She crossed the last intersection, dodging cabs in the midmorning rush. The note from Gary was wadded in her hand, moist from the day’s humidity and her own sweat. Getting out of the outfit from hell would have to wait. Jackie wanted to check on Marilyn’s progress and see if she could track down the information on the name and number scrawled on the slip of paper.
Yet when she entered her office, Marilyn was missing from her post at the front desk. Surely there wasn’t another IT problem. “Hello?” Jackie called.
“In the multipurpose room, dearest.”
Two card tables pushed together served as a conference room table. Papers covered it like an avalanche. Marilyn beamed, her hands on her hips and her sling-back pumps set precisely on the folding chair against the wall.
“What’s all this?” Jackie craned her neck.
“This”—Marilyn spread her hands out before her—“is Brandon Marshfield.”
Jackie moved around the table to stand next to Marilyn. Dozens of newspaper articles chronicling Marshfield’s life lay in front her.
She picked up the one in the upper left-hand corner of the table. It was a copy of a newspaper microfilm of an obituary from almost twenty years ago. The picture showed a beautiful woman with wavy, shoulder-length hair, a square jaw, and intense eyes.
“That’s his mother,” said Marilyn unnecessarily. It was Brandon Marshfield’s face, without a doubt.
Jackie scanned the article. Brenda Marshfield, beloved wife of Joseph and mother of Brandon, had passed away after a long battle with lung cancer. Hundreds had packed the church to say farewell to Waynesboro’s grand dame of charitable service.
The Marshfields had run a true mom-and-pop dime store. Brenda Marshfield had filled her nonworking hours with selfless devotion to everything from the Boy Scouts to the quilting circle to the blood drives to the animal shelters. She must never have slept.
“Where’s Waynesboro?” Jackie wondered aloud.
“West of Charlottesville, Virginia. Near the Blue Ridge Mountains. Small town.”
“I wonder if their store is still there.”
Marilyn picked up the next piece of paper and held it out for Jackie. It was another obituary. This one was for Joseph Marshfield.
He’d died only eight years after his wife. The obit was oddly short, in contrast to the half-page spread for his wife. Preceded in death by his devoted wife, Joseph Marshfield had left one survivor, his seventeen-year-old son Brandon.
So Brandon was an orphan, not entirely unlike her, except her parents were both alive. Did it hurt more for them to be gone forever or to lurk on the periphery of your life, appearing at random to wreak havoc? How many times before had she wished them both dead?
Between the string of her dad’s broken promises and her mother’s emotional incapacity, Jackie grew up believing she would have been better off as an orphan. Looking at the tear-streaked face of Brandon and his dad in the paper, she wondered whether she would have been. She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard.
“That’s so sad,” said Jackie. “What I don’t understand is why the mom gets the big spread, but the dad’s obit is so short. And what happened to the store? Did you find anything on that?”
“I did.” Marilyn riffled through the papers and pulled out some handwritten notes. “I thought that was funny too, so I called a friend who knows someone out there who called the newspaper editor at the time of the death.”
Jackie screwed up her face. “What? Who?”
“Never mind, dearest. I ended up speaking with the editor from the paper. It turns out that Joseph Marshfield committed suicide. After his wife died and the family store went under to a big-box retailer, he sank into a deep depression. The editor said the Marshfields were like swans, which mate for life. Did you know that when one swan dies, its mate will mourn for years, sometimes dying of a broken heart?”
“Please don’t tell me it was some horrific death, and Brandon found him.”
Marilyn pressed her lips together tightly. “Shotgun.”
Jackie’s stomach churned as the pain from her own dad’s desertions came back to her. How could someone suffer so much pain and yet seem so unscathed by it? Brandon was so normal. With him, the normalcy seemed natural. She had to fight to keep her front up and worried that she’d already let Brandon glimpse the less-than-perfect parts of her. He still seemed to want her, though. The sound of Marilyn clearing her throat brought her back to the task at hand.
