“Well, Mr. Sanguine,” Ben said, clearing his throat, “as you know, I was asked to help Adams with his attempted adoption of the foundling girl, Emily. In fact, I interviewed him on the day he was killed.”
“Yes. It’s a tragedy. An honest-to-God tragedy.”
Ben continued his story. He told Sanguine about the interview and explained why he thought it was important to find Emily’s parents, if possible.
“I’m convinced that this adoption matter and the murder are connected in some bizarre way,” Ben concluded. “Adams intimated that he might be able to find Emily’s parents. It was very important to him. I don’t think he would have done anything else until he accomplished whatever it was he planned to do. And I don’t think he would have finished that without talking to me.”
Sanguine remained silent throughout Ben’s narrative. Silent face, steady eyes, still water. “The only thing I don’t understand, Ben,” he said, his fingers pressed against one another, “is what I can do.”
“Do you have any idea what Mr. Adams was going to do?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. Let me call someone in.” He pushed a button on his desk telephone. “Darryl, could you step in for a moment?”
A moment later, a middle-sized man, balding, with thinning black hair on either side of his head, stepped obediently into the office. “You wanted to see me, Joe?”
“Yes, I did. Benjamin Kincaid, this is Darryl Tidwell, my personal secretary. Vice versa.” They shook hands. Tidwell wore an apricot shirt with a muted floral tie. Ben judged him to be in his late forties or early fifties.
“Darryl is also my vice president in charge of management and all-around right-hand man. I hate to admit it, but I just don’t have time to pay attention to all the minor details anymore. I have to focus on the big picture, and I’m lucky if I have time to do that. That’s where Darryl comes in: He’s the detail man.”
Sanguine briefed Tidwell on their conversation in short, clipped sentences. “Do you have any idea what Jonathan might have been referring to, Darryl?”
“I can’t imagine,” he answered. He tapped his clipboard against his free hand. “We talked quite often. I knew about his finding that little girl. In fact, when he told me he was worried about the DHS hearing, I came to Joe and asked if we couldn’t get someone in legal working on this.”
“We like to help out our employees whenever we can,” Sanguine interjected. “After all, if you can’t help some people along the way, what’s the point of it all?” He waved his hand across his office, as if offering a definition of it all.
Tidwell continued. “But I never heard anything that indicated that John knew who the kid’s parents were. Quite the opposite, in fact. If he knew something, I think he would have told me.”
Sanguine checked his watch. “I’m sorry to rush this along, Ben, but I have to take White Lightning—that’s my Lear—to Dallas right away. Big powwow at the Southwestern division office.”
“Well, I don’t have much else to ask,” Ben said. “I’m sorry I’ve taken up so much of your time.”
“Not at all.”
Ben rose to his feet. “One other thing, Mr. Sanguine. Do you suppose I could look through Mr. Adams’s office? I know it seems unlikely, but who knows, I might find something that would give us a clue to what happened.”
Sanguine took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Well, I don’t think we can allow that, Ben, as I’m sure you’ll understand. For one thing, the police have already sent a man to search the office, and afterward, he sealed it up. You know, locked the door and stretched that yellow tape across it. I don’t think they want anyone disturbing things in there. Furthermore, his poor widow hasn’t had a chance to go through his effects yet, and I think she ought to have the first go at it, don’t you? Could be belongings of a personal nature there, who knows?”
He walked around the desk and patted Ben on the shoulder. “If we do hear anything or find anything that could be of use to you, though, we’ll let you know, won’t we, Darryl?”
“You bet.”
“Of course we will. Now, I’ve got a jet to catch. Darryl, would you see this conscientious young man out?”
Ben and Tidwell walked down the hallway toward the elevator. “He’ll be back from Dallas tomorrow morning,” Tidwell said. “It’s a much more important meeting than he let on, so if he seems preoccupied …” He let the sentence trail off, then changed the subject. “So, you’re really a lawyer?”
