by Adam Zorzi
Bella didn't plan to let this go to a jury. No time for that. Merely the time allowed for her opponent to respond to motions, never mind prepare for a trial, could drag the case on for three or even four years. She wanted to have overwhelming evidence of deliberate and wanton civil rights violations at Commonwealth Psych so even the toughest judge would have to rule for Summary Judgment—a verdict based only on a stack of paper the attorney general couldn't dispute. No need to go to trial. It was rare to win such a verdict, but she wasn't the best legal mind in New York because she played it safe.
One thing in her favor was that the federal court in Richmond was known throughout the United States for its Rocket Docket. Cases were tried faster than in any other court in the country. She planned to use that to her advantage. She wanted Daniel to be well, the hospital closed, and the Coopers to have a fat check before the year was out.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mark look well-rested when he entered his office Monday morning. He'd spent the weekend sailing on the Chesapeake Bay, eating fresh seafood, and sleeping on his thirty-two-foot cutter rigged monohull unimaginatively named Aquarius. Alone. There had been plenty of women flirting with him at the bar where he went for sunset drinks, restaurants for dinner, and marina near his boat slip. He was polite and friendly, but he declined even the most obvious invitations.
His blue eyes against a deeply tanned face made him a handsome and delectable man. His face registered surprise when he unlocked the door to his office to find her waiting for him in her usual white leather chair. He almost dropped his latte from the corner café, but recovered quickly. Agile. He pretended to take her presence in stride.
“Good morning. Would you like some of my latte?” he said as he sat behind his desk and turned on his computer.
“No thanks.” She was equally nonchalant. “Did you have a good weekend? Relaxing?”
He checked email and sipped his latte. “Very nice.”
“Good. There's a lot to be done. We're going for Summary Judgment.”
He lost his cool demeanor. “No one gets one from this district. No one.” He was polite but adamant.
“Actually, there was one in 1977 and another in 1992.”
“Great, then. Not in the past twenty-five years.” He stopped pretending to pay attention to anything or anyone other than her.
“Does that matter?” she asked as she crossed and re-crossed her long legs.
“Of course. These judges are old boys. I'm not really an old boy, and you certainly aren't.”
“Are you suggesting there is corruption or collusion within the federal judiciary? Surely, those judges would be reported to the ethics committee or persuaded to recuse themselves.” She looked at him with those blue eyes wide in innocence. Sugared sarcasm.
He stood, walked around his glass desk, and leaned against it in front of her. “You obviously don't know a thing about politics in Virginia. These old boys have a life of privilege, educations at St. Matthew's or Choate followed by college at the University of Virginia or Washington and Lee, and employment at their families' business, or if they're really rich, none at all. Their free time is spent drinking, playing golf, and going to appropriate charitable functions. They marry girls from College of Charleston or the now defunct Sweetbriar and raise two proper children. Outsiders are not only viewed with suspicion but are unwelcome. Everyone has a reason to keep—collusion, as you call it—secret. No one breaks the code.”
He reached behind him to get his cup from his desk and downed the rest of his latte.
“Doesn't that describe you?” Bella asked sweetly.
“Technically,” he admitted. Bella hadn't chosen Mark to be the perfect partner in her scheme to bring down Commonwealth Psych by accident. Her research was meticulous. She knew exactly who he was and what his standing was within Richmond society. He'd gone to St. Matthew's, University of Virginia, and UVA Law School. His father was a partner at the most prestigious firm in Richmond, which meant the state. His mother was a former debutante turned alcoholic from sheer boredom. He had a sister who'd fled to Australia after high school.
“Without the debutante and the two children,” Bella added.
“Yes,” he snapped. She made a mental note of his sore spot.
“I don't see a problem. If you're one of them, they'll surely listen to any effort to protect them from the rumor mill or even the whisper of an ethics committee investigation.”
He didn't respond.
“If you're going to win this case, and my intention is to make sure we do, you'll have to up your political game. I don't care if you choke doing it.”
“Who are you again? Some ruthless New York…”
“Excuse me, Mr. Hoffman, but I've transcribed office voice mails from the weekend.” A prim twenty-something in a Tory Burch dress walked in spreading a faint scent of Jo Malone's Orange Blossom fragrance and placed the paper on his desk. She left without speaking to Bella.
“Damn it, I told her to email me the transcriptions.” Mark's attention was temporarily diverted from Bella.
“Replace her,” Bella suggested with a shrug.
“You're going to tell me how to run my office, too?” Mark raised his voice.
“You need a smart, computer-savvy bitch guarding your practice, not some debutante who hasn't managed to land one of those husbands you were describing.” He would inevitably admit she was right. “Perhaps I was mistaken. I thought you worked by yourself in order to do things less traditionally.” She smiled. “May we please return to the discussion of strategy?”
He walked to his frosted glass door and closed it. He sat in the twin of Bella's white leather chair and faced her.
“Bella, you can't order me around. This is my firm. I have one associate. We're not really associates; we share office space. I like it that way. I choose my clients. I choose my battles.”
