by Rick Acker
A line appeared between the judge’s eyebrows as Connor spoke. She looked exactly like an exasperated schoolteacher in a black robe. “Yes, but you can’t just leave an empty chair behind you when you go. For example, if I let you withdraw and Mr. Alvarez wants to file a summary judgment motion, who does he give notice to? The rules require him to serve it on Devil to Pay, right? But if you’re gone, who does he notify?”
“He can send notice to the corporation’s agent for service of process.”
“Which is you.”
“Yes, your honor.”
“You don’t find that the tiniest bit odd? You want to withdraw as their lawyer because they’ve caused you to violate ethical rules, but it’s somehow okay for you to stay on as their agent? In fact, speaking of giving notice of motions—wait a second.” She shuffled through the papers in front of her. She held one of them up, though it was too far away for Connor to see what it was. Her face wore an incredulous look. “The rules require you to serve notice of a motion to withdraw on your client, and according to this proof of service you served yourself ?”
A snicker ran through the courtroom and Connor felt himself blushing. His secretary must have used an auto-fill form that plugged in the name of the corporate agent—and he stupidly hadn’t looked at it before it was filed. Rookie mistake. “I’m sorry, your honor. That’s a, uh, a typo. I can assure you that the client was notified that we planned to withdraw. I personally spoke with one of the corporate officers.”
The judge smiled. “That conversation didn’t happen to involve a mirror, did it?”
Louder laughs from the gallery.
Connor started to speak, but Judge Bovarnick held up her hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Norman. I shouldn’t have said that. But I have a low comfort level with what’s happening here. I’m going to adopt my tentative ruling as my order with the following modification: any future motion to withdraw must be served on an officer of the company other than yourself—and I’ll want that spelled out in detail both in the proof of service and in your declaration. I’ll want to know exactly who you talked to, when you talked to them, and what you said. Do you understand?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“Good. Mr. Alvarez, did you have anything you wanted to say?”
Connor looked over at his opponent, who was doing his best not to grin. “No, your honor has said it all.”
47
ALLIE KEPT WAITING TO FEEL BETTER. AFTER CONNOR WALKED OUT THE door, she wanted the echoes of his words to fade so she could get on with her long vacation. But they didn’t. They rang true and loud, repeating themselves in the back of her mind in an endless loop. “You decided to lie to me, to ruin everything we built together, and then to run away and leave me holding the bag. What you really mean is that the right choice was hard, so you want to pretend it didn’t exist. Well, it did and you blew it.”
It was as if an invisible cloud of dirt, decay, and guilt surrounded her, penetrating to her very bones and clinging to her day after day. She called it “the Smell.” The Smell followed her everywhere. It covered her bed like a fetid comforter. It greeted her anew when she stepped out of the shower, wrapping her in its slimy embrace. It corrupted her breakfast and tainted her coffee. It trailed after her as she walked out the door, and it polluted the cool morning breeze coming in from the sea.
And then there were the eyes. She saw them in her dreams and felt them watching her when she woke. Sometimes they were Connor’s eyes, looking down on her with contempt and disgust. Sometimes they were her father’s, their light fading as his blood spilled out onto the cold asphalt. Sometimes she saw Jason Tompkins’s clear blue eyes, staring at her from his yearbook picture.
She did the things that made her happy. She took a shuttle flight to Nassau and spent the day impulse shopping and the night dancing at an exclusive club. She watched an entire season of The Office, one DVD after another. She went diving at the Wall, Treasure Reef, and other spectacular sites off Grand Bahama Island. She ate an entire two-pound box of Godiva chocolate. None of it worked.
The Smell grew stronger and fouler as the days passed. The gaze of the eyes weighed on her like a scarf of lead wrapped around her neck, choking her and pressing her down. She couldn’t escape.
Even the hissing ocean and muttering breeze tortured her, whispering her crimes to each other. Their noise used to lull her to sleep. Now it grated on her nerves, and she had to close her windows at night to create a brittle silence in which she could slip into haunted dreams.
She couldn’t even talk to anyone. The only one who knew what she was going through and why was Connor, and she couldn’t call him, of course. Mom? She knew vaguely that Allie was hiding, but not why. Besides, they’d never had the sort of confessional relationship that some mothers and daughters did. Talking to her would do nothing to lift the black fog that filled Allie’s soul. Trudi or one of her other friends? Right.
She was so alone. So utterly cut off from everyone she knew. So separated from the joys of the world around her. She walked through a sunlit paradise, sealed in her own private bubble of hell.
48
TOM CONCANNON POKED HIS HEAD INTO CONNOR’S OFFICE. “GOT A minute?”
Connor was trying to finish a letter before a meeting with Julian Clayton in twenty minutes, but he wasn’t about to brush off his main defender at the firm. “Sure. I’ve got as many as you want.”