“Yup. Really. Got a diploma and everything.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to suggest … It’s just that you look so young. Hey, here’s a joke for you. What do you need when you’ve got a lawyer up to his neck in sand?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said, suppressing a sigh. “What?”
“More sand!” Tidwell laughed heartily at his own joke. “Pretty good, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, I’ve got more. Why don’t sharks attack lawyers?”
“I give up. Why?”
“Professional courtesy.” He erupted into laughter again.
Ben realized that he didn’t even know what his hourly billing rate was, but whatever it was, he was going to double it for time spent listening to lawyer jokes.
Tidwell wiped his eyes. “Oh, wow. Those are great. Hey, I hope you don’t take it personally.”
“Of course not.”
They reached the elevator. Ben punched the button and, after a moment, stepped inside.
“Let me assure, you, Ben, if I find out anything that might assist you in this adoption matter, I won’t hesitate a second before calling you.”
“I appreciate that, Darryl.”
They shook hands again, and Ben rode the elevator down to the lobby. During the walk through the parking lot, Ben replayed the entire meeting with Sanguine in his mind. Sanguine had by all appearances been forthright, honest, helpful, concerned. He seemed to be a model employer. And yet Ben couldn’t shake the feeling of distrust. There was no good reason for it, but nonetheless, it was there. Something bothered him.
12
BEN INVITED CHRISTINA TO join him for a working lunch at Tulsa’s downtown outdoor mall.
The protocol policy at Raven, she had explained to him, was that fraternization between attorneys and staff members, such as secretaries and legal assistants, was seriously frowned upon. Too much potential for impropriety or the appearance thereof. But if the attorney tucked a manila file under his arm before he left, it became a working lunch and, of course, he or she would be expected to have a secretary or legal assistant along. So Ben grabbed a manila file, and they embarked on a working lunch. Ben’s manila file, however, was empty.
It was a green day for Christina. She was wearing a short green dress and complementary green hose, with a black leather belt wrapped around her waist. Ben thought she looked like Robin Hood.
Ben pointed toward a tall man in a blue floral Hawaiian shirt and white pants. He was probably only a few years older than Ben, but his face was aged and wrinkled from too much exposure to the sun. He was standing with his face upturned toward the sky, a Bible clenched in one hand, the other hand outstretched toward the sun. He seemed to be humming, or perhaps chanting. Then, abruptly, he started bellowing. “What’s your rush?” he shouted in a deep, penetrating baritone. “Why spend your life scurrying from one appointment to the next? Don’t be slaves to time! Don’t be worshipers of the passing of the sun! Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock …”
“Who’s the wacko?” Ben asked.
“Are you serious?” Christina said. “You don’t know?”
Ben shook his head. “I’m familiar with Tulsa’s standard repertory of revival preachers who shout about how AIDS is a plague of the pharaohs and so forth, but I’ve never encountered this particular Looney Tune before.”
Christina smiled enigmatically. “That’s Lance Caldwell.”
“Who’s Lance Caldwell?”
“Don’t you remember? He’s the guy who had your office. The
last associate Raven, Tucker & Tubb assigned to Richard Derek.”
“You’re kidding! This guy is a lawyer?”
“Well, I don’t know if he paid his bar dues this year. But he used to be.”
Ben knocked himself on the side of the head. “I don’t understand.”
“You will, kiddo. Being an associate in a pressure cooker like Raven, Tucker & Tubb is bad enough. Trying to work with Richard Derek is lunacy. He’s broken better men than you.”
“Great. Dandy.”
Ben and Christina ordered burritos from a Mexican food cart, then sat down on a bench next to the fountain farthest from Lance Caldwell. While consuming their burritos, Ben told Christina about his meeting with Sanguine.
“So Sanguine gave you the brush-off?”
“That’s how it seemed to me. His private secretary was practically apologizing for his rudeness. Suggested that I try again when Sanguine wasn’t so busy.”
