by Adam Zorzi
“Pure and simple OD. Fresh blood spots from the needle between his toes.” The dead guy's rig was lying by his side not far from his right hand.
“What about photographs?” Pictures were always good when it came to evidence.
He held up a USB drive. “Indexed by name.”
“Bank statements?”
“Paper and online. This guy was a real businessman. Probably had backup, but it's not available.”
“Someone bigger got them.”
The middle-aged man in grey sweatpants and a black hoodie shrugged.
“Let me take a look.” Bella made a move to reach into the green bag.
“Nope. Pre-selected. What you want is there.” He pointed to a neat stack of notebooks—one green, one black, and one yellow next to the computer. “You can look at them. Wearing gloves.”
Bella stifled a laugh. As a ghost, she wouldn't leave fingerprints, but she recovered quickly. “I don't have any. You didn't give me any hints.”
“Here.” He offered her a pair of yellow gardener's gloves.
With the gloves on, she paged through the notebooks. There was plenty of information in the green and yellow ones. The black one was a bonus.
“I'll take these two plus bank statements for the past five years for the same price.”
“Three years on the statements. The pics are on the house.”
“Done.”
The gardener's gloves were still on when they shook hands.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Opal wasn't at her desk when Bella arrived at the office Friday. Mark's office door was open. She took a moment just to consider him. His blue shirt sleeves were rolled up to show tanned muscular arms and hands, he'd loosened his tie so there was a small V at his throat, and his hair was slightly ruffled where he'd run his fingers through it. He looked up and saw her.
He got up from his desk, pulled her inside, and closed the door.
“Glad you're back. I missed you,” he said.
She gave him one of her seductive smiles. One of the bonus benefits of the trip was to make him realize he needed her. “Nice to hear,” she said.
He sat back behind his desk. “I managed only because of Opal. Where did you find her?” He gave her no chance to answer. “She's a genius! I think she should get a raise.”
Bella sat across from him. “Mark, she's getting an incentive bonus when the case is won. She'll be rewarded then. What has she done that's particularly genius?”
He told her about the patient lists and division among the two of them to take depositions. He'd asked her to do some legal research, which was done in an hour. “This,” he said, holding a death certificate, “is genius. She got the certified copies of death certificates of all patients who died while hospitalized. Suicides and accidents. I didn't even ask.
“She's putting notices in the right news media to identify seven or eight patients who were released, but aren't at their last known address to either find them or prove that we made a diligent effort to do so. I love the speech recognition phone system. It's genius. I feel like I have a powerhouse team.”
“You do.” Bella smiled.
“With one exception.”
“There are only two of us. Who's unhappy?”
“Tom. He was displeased, let's say, when I told him about the bugging of his office, conference room/library, and rest room. Even though I pointed out the upgrades and added security, he didn't like being spied on by the AG's office.”
“I can't imagine any attorney would. Is he going to leave?”
“He said he'd think about it and let me know within a week. He's a tax attorney. He rarely sees clients or talks on the phone. Most of what he does is online. I doubt anything was compromised.”
“Maybe,” Bella said. “The IRS computer system is sixty years out of date and is frequently hacked. Tax court has eAccess for cases that are fairly new and supposedly only available to attorneys. I think he's okay. The AG wants to track your activity on the Cooper case, nothing else.
“Were I in his position, I'd be pissed. I'd probably leave, but as you said, he doesn't like the old boys either and he's stuck in Richmond until his wife finishes her residency. I'm sure partners at the big firms routinely spy on their attorneys and support staff.”
Mark started to say something. Bella didn't let him. She'd had enough of his defense of the old boys. He still wasn't completely convinced they'd turned on him.
“Use that as a reason for Tom to stay. Tell him everything has been removed, your surveillance has been upgraded, and you now have state-of-the-art communication and computer security. Don't tell him Opal has mad hacking skills.”
Mark thought about it.
“You're right. All the law journals are full of articles about firms spying on their associates and even their social media accounts. It's not just Richmond. It's endemic to the profession. I'll make a case for him to stay.”
Bella shifted her position to show slightly more leg. She wanted to move on.
“Any peeps from our esteemed adversaries?”
“Not a word. I'm going to the Commonwealth Club for lunch with my father. I want to be highly visible with a respected old boy. They can't shun me there.”
“You're getting the hang of this.” She projected that lovely bell-like laugh and flipped her hair back over one shoulder. She was in a flirtatious mood.
“Ready for oral arguments Monday?” She hoped the answer was yes. She'd figuratively drawn him a map of impregnable legal arguments.
“I am, indeed. The papers address every aspect of jurisdiction. There isn't a single omission.”
Of course not. Bella leaned forward to appear especially interested. “Tell me about the judge. Madeline King.” Having hand-picked her, Bella already knew everything there was to know about her, but listening to Mark recite her attributes was pleasant.
Mark didn't hesitate. “Smart. Fair. I don't know how we got her. She's the best of the bunch. All the right credentials. Clerked for United States Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor, so she's an open-minded conservative. The best we can hope for.”
“What's she like on the bench?” Bella wondered aloud.
Mark thought before he responded. “Courteous. Demands respect. Fines for lateness. Doesn't need her hand to be held to connect the dots. Rhetoric annoys her. Hates visual aids unless they're evidentiary. Moves things along.”
All good. Bella nodded. “Does she have a family?”
“A husband who is a philosophy professor at Virginia Commonwealth University. Two kids. A daughter at Smith. A son getting his PhD from MIT in some arcane mathematics field that no one understands.”
“Any relatives with mental illness?”
Mark's face fell. “I don't know. You're wