Final Exam: A Legal Thriller

by Terry Huebner

  For the next half hour or so, they talked about their families, the holidays and even a little current events and whatever tension hung over the table melted away. Meg seemed pretty quiet during this time, apparently content to listen to her three friends tell stories of their lives. Finally, during a lull in the conversation, she turned back to Ben and said, “You said before that you are doing more criminal work now. How’s that going?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Ben said shaking his head. “Pretty well, I guess. We seem to be doing a little bit more of it and even bigger cases too. It’s always different being a defense attorney rather than a prosecutor, but really, being in a criminal courtroom is a lot like it always was. If you’ve never done it, it’s kind of hard to explain. There’s a different feeling in the air, a different tension and, obviously, a different clientele than you usually see in a civil courtroom. I kind of like it actually.”

  A little while later, everyone was ready to hit the road and go home. They grabbed their coats from the coat check room and gathered outside the front door on the sidewalk. Ben pulled his overcoat closed at the neck and looked up at the sky. It had cleared, but the temperature was dropping steadily. They stood there shivering. Ben looked at his watch - ten forty-five. “Shit,” he said to himself. He hadn’t planned on being out nearly this late. “I’ve got to get going.”

  “Well, Fran,” Meg said, “we should get going too. It is kind of late.”

  Bowden and Ben waited for the women to reach their car and then turned toward the parking lot. They reached Bowden’s car first. “Say,” Bowden said, “Meg sure wasn’t in any kind of a mood to talk about the asshole, was she?”

  “No, she sure wasn’t,” Ben agreed. “But then, she never really is, now is she?”

  “No, she’s not, but it seems to me she was even stranger than usual about it tonight. Or maybe it’s just that she seemed quieter in general,” Bowden said.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Ben said. “Fortunately, with Fran at the table, you don’t need much help keeping the conversation going.”

  Bowden laughed. “Well, gotta go. See you next time,” he said.

  “Yeah, you too,” Ben said.

  Ten minutes later, Ben accelerated down the ramp onto the Eisenhower Expressway heading west, waiting for the heat to kick in. He turned on his book on tape, but clicked it off again after about two minutes. He just wasn’t in the mood. He tried sports radio, nothing good there, and cruised the radio stations looking for a good song. Nothing doing there either. So he spent the rest of the ride home in silence thinking about the evening and wondering what was really going on with his three friends. It was always good to see everybody, he thought as traffic slowed around Austin as it always did. Pretty soon it picked up again and at the split, he veered toward the entrance ramp to southbound 294 going eighty. Before he knew it, he pulled into his driveway on Walker Avenue in Clarendon Hills just as he realized the car was finally warm.

  He pulled the car into the garage, walked across the driveway, up the steps to the deck and unlocked the door to the kitchen. He found his wife, Libby, asleep under a blanket on the couch in front of the TV.

  “Hey Lib,” he whispered, kissing her on the head, “wake up, I’m home.”

  Startled, she jumped slightly and opened her eyes with a confused look on her face. A few seconds later, she regained her senses and slowly sat up rubbing her eyes. “I must have fallen asleep,” she mumbled. She looked up at him. “Did you have a little garlic with dinner?”

  “Just a little,” he answered.

  “A little or not, you stink,” she replied with a mock frown. “Make sure you take a shower before you crawl into my bed tonight.”

  “Oh, it’s your bed tonight, is it?” he said leaning over the couch and putting his arms around her while nibbling on one ear.

  “It’s my bed every night,” she said. “You’re just a guest. And sometimes an unwelcome one when you smell like that,” she said wriggling herself free from his grasp.

  “Just as long as I’m the only guest.”

  “How was everybody?” she asked.

  “Pretty good, I guess. Meg seemed a little weird though.”

  “Well,” Libby said clicking off the TV and standing up to stretch her back, “you’re the lawyer. I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it. While you do that, I’m going to bed. You coming?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  She walked around him and back through the kitchen toward the front stairs as he admired her from behind. Looking over her shoulder with a smile she said, “Don’t forget about that shower. And brush your teeth while you’re at it.”

  He laughed. “I wasn’t counting on getting anything anyway.”

  She kept walking. Without looking back she added, “Maybe not, but you know you’ll have no chance unless you do what you’re told.”

  5

  Ben pulled into the parking lot of the office after completing the long drive back from the Lake County Courthouse up near the Wisconsin border. Once inside, he stopped in the kitchen to see who was around. There he found Brian Davenport, one of the other associates in the office, glancing at the Chicago Sun-Times. “Hey, what’s up?” Ben said as he walked in and grabbed the sports section of the Chicago Tribune.

  Brian looked up. “Court today?”

  “Yeah, Waukegan.”

  “Ha,” Brian laughed, “lucky you.”

  Ben liked Brian. On his surface, he seemed to be a smart guy, quiet and unassuming. He had the reputation in the office as a guy who always flew under the radar. He never seemed to get noticed much except in a positive way and rarely did anything that appeared to make him stand out. Everyone respected him as a good lawyer, but not everybody realized that he possessed a wicked sense of humor. He could be cutting and humorously opinionated when he wanted to be. With short, brown hair, an Irish complexion and a stoic public persona, he sort of reminded Ben of an airline pilot.

