* * *
Back on her floor, Sophia stopped at the stairwell door. She knew she couldn’t walk by Toak and Marlene. They had done this, and both of them had enjoyed her unwitting walk to Roger’s guillotine. She wiped tears from her cheeks that had surfaced despite her efforts. She wished she had spit in their faces. This was payback for the summary judgment memo and going to Carlisle. Toak was a pig.
Sophia hurried to the camera-free elevator to go to Taylor’s office for solace and refuge.
Alone in the elevator, she collected herself. Her tears turned to numbing anger. She understood the desperation of Jim Henning and Doug Henry and Roger. She also began to see how hatred and anger could run deep enough for murder and how Taylor might cover for Roger, if he was.
She flashed on Judith’s lifeless green eyes and Frank’s bloody gray matter oozing into the rain-drenched gutter. Sophia wanted to see Toak like that. And she wanted to be the one to do it to him.
But instead, she ran to Taylor.
⌘
Chapter 70
A Good Offense
Taylor’s office door was open. Sophia walked in numb, beyond tears. She shut the door. She needed sanctuary, advice, and Taylor’s arms around her.
“Sophia?” Taylor stood and started over to greet her. “What’s up? You look upset.”
“I was just at Roger’s office and . . .”
The phone rang.
“Just a minute. I’m expecting a call from court services about a filing Friday. It’ll only take a second.”
Taylor went back to his desk and answered his office phone.
“Taylor speaking. Roger, let me call you back. I have . . .”
Instead of hanging up, Taylor listened and observed Sophia.
She turned and rushed out.
Taylor did not follow as she disappeared down the stairs. Sophia was confused, hurt, and even angrier than she had been. Angry with Taylor now, as well.
Disappointed and animated by cold fury, she took the steps at lightning speed down to Tricia’s office—cameras be damned.
As she descended, she heard her cell ring in her pocket. She knew it was Taylor.
“He can be damned, too,” she muttered.
* * *
When Sophia arrived, Tricia’s office door was shut and she heard a muffled male voice. Sophia’s heart sank, but she knocked anyway—if it was the detective, he could be damned, too. She would kick him out. Tricia was her friend and Sophia needed her, now.
Tricia opened the door, “It’s you. Come in.”
No detective—just Paul with a coffee.
“Hi. Join us,” Paul said, “I wish your office was closer.”
“I wish it was too.” Sophia slammed the door shut and sat down.
“You look like hell and it’s not even noon. I’m going to get you a cup of coffee. Cream and sugar? You need it. I’ll be back in a sec.” Tricia hurried out, not waiting for an answer.
“That’s nice of her.”
Paul studied Sophia for a long moment. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing . . . Everything. It’s Roger. It’s everyone. I just . . .”
Before Sophia could spill her heart out, Tricia was back with her caffeine communion in the firm’s black and gold chalice.
As Tricia shut the door, she announced, “By the way, we’re in conference re vacuums now. You are too.”
“No, I’m not.” Tears were streaming down Sophia’s face.
Tricia stood with the cup looking at Sophia, nonplussed. “Paul, what did you do?”
“Nothing. Nothing. I just asked what was wrong.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Tricia set the coffee on the desk near Sophia and grabbed Sophia some tissues from her drawer.
“I don’t know,” Paul shrugged his shoulders. “I just . . .”
“Everything’s wrong,” Sophia blurted, wiping at her streaming tears. “I can’t ever bill to Chet’s vacuum cases again with you.”
“What?” Paul said.
“I just had a meeting with Roger. He said every partner but Carlisle has taken me off their cases.”
“What! Why?” Tricia sat on the edge of her desk chair.
“Toak.” Paul surmised. “I wouldn’t have figured him for having that many chits to call in.”
“Well, evidently he did. I know it was Toak.” Sophia took deep breaths and got control again. “I wondered why Marlene greeted me with a smile today.”
“She knew.” Tricia handed Sophia the coffee.
“Sure.” Sophia drank the coffee.
“Jesus, and you have to walk by her to go everywhere,” Tricia remarked.
“Come on, Tricia, that’s the least of Sophia’s worries,” Paul snapped. “Sophia, do you have any cases left to bill on?”
“No. Carlisle’s client, Waddington Development, doesn’t even have an actual suit filed against them yet. I’m just part of his ‘team’ when it activates. The only active thing I have is Frank’s Crondall Properties case. But now it’s Roger’s client and case. Besides, there’s nothing to do on it anyway until after the depositions.”
“Is he at least keeping you on that?” Tricia asked.
“Yeah. Big deal. He knows there’s nothing to do. And I don’t trust him to give me any more assignments on it, anyway.”
“Too bad he lost Baxter Peterson,” Paul said. “You’d have something.”
“Maybe. I don’t think he would have kept me on it anyway, so I’m glad another firm stole it.”
“Damn,” Paul said. “This is Jim and Doug all over again. I’m so sorry.”
“I am so sorry, too,” Tricia echoed. “What can we do?”
“Nothing,” Paul responded. “We don’t have any clients.”
“There has to be something,” Tricia urged.
“Well, when this happened to Doug, we made a list of every firm client and the lead partner. Doug went to them all,” Paul volunteered.
“But it didn’t work, obviously,” Sophia observed.
“Neither did Jim Henning’s gun,” Tricia pointed out.
“Tricia . . . come on.” Paul frowned at her and then turned to Sophia. “Seriously, Sophia, It’s worth a try. I think Doug and I just started too late.”
“Paul’s right. Start today. Toak can’t have poisoned all the wells,” Tricia took Paul’s optimistic cue.
“We’ll help you.” Paul paused and then chuckled. “But maybe Tricia’s right. Do you have a gun?”
“No. And it’s a good thing.”
“Anyway, we have a plan.” Paul was upbeat.
“Yes. A good one that doesn’t involve guns or trucks or anything else,” Sophia said.
“I’d watch talk like that,” Paul warned.
“Yeah,” Tricia agreed. “And you can beat them.”
“I just might be able to. Toak is not going to take my career from me.”
“Can you talk to Taylor about this?” Tricia asked.
“I tried, but he took a call from Roger right in front of me. I left.”
“Well, go back and talk to him.”
“Definitely,” Paul pressed Sophia. “He may be able to give you work. You have to fight fire with fire.”
“I will . . . but later.”
“You need as many people on your side as you can get,” Tricia added.
“Come over to my office. I’m going to make a copy of that list now.” Paul got up and left.
Sophia stood to follow, but Tricia stopped her.
“Are you and Taylor back together?”
“We were. We hooked up Saturday. I like him. I really like him. But I don’t know.”
She didn't want to get into her hesitations now.
“Then use it. Use it now.”
“You're right. I will. I didn’t ask. How was your concert?”
“Nice. I love Jay, but I could do without some of his friends.”
“I know what you mean. I can’t picture socializing with Roger, Marvin, or Joe either. But we’ll see.”
“Get going. You need assignments!”
⌘
Chapter 71
Opening Move
From Paul, Sophia got the copy of the list he had made of partners and junior partners and a few associates with clients whose cases she could bill on if she could get on board. She was heartened when she saw the familiar names from interviewing: Darius Johnson, Robert Guerrero, Janek Zaluski, and Josh Rosen. To her amazement, several associates like her even had books of their own business.
As she waited for the elevator, she secreted the list in her pocket, folded. Then she stood studying the decorated lobby. She saw no magic now as she had during her interview days. The carved cherry paneling around the elevator doors was scratched and chipped. It had been touched up with stain a shade too dark. The marble floors had yellow built up along the baseboards and dirt and yellow caked in the corners. The oriental rugs were worn in the middle and frayed at the corners. The chair legs had been marred by the cleaning crew’s vacuums. The low coffee table was chipped on the corner.
Sophia went over to the unpolished, dark-brass cylindrical lamp in the corner and unsuccessfully attempted to level the yellowed shade three times. She gave up and stood by the elevator again. She waited. It didn’t come. She had forgotten to push the call button. She pushed it and then went back over to the lamp and bent the harp so the shade was level.
On the elevator, Sophia decided she would take the bull by the horns and go talk to Dante to get back on his case at least. She hoped an independent, strong man like Dante couldn't possibly owe Toak anything substantial.
She would show Dante her summary judgment memo and the goddess answer to prove her worth. This whole problem could be as simple as Toak telling everyone she was a bad lawyer. She could fight that easily. She just needed one strong ally.
On her floor, Sophia was relieved to see Marlene was in visiting with her meal ticket with his office door shut.
In her office, she put Paul’s list of lawyers in her purse. Then she hid the summary judgment memo and the goddess answer between the pages of a yellow legal pad and started for Dante’s office.
⌘
Chapter 72
All Bodies Great and Small
Outside Dante’s office, his secretary was pounding at her keyboard, transcribing from earphones. She was as thin as he was heavy. Forty-ish, plain, and very, very neat looking, her gray-streaked jet dark hair was pulled back in a bun, displaying thin gold hoop earrings. Her bright pink floral dress was punctuated with a white sweater sitting over her shoulders.
“Hello,” Sophia said cautiously, because she was now wary of all secretaries and their hidden—or not so hidden—agendas.
“You must be Sophia? Nice to meet you. I’m Yolanda.” She smiled broadly and spoke in an almost indiscernible Spanish accent as she vigorously shook Sophia’s hand.
“Hi. Nice to meet you.” Sophia was not disarmed but still pleasantly surprised by the warm greeting. “Is Dante in yet?”
“Not yet, but you can wait. I have to get this done.”
Yolanda went back to inputting a tape.
“Can I put this on his desk so he will see it first thing?”
“Sure.” Yolanda took a turquoise spiral plastic key holder from around her wrist and handed it to Sophia. “Here’s the key. Go ahead.”
“Thanks. Do you mind if I use one of your pens?”
“No, help yourself.”
Sophia took the memo from between the pages of the legal pad and wrote, “FYI—I’ll come back later.”
“Thank you.” She put the pen back on Yolanda’s desk and headed for Dante’s door. She was excited and hopeful.
* * *
She gave a quick knock and used the key to open Dante’s office door. As she started in, she stopped in her tracks. A throat-choking smell overwhelmed her. She gagged.
Dante was sprawled out leaning back in his desk chair. His head was tilted backwards and his open eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. His weekend casual golf shirt and navy blazer were disheveled. His big arms were flailed out from his sides, like an airplane. He was pale and bloated and dead—decaying, raw, rotted, unpreserved.
The floor around his desk was strewn with papers, files, and his desk lamp. A half-eaten chicken dinner on his desk, in an Edinburgh Grill take-out container, blended with the overwhelming odors. Used napkins and greasy but elegant silvery plastic utensils were scattered over his desk blotter with files and documents. Two paper-cupped lattes from the firm cafeteria sat nearby.
The smells forced Sophia, gagging, out of the office. She knelt and doubled over in the doorway. As she gasped for breath, she fought the vomit rising in her throat. Her pad and memo fell to the floor.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” She choked out, swallowing to forcing the vomit back down her throat. “Help. Help!”
Yolanda rushed over and leaned down where Sophia knelt.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick? What’s that smell?”
Sophia pointed into the office without looking up.
Yolanda shrieked, running down to the other secretarial bays.
“Oh, my God. Someone call 911! Help! Help! Call 911!”
Joe ran from his office.
Yolanda grabbed him by his shirt sleeves. “Call 911.”
“What’s wrong?” Joe asked.
Yolanda pointed to Dante’s office.
Sophia had gotten her breath back. She stood leaning on the doorjamb.
