[Boston Law 01.0] Unlawful Deeds

by David S. Brody

“All right, sorry for the interruption. So continue on your theory of how the Krygiers, or somebody else, framed Pierre.”

  “Right. So the Krygiers rent a car that matches Pierre’s, and they kill Charese. Or they hire somebody to do it, whatever. They make sure to leave tire tracks and carpet fibers at the crime scene which point to Pierre, and sure enough, the police match the evidence to Pierre’s Grand Am. Little did the Krygiers know that they’d get so much help from a paranoid, memo-writing lawyer, but hey, sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good. So Pierre goes from a possible suspect to the primary one.”

  “It’s a decent theory, Bruce, but we have no evidence, as you pointed out.”

  “I agree. But take it one step further. Obviously, the Krygiers watch carefully to see what happens to Pierre, right? They’ve got their little spies around and, well, the next thing they know, not only have they successfully focused the police’s attention on Pierre, but also as an added bonus, the RTC has decided to auction off Pierre’s interest in Fenway Place. Most people don’t really pay attention to the auction, but the Krygiers know all about the property because they know all about Pierre, and they know the property’s a gold mine. Wouldn’t that just be frosting on the cake, especially for a family that is in a bit of trouble financially?”

  Shelby picked up the train of thought. “But they don’t want anyone to have any reason to connect them with Pierre, so they set up an offshore corporation to make the purchase. So Charese is dead, plus they’ve turned $180,000 into a million-plus. And Pierre takes the fall.”

  Bruce smiled, nodded. “Exactly. So my theory is to just follow the money. Find out who’s behind that offshore corporation. If I’m right, it’ll lead you right to the killer.”

  Shelby was quiet for a moment while she pondered Bruce’s theory.

  She interrupted his thoughts. “All right. I’ll talk to the ADA. It’s worth a shot, at least. But you know I’m not going to be able to keep you informed on the details of the investigation, right?”

  “Of course. And thanks, Shelby. I appreciate it.” He turned and looked out the window, then smiled back at her. “Now, unless my brain has tricked my eyes into seeing what it wants them to see, I think it’s raining, and it’s not that cold out. Care to go for a walk?”

  She grinned and jumped out of her chair. “You got it. But I better not see you opening an umbrella, or you’ll be walking alone.”

  * * *

  Shelby and Bruce walked together for over an hour, the rain soaking their hair, hanging on their eyelashes, drenching their feet. She didn’t care. And Bruce didn’t seem to mind either.

  They cut through the Common and the Public Garden to Commonwealth Avenue, then along Commonwealth for eight blocks to the western edge of the Back Bay. At Massachusetts Avenue, they turned right toward the Charles River, and followed the bike paths on the Charles back toward the financial district of the city. Once in a while, their elbows touched lightly, and Shelby was content to continue in that manner for a few seconds.

  The conversation flowed effortlessly, but not into areas she would have expected from two young lawyers who shared a common law school experience. They spoke not once of law school, or of work, or even of Charese’s murder case. Instead, like their feet, the conversation simply meandered along.

  “I have a theory. Ready to hear it?” he asked.

  Shelby laughed lightly, then licked a raindrop off her upper lip. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not really. Here it is: For every proverb known to man, there is an equal and opposite anti-proverb. For example, ‘Look before you leap.’”

  She stopped, scanned the sidewalk, then broad-jumped over a puddle. “All right, done. What next?”

  Bruce looked sideways at her. “Please, there’s no room in this theory for your irreverence; this is important stuff.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Anyway, the equal and opposite anti-proverb is, ‘He who hesitates is lost.’ See what I mean? It’s the opposite of ‘Look before you leap,’ yet both of them are spoken like the gospel. And here's another: You’ve heard, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “Well, what about the opposite, ‘Out of sight, out of mind’? See what I mean? Try it out, give me a proverb.”

  “All right. Try this: ‘A penny saved is a penny earned.’”

  “Hold on a second.” They walked in silence as Bruce thought. “Got it. ‘Don’t be penny wise and pound foolish.’”