She stood. “I underestimated you. I thought you were a winner. A man who would do anything to win this case. Not only for the Coopers, but for the despicable way the Psycho Killer—who apparently doesn't have a name, according to the media—was left untreated and unattended in that fourteenth century dungeon. People in this state are entitled to mental health care, and they're not getting it. Their civil rights aren't even a consideration. If you want to maintain the status quo, win a small sum for the Coopers, and let the old boys continue to run things as their personal fiefdom, fine. Your father will be proud. I'm not interested.”
He called as she walked toward the door.
“Stay. We'll work it out.”
Men were so easy.
CHAPTER FIVE
She only had to make three phone calls before she found who she wanted. Dressed in a black cashmere tank dress with tiny sequins to make it sparkle when she walked, Bella made her way to Toxic, one of the area's three dance clubs, Thursday night at midnight. Opal was at the door determining who was allowed to enter, whether they were near the legal age for admission, and checking out the guys who wanted in. One side of Opal’s black hair was shaved. The other side hung in a steep triangle to touch her shoulder. She had colorful tattooed bracelets on her right wrist and a string of gemstones in her left ear. She was spilling out of the top of her red tube dress.
She looked amused when Bella approached. Bella wasn't quite old enough to be a patron's mother, but she was too old for this club.
“ID,” Opal said in a bored tone.
“Oh, no, Opal. I'm here to see you. Could we talk at your next break?”
Without demonstrating any surprise or interest, Opal checked the time on her phone. “I'll take it now.” She texted someone, and a stoned guy in his early twenties slunk over to replace her.
“Take as long as you'd like,” he said.
“Right,” Opal said to no one in particular as she left her post and walked outside.
“Is there somewhere we can go to talk?” Bella asked.
“Here's good. Down at the end of the building. I can smoke there.” She pulled out a ti
n of hand-rolled cigarettes, lit one, and inhaled. Tobacco, not dope. Deep, rich aroma. Higher quality than anything the cigarette manufacturers offered.
“What do you want?” Opal inhaled the first drag of her cigarette.
Bella liked that Opal got right to the point. “I'm here to offer you a job.”
“Why would I want one?” She continued to enjoy her smoke.
“It involves accessing computer files that aren't necessarily available to the public.” Bella gave her a just-us-girls look.
“No way. I'm not screwing with people's credit cards and money.” Opal flicked ash onto the gravel.
“I'm a lawyer. It's for a case my colleague and I are working on against the state for treating patients at Commonwealth Psychiatric as less than human. It allows people like Evan Cooper to be killed when he was just there to kick smack. It's a legit case in federal court. The information is available through the Freedom of Information Act, but processing requests stalls cases for years. Especially in a case against the state. We need to speed it up.”
“Okay. Why me?”
“Do you have to ask? I made three phone calls and got your name. You're an underground celebrity.”
“When would I do this?”
“That's the catch. You also have to be the receptionist and work from ten to six Monday through Friday.”
“Oh, man. A straight job.” She flicked her ash disgustedly.
“In a law firm.”
“Do I look like I want to work in a law firm?”
“You look like you want to do anything you find interesting,” Bella replied in her seductive voice.
“What would I have to wear?” Opal's tone suggested mild interest.
Bella made that wonderful song-like laugh. “No flip-flops, not too much cleavage, and no navel. You don't ask what you'd be paid, but you want to know what to wear?”
“Some things are deal-breakers.” Back to smoking.
This girl was smart. She liked her.
“What's the pay?”
“Just over ten grand a month and a six-figure bonus if we meet the deadline we've set.”
“High or low six figures?”
“Low. You're the best but not the only name I have.”
“When would I start?” She put out the cigarette and crushed it with the heel of her platform sandal.
“Monday. At ten o'clock.”
“You're legit?”
Bella handed her Mark's business card. “Legit.”
“Okay. Sure.”
Bella offered her hand to Opal, who apparently had never shaken hands before. She awkwardly took Bella's hand and touched her palm. Nicely. Not too hard. Not squishy.
“What's your name?” Opal called as Bella walked away.
“Bella.”
CHAPTER SIX
Bella strolled into the office about eleven Friday morning and went straight to Mark's office.
“You were right,” he said. He was pacing. “Damn it.”
“Good morning, Mark.” She sat on the white leather sofa facing the sun. “I usually am.”
“What?” he asked.
“Right. About what specifically?” She crossed her legs.
He held out his hand and showed her a small pile of black, electronic bits. “Tom's office was bugged. Whoever did it didn't realize I have the smaller office because it offers more daylight. Tom's is larger, so they assumed it was mine. The restroom and the library/conference room were bugged too.”
“Well, I hope Tom hasn't been indiscreet,” she said.
“That's not the point. The AG's office isn't taking this well. They're…”
“Ruthless. Like me.” She smiled.
“How could they have done it? I have an alarm system. They couldn't just waltz in here during the day.”
Bella smoothed her skirt. “Mark, you're a very bright man, but your thinking is completely inside the box. I know exactly how it was done, by whom, and that she should be fired immediately. Her replacement will be starting Monday at ten o'clock.” She shrugged. “More or less.”