“Do you think Sanguine is involved in this somehow?” Christina asked. “Seems unlikely.”
“I don’t know if he’s involved or not. But I suspect he knows something he’s not telling. And I’d like another chance to talk to Tidwell. He seemed willing—almost eager—to talk.”
Ben wiped a bit of sauce from his mouth. “And why all the subterfuge about Adams’s office? I called Mike. He told me the police finished searching the office last week, and that they found nothing particularly helpful. So why wouldn’t Sanguine let me look at it? I’m not buying this business about letting the widow have first dibs.”
“The police were looking for clues to a murder. Maybe there’s something that doesn’t relate to murder, but that Sanguine still doesn’t want you to find.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” He pointed across the mall. “How about an ice cream?” he asked. “My treat.”
Christina’s eyelashes fluttered. “Ice cream is my raison d’être.”
They walked across the mall and stood in the short line. “So what’s your game plan, boss?”
“I don’t know. I want to help Mrs. Adams, but I don’t know what I can do. I’m stymied.” He purchased two ice-cream cones, and they returned to their seats by the fountain.
“Sounds to me like you need to take a look inside that office,” Christina mumbled. She was focusing on her rapidly melting dessert, trying to get more of it in her mouth and less of it on her hand.
“You know, it’s possible that Sanguine hasn’t had a chance to look through the place himself. The cops were already there before he found out about the murder. But when he gets back from Dallas tomorrow morning, I bet he remedies that.”
“Then you need to work fast,” Christina said.
Ben’s eyebrows raised. “Oh? And do what?”
“Break in, I suppose.”
“Are you kidding? What if I got caught? I could go to jail! Even if I got off, I’d almost certainly lose my bar license. My career would be over before it started.”
“Well, you know what I always say, Ben. Qué será será.”
Ben glared at her. “It’s out of the question.”
“Okay. Do you have any better ideas?”
Ben was silent for a moment. “No.”
“So the options are, basically, you either try to get into that office, or you just give up, right?”
“We should wait. We might get another lead.”
“Look, Ben,” Christina said. “If you’re right about Sanguine, and you wait until tomorrow, everything worth looking at in that office will be gone.”
Another long pause. “How would we get in?”
Christina shrugged. “Don’t look at me. They didn’t cover breaking and entering in my legal-assistant courses.”
Ben returned his attention to his ice cream. “This has got to violate the Rules of Professional Conduct,” he said, shaking his head.
“The rules say you have an obligation to zealously represent your client to the best of your ability,” Christina countered. “That’s all you’re doing.”
He swallowed the last of his ice cream silently.
“Don’t worry, mon ami,” she said, giving him a mock punch on the arm. “I’ll be with you.”
Ben smiled thinly. “Merci beaucoup.”
Ben had been pacing outside Greg’s office for about five minutes, but it seemed longer. Where the hell was he, anyway? Probably off putting the make on a secretary.
Didn’t he have work to do like everybody else? Ben shoved his hands into his pockets and waited.
After a few more moments, Greg emerged from the men’s room down the hallway. He greeted Ben in the hall and they walked into his office together. Ben shut the door behind them.
“A closed door meeting. Must be important.” Greg situated himself behind his desk and smiled. “What can I do for you, Kincaid?”
“I’ve come to consult.”
“Really? I’m flattered.”
“I have need of your expertise.”
“No kidding?” Greg’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, I see. You want to get laid.”
“No. Well, not at the moment. I’m talking about what you said the other night at the party.”
A puzzled expression crossed Greg’s face. “What I said at the party? You mean about your sweetheart Mona?”
“No.” Ben wiggled his fingers in the air. “ ‘These fingers can open any lock, crack any security system.’ Was that true, or were you just bullshitting?”
“Ben, I’m offended. I never bullshit. I was simply testifying as to wisdom gained from years spent as a social reprobate.”