  “Good job. I have another one. ‘Don’t put off until tomorrow what you can do today.’”

  Bruce answered quickly. “Simple. ‘There’s a sucker born every day.’”

  “What?!”

  “Just kidding. How about, ‘Good things come to those who wait.’”

  Shelby nodded, then thought for a moment. “Okay, and I’ll counter your opposite and raise it: ‘The early bird catches the worm,’ is the anti-proverb of, ‘Good things come to those who wait.’”

  “Excellent. And the anti-proverb of, ‘The early bird catches the worm,’ is, ‘You are what you eat.’”

  Shelby burst out in laughter again. “You’re cheating. That’s not an opposite, that’s a commentary.”

  “Well, maybe you’re right. I have one for you though. Ready?”

  “Okay.”

  Bruce stopped, and turned toward Shelby. He took a deep breath. “How about this one: ‘Love at first sight.’”

  She looked deep into his dark eyes, tried to reconcile the complexities with which they spoke to her. Her limbs tingled. Who was this man, who had haunted her past and had now dropped into her present? And why did he seem to travel with death—first her parents, then Charese—as his companion? “I can’t use, ‘Look before you leap,’ again, can I?”

  Bruce answered softly. “Sorry, no.”

  “All right. Then I guess my opposite would have to be, ‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.’ But I don’t subscribe to that one. Put me down as a ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ type of girl.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” Bruce leaned down and kissed her gently on the cheek, lingered there for a second. “And thanks for not choosing, ‘Love is blind,’ as your opposite of, ‘Love at first sight.’ I’m not sure my ego could have taken it.”

  She smiled into his eyes. “Somehow, I doubt that your ego could easily be damaged.” She linked her arm in his, took a deep breath. “Come on. We’ve been under this tree way too long, and I’m starting to dry off, God forbid.”

  They ambled along together in the twilight as the rain fell around them. Bruce broke the silence, speaking more to himself than to Shelby. “‘Behind every rain cloud lies a silver lining.’”

  CHAPTER 58

  [December 21, 1990]

  Two weeks after his walk in the rain with Shelby, Bruce sat on the floor in the vestibule of her Cambridge apartment building, content to read a magazine and wait. It was past ten o’clock, and Shelby had warned him that she would have trouble leaving her office Christmas party much before ten or ten-thirty.

  He, on the other hand, had been one of the few attorneys to stay past eight o’clock at his firm’s party earlier that evening. Actually, “party” would be the wrong word to describe the staid and proper buffet dinner; the appropriate word was probably “function.” No alcohol, and the only music was provided by an elderly woman from the accounting department tapping out Christmas tunes on an organ. Holiday bonuses—in the amount, as always, of one week’s pay—were distributed, a toast was made, and dinner was served and consumed. Then the herd rushed for the exits. A group of support staffers planned to re-congregate at a dance club, but word had filtered down earlier in the week that the firm partners felt it inappropriate for any of the attorneys to attend this “after hours” event. God help the firm if, in an alcohol-induced haze, one of the attorneys actually mated with a support staffer and, gasp, inter-bred….

  Bruce put down his magazine. In some ways, he envi
ed Shelby’s job situation. She seemed to have genuine affection for her workmates, and there was little of the politics and competitiveness that pervaded the atmosphere at Stoak, Puck & Beal. He doubted that he would find in any of her co-workers that rare combination of ocean and continent, but there was something to be said for a group of people—some sea-based, some land-based—working together in a cooperative venture. They didn’t exactly morph into a majestic sailing ship, but collectively they could at least experience the satisfaction of lounging on the beach together.

  Not that he had complaints about his choice of workplace—he chose it based largely on its less-than-congenial environment. It was just that he was ready to put this whole chapter of his life behind him. He had only known Shelby for two weeks, and the experience had been a complete revelation to him. He had, quite simply, never known what it was like to be in love. It wasn’t as though he was intoxicated by it to the point of irrationality—he was still intent on denying his enemy his treasure and claiming it as his own. But he’d found contentment with Shelby that he’d never known before. He could simply be himself with her, and she accepted it. No deception, no airs, no games. Except, of course, that he was in the midst of a deception and lie that, unavoidably, required that she be one of the persons he deceived and lied to. He could never explore the possibility of building a life with her until he had moved beyond that lie….

  A car door slammed outside on the street, interrupting his thoughts. He heard Shelby’s voice thanking the cab driver, and stood up to greet her. She ran up the stoop stairs, broke into a smile when she saw him standing in the foyer holding the door for her. She paused on the top stair, looked up into the sky, and yelled, “Thank you, Santa, for my present.” Then she lowered her voice and smiled at Bruce. “I may even think about converting. I like this Christmas stuff. But aren’t you supposed to be wrapped in green and red paper or something?”

  He leaned over and kissed her on her mouth. They held the kiss for a few seconds, then embraced. He felt a pang of guilt, tried to shake it off. “I see you’re in quite a good mood.”

  “Even better seeing you here. I was worried you wouldn’t wait.”

  Bruce chuckled. “Yeah, right. I bet you were real worried.”

  She grinned back at him. “Well, maybe not so much. Oh, I forgot.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a strand of mistletoe, held it over his head. Slowly she lifted her mouth to his, her free hand resting gently on his cheek. Finally they separated, and she leaned her head on his shoulder and spoke into his ear. “I’ve been feasting all night, and nothing has been nearly as delicious as that.”

  He didn’t know what to say, so he just smiled and kissed her hair. And again tried to shake off the guilt.

  She squeezed his hand and led him upstairs. He lit the fire, while she microwaved a couple of mugs of apple cider mixed with rum and cinnamon. She put on some light jazz, cuddled up against him on the couch.

  After a few seconds of silence, she spoke. “You know, Bruce, you never talk about your job. Which, by the way, is great—I know a lot of couples who are lawyers and all they do is talk about the law. But you totally avoid the subject.”

  Bruce felt his face begin to flush. “Well, it’s really pretty boring. Besides, I don’t think I’m going to be at the firm much longer. My plan from the beginning was to only stay a year or two. But I guess I don’t talk about it because my work’s not something I’m particularly proud of. I don’t really feel like I do anything worthwhile. Other than write stupid memos that put my clients in jail.”

  “He’s getting out in a few weeks, you know.”

  “Yeah. Thank God. He didn’t deserve to be there at all.”

  Shelby started to respond, then caught herself. “I’m sorry, but you know I can’t talk about this.” Bruce nodded. “Anyway, it’s a little bit sad, what you said about not liking your job.” She had told him of being critical of Barry for his zealous representation of unworthy clients and causes. Bruce, it seemed, was the opposite extreme.

  He turned his entire body and looked at her. “It’s a lot sad. And I do understand that it’s no way to go through life. I wish I liked my job as much as you do.”

  “Well, I have my moments. In fact, I almost decided to drop out of law school after the guy who killed my family was acquitted. But I see a lot of cases come through the office, and, for the most part, the system does a pretty good job of handing out justice. The problem, I think, is with the lawyers themselves, not with the system. Nobody seems to remember that we’re supposed to be officers of the court; there are lines we’re not supposed to cross in representing our clients. And we’re not supposed to have a hidden agenda that we promote over the interests of our clients.”

  Bruce didn’t respond, and Shelby gently shifted the conversation. “Well, what would you do if you had the choice? Say somebody handed you a million dollars.”

  This was more than just an academic question. And one that he had been contemplating a lot recently. “In the summer I would sail. Probably buy an old wooden schooner and take out charter groups for weekends to help pay the expenses. In the winter, I think it would be fun to procure art for a museum. You know—travel the world, go to auctions, maybe invest in some of the young artists.”

  “Wow. I guess you’ve thought about this a little.”

  Bruce smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, a little.” He paused, looked into the fire. “But for now, there’s not a single place in the world that I’d rather be than right here with you.”