Tom walked in and sat in one of Connor’s guest chairs, resting his right ankle on his left knee. “I hear Judge Bovarnick gave you a hard time.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t much fun. But at the end of the hearing she basically just ordered me to do the proof of service differently if we want to file a new withdrawal motion.”
Tom nodded sympathetically. “She likes to jerk big firm lawyers around. Don’t let it get to you.”
“Thanks.”
“So, how does she want the proof done differently?”
“Well, that’s the awkward part. She wants me to serve an officer of Devil to Pay. She also wants me to file a declaration saying who that is, when I talked to them about withdrawing, and what I said.”
Tom shrugged. “Why is that awkward?”
“Because Allie is the only officer.”
“So?”
“That would mean outing Allie. Her whistleblowing career is probably over already, but if we connect her name to Devil to Pay, she’ll have much bigger problems. There are lots of people who would love to make life hard for whoever is behind Devil to Pay. She’ll have trouble ever getting a job again. She might even be in danger.”
Tom sighed. “Connor, your loyalty to your client is admirable, but it’s not mutual. Remember that. If Allie hadn’t betrayed you, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Besides, didn’t she already go into hiding on some Caribbean island? Let her stay there.”
Connor shifted in his seat and looked at his hands. “I still don’t like it.”
Tom uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Like it or not, we don’t have a choice. We’ve got an ethical duty to withdraw, and we’ve been ordered to put Allie’s name on the proof when we do—so that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
Connor’s phone rang.
Tom glanced at it. “Do you need to get that?”
Connor looked at the caller ID screen. “It’s reception. I think I’ve got someone waiting, but he’s early. I can leave him in the lobby while we finish talking.”
Tom got up. “We’re finished. By the way, I’d like to look over the new withdrawal papers before they’re filed. Could you shoot me a draft by the end of the week?”
So Tom was going to start reviewing his filings. Ouch. “No problem.”
He turned and picked up the phone as Tom walked out. “Hello.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Norman. There’s a Mr. Clayton here to see you.”
“On my way.”
Five minutes later, he and Julian were in one of the firm’s small conference rooms, chatting about football. This was a bus
iness meeting, but Connor found himself reluctant to move past small talk and socializing. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was for simple conversation with a friend he knew he could trust.
At last, Julian said, “We’ve already confirmed that Allie didn’t steal from you or your family. Was there anything else you wanted me to do?”
“There is. I’d like you to look into whether Allie and her boyfriend may have been involved in the death of a kid who overdosed from meth. I’m sorry I can’t give you more details, but—” Julian was nodding and his mouth was drawn tight. “What? You already know something about this?”
Julian sucked in a breath through his nostrils and let it out. “I do, and it’s been bothering me for a while.” He paused and looked at Connor for a long moment. “Can I ask your advice?”
“Sure. As a lawyer or a friend?”
“Both.”
Connor felt queasy about where this was headed. “Okay, go ahead.”
“I’ve always kept my investigations confidential, but I don’t think I can keep sitting on this. When you referred Allie to me, she asked me to investigate the death of a teenage boy named Jason Tompkins. He died of a meth overdose in Salina, Kansas, on May third. Allie’s boyfriend sold him the meth, and Allie was there when the meth sale happened.”
“She told me basically the same thing, but without the details. What happened next?”
“I asked her to go to the police. A young man was dead and her boyfriend was still dealing.”
“How did she respond?”
“She told me to mind my own business, and I told her I was going to give her a chance to do the right thing. The next thing I knew she’d run away to the Bahamas.”
Connor smiled bitterly. The prospect of blowing her cover bothered him less than it had a few minutes ago. “Sounds like our girl. So, is that what you want advice on? Are you thinking of going to the police yourself?”
Julian nodded.
Connor stared out the window. It was hard to believe just how badly he had misread her. A month ago she had been Qui Tam Girl, the undercover fraud-fighting hero—and he had been her partner, Lawyer Boy. His face grew hot, and he clenched his jaws.
He forced himself to focus on Julian’s question. “I don’t know much about the law governing private detectives, but I’d be surprised if there’s anything that forces you to keep your mouth shut if you come across evidence that could lead to the capture of a dangerous criminal.” He paused, unsure of whether to go on. But anger and humiliation won out over caution. “And if you’re uncomfortable telling the police yourself, I’ll do it the second I’m not her lawyer.”
The conference room phone rang before Julian could respond. It was reception again. Connor picked it up. “Hello, Connor Norman.”
“Hi, Connor. There’s a Ms. Allison Whitman here to see you.”
49
ALLIE HAD BEEN IN THE DOYLE & BROWN LOBBY AT LEAST HALF A DOZEN times, but she had never before really looked at the portrait of Hamilton Doyle (whom she assumed was the firm’s founder) that hung on the wall behind the receptionist. It was a serious, almost funereal picture—an unsmiling Doyle stood in front of a dark wood bookcase filled with grim-looking legal tomes. He wore a conservative gray suit and a burgundy tie, and he was looking slightly down, so that Allie had the uncomfortable sense that he was staring at her. The only bright color in the painting was the disconcertingly vibrant blue of Doyle’s eyes, which looked a lot like Jason Tompkins’s.