When Mark realized Bella meant the debutante, he was adamant she wouldn't have done it. “Her? No way.”
“Mark, let's not waste time. Someone probably offered her a date with a blond Kappa Alpha two years out of UVA. She thinks she'll be engaged in six months.”
Bella watched Mark's face change as realization struck him that the old boys were playing dirty with him too. He wasn't in the inner sanctum.
“Pay her for two weeks and tell her she's no longer needed. No accusations. Just fini. Tell her now. I always hate it when HR fire people at the end of a Friday afternoon.”
He sighed and started toward the door.
“Mark,” she called, “Don't offer anything more—like a good reference—for her tears.” Men were oblivious. “Unless, of course, you want to perpetuate the old boy approach.”
He gave her a look of incredulity. Then he caught her train of thought. One shed tear and he'd have offered a good reference, an extra week of pay, and a vacation.
Within five minutes, the debutante was gone. By noon, a new security system, including surveillance monitors, had been ordered. Soundproofing for Mark's office had been ordered earlier in the week. By Monday morning, the office would be secure.
***
“I need to get out of here. Do you want to go for a drive?” Mark said after finalizing the order for the new security system.
“Certainly.” It had been a rough morning for a soft guy like him. How ridiculous for him to trust a debutante just because she had a pedigree.
“Let's go. I need fresh air,” he said.
Bella was happy to let him take charge, so she didn't ask any questions and let him do what he needed.
They walked through the rear door of the office and into the garage. He put on aviator sunglasses and opened the passenger door to an older model silver Jaguar XK convertible. She slid in. He got in, started the car, and roared out of the garage. No music. Top down. He maneuvered skillfully to get out of Richmond and onto some less travelled roads. Once there, he opened up the car to fifth gear and they flew down straight roads, around wide curves, and up into hilly country. After about an hour, he slowed to the speed limit.
Exhilarating. Bella loved every second of it. No fear. Just pure joy at the feeling of flying. Being a ghost had its perks. Mark pulled over in a sandy patch near a sign that read Polo Grounds. He opened a bottle of water and offered it to her. “No thanks,” she said, and he slugged it back.
“Man, I needed that.”
Of course he did. It certainly beat sailing for releasing tension. She hated sailing what with all the getting up and down and knotting and unknotting ropes and watching the boom. A sleek, powerful cigarette boat was fine with her. Turns out cars could be equally thrilling.
He turned in his seat to look at her. “You look like the Cheshire cat. Your smile is a mile wide.”
“That was fun.” She pushed a strand of hair back under the silk scarf she'd tied over her hair so it wouldn't blow in her face. “What's next?”
He looked like he was going to kiss her but stopped himself. “Not much. Hilly roads the rest of the way.”
He got back on the road and drove along green pastures and grassy hillsides until he turned off into a thicket of trees. A hidden lane. No one would know it was there. He drove up what felt like a mile-long drive and then a large, brick, federal-style house came into view. He pulled around back and stopped.
The air was fresh with the smell of grass and hay on this warm afternoon. There was an energy about being around working horse stables. She loved it.
He got out of the car and shouted, “Carlton.” A tall, slim man about sixty years old came from a white barn. Mark met him halfway. The two shook hands. Carlton clapped him on the shoulder.
“Didn't know you were coming. Would have gotten some provisions.”
“I didn't know I was coming. I just had to get out of town. Somehow found myself here.”
“Is that right? Did you tell that pretty lady where you were headed?”
Mark laughed and shook his head. “No, and she didn't ask. It's been a long week.”
Bella got out of the car and leaned against it in her ivory silk suit. She waited three beats, took off her heels, and walked barefoot in the soft springy grass to meet the two men.
“Bella, this is Carlton, my uncle and head of the farm. Knows everything there is to know about horses. It's people he doesn't like.”
Bella gave him one of her most dazzling smiles. “Carlton, I'm pleased to meet you.” She shook his hand and let her finger tips linger just slightly too long. “I understand your sentiments well.”
“Do you ride?” Carlton asked.
“Not in several years.” Not since the house in Connecticut and her and her husband’s grey and two mahogany bays. A true lifetime ago. No, she wouldn't remember life with her husband. Ever. She'd couldn't relive his death and the pain that followed.
“Go on in the house,” Carlton said. “Fix yourself drinks. I'll be up in a while.”
Mark took her hand and led her through the back portico, onto a wide brick veranda, and into the dining room. “What are you drinking?”
“Nothing for me, thanks. I'm going to freshen up in the powder room.” He nodded toward the right. “Second door.”
She closed the door and leaned against it. A handsome, sexy guy who had guts. He just needed some prodding. Carlton must be a Sensitive. She hadn't prepared herself to be visible to anyone other than Mark. The horses would notice her, but they would instinctively know she was benign to creatures. She repaired her makeup, released her hair from the scarf, and shook it until it fell in loose waves around her shoulders. She took off her suit jacket under which she wore a sleeveless silk blouse. She'd do. For now.
CHAPTER SEVEN