Joe peeled away from Yolanda and went to Sophia.
“Are you all right?”
“Not me.”
Sophia pointed to Dante.
Joe stood in the doorway and glanced at Dante.
She saw no surprise, no reaction from Joe. Instead, his calm, green eyes darted around Dante’s office and rested on the desk, the dinner detritus, and the two lattes on his desk.
“Dante’s dead.” Sophia hit Joe with a blast of reality.
Joe immediately took control. “Call 911, Yolanda. Quickly. And then call Chet and Carlisle.”
“I will.”
Yolanda shoved and weaved through the gathering staff to reach her desk and make the calls.
* * *
Joe stepped into Dante’s office, took his cell phone out of his pocket and did a split-second text.
Sophia observed Joe, as she regained her composure. She picked up her memo, her legal pad, and the keys. She saw Joe walking around the office. He had picked up one of the lattes from Dante’s desk.
She hid the now useless summary judgment memo back in the legal pad. She returned the keys to Yolanda’s desk. From the corner of her eye, she saw Joe hurry from Dante’s office to his own, carrying the latte.
Joe returned as Roger and Marvin came running down the hall maneuvering through the now larger crowd of secretaries and attorneys. They went into Dante’s office. Taylor followed. The word had spread fast, or Joe’s text had spread the word fast.
Taylor glanced over at Sophia. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I just . . .”
Taylor didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he followed his three friends into Dante’s office. Sophia followed Taylor and stood at the door. The three huddled and argued amongst themselves in inaudible whispers. Then they went over to Dante.
Marvin gagged as he checked for a pulse on Dante’s layered neck. Joe loosened Dante’s tie and shirt. Roger tilted Dante’s head forward with some effort, looked in his eyes, and then closed them. Taylor pushed the chicken dinner away.
“Get this out of here,” Taylor ordered Marvin.
Still gagging, Marvin picked up a tastefully logoed, double-handled Edinburgh Grill bag from the floor near the desk. He deposited the dinner container, used napkins, and utensils into the smartly designed substantial recyclable bag. He took it and pushed past Sophia and some onlookers at the door, who had gathered despite the heavy, horrible smell.
Taylor then pulled Dante’s suit coat and shirt open. He put his ear to Dante’s chest.
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“Should you guys be in there?” Sophia called. “What are you doing? He’s dead. Rotting dead.”
They ignored her.
“He’s dead,” Joe announced loudly so that everyone could hear.
“Heart attack?” Roger asked, just as loudly in his raspy voice.
Sophia had déjà vu. It was the same raspy voice that announced Frank had jumped in front of the truck. Her heart sank. She was a witness, again.
“A massive coronary,” Marvin agreed officiously.
Taylor turned to Sophia, “There’s nothing we can do.”
“I know, Taylor.” She thought of Detective Rutger’s warnings as she looked at yet another dead Thorne & Chase managing partner. “You guys shouldn’t be in there. We have to call Detective Rutger.”
“What for?” Roger advanced on Sophia and growled in her face. “The fat guy had a heart attack. What are you going to do, start trouble about this, too?”
Taylor came over and pulled Roger’s arm.
“Back off, Roger. You’re making things worse.”
Roger swung around to Taylor with veins popping from his neck and his face red. He shoved a finger into Taylor’s chest and spit in his face through his yellowed teeth.
“Handle her, or I will.”
“No one is handling me,” Sophia retorted, as Roger shoved her aside and left Dante’s office.
“You okay?” Taylor asked. “I’m sorry. Roger is out of control. He’s under too much pressure.”
Sophia saw Joe slip out by Taylor with the other latte.
“Where is Joe going with the latte?”
“What?” Taylor hesitated. “Oh, I don’t, I guess . . .”
Before he could finish his sentence, Chet rushed into the office.
“Get the hell out of there, all of you,” Chet commanded. “What do you think this is, a party?”
Chet turned and saw Dante. He gasped at the sight of the seasoned corpse.
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