Lethal Lawyers

by Dale E. Manolakas

  Sophia laughed. “No. Horses. I ride horses.”

  She thought about the horse she had owned. She flashed on the days before law school when she spent her weekends riding with friends and one special friend.

  “Well, I don’t,” Taylor laughed. “Not after Roger, Paul, and I tried that one year at the firm retreat.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that,” Joe added. “Tell Sophia.”

  “Litigators don’t talk about their losses.”

  “Tell me more about the retreat.” She took Taylor’s hint and changed the subject.

  The three chatted about the firm retreat coming up as the waiter brought the tiramisu and his assistant, the espressos and cappuccino.

  After Joe picked up the bill, the three headed back to the firm in the cool fall air. It felt good to Sophia after the wine and the food. She kept stride with the two men who, unlike Roger, protectively bookended her as they headed for the firm on the downtown sidewalks.

  Sophia was ecstatic. She was on her way up the ladder.

  ⌘

  Chapter 15

  A Fatal Misstep

  As Joe, Taylor, and Sophia rounded the corner, they saw red lights flashing outside the Pacific Coastal Building. Police cars and an ambulance blocked two of the four lanes on the one-way eastbound street. News vans with their satellite crowns were piled up behind them. A crowd of people looked on, including a gaggle of the homeless with their carts.

  “You’ll have to wait.” A policeman stopped the three at the lobby entrance.

  “What happened?” Joe asked.

  “Stand back. Here they come.”

  A paramedic pushed a gurney with a covered body off the elevator through the lobby towards the exit. A second paramedic followed carrying an emergency case and defibrillator. Droplets of blood fell onto the cream marble floors. When the paramedics reached the door, the policeman held it open and his arm out to keep everyone back as they took the gurney through.

  When the paramedics paused with the gurney at the steps outside the lobby doors, the second paramedic placed his gear on the end of the gurney to get the gurney down the steps. As he did, the cover over the body shifted, exposing disheveled bleached-blond hair and wide-open staring green eyes.

  “My God, it’s Judith,” Joe exclaimed.

  Sophia saw Judith’s bloodied matted hair and then locked on her green eyes, now framed by smeared mascara. Judith’s once iridescent, intelligent, predatory eyes were dull and lifeless.

  Sophia’s knees buckled. Taylor held her up. She leaned on him, but couldn’t take her eyes off Judith’s neutralized eyes.

  The paramedics covered Judith’s face again.

  “What happened?” Joe asked the paramedic.

  “Step aside, sir,” the paramedic said, as they took the gurney down the steps to the ambulance.

  The policeman signaled them to back farther away.

  As the three waited, Joe got out his cell and speed-dialed Frank. He left a message about Judith. He then did the same for Chet.

  “I can’t believe this,” Joe whispered to Taylor.

  “She’s d-dead,” Sophia stammered in disbelief as she leaned on Taylor’s shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” Taylor asked her.

  “I think so,” she replied, fighting for her footing again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

  Marvin Gross, the junior partner who had been arguing with Judith, came running after the gurney from the elevator bank, squashing intermittent droplets of Judith’s blood left on the marble floor. Marvin had blood on his charcoal suit and hands. Paul followed with some blood on his hands as well. Tricia Manning was trailing with a tear-stained face.

  “How is she? How is she?” Tricia shouted.

  The policeman blocked the three from following the gurney down the steps. “I’m sorry. She didn’t make it.”

  “No. No,” Tricia screamed. “Save her! Do something! Do something, please.”

  Paul put his arm around Tricia and calmed her. “Judith’s gone. She’s gone, Tricia. We did everything we could.”

  “Let’s go back in.” Marvin glanced around at the crowd staring at them. “This is a zoo.”

  Paul couldn’t get Tricia to move. She stood just outside the door watching until Judith’s body disappeared into the ambulance. Joe, Taylor, and Sophia watched too.

  The ambulance drove silently away with no lights and no siren. The police allowed the sidewalk and entrance to be used again. The police cars let the meager but mounting traffic flow.

