling you thought Warner Murphy was thinking of a plea deal?”

  “He was having some trouble building a defense and expressed that to both of us only days before his death.”

  “Maybe he did more; maybe he began to explore the possibilities with the district attorney’s office?”

  “Not that we know of. He could have done something off the record, because he was depressed about his prospects of winning an acquittal. However, his depression was nothing like what it would take to have something like this occur,” Simon added quickly.

  “It’s never easy to understand an unexpected death,” John said. “I suppose, in a way, all death is a surprise. We all think we’ll live forever,” he added, with that wry smile he cherished.

  Both senior partners nodded. When someone close to you dies, you can’t help thinking about your own mortality. Such is the weakness in the human spirit, John thought. If they all thought they might live forever, I’d have an even easier time. Punishment in the afterlife would be an empty threat.

  “Is there any more information about his suicide?”

  The two looked at each other. He sensed their hesitation.

  “You know something that hasn’t been released yet?”

  “We don’t believe it was suicide, John. You know we had offered him a partnership. He had every reason to live and enjoy his life,” Simon said.

  “Of course, but it’s likewise true that none of us knows anyone deeply enough to understand all of his or her actions,” James added.

  “Your wives probably say that,” John suggested.

  James almost laughed, but Simon looked surprised. “Why our wives?”

  “Women are always more interested in the secrets we all bear in our hearts. It’s part of the feminine nature.”

  “Is that why you’re not married? You’re afraid to have anyone know what secrets you carry?” Simon asked.

  John could sense that they had discussed his personal life. He laughed. “No. I simply haven’t yet found the woman who could tolerate my obsession with my work,” he said. “However, I will say we’re all, men and women alike, always surprised at what someone we think we know is hiding inside him. I don’t expect there’s anyone who would want his whole life examined.” He looked more at James, who seemed to flinch. “I speak only for myself, but I certainly wouldn’t. I’m sure that was true for Warner Murphy.”

  “Yes, but . . . for him to commit suicide? Now? At this point in his life?” James said. “I can’t buy it. You didn’t know him as well as Bill and I did. He was practically a son to us.”

  “I am sorry,” John said. “It’s painful, especially when it’s so unexpected, but my advice is don’t commit to any theories about it just yet. I read the newspaper this morning. It seems impossible for anyone to have gotten up there to do him any harm, not with that sort of security, video, and so on.”

  “The chief investigative officer on the case has doubts nevertheless,” Simon said.

  “Oh? Well, some people commit suicide if their finances are in the toilet,” John said.

  “Warner’s finances were just fine. The police have already looked into it.”

  “I see. As I said, there are other causes,” John offered.

  “So far, nothing’s surfaced that would even remotely suggest any personal unhappiness. You know we were going to confirm his partnership the day he died. When the detective heard that, he was even more skeptical,” Simon said, more firmly this time.

  “It’s far from a closed case,” James added.

  “Well, then, let’s leave it up to the police investigators,” John said, rubbing his palms like someone washing his hands. “In the meantime, let’s talk about setting me up to work for you.”

  “Yes, well, you have our financial package.”

  “No, not that. I need to arrange myself here. I don’t mind taking Murphy’s office immediately, but I want to bring in my own personal secretary. She’s been with me so long she knows what I want before I do.”

  “Oh,” James said. “Nicole Joseph was here the day Warner started. We’d have to let her go. There’s no other place for her.”

  “Exactly. I’d like my secretary here the day I begin. It’s very important to me,” John said, with such a firm tone that even Simon’s eyebrows rose. They both understood it was a deal breaker to say no.

  “It’s customary for the partners to staff the office,” James offered as an act of resistance.

  John didn’t respond. He stared at him coldly.

  “Of course, with these special circumstances . . .”

  “Exactly my point,” John said. “These are special circumstances.”

  “Nicole is very familiar with the case,” Simon said in one more final attempt.

  “My girl will be just as familiar with it in hours, believe me. She’s one of a kind. It’s like a baseball pitcher who’s comfortable with his own catcher. I’m sure you understand.”

  James shrugged. Simon looked a little upset, but he nodded. He slapped his knees and stood. “We’re asking for a two-week postponement.”

  “You don’t have to. I’m fine with the schedule. You might call me a workaholic. Let’s not give the prosecution any further reason to be optimistic. In fact, it will surprise and shock them a bit when we agree to keep on schedule. Keeps the pressure on them, too.”

  James smiled. “I guess it will,” he said. He looked at Simon.

  “You’re putting a lot more stress on yourself, John,” Simon said.

  “Stress is what keeps me going at full speed, which is the only speed worth going,” John said.

  “Let me show you around,” James said. “You might as well meet Warner’s secretary. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

  “Maybe hell will freeze over but not in our lifetimes,” John said, smiling. “Not with how busy this firm is and how busy it will become, eh?”

  Simon finally smiled. “You have quite the sense of humor, John,” he said. “I didn’t realize it.”

  “You should see how I work it in a courtroom.”

  “I guess we will,” James said, “and quite a bit sooner than we had anticipated. Shall we?” He went to the door.

  “Not a moment to waste,” John said.

  “Welcome to our firm,” Simon told him, and extended his hand.

  Like Chinese people do when they greet their president, John took the other man’s hand with both of his. “As I’ve been saying, I’m looking forward to making it an even bigger success than it is.”

  He followed James out and felt certain he could hear the sound of angels screaming.

  And these weren’t fallen angels, either.

  He imagined God putting his hands over his ears. The image was delightful.

  Nothing brought more pleasure to his much-too-often sour heart.

  Finally, he thought. Finally, I’m on a battlefield that fits my nature.

  5

  Michele watched Matthew Blake enter the restaurant. She would have known it was he who had come into Roma Sparita even if she hadn’t seen a photo of him in the file. His suit looked tailor-made for his sculp
tured body. Most of the detectives she had known looked as if they had taken a college course in being disheveled. However, even at this distance, Blake radiated a manly self-confidence that captured her feminine interest—and, from what she could see, the interest of every other woman in the room. He had a classic face, a face you would expect to find on a Greek statue, but he also had that four- or five-day beard that was popular with young male models and actors today. She had to admit that she liked it. She was around too many cleanly shaven, neatly groomed men who radiated conservatism. There was nothing remotely dangerous about them, and with nothing dangerous, there was nothing exciting. At least, that was true for her.

  Although he had never met her, he didn’t pause at the host’s desk to ask where she was sitting. She watched as he perused the room quickly and started in her direction. She was in one of the imitation-leather booths toward the rear of the sizable restaurant, her briefcase on the seat beside her. She was sipping on a cranberry juice and soda.

  “Ms. Armstrong?”

  “Michele,” she said, extending her hand. He just touched it, but somehow sensually, so that it was more of a caress, and then he slid into the seat across from her.

  “Sorry I’m a little late.”

  “A few minutes. No problem. I saw you come in. How did you know it was me when you looked around? There are four other women sitting alone in this restaurant.”

  “I’m a detective, remember?” he said, and smiled. He gazed around. “You just moved to New York, right?”

  “Recently, yes.”

  “How did you find this place? I’ve been here a while, and I wasn’t aware of it. There’s one with the same name in Rome in one of the piazzas in Trastevere.”

  “Trastevere? Where’s that?”

  “It’s a rione, rione thirteen in Rome.”

  “Rione? My Italian’s a little rusty,” she said, and tugged on her left earlobe, just the way her father’s favorite actor, Humphrey Bogart, did in Casablanca.