Ben sat back down.
“Totally stupid. Trivial. Back at the Beta house, when I was an undergrad.”
“That was in California?”
Greg looked up at him. “Right. It was just a party raid, you know? I mean, we were a fraternity house, for Christ’s sake. It was required, practically.” He pressed his fingers against his temples. “It was harmless. A minor invasion of privacy, a few dirty jokes, a little mooning, a few photographs. But some uptight bitch in the sorority house called the police—and we got brought up on charges.”
“Indecent exposure?”
“Yeah. And breaking and entering—and sexual indecency, too. And just because I was a frat officer, I was named as one of the three instigators. It was awful. We had lawyers, parents, newspeople—everybody screaming their heads off about nothing! We plea-bargained down to a misdemeanor indecent-exposure charge. No jail time. But I had a record. And you know what that meant.”
Ben reflected for a moment. “It meant the state bar examiners wouldn’t let you sit for the bar exam. Not with a police record for sexual immorality, however minor. Probably couldn’t get into law school. And even if you did find some sleazebag school that would accept you, you’d never get hired. Especially not at the kind of firms you were interested in.”
“Precisely,” Greg said bitterly. “All I ever wanted in my entire life was to be a lawyer. That was all! And after years of planning and preparation, it all went up in smoke. Over nothing.”
“But how does Adams fit into this? I remember that he mentioned he was assigned to the California office for several years.”
Greg nodded. “Adams sat on an appellate academic review panel, part of an effort to involve members of the business community in campus affairs, no doubt with the ulterior hope of securing generous corporate grants. His panel approved the Panhellenic Committee’s decision sanction the Beta house and suspend me and the officers for a semester.”
Ben looked amazed. “You mean, all this was just to get revenge for being suspended?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Greg said. “I got over that a long time ago. I moved to another state. Changed the spelling of my last name. Started going by Greg instead of John. Finished undergrad school in New Mexico, got into law school in Texas. After law school, I moved again, to Oklahoma, and started working here. In October, I’m taking the bar exam. I paid some bum twenty bucks to put his fingerprints on my application. No questions, no problems. Nobody here knew who I was.”
“Until you bumped into Adams.”
“Until Adams. All those years of moving, lying, and law school flushed down the toilet because one stupid old man turned up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“And so you killed him.”
Greg leaned back in his chair. “Sorry, Ben. End of conversation.”
“You tried to get Adams to stay quiet, didn’t you?” Ben continued. “That’s why you arranged the meeting at the Red Parrot. And he was just the kind of old-fashioned, noble sort who might refuse to be bought off. So you killed him.”
Greg held his tongue.
“I think you wore your white camel’s hair coat. The same one you wore earlier that day to the office. That’s why Crazy Jane, the street lady, in her religious, alcoholic stupor, thought she saw a huge white dove. And after you killed him, you continued to mutilate the body, to make it look like the work of some drug-crazed north-sider. That’s why you wore a different coat to Derek’s party. After you stabbed Adams several dozen times, I bet that white coat was thoroughly disgusting.” He paused. “And when Tidwell killed Brancusci, he copied your M.O. to confuse the police.”
Greg stroked the side of his chin. “You have no proof of any of that.”
“Yes I do. Right here in the palm of my hand.” Ben held up the hair he had taken from Greg’s shoulder. “This hair is going to match the dark hairs found on Adams’s body.”
“That’s not conclusive,” Greg said unevenly.
“We’ll see.”
Greg picked up the phone. “I’m calling a lawyer.”
“Excellent idea. Let me give you some advice, though. Don’t hire anyone at this firm.” He paused at the door. “Just answer one more question, When you set up the meeting with Adams, did you use my name? Or pretend to be me?” He took a step toward Greg. “When Adams went out to be slaughtered, did he believe he was meeting me?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“No,” Ben said. “I guess not.”
There were eight men sitting in the conference room. At the head of the long table sat Derek, obviously positioned to preside. A short stack of typed papers lay on the table in front of him. At Derek’s right hand sat Arthur Raven, sound asleep as far as Ben could tell. The other six members of the Executive Committee sat next to Derek and Raven, three on each side of the table. They did not look at Ben when he entered the room.
Derek pointed toward the chair at the opposite end of the conference table. Ben sat down.