“So, what happens next to our guy? He’s orphaned his senior year of high school and goes on to the University of Virginia, where he met Robert Ashe.” Jackie paced in front of the table. “I wonder why Ashe went to UVA and not Penn like his dad?”
Marilyn shuffled through a stack of papers with a yellow sticky note saying UVA. “Political science. Virginia has one of the best poli-sci departments in the country, apparently. Looks like he was bucking his father’s wishes that he follow in the Ashe men’s footsteps and get into finance.”
None of this made sense to Jackie. “But he did get into finance. He graduated from Towson with a finance degree and has worked at Ashe Investments since college.”
“Ashe was one year ahead of Marshfield in college. They were in the same fraternity. Ashe left suddenly in the middle of the second semester his sophomore year.” Marilyn narrowed her eyes like a tiger in a cage that could smell meat outside the bars but couldn’t see it and couldn’t get to it. “I still haven’t figured that one out. I’m working on some contacts in the president’s office, but nothing yet.”
“Jesus, is there anyone you don’t know? You’re like a spider with her web cast all over the United States.”
Marilyn’s impish smile lit up the room. “Honey, when you are as old as me, you accumulate friends. Only problem is that my best contacts have retired and a few even died last year. This could be my last hurrah, so I’m pulling out all the stops.”
Jackie opened the slip of paper from Stone. “So, do you know the area code for Charlottesville off the top of your head?”
“I think it’s four-three-four.”
“Bingo! Can you summarize all of this stuff, pointing out the key things for me? I have a call to make.” Jackie ran into her office and kicked the door shut behind her.
She tried a reverse phone-number search on the Internet first and came up with nothing. Marilyn could probably trace it with her contacts, but Jackie’s eagerness gripped her. She dialed the number. The phone on the other end of the line rang four times before someone answered.
“I’m calling for Bob Shifflett, please.” Jackie asked using her most professional tone. Stone wanted her to contact this man, but why? The receiver slipped in her sweaty hand. What was she going to ask this guy? She didn’t even know who he was, other than he must be connected with Marshfield’s college years.
“Speaking.” The voice was quiet with just a lilt of a Southern accent.
“Mr. Shifflett, I’m calling to obtain some information about Brandon Marshfield.” Having flunked Lying in the Name of the Law 101, Jackie opted for a fast pitch down the middle.
There was a long pause on the line. “Who’s calling?”
“My name is Jackie North. I’m a lawyer in Baltimore.”
“Who gave you my number?” The man was calm. His voice was inquisitive but not annoyed.
Jackie paused. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that. My source is confidential.” The phone line buzzed softly. “Mr. Shifflett? Are you still there?”
“I’m here, ma’am.”
Jackie took a deep breath. Bob Shifflett, whoever he was, was a man of few words. Usually, witnesses eventually started talking to fill a void of silence. This guy was smarter than that. Chances were, he’d used the technique himself. That meant he was probably a cop, lawyer, or human-resources executive. On the positive side, he hadn’t hung up on her.
“Look, Mr. Shifflett, I’ll be honest with you. An anonymous source gave me your name and number in connection with a case I’m
handling.”
“What kind of case? Civil or criminal?” Good, his interest was piqued. Scratch HR. Her money would be on cop, but lawyer wasn’t out of the picture.
“Obviously, for client confidentiality reasons, I cannot disclose details.” Jackie hedged to see how much he might know about what she could or could not say.
“Are you under seal? What’s public record?”
She was opening him up. “Civil.”
“Marshfield a defendant?” There was a little hiccup of laughter in his voice.
“A witness. An expert.”
This time he didn’t try to hide his laughter. “An expert of what?”
“Finance. Mr. Shifflett, obviously you know who Brandon Marshfield is. I assume you’ve crossed paths with him while he was a student at the University of Virginia. Can you please provide me with any information as to when and why your paths have crossed?”
Another long pause ensued. Jackie crossed her fingers.