  “Say,” Brian said pointing to an article in the paper, “did you hear about Greenfield?”

  “Greenfield? Do you mean Professor Greenfield at school?”

  “Yeah, the one and only.”

  Both Ben and Brian attended the Chicago College of Law, Ben graduating in 1992 and Brian not until 1996. “No, what about him? What did he do?”

  “He died, that’s what he did.”

  Ben looked up from the paper. “Died? What do you mean died?”

  “Died. You know, died as in dead. Look here at the article. See for yourself.” There was a small article in a box on page 10 of the Sun-Times. The small headline read, “Law Professor Found Dead.” Ben leaned over Brian’s shoulder and read the article aloud.

  Police sources confirmed late Wednesday night that the body of a local law professor, Daniel Greenfield, age 54, was found in his office at the law school on Wednesday morning by one of his colleagues. Neither the cause nor the date of his death were immediately available. Greenfield had been a professor at the Chicago College of Law since 1978. He specialized in criminal law and criminal procedure. A spokesman for the Cook County Medical Examiner’s Office indicated that further information would be available upon completion of the autopsy.

  Ben looked up at Brian. “Holy shit. That’s awfully weird, don’t you think?”

  “Yes I do,” Brian replied. “I wonder how he died. You think maybe he had a female student up on the desk and had a grabber?”

  “Who knows?” Ben said with a shrug, “but jeez, he wasn’t that old, 54. That’s kind of young to have a grabber, don’t you think? I mean, it’s not like he was a big, fat slob or anything.”

  Brian nodded. “You had him for a teacher, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Ben answered. “Both Criminal Law and Criminal Procedure. I had him for both. Except for my grades, I thought he was pretty good. His classes were fairly interesting, and he wasn’t, you know, a big asshole or anything.”

  “No, I kind of liked him too, actually.”

  Ben
put the paper down. “You know, it’s kind of funny really. Here we are making comments about him and female students. And, of course, that was his reputation while I was in school and, I guess, while you were in school, but to tell you the truth, I don’t think I ever knew of anybody that he actually had sex with, or hit on, or anything.”

  “Maybe not,” Brian replied, “but there was a story going around that he and Dorlund both had been called on the carpet by the administration over these kinds of allegations. I don’t remember the details, but the story was that they got into quite a bit of hot water over stuff like that.”

  Ben looked surprised. “I hadn’t heard that. Both of those guys have been there forever. I’m surprised the school would really do much of anything to them. But then, I don’t hear much of what’s going on there anymore, so how would I know?”

  “Me neither, but the story is the law school came down on them pretty hard. In fact, I think Greenfield even stopped having those lunches with students that you had to have every semester if you wanted to get a decent grade.”

  “Hmmm,” Ben said scratching his head, “I wonder how they got caught. I wonder if they hit on some student who didn’t like it or whether they made a successful pass, but the girl didn’t get the grade she was hoping for.” He paused. “I really wonder how he died.” Ben grabbed the Tribune sports section again, took a brief look at it, then tossed it back on the table. “What are we doing for lunch today? I’m getting hungry.”

  Brian shook his head. “Don’t know. Never know ‘til we get there.”

  6

  Ben didn’t have Court on Monday morning, so he dropped the kids off at school and finally pulled into the parking lot of the office at about nine-fifteen. His secretary, Nancy, heard him reach the top of the stairs on the way to his office. “Ben, is that you?” she called from her office across the way.

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “I just got a call for you from your friend, Megan. She seemed kind of upset. She said she’d call back.”

  Ben reached the door to her office as she finished, and she turned and handed him a note with Megan’s name and phone number on it. “Any idea what that’s about?” she asked with a mock suspicious raise of her eyebrow.

  Ben took the note and shrugged. “Not a clue.” He turned and headed for his office while repeating, “Not a clue.” Ben called her back and found out.

  “Megan, my dear, what could possibly be troubling you this fine morning?” he asked when she picked up.

  “What’s troubling me? What’s troubling me is the police. That’s who.” Ben sat up. “They’ve been asking me all sorts of questions about Greenfield’s death.” She spoke frantically. The words seemed to gush out of her like a water balloon with a hole in it. “They came here unannounced. They called me up on the telephone. They have all sorts of questions. They must think I know something.”

  Ben was confused. “Hold on, hold on, just hold on a second, will you please?” he said trying to slow her down. “Now, I don’t know what in the world you’re talking about. So why don’t you take a deep breath, maybe two deep breaths, and start from the beginning.” He could feel her exasperation even over the phone.

  She sighed and said, “Okay, okay. I’ll try to explain it to you. It started when they called me on the telephone.”

  “Okay,” Ben said, “just relax a second. Start from the beginning like I said, but I need to know when, and how, and where these things took place, so don’t leave anything out.”

  “Okay, okay. It started on Friday. I was at work, you know, then I went to lunch about eleven-thirty. These two detectives stopped by at work while I was out to lunch. Can you believe it? They came looking for me.”