  Joe, Taylor, and Sophia quietly joined Marvin, Paul, and Tricia who was now more composed.

  Chet ran out from the lobby.

  “For God’s sake, what happened, Joe?” Chet broke the silence.

  “I don’t know,” Joe replied.

  “I found her on the stair landing.” Paul stepped forward. “She was bloody . . . and moaning.”

  Marvin let Paul do the answering as he touched the blood on his suit with his bloody hands.

  “What do you mean?” Chet asked.

  “She was in bad shape,” Paul said. “She was alive, but just barely, I think. I don’t know what happened.”

  “I don’t understand.” Chet eyed Marvin. “Why do you have blood all over you?”

  “I . . . heard Paul calling for help from the stairwell so I went to help,” Marvin spoke up. “He was with Judith. I tried to . . . we didn’t know what to do. Our cell phones didn’t work there, so I left to call 911. Paul stayed.”

  Chet thought for a minute, looked at the police pulling away, the news reporters ready to descend, and voyeurs inching forward. “Let’s go in. We don’t need a spectacle.”

  The group moved into the empty lobby to the elevator bank, over Judith’s drying blood droplets. They waited in the now-empty lobby for an elevator to take them up to the firm. Tricia had stopped crying.

  Chet asked, “But does anyone know what happened?”

  “No,” Paul answered. “She was alone on the landing when I found her. Then Marvin came. Then Tricia came down the stairs.”

  “Did Judith say anything?” Chet cross-examined Paul.

  “Nothing that made any sense. I think she muttered ‘damn you’.”

  “‘Damn you’?” Joe repeated, turning to Paul. “What the hell? Why would she say ‘damn you’ to you, Paul? I don’t understand.”

  “She was looking up at Marvin! Not me. Then he went to get help,”

  “I didn’t hear her say anything,” Marvin spoke up.

  “Then, she went limp,” Paul concluded. “I couldn’t help her.”

  “When I got there she was unconscious,” Tricia offered.

  “Not one of you knows what happened?” Chet asked.

  “I guess not,” Paul responded.

  The reporters were at the lobby door, but the building security had locked it down. Despite their instantaneous inroads to police activity, they were not getting a story tonight. Eventually, they would get a statement from Chet when he had the facts and could present them in the best light for Thorne & Chase. But not tonight.

  “Push the damn elevator call button,” Chet snapped. Paul complied.

  “We’re standing here waiting for nothing.”

  Paul pushed the call button again.

  “And no one talks to the news. No one.” Chet looked pointedly at each of us.

  “She must have taken a header in those spiked heels she always wears,” Marvin volunteered.

  “Is that all there is?” Tricia broke into a sob again. “People just wear high heels and die?”

  “Sometimes.” Sophia put her arm around Tricia’s shoulders.

  It was apparent that Tricia had experienced death even less than Sophia. In Sophia’s extended family, even the youngest attended sick beds and funerals, but not raw, bloody death. They not only learned they were not on this earth forever, but also that death was ugly. But she had never seen a bloody, traumatic death like this.

  Sophia watched Marvin, rememberin
g his vicious fight with Judith. Marvin’s hands were shaking as he straightened his tie. He stopped when he saw he was smearing Judith’s blood on it. He pulled it off, wiped his hands with it, and threw it in the waste can nearby.

  Marvin walked back and said, “You have to call her husband, Chet.”

  “Yes. I’ll take care of it. I’ll go over there before the police do.” Chet had now reestablished his usual calm, low voice. “He should hear this from a friend.”

  The elevator came and they all got in.

  “Do you want help?” Taylor asked.

  “No,” Chet snapped and then caught himself again. He added, judiciously, “Thank you, Taylor. But I can take care of it.”

  “What should I do?” Marvin asked Chet.

  “Go home. You look like you’re in pretty bad shape. Take a car service, I don’t want you getting in an accident.”

  “I’ll drive you,” Taylor volunteered.

  “No. No. I’ll be fine. I’ll call my wife if I need to.”