Derek cleared his throat. “Doubtless you know why you’re here, Kincaid, so I won’t drag this out. The Executive Committee met yesterday afternoon and decided to terminate your employment.”
Ben’s eyes focused on a point someplace in the middle of the table. “May I ask why?”
“Don’t make this more difficult than it already is. I think you know the reasons.”
“I’d like to hear them from you.”
Derek rested his palms on the table. “Fine. Have it your way. One: you have repeatedly disregarded the directives of your supervising attorney—namely, me.”
“Always with a reason.”
“Not relevant. Two: although I have assigned several cases to you in the past few weeks, some with pressing deadlines, you have ignored most of them and focused on one case—and even there your efforts could hardly be termed legal work. Certainly nothing that can be billed. You are guilty of neglect in the worst way, and that is one of the most grievous violations of the Rules of Professional Conduct.
“Because of your relative youth and inexperience, we have decided not to file a complaint with the bar committee. Nonetheless, Raven, Tucker & Tubb has a global reputation, and we can’t allow someone like that to work for us.”
Ben tried to contain himself. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes. Three: you violated your duty of loyalty to your clients, Joseph Sanguine and Sanguine Enterprises. Rather than acting as a zealous advocate, you actually worked against their interests. That is also a grievous violation of the Rules of Professional Conduct.”
Ben locked eyes with Derek. “You lost the client, didn’t you?”
“Damn right we did,” Derek said, departing from his prepared text. “A long-standing working relationship. Sanguine Enterprises represented approximately twenty-three percent of total Raven billings in the last fiscal year. And you lost it. Care to guess how many millions in lost revenues that amounts to? Do you have any idea how you’ve crippled this firm? In addition to attorneys, we have over three hundred staff persons who depend on the revenues of this firm for their livelihood. I don’t know what we’ll do to compensate for this shortfall. No raises, that’s clear. I just hope we don’t have to fire anyone.” He glared at Ben. “How do you plan to explain this to the staff, Mr. Kincaid?”
“I’ll say I did what I thought was right in the best way I knew.”
Derek slammed his opened palm against the table. Raven’s eyes fluttered a bit at the sound of the impact, then returned to their position of rest.
“Joseph Sanguine tells me he saw you running away from the scene of the break-in at his office with an unidentified female.”
“Joseph Sanguine knew I was wise to his embezzling scheme,” Ben countered. “That’s why he tried to buy me off.”
Derek became even more agitated. “Joseph Sanguine contends that you forced your way into his office with your cop friend and accused him of murder.”
Ben didn’t say anything.
“And you were
wrong, Mr. Kincaid. Tragically wrong.”
Ben stiffened a bit. “That’s true,” he said quietly. “I was wrong.”
“And what is most incredible is that you did this the very day after that man offered to make you in-house counsel! The day after we thought we had solidified our relationship with Sanguine Enterprises for life.”
“How dense are you?” Ben flared. “The only reason he offered me the in-house counsel position was to shut me up. It was hush money.”
“If you had found it in your heart to accept his job offer, the relationship between Raven and Sanguine would be as solid as concrete. Instead, it’s ashes. Dust in the wind.”
Ben drummed his fingers against the table. “That’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? The rest of this crap about ethics violations is just smoke.” He surveyed the stony expressions of the other shareholders in the room. “I didn’t do anything wrong. But you lost a client. A powerhouse client. And now you have to find a scapegoat. Someone to take the fall when you explain to the rest of the firm why revenues are down. And I’m elected.”
Derek ignored the remark. “Of course we’ll give you the traditional two weeks’ notice. We don’t want to be unfair.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll leave today.” Ben rose. “Oh, and Dick?”
“Yes?”
“Your toupee is slipping again.”
Without thinking, Derek reached up—then stopped short.
Ben wagged his finger. “Sucker.”
44
BY FIVE O’CLOCK, MOST of Ben’s belongings were in boxes. He hadn’t really had time to accumulate much in his office, so there wasn’t much to pack. Mostly textbooks and other paraphernalia from law school. Once boxed, his possessions were supposed to be delivered to his apartment by the firm clerks.
Ben heard a tiny throat-clearing noise. Bertha and Emily were standing outside the door to his office.
“Have you read and signed all the papers?” Ben asked.