  “I’m assuming they did that, Megan, because that’s where they expected to find you. But wait a second. We don’t even know how Greenfield died yet. At least I don’t. It wasn’t in the paper. Did they tell you anything?”

  “Well, no, they didn’t, but they came and asked for me in front of all the people I work with. Do you know how that looks?”

  “Not yet. Go on,” Ben said. His spider sense was tingling. He didn’t like where this was heading.

  “Well, like I said, I wasn’t there, but they called back at about three. They asked me if I knew Professor Greenfield and if I knew that he was dead.”

  “When you say ‘they,’ who do you mean? Who asked you about Greenfield?”

  “It was a detective with the Chicago Police, a Detective Nelson.”

  “Scott Nelson?” Ben asked.

  “Yes, I think so. Why? Do you know him?”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Ben rubbed his forehead. This wasn’t going to get any better. Nelson was a homicide detective. Greenfield must have been murdered, or at least may have been murdered. The heart attack theory looked unlikely now. “I had a couple of cases with Scott Nelson when I was a prosecutor. So yeah, if it’s the same guy, I do know him. He’s okay. What else did he say?”

  “Well, he acted like he was trying to be nice and reasonable, but I didn’t like it at all. He started by asking if I knew Professor Greenfield. Of course, I said that I did. I had him as a professor in law school years ago. Then he asked me if I knew that he was dead and, of course, I knew that too. You know, Fran called me two seconds after she found out. Also, it was on TV and it was in the newspaper, so how could I not know?”

  “I’m sure,” Ben said, “that he wasn’t expecting that you wouldn’t know, nor do I think he probably read anything into the fact that you did know. Anyway, go on.”

  “Well, he asked me a few more questions about how I knew him, about Professor Greenfield in class, things like that. Then he tells me that my name is on some notes in Greenfield’s office where they found the body.”

  “Did he tell you anything about how Greenfield was killed, I mean, died?”

  “No, not at that point. Wait, you said killed. Do you think someone killed him?”

  “No, not necessarily. It could be a lot of things.” Ben didn’t really believe that, but could feel her freaking out on the phone. “What else did he say?”

  “Well, we talked for a few more minutes and then he asked me if he could stop by at some point to ask me some more questions. What am I supposed to say? He’s a police detective. I can’t just tell him no.”

  “No, probably not,” Ben agreed.

  “So, of course,” she continued, “I’m a nervous wreck about this all weekend, then yesterday afternoon, he just shows up here unannounced. Just knocks on my door.”

  “Here? Where’s here? Are you at home?”

  “Yes, I’m here at the condo.”

  “Didn’t you work today?”

  “Yes, but then I came home. I’m too upset. So, like I was saying, they just showed up here yesterday afternoon about three. Thank God A.J. was gone. He was at his father’s. They just knocked right on the door. I suppose since they’re the police, the people downstairs just let them in. So much for security.”

  Ben shook his head. Normally you wouldn’t need security from the police, he thought, but said nothing. “Go on,” he finally said.

  “Well, I opened the door and there they stood, the two of them. That Detective Nelson that you must know and a tall, black man named Cole, another detective. They just stood there right in front of my door. What was I going to do?”

  “Let them in?”

  “Well, yes, of course I let them in.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Well, they had more questions. You know, more of the same. All these questions about Greenfield, how I knew him, when did I know him, when did I see him last, stuff like that.”

  Ben was puzzled. “Why would they ask you things like that? I’m assuming you haven’t seen him in years. I’m not sure I’ve seen him since graduation.”

  “Exactly,” she responded, “I told them I couldn’t remember when I saw him last.”

  “He said they found your name in his office. What was that all about?”

 
“I don’t know. They wouldn’t really say. I got the impression that I may have been on the reunion list.”

  “Reunion, what reunion?”

  “You know, since this is now 2002 and we graduated in 1992, they’re planning reunions for the summer. I got dragged in to be on this Reunion Committee. I’ve been getting stuff from the administration about class lists and, you know, we’re in the beginning stages of planning for this reunion. Apparently, from what I could gather, Greenfield had stuff about the reunion in his office with notations with my name on it.”

  “That doesn’t sound terribly unusual. I’m sure they’re just following up on loose ends they may have, just trying to gather information, things like that.”

  “No, no. It was much more than that. They started asking me about, like where I was on New Year’s Eve, where I was the Friday before New Year’s. What did I do on New Year’s Eve. Where did I go. Who was I with. Things like that.”

  “Is that when he died? New Year’s Eve?”

  “I don’t know. No, well, I don’t know. I don’t think so. I got the impression they think he died on like Friday or Saturday, but the body wasn’t found until, I don’t know, the 2nd or 3rd, or something.”

  “It must have been the 2nd,” Ben said, remembering the newspaper.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m just so upset about this. I’ve never been questioned by the police before. This is unbelievable.”

  “Look, Meg, just relax. I’m sure they weren’t trying to upset you or anything like that. They were just trying to gather information. I’m sure it was nothing more than that.” Ben tried to get the focus off of Meg. He needed to talk her off the ledge. “So they didn’t tell you how he died?”

  “No, in fact, I asked, but they didn’t answer. They kind of changed the subject.”