Allie was nearly as buttoned down as the picture. She wore her most professional outfit (navy suit with a cream blouse), her hair was freshly styled and dyed back to its original brown, and she had applied her makeup with careful minimalism. She needed to convince Connor and Doyle & Brown to take another chance on her. That meant convincing them that she wasn’t—well, that she wasn’t really the selfish, unreliable flake that she’d been acting like. So she did everything she could to look trustworthy and responsible. She would act it too. When Connor walked up, she would rise gracefully, smile, look him in the eye, and say—
“Hello, Allie,” said Connor’s voice behind her.
She stood quickly and turned to him—or tried to anyway. She caught a quick glimpse of his face, unsmiling and cold-eyed. Then her heel caught on the carpet and she fell. Flat on her face. She landed in push-up position as the contents of her purse scattered across the lobby floor. Of course her emergency tampon flew out even though it had been tucked away in a pocket. And of course it now lay exactly in the middle of the floor.
“Are you okay?” Connor asked as he helped her up.
“Yeah, fine.” She lunged for the tampon, jammed it back into her purse and then started collecting the rest of her belongings. Her newly-styled hair now hung in her face. She tucked it behind her ears. “At least I still know how to make an entrance, huh?”
He smiled. “That you do. Sorry I startled you.”
“At least if I’d broken my neck, I wouldn’t have had trouble finding a lawyer.” She forced a laugh and he chuckled politely. “So anyway, I’d like to talk to you.”
“So I gathered. I’m actually in the middle of a meeting, but if you don’t mind waiting for a few minutes, we can talk when I’m done.”
“Sure, no problem.”
As soon as he was gone, she went to the bathroom to do repair work on her face and hair. She noticed that her knee hurt and looked down to see a rug burn framed by two massive runs in her nylons. Oh, great. She did what she could and headed back to the lobby—nearly running into a man as she walked out of the bathroom door.
“Excuse me,” she said automatically. A split second later, she recognized him. “Julian! What a surprise. What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I just finished a meeting about a couple of cases I’m investigating. I need to get back to my office now. See you later.”
He stepped around her and strode quickly toward the elevator bank. As he walked away, she realized that he hadn’t asked her why she was there. He also hadn’t seemed surprised to see her. Her chest tightened as she realized that must mean that Julian and Connor had been meeting just now and they’d been talking about her.
Before she could start wondering about what they’d been saying, Connor materialized out of a side corridor. “Ah, there you are. Come with me.”
She followed him into a small conference room with a round table topped with black granite and a matching credenza. An original oil painting of a French street hung on the wall. Connor already had a notepad and a mug at a spot opposite the door. She’d been in this room several times before and usually sat next to him so they could look at documents or a laptop screen together, but today she chose a chair facing him.
“I’ve got a few things to discuss with you,” he said after they were both seated, “but why don’t you go first since you’ve obviously got something to say to me.”
“Yes, I do.” Allie took a deep breath and began a speech she’d rehearsed at least ten times in the hotel mirror. “First of all, I’m sorry for showing up unannounced like this. I was afraid that you wouldn’t be willing to see me if I tried to make an appointment.” She watched him for a reaction, but he sat watching her impassively, his hands folded on the table in front of him.
“Second, I want to repeat what I said in the Bahamas. I’m very sorry for the mistakes I made and I take full responsibility for them. I screwed up and I admit it. I’ve put you and Doyle & Brown in a very bad position even though I owe you a lot. And I’ve done more than that. I’ve unintentionally helped cover up whatever is going on at Deep Seven. I also haven’t done everything I could to help the Kansas police investigate the death of Jason Tompkins.”
She paused and glanced at him. Still no reaction. He was as expressionless as a pro poker player.
“But I know being sorry isn’t enough. It doesn’t change anything. I’ve got to do what I can to make up for it. I’ve got to at least try to fix things. I’ve got some ideas on how to do that, but I’ll need your help.”
A tiny skeptical line appeared between his eyebrows. “What exactly are you planning on doing?”
Okay, he hadn’t immediately forgiven her and agreed to help, but she hadn’t expected that. She moved to her to-do list, leading with the item that should interest him most. “For starters, I’ll help you sort out whatever trouble I’ve caused for you and the firm. I’ll tell whoever wants to listen that you didn’t know anything about the invoices at Deep Seven. That was all me. I’ll also talk to the Kansas police.”
His cool professional mask cracked and his eyebrows went up. “Good. That’s… that will certainly help. Hold on just a minute and I’ll get a videographer in here so we can get this on tape before you leave.” He turned toward the phone on the credenza.