“Yes, sir,” Bertha replied.
“Just leave them with Maggie. After the judge signs them, someone in the office will send you a certified copy. I would do it myself, but I’m afraid I won’t be working here anymore.”
There was an awkward pause. Bertha obviously wanted to say something, but she wasn’t sure how to begin. “I … I have some idea what you’ve been doing. For me, I mean.” She looked down at Emily. “For us. I just wanted to say … thank you.” She nudged Emily’s shoulder.
“Me, too,” Emily said, smiling. “Thank you, Mr. Kincaid.”
Bertha put her hand in Emily’s, and they walked away.
Ben packed the last book and sealed the box with heavy brown masking tape. He chuckled. Thank you, Mr. Kincaid.
He stopped suddenly. Thank you, Mr. Kincaid? She remembered my name, Ben thought. We’ve been separated for over an hour—and Emily remembered my name.
Ben walked out into the hallway. He felt a smile spread through his entire body. The hell with Derek and his crowd, anyway. She remembered my name.
He met Christina at the elevator. They rode down to the ground level together, then walked across the catwalk and into the parking garage.
“I got canned,” he said.
“I know,” she replied.
“Of course. I should have realized. You probably knew yesterday.”
“Well …” She let the sentence trail off. “Let’s say I suspected.” They strolled a little further. “I for one don’t think they treated you properly, Ben. So I quit. In protest.”
“You quit!”
“You heard me.”
“My God, Christina, you can’t do that!”
“I can—and did.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to find another job?”
“I already have.”
Ben was incredulous. “Already?”
“Of course. I didn’t quit job one till I’d located job two. What do you take me for, a fool?”
“Anything but,” Ben muttered. They walked down the first row of automobiles. “I don’t know how I can find work without leaving Tulsa,” he said. “The Raven fatcats are bound to smear my name. I may never work in this town again.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Christina said. “They don’t exactly come out of this sewage leak smelling like a rose. I lay odds they’ll keep their mouths shut. Even Derek. You’ll find work.”
Ben shrugged. “I hope you’re right.”
“But it may take you awhile to find something. And I don’t suppose you’ve had time to build up an enormous nest egg.”
“Hardly. Good thing my rent’s paid up till the end of the month. After that …”
Christina turned to face him. “I’ve got bad news for you, Ben. Today is the last day of the month.”
Ben blinked. “Is that right? I guess it is. I’ve completely lost track of time.”
“I’ve got a decent apartment, Ben. Not plush, but highly adequate. You can stay with me for a while, if you like.”
“Christina …”
“Don’t worry. No strings are attached. You can sleep on the couch; you can leave on a night-light. And you don’t have to worry about your reputation. We won’t tell Mother. Word will never get back to Nichols Hills.”
Ben frowned. “Christina—”
“It’s just an idea. You don’t have to.”
“Christina, stop!” He held her in place and looked into her eyes. “I don’t know if it would be fair to you.”
“So be unfair. Please. Life is short.”
They both grinned.
“Hey, guess what?” Ben said. His eyebrows bounced up and down. “She remembered my name.”
Christina’s brow wrinkled until she realized what he was talking about. “Congratulations,” she said.
Ben looped her arm around his, and they walked toward his Honda. Maybe congratulations were in order. He knew he should feel miserable about losing his job, but instead, for some reason, he was elated. The gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach seemed to have vanished. Perhaps, he thought, somewhere in the midst of this fiasco, he had done something right. Perhaps it was all right to feel happy now. It would only last a moment. And what is life but moments?
Acknowledgments
I HAVE BEEN FORTUNATE to draw on the kindness and expertise of those who have assisted me in the preparation of this book. I want to thank Kathy Humphries and Belinda Cuevas for their assistance in the preparation of the manuscript; Dave Johnson for his help with police procedure; Mark and Dixie Banner for the same, as well as their assistance on matters medical and psychological. I also want to acknowledge the writings of Oliver Sacks and A. R. Luria and their inspirational efforts to explain and treat profound neurological disorders. Most of all, I want to acknowledge the inexhaustible assistance of my wife Kirsten, the source of all good things.
William Bernhardt
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1991 by William Bernhardt
cover design by Jason Gabbert
978-1-4532-7711-9
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