“Ma’am, I’m just a retired cop trying to catch a fish when I’m lucky and spend a little time with the grandkids. Marshfield was a long time ago. And it didn’t have a thing to do with finance, so I think you’re safe there.”
“Mr. Shifflett, let’s cut through the bullshit. It’s public record that I represent a group of investors suing Ashe Investment Company alleging fraud. Mr. Marshfield is Ashe’s expert. I’ve gotten a tip to contact you about Marshfield. Criminal matters are also public record, so I can find out what I need about the case from a long time ago if I need to. I can subpoena you if I find any information that could be relevant. Can we not make this harder than it needs to be?”
“Did you say Ashe, as in Robert Ashe?”
“Yes. The company owned by Robert Ashe and operated by his son, Robert Ashe, Jr., is the defendant.” Jackie scooted to the edge of her chair. “Why?”
“Because that kid is a snake, that’s why.”
“Now we’re talking the same language.” Jackie leaned back in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair.
“Not so fast. I’m not sure I’m interested in dredging up the past. I’ll need to think about your request and call you back.”
Jackie provided Shifflett with her contact information. Any time he wanted to talk, he could call.
“Mr. Shifflett, if I could ask just one more question. What crime are we talking about?”
“Aggravated assault and manslaughter. At least those were the charges. And let me tell you, that’s being charitable.”
Chapter Eleven
Unable to bear the constricting pants any longer and pondering the feasibility of burning the offending turquoise panties, Jackie went home to change. With no other court appearances or client meetings on her calendar for the rest of the day, she didn’t have to face the war zone formerly known as her closet to pick out another outfit. The dry cleaning could wait until the morning. She changed into bike shorts and a T-shirt. A long, meditative ride after work would cleanse her mind.
After the quick peddle to the office, she ran into the Fenton & Stone’s courier coming out her building’s front door. Jackie jumped off her bike and waved the man over. “Dan, what are you doing here?”
“Delivering your document request. I went over it with Marilyn. Good luck.” His smile was warm but faded fast as he moved by her and into the double-parked van. Fenton & Stone worked those poor messengers to death. They were always in a hurry.
Jackie entered the building, wheeled her bike to the elevator, and pressed the Up button while she said a silent prayer that it would be working today. The door rolled open slowly. Jackie exhaled. “Thank you, God.”
Jackie leaned her bike up against the wall in her office’s reception area. Before she could call for Marilyn, the motherly voice rang out. “In here, dearest. I hope you’re wearing something comfortable.”
With a groan, Jackie walked into the conference room. A mountain of boxes towered behind Marilyn. Jackie slid her messenger bag from her shoulder and let it drop to the floor with a soft thud. “Holy shit! Did he send anything electronically?”
Marilyn handed her a padded manila envelope. “The index. Gary’s outdone himself in dirty tricks this time.”
Jackie’s stomach seized. How would she get through these documents? She had no money left to hire a temp to assist her. The budget for part-time help had been spent over six months ago when she received all of the other documents relevant in the case.
She’d underestimated the defense Ashe would put up. Gary Stone played hardball. She knew that after working with him for seven years. This case was different. The avalanche of pointless motions Stone filed burned through her life’s savings at a rate she never could have predicted.
She was broke—as broke as when her dad left them when she was thirteen. For years she’d used that anger at him to fuel her drive to be a successful attorney. A financially successful attorney. All had gone as planned until she’d gotten righteous and quit Fenton & Stone because she wanted to make a difference. And get as far away from Gary Stone as possible.
She had made a difference. Hadn’t she? She’d given her clients hope. She wouldn’t let them down now. And when she won their life savings back, she’d take home a cool couple of million in her fees, more than enough to replenish her savings, set up a safety net, and establish her as one of Baltimore’s preeminent litigators.
If only the other expert was still around and not lying unconscious in an ICU.
Instead of that pushover, she faced Brandon. Of course, she loved the challenge. It was exhilarating to face a witness as competent as her, but at this point in the game, she’d take a cupcake on the stand.
