by Nick James
“We’ve basically lost the acquisitions team, along with some key paralegals. They’re in the process of setting up…”
“Good riddance, they were a stretch right from the get-go, not the direction we should have gone. That handwriting’s been on the wall for at least the past two years only a matter time I always thought, not that any of our fools took the time to listen to me.”
“I guess they’re setting up their own firm.”
“Well, I dare say the curve just became a good bit steeper with the loss of the Saunders woman, she was mission control for that group and they’ll be hard-pressed to replace her.” That seemed to please him and Denton smiled at the thought of their plans going awry.
“Angie Benedict just tendered her resignation.”
“Benedict? Benedict? The woman who handled all the filing and records?”
“Yes, sir. Apparently she just emailed her resignation, effective immediately.”
“Damn computers, for God’s sake. What were the circumstances?”
“I don’t know, sir and to tell you the truth I’m not sure anyone knows. I think with everything that’s happened recently they simply made the decision to accept her resignation and hire a replacement. My understanding is they already have some interviews set up for tomorrow.”
“Fools, absolute fools. Just a moment,” Denton said and got up from his chair. Bobby watched him walk down the mile-long length of law books sitting on the shelves, past the burgundy Minnesota state statutes and the cream-colored case law books. He stopped near the far end then slowly ran an index finger down one shelf after another until he was almost on his knees. “I was just reading up on some criminal law last night...”
Bobby reached into his pocket, grabbed the two ecstasy tablets then reached over and quickly placed them in two of the compartments of a medication tray.
“Now where in the hell was that?” Denton groaned, reading the spines of the books on the shelf. “Oh Christ, I suppose it doesn’t really matter,” he said groaning to his feet then heading back to his desk.
“The fact of the matter is I’m reduced to twiddling my thumbs until those fools contact me. God knows they won’t be answering my calls.”
“Is there anything I can do to help you, sir?” Bobby asked.
“You? Help me? No, I don’t think so.”
“Mr. Montcreff sends his greetings, and hopes you’ll be back soon.”
“Humpf, Morris Montcreff, more like a bargain with the devil.”
“He seems to be a rather focused individual,” Bobby said.
“Psychotic might be a better term. Look, I appreciate the updates, Custer, but feel free to just send me a letter next time. Now, if you’ll please excuse me I really should get back to my work,” Denton said and flashed a smile for the briefest of seconds before he pulled his law book back in front of him and returned to studying.
“Always a pleasure, Mr. Denton,” Bobby said as he rose to his feet.
Denton didn’t bother to look up.
Chapter Forty
Bobby found Cori Denton in the kitchen. She was in the process of filling her glass with the last of the bottle he’d brought. Her head wove from side to side as she looked at him with bleary eyes and attempted to steady herself. There was a ring of red wine on the counter top under her glass.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked and then took a large sip.
“Not exactly the word I’d use.”
She giggled, “You can say that again. So tell me, what the hell is going to happen, Mr. er, Bobby?”
“With your husband? I’m not sure. Things are in such a terrible state at the firm, we’ve lost some key people and with them key accounts. I suppose you heard about Elizabeth Saunders.”
“Was that the woman hit by a car?”
“Yeah, hit and run, in Paris of all places. God, I mean you just can’t make it up.”
She took another long drink of wine then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “But surely that unfortunate incident has nothing to do with Noah. I can state for a fact he hasn’t been in France for over ten years. And then he was miserable.”
“No one’s suggesting any connection, other than that the timing is, what, unfortunate, I guess. Of course the firm apparently sent her on an all expenses paid trip over there in an effort to diffuse things. We lost a block of attorneys who decided this would be the perfect time to leave and set up their own firm. They took some key support people with them. Just yesterday we received an email announcing the person in charge of our entire filing and records system was leaving, immediately. Like I said, it’s a bit of a rough patch we’re in right now.”
“God, you could use a glass of wine to start,” she said then smirked and half stumbled off her stool. She walked across the kitchen and opened a glass-fronted refrigerator holding a couple dozen bottles of wine and pulled out a dark green bottle. “If you’d do the honors, please,” she said and pushed the bottle over to Bobby then handed him a corkscrew. She drained her glass and held it out for him to refill before he had the cork removed.
“Should you let it breathe?”
“No, I don’t really think that’s going to make one damn bit of difference at this point,” she said and then giggled.
Bobby refilled her glass and she took a long sip. “Oh, where in the hell are my manners? Here,” she said and reached round to a silver tray and handed him a glass.
He filled the glass and took a sip. Cori finished her glass a minute or two later and Bobby poured her another. She took a large gulp, adding a drop or two to those already spotting her blouse. “What’s going to happen to Noah? To us,” she said and made a movement that seemed to indicate the entire kitchen and by extension, the house.
“What’s going to happen? I don’t know. If you’re thinking lawsuit, yes, there’s a pretty good chance that might still happen. What it will mean in terms of culpability or financial ramifications, I don’t honestly know. I think between you and me, it would be almost certain he won’t be going back to the firm. In all honesty I don’t see how he can.”
“That stupid, stupid bastard,” she said and drained her glass.
Bobby refilled it. “He may be able to practice from here, he still has his license, still has his clients.” Then he added, “At least for the time being.”
She shook her head and said, “God, I’d like to kill the bastard. This was supposed to be our golden years and instead he did nothing but work, ignored me and our daughter and now we’re left to clean up the mess. Damn him.”
Bobby had heard enough and had a fairly strong idea things weren’t about to improve. He slid off his stool and picked up his computer bag. “If I can be of any help you just let me know. I’d appreciate it if you maybe kept our little discussion just between the two of us.”
“Humpf, and here I was hoping you were getting up to make a pass at me. Not to worry, who in hell would I tell anyway? Can you see yourself out? I’ve got things to do,” she said and reached for the wine bottle.
“I’ll be in touch Cori, you take care.” Bobby said and walked out of the kitchen. He went through the dining room and then down a wide hallway that led to the entry and the front door. There was a coat closet there, just beneath the staircase.
Bobby perked his ears. Cori, true to her word was still in the kitchen and Denton seemed to be immersed in case law up on the third floor. Bobby opened the closet door and pulled the handful of files he’d stolen from the file room out of his computer bag. He placed them in the far corner of a shelf, then piled some leather gloves on top of the files, closed the door and left.
On the way home Bobby caught the tail end of the news report, a police-involved shooting with a suspected drug dealer. They didn’t give the name of the suspect. Bobby shook his head and thought things could certainly be worse.
He settled into Angie’s corner of the couch and sipped his bourbon. He had a new office, Noah Denton was not about to return, Christine Woodley was in the midst of
a total relapse and Angie had left the firm. Life was good, he thought and toasted himself.
His phone rang just before midnight. He picked it up off the nightstand and glanced at the number displayed as Unknown. He didn’t bother to answer it, turned off the ring tone and went back to sleep.
Chapter Forty-One
The following morning Bobby phoned the file room just after he got his first cup of coffee, Dorsey answered on the second ring.
“Hello.”
“Mike, Bobby Custer, I’d like to pull some Montcreff files. You going to be there for a moment?”
“Yeah, but you better hurry, I’m meeting with the partners in about five minutes and I’m liable to be tied up for a while.”
Bobby hurried down to the file room. A radio was playing in the background as Dorsey assembled two large stacks of files on a four-wheeled cart. What remained of the files stacked on the desk looked untouched from late yesterday afternoon.
“Hey, Bobby, sorry I couldn’t pull the files for you, but I’m dealing with the latest big panic. They found out where Angie landed.”
“Where’s that?”
“Apparently she’s with the acquisition gang. Mr. Hinz had a request from her for their client files waiting in his email this morning. Usual bit of posturing going on, but I’m guessing we’ll have to turn all this over sooner or later. Mr. Allan wants to take a look.” He glanced at the four-wheel cart and rolled his eyes. “God, those guys can come up with more ways to waste time.”
“Let me pull my files and I’ll get out of your hair. How’d the first day on the job go?
“Let’s just say I’ll pay the signing bonus if they get someone hired to deal with this stuff,” he laughed just as Bobby tuned in on the news report coming from the radio.
“…incident in the city yesterday afternoon. The suspect, identified as Bradley Carey, fired at police officers during a drug bust when officers identified themselves. They returned fire, killing Mr. Carey. No further information is available at this time. The officers involved have been placed on administrative leave. In other news the Governor’s office has…”
Bobby stood staring at the floor for a moment, stunned.
“Bobby, you okay, man?”
“What, oh yeah, yeah just remembering something. Hey, let me pull those files and I’ll get out of here.”
“You sure you’re okay, you look like…”
“Yeah, sorry, let me just grab those files, I think they’re in this drawer,” he said and pointed to one of the Montcreff file drawers.
Dorsey grabbed the ring of keys off the desk, flipped through a number of keys then matched the number on the key to the file lock and opened the drawer. Bobby grabbed three or four accordion files in his hands and pulled them out, not bothering to look at the labels.
“Thanks, Mike these will do.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, just remembered something I have to do this morning, thanks. Good luck in the meeting.”
“God, yeah, I better get my ass in gear.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Bobby was in his office sitting at his desk. The Montcreff files were stacked on the edge of his desk, but he had no memory of walking back to his office.
For the umpteenth time he replayed the broadcast in his head. “…incident in the city yesterday afternoon. The suspect, identified as Bradley Carey, fired at police officers during a drug bust…”
Bobby went online and Googled Bradley Carey. There was a brief three-sentence link that looked to be almost verbatim from the news report. He suddenly remembered the late night phone call that woke him last night.
He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, the ringtone was still programmed for silent. Two more calls had come through from Unknown. One just before eight this morning and a second one about thirty minutes ago. Could it have been from the police? Did they have Brad’s phone and were checking his contacts?
Bobby opened his iPhone and pulled the battery and the SIM card out and hurried toward the elevators.
“Will you be back today, Mr. Custer?” Marci called as he stepped onto the elevator, but he didn’t want to take the time to answer.