  They made love—for the first time—in front of the fireplace. It was slow and gentle and delicious, and Bruce held her tightly as she fell asleep in his arms. They had rolled onto the hearth during their lovemaking, and Bruce stroked her hair and stared over his knees into the nearby fire. He didn’t want to wake Shelby by shifting away, but he could feel the flames nipping at the skin of his curled up legs. He hoped he wouldn’t get burned.

  * * *

  Shelby woke up the next morning to find that Bruce had already run out for some groceries. He served fresh fruit and pancakes to Shelby in bed. For dessert, they made love again.

  Shelby rolled onto one elbow, her free hand playing with Bruce’s hair. She eyed him mischievously.

  “Uh oh, I don’t like that look. What’s on your mind, Shelby?”

  “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “All right.”

  “Well, every time I make love to a guy, I wonder if he thinks of baseball players.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard that Woody Allen skit?” She switched to a New York accent. “When making love, in an effort to prolong the moment of ecstasy, I think of ... baseball players.”

  He laughed. “No, never heard it.”

  “Well, it’s hysterical. He goes into a whole thing where he describes a game between the Giants and some other team. Thinking about the game distracts him enough so that he can delay his orgasm. So he starts with the first batter, who singles to right or something. Then the next batter, and so on. His whole point is that he can’t allow himself to have an orgasm until the inning is over. Then, with two outs, in the middle of a Giants’ rally, he announces he’s pinch hitting for McCovey. It’s a classic line.”

  Bruce looked puzzled. “I don’t get it.”

  “Well, why would you pinch hit for Willie McCovey if you’re trying to prolong the inning?”

  Bruce shrugged. “I’m not following you.”

  Shelby caught herself—it was the first time since her parents died that a conversation about baseball hadn’t conjured up numbingly depressing memories of Saturday afternoons at Fenway Park with her father. Maybe time was beginning to heal her. Or maybe it was Bruce. She smiled at her lover, punched him playfully. “You know, Willie McCovey. He was the Giants’ best hitter. Hall of Famer.”

  “Oh. Never heard of him. I’m not much of a baseball fan.”

  “Really?” So, not perfect after all.

  He shrugged a
nd smiled sheepishly. “I just find it really boring. I’d rather be stuck in traffic.”

  THE SPOILS

  CHAPTER 59

  [February 27, 1991]

  “I’m sorry. I just have a lot of work to do.”

  “All right. I’m a big boy—I can eat lunch alone. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow at the auction. Bye Shelbs.”

  “Bye.”

  Bruce took a deep breath, then sighed, trying to remove the ache he felt in his chest. He knew a guy in college who had a theory that he called the “Six Week Rule,” which basically stated that, after dating for six weeks, both parties had to make a conscious decision either to commit to a long-term relationship or to walk away. Had Shelby reached that point, and decided to punt? They had just spent an idyllic weekend together skiing in New Hampshire, complete with a horse-drawn sleigh ride and champagne in an outdoor hot tub. But for the three days since they returned, she had been distant and reserved.

  No doubt she sensed he hadn’t completely opened himself up to her, that there were parts of both his past and his present that he wasn’t sharing. But to reveal his past and present to her would be to forfeit their future together. From the first day he had walked into her office, he had lied to her. She would never be able to accept that. But he was desperate not to lose her. She was the calm port in a stormy sea, and he was exhausted from his journey….

  It was a horrible time to be obsessing over turmoil in his love life. The Fenway Place owners—having lost three-quarters of their rental stream—had defaulted on the mortgage, and the RTC had moved with private sector-like speed to bring the property to auction. Perhaps the fact that it was the third time they were auctioning the same property had something to do with their efficiency. In any event, the auction was scheduled for the next day, at two o’clock in the afternoon. Bruce’s emotions were flapping like a loose sail in a heavy wind, from adrenalized excitement about the auction to morose trepidation about Shelby.

  But these emotions were incompatible, like two weather fronts set to meet. He needed to keep them separated. If they collided, the resulting storm would swamp him just as he was prepared to raid his enemy’s ship, deal him a fatal blow, and hopefully make off with the treasure.