Something inside her compelled her to know Brandon, but she wanted to do it off the witness stand. Maybe she should act on the bluff she pulled with Gary and file a motion to disqualify Brandon as a witness. She’d racked her brain over the last few days about what exactly her duty to the court was in this situation. It wasn’t uncommon for an opposing expert to know an attorney.
The only time she’d moved to disqualify a witness was when he had worked for her on a case only to resign and testify for the opposing side. That was a conflict because that expert knew trial strategy and details of her case. Brandon knew neither.
Actually, Gary should have him fired. Yet when she’d mentioned the possible conflict to Gary, he’d freaked. What would happen to Gary or Brandon if she filed a motion now? And what the hell was Brandon doing at the US Attorney’s building? She’d completely forgotten about that detail.
Her nervous habit of chewing on her lower lip got out of hand, and the metallic tang of blood slid over her tongue.
Marilyn clucked at her. “Stop fretting.”
“I’m not fretting. I’m thinking.” Nothing would be solved before the court closed for the day, and she needed to get through these documents. Jackie filed away a mental note to call her friend at the Maryland Bar’s ethics committee tomorrow.
“All right, then. Let’s hook up my laptop in here and get a look at the index or whatever this disk has on it. That might give me some clues as to where to look first. I’ll send a text to Marshfield and tell him to come over. Gary agreed to it. It’s going to be another long day, and night, I’m afraid. If you need to go home and change, that’s fine with me.”
Marilyn’s brow knitted. “Into what, dear?”
“Jeans or something more comfortable.” Was it possible that Marilyn wore pantyhose and knit ensembles on the weekends?
“Oh, this will be fine, I’m sure. I’ll get some food ordered in for dinner, though.”
Could she afford another night of takeout?
Marilyn gave Jackie a comforting pat on her forearm. “Don’t worry; Paulie down at the deli owes me.”
After sending Brandon a text, Jackie took the CD out of its envelope and popped it into her computer. It contained one file, an index in the form of a spreadsheet listing documents produced. Jackie sorted the list by name, author, date, and page length, hopin
g to find some clue as to where to start.
Nothing jumped from the screen. No familiar or strange names. No incriminating document names. Nothing. She wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t like there would be a listing for “Letter from mystery man Marshfield to slime ball Ashe regarding cover-up of Ponzi scheme.”
Jackie squeezed her eyes tight and pinched the bridge of her nose. She blinked to refocus on the computer screen. The index listed the Boyers Report that Brandon relied upon in his deposition. It was in box four of forty-seven.
She located the box and heaved it onto the table. She riffled quickly through the papers until she got to a spiral-bound document, the Boyers Report.
Jackie flipped through the pages. “Marilyn? Could you come in here, please?”
“Yes,” her life-saving assistant responded immediately from behind her.
Jackie jerked in her chair. “Jesus, how do you do that?”
Marilyn stood by her shoulder, having entered on cat’s paws, and gave her a motherly smile.
“Never mind. Can you scan this in right away for me so I can use an electronic search function?”
“In a jiff. Shall I start looking through some of this?”
“Maybe later. If you can finish your background work on Marshfield first, that would be best. Focus on the Charlottesville years. Something’s fishy about Brandon’s college days with Ashe.”
Within minutes Marilyn returned with the report. Thankfully Jackie had invested in a high-speed scanner when she opened her office. How much had that cost again?
Jackie moved into her office, where her supersize computer screen was easier on her eyes. She jotted down a list of potential key search terms. Twenty words or phrases neatly marched down the edge of the yellow legal pad.
The document was exactly where Marilyn said it would be and loaded quickly. With a quick tap on the keys, the search feature popped up on the screen. Her fingers flew over the keyboard to enter in “front-running.”
She wondered if Ashe was up to that. Sometimes a shady broker bought stocks for his personal account knowing that once he placed his customers’ orders, the value would increase. Twenty matches. It took only a handful of strikes on the Tab key to move through the search. Each reference was completely innocuous. No dirt there.
Objection Overruled Page 10