He walked two blocks over to the Wabasha Bridge, waited for the light to change and then quickly crossed the street and walked to the middle of the bridge. He tried not to look suspicious as he waited for a parking enforcement car to drive past in the far lane. Then he pulled the iPhone, battery and SIM card from his pocket and casually dropped them over the railing as he pretended to take in the view up river.
He hurried back to his office and buried himself in the Montcreff files although he never turned a page over the course of the next two hours. At noon he got into his car and drove out to the Apple store to purchase a new phone. He had to give them his name and then wait for twenty minutes before a service rep could see him.
“I see you already have an account,” the service rep said reading her iPad. Her nametag read Linda and she had pink hair.
“Yeah, I lost my phone or it was stolen, I’m not sure which.”
“So you’ll want the same phone number, and the other thing I would…”
“No, actually I’d like a new number,” Bobby said.
“We can certainly do that, but have you given any thought to your existing contacts who may be trying to reach you?”
“I have, and I’d like a new number,” Bobby said.
Linda nodded and didn’t say much more. Bobby was headed toward his car ten minutes later.
“Oh, Mr. Custer, I didn’t know if you were going to return today,” Marci said as he stepped off the elevator. It was about as strong a chastisement as she’d dare give.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I got a call from my doctor. They wanted to run some follow-up tests on me and I’ve been so busy I completely forgot. I wouldn’t be able to reschedule for another three or four weeks so I had to hurry over there.”
Marci nodded like she was familiar with the problem.
“Say Marci, I’ve had some phone problems, actually I lost my phone, or maybe it was stolen, I’m not sure. Anyway, I have a new phone and a new number,” Bobby said, then gave her the number.
“I’ll update our records,” Marci said then flashed her shark smile.
Bobby retreated to the safety of his office and began reviewing the Montcreff files he’d pulled earlier that morning. His routine in reviewing the Montcreff files had been to start with the most recent and work backwards. The files he pulled after hearing the news report this morning were a good three years further back than where he’d been. He was about to return them to the file room and grab a more relevant batch when he came across a name that rang a distant bell. Robert McNeill.
Bobby had known McNeill only slightly. He’d had him as a professor a thousand years ago in law school, property law actually. Interesting that McNeill been in an LLC with Morris Montcreff of all people. Bobby recognized the property they’d held jointly, although he’d had no idea either Montcreff or McNeill had been involved.
It had been a dilapidated property, a shopping mall built just after the Second World War to service a new baby-boom end of town. By the late sixties the thing was shaky. Twenty years later it was a disaster, and in 2002 the land was sold for millions and a huge condo development now occupied the site.
Interestingly, Robert McNeill was dead by that time. He’d been in excellent health, as a matter of fact, and when he wasn’t teaching a night class he would take a six mile walk in the evening, every evening, twelve months of the year, always the same route. McNeill was killed on one of his nightly walks crossing the street within sight of his house. A hit and run. The driver was never found. McNeill’s wife received a life insurance payment of 1.5 million. His interest in the LLC reverted back to his partner, Morris Montcreff who then sold the site thirty-six months later for tens of millions. Bobby leaned back in his chair and thought about Montcreff’s art museum comment on the phone the other day.
Chapte
r Forty-Three
Bobby sensed a somber note to the office when he arrived the following morning. In part it was the two bouquets of a dozen white lilies positioned next to the sitting area in the front lobby.
A bouquet sat on either end of a table with a framed photo of Elizabeth Saunders positioned between the flowers the photo looked at least ten years old. The upper right corner of the photo had a black velvet ribbon draped across it and a remembrance book lay open with a pen resting on the blank page waiting for the first comment.
Bobby smelled the lilies the moment he stepped off the elevator, glanced at the out-of-date photo and the open book on the table and hurried back to his office. Groups of two and three were gathered throughout the office, everyone whispering, more than a couple of people held a tissue and dabbed at their eyes, and the entire staff seemed to be dressed in black.
He hurriedly retrieved his files from the file room, then closed his office door. A little after ten his phone rang.
“Bobby Custer.”
“Mr. Custer, Marci at the front desk. I have a Mrs. Frances Bannon to see you.”
“Who?”
“Frances Bannon,” Marci repeated. Then lowered her voice and almost whispered, “She doesn’t seem to have an appointment.”
“Dark hair and a little heavy?” Bobby asked.
“Why yes, yes exactly,” Marci said and he envisioned her nodding and smiling as she stared at his ex-wife.
“Please send her back.”
“Very well,” Marci said and hung up.
Bobby opened two more files and spread them across his desk, then rolled up his shirt sleeves as he walked over and opened the door. He stepped into the hall and smiled at Frances as she strutted down the hallway toward his office. She wore a patterned skirt that was unappealingly too tight and an off-white blouse that didn’t quite go with the skirt. Her appearance might have been more memorable forty pounds ago and he remembered the night he’d run into her and her husband Jonathan. “Convicted criminal,” was the line that had gotten both of them laughing. We’ll see he thought.