“Good.” Ben pulled his chair closer to the desk. “We need to talk.”
13
BEN WAS SURPRISED WHEN Emily opened the door. He had assumed Bertha handled matters of hospitality, since Emily could hardly be expected to greet a visitor.
He and Christina stood on the porch staring at Emily. She didn’t seem scared of Ben, but she clearly did not recognize him.
“Hello, Emily,” he said. “I’m Ben Kincaid. Remember? We met at my office the other day. Nice to see you again. Is Mrs. Adams at home?”
Emily smiled, as if relieved that she needn’t confess she couldn’t identify him. She didn’t answer his question. She couldn’t.
Bertha Adams appeared in the doorway. She looked exhausted. “Hello,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I usually answer the door myself, but I was in the back bedroom napping. I’ve been so tired lately.”
“I understand,” Ben hurried to say. “Mrs. Adams, this is Christina McCall. She works with me.”
Bertha eyed the new woman uncertainly, a response Christina had told Ben to anticipate during the drive over. Bertha was of a generation of women that still had not come to expect, or trust, other women in professional positions.
They walked into the living room, furnished with a tasteful but inexpensive collection of unmatched items. The room was tidy but simple. Ben and Christina sat on a thin-cloth sofa upholstered with a familiar green floral pattern; Bertha sat in a fake leather recliner facing opposite. Emily sat at her feet.
“This is a surprise, Mr. Kincaid,” she said in an even tone. “I didn’t expect to see you before the hearing. If I’d known you wanted to speak to me, I’d have come to your office. There was no need for you to come here. I know you must be very busy.”
Poor woman, Ben thought. She’s embarrassed about the shabby state of her home. Maybe I should have telephoned first.
“Call me Ben, please,” he said. It seemed stupid, but he felt they should be on a first-name basis.
“Ben, then,” she murmured.
“I’ll be very brief, ma’am,” Ben continued. “I have a couple of additional questions, and then, well, kind of a strange request.”
He paused, trying to choose the right words. “First, in light of, well, what’s happened …” He immediately regretted starting the sentence he hadn’t the courage to complete. Imbecile. He could see the tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sure the police asked you already, but do you know
of anything that would make someone want—” He stopped.
The woman said nothing. Ben wiped his brow. “Was anything … out of the ordinary happening between your husband and Joseph Sanguine?”
Bertha raised her head a bit but remained silent.
“Mrs. Adams,” Christina said, “we should remind you that Ben is your attorney. Everything you tell us is confidential. Every court in the country will honor that privilege. We only ask for information because we think we can help you.”
Bertha seemed to be searching for an assurance she could not find. Finally, she said, almost in a whisper, “There was something going on, I believe, but I honestly don’t know what. Jonathan never talked about his work. But during his last month or so, he was very excited about something. He started getting phone calls at odd hours and spending lots of late nights at the office. I think it had something to do with Sanguine. We …” She searched for the right words. “We weren’t always pleased with Joseph Sanguine. He made several promises to Jonathan that he didn’t keep.” Her eyes darted down to her lap.
Ben could see there was no point in pushing her for details. She was good for one, maybe two more questions, so he had to choose judiciously. Maybe later, after she’d had more time to heal, he could try again.
“Do you know any reason why Sanguine might not want me to look through your husband’s office?”
Bertha looked up, then quickly away. “No,” she said. “I don’t know what the reason would be.”
But you don’t deny that it’s possible, either, Ben noted. He decided to cut to the quick. “Bertha, Lieutenant Morelli of the homicide department tells me they returned the few personal belongings found on your husband’s body.”
“Yes.”
His eyes connected with hers. “Could I borrow your husband’s keychain?”
Don’t ask, Ben thought. Just don’t ask.
She didn’t. “I’ll get it.”
She walked into one of the inner rooms, then returned holding a chain filled to capacity with keys of various shapes and sizes.
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll return these as soon as I can.”
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