  “Call her, Marvin,” Chet said. “That’s an order.”

  The elevator unexpectedly became silent. What else was there to say? Sophia thought of Carlisle and Roger having their meeting now. She wondered if they knew about Judith yet.

  ⌘

  Chapter 16

  Out, Damned Spot

  Paul, Tricia, Taylor, and Sophia got off the elevator on Taylor’s floor. They stood silently in a united hesitant huddle, just waiting. The others went up to their floors.

  Paul broke the stillness.

  “I can’t believe this. There must have been more I could have done. I didn’t know she was dying.”

  “It sounds to me that you did everything right, Paul,” Sophia spoke up. “There was nothing more you could have done.”

  “I’ve got to get this blood off.” Paul pushed the elevator call button to go to his office.

  “I’ll come with you,” Tricia said as the elevator door opened.

  Sophia started to follow but Taylor stopped her. “Come to my office.”

  “Okay.”

  “You guys come too after you’re cleaned up, Paul. I have some Jameson.”

  “Sure. We will. Thanks, Taylor.” Paul accepted for both himself and Tricia.

  What had been a joyful and triumphant evening had all too quickly turned into a nightmare. Both the wine and the stress of Sophia’s grueling full day of interviews left her with little energy to cope. Besides, she liked Taylor—a lot.

  * * *

  Taylor’s office was large and modern with black leather furniture, including a straight lined couch with a small black square acrylic coffee table in front of it. He had geometric patterned area rugs in shades of gray covering his ebony wood floors. His desk and bookcases were black glossy lacquered enamel. A square chrome and glass conference table stood near the window with four chrome and red minimalist chairs.

  “Sit down.” Taylor gestured to the couch. “I’ll fix us a drink.”

  “A short one.” Sophia did not intend to drink it, given the amount of wine she’d had at dinner.

  Taylor set the half-full bottle of Jameson on the acrylic coffee table and handed her a short drink in the ever-present black and gold mugs.

  “Great end to your offer-acceptance.” Taylor said facetiously.

  “It’s horrible.” Sophia shut her eyes and rested her head back against the couch.

  The two sat quietly next to each other on the couch with their own thoughts. Taylor drank his whiskey. Sophia held hers in her lap. Gradually, Sophia’s mind transitioned from an analysis of the post-dinner death to an awareness of Taylor’s musty, spicy smell, so near.

  “Sophia? Are you asleep?”

  “What?”

  Sophia opened her eyes and looked up into Taylor’s ebony eyes sparkling down at her. She saw him lean in and slowly and tenderly kiss her. But her fantasy was halted by Taylor’s voice.

  “I suppose you have some doubts about coming here now?”

  “No,” she answered quickly, lost somewhere in the realm between daydream and actuality. She took a sip of her Jameson to shake off the non-kiss. She had embarrassed herself.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No. No. I was thinking about my interview with Judith. That’s all.”

  “Hey,” Paul called as he and Tricia burst in through Taylor’s open door.

  Sophia had been saved by the bell, or by Paul and Tricia, to be more exact.

  “Good thing I keep these sweats here to work late in.” Paul pulled up red leather chairs for Tricia and himself.

  “Here, have a drink.” Taylor got out two paper cups from his desk drawer and poured the Jameson.

  “Thanks.” Paul picked up his cup of Jameson and took a drink. “A cop came to my office just now.”

  "What for?” Taylor asked.

  "He just wanted to get his report written up.” Tricia took a sip of her whiskey.

  “What did you guys tell him?” Taylor asked.

  “The same thing I told Chet,” Paul replied. “What else is there to tell?”

  Tricia nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she tripped.”

  “What about the 'damn you’?” Taylor asked.

  “I mentioned it, but I told him she was always damning someone or something.” Paul shrugged his shoulders and took a long drink of the Jameson. “And she went to the grave doing it. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but she was a hardwired bitch. I didn’t like her.”

  “No one did,” Taylor agreed. “If it were a couple of weeks from now, you’d hate her like everyone else, Sophia.”

  “Maybe.” Her equivocation was disingenuous, because she knew she had instantly abhorred Judith. “That doesn’t mean I would be happy she was dead.”

  “Of course not,” Taylor said. “No one would.”

  “I just don’t understand how she fell.” Paul shrugged his shoulders.

  “I do.” Tricia rolled her eyes. “I’ve stumbled in lower heels than that. Try it sometime.”

  “No thanks.’ Paul downed his whiskey, got up, and started out. “I’ve got to get home and get some sleep. Now I have to finalize my filing for tomorrow I was doing before all this ‘Judith-interruptus.’ It’s the crack of dawn for me, thanks to Judith’s untimely demise. A fitting parting gift from the witch of Thorne & Chase.”

  “Wow, that’s harsh. She couldn’t help tripping,” Tricia chastised Paul as she got up to follow him out. “Bye guys. Jay’s expecting me.”

  “Good night,” Sophia called and then turned to Taylor. “I should get going.”

  “Can I walk you to your car?”

  “No thanks. Interview day. I valeted. See you tomorrow?”

  Sophia was tired, too tired of ego stroking and, surprisingly, flirtation as well. Besides she wanted to nip her fantasies about Taylor in the bud—for now.

  “Sure.” Taylor displayed his dimpled and white teethed smile.

  As she left, she heard Taylor make a call.

  “I’m alone, Marvin. Come up.”

  ⌘

  Chapter 17

  First Day

  On her first day, Sophia parked in the underground garage as a guest for the last time. She coveted the thought of getting her parking pass. Sophia got off the garage elevator into the lobby to transfer and go up to Thorne & Chase. As she did, a short young man in jeans, a button down shirt, and a tweed blazer stopped her.

  “Hi,” he smiled. “I’m Ben Kowrilsky. I saw you last night.”

  “What?”

  “When Judith Rubin died. I’m a reporter with the Los Angeles Sun.”

  Alarm bells went off and Sophia remembered Chet’s warning.

  “No comment.” Sophia stepped around him and pushed the call button repeatedly even though it had already been activated by the two men waiting at the bank of elevators.

  “Are you with Thorne & Chase?” Ben followed Sophia.

  “No comment. Leave me alone.”

  The elevator opened and two people filed out. Th
e two men and Sophia got in. Ben followed her. She knew she had exuded new-at-this. Just as the door closed, another man dressed in similar reporter’s attire ran up.

  “Hold the elevator.”

  No one did, especially not Sophia, who concluded reporters were trolling the lobby. It was bad enough to be caught by the first one.

  Ben eyed Sophia as she pushed the main reception floor for Thorne & Chase. But he waited to speak until the men got off on the fourth, a non-Thorne & Chase floor.

  “Can you tell me about Ms. Rubin’s accident? What happened? I just want to get it right and honor such a great female leader in the legal world.”

  The elevator ascended. Sophia was silent. Ben was not. He had a battery of questions about both Jim Henning and Judith. He tried every tack he could to get her to open up as the elevator went up.

  Finally, the elevator stopped on the main reception floor, which was the only one accessible to the public. Sophia was still the public until she signed her contract and got a card key for the other floors.

  Before the doors opened, Ben held out his Los Angeles Sun business card. Sophia looked at it and the door opening. She didn’t want to be seen with a reporter handing her his card.

  “Leave me alone.” Sophia grabbed the card and put it in her suit coat pocket as the doors opened.

  “Call me.”

  Ben knew better than to get off the elevator onto Thorne & Chase’s formidable and influential property which now housed two security guards at the lobby bank of elevators. But Ben also knew he had found a, perhaps, unsavvy newcomer to contact.

  Sophia was glad he was afraid and glad she was walking into a prohibitive powerhouse.

  * * *

  Sophia’s first day at Thorne & Chase was a symphony of punctuality and organization. Even Judith’s death did not stop the machine. Any time that could not be billed to a client was considered a waste—even, evidently, grieving time. Although the staff’s whispered conversations could be heard in the halls, whatever the attorneys were saying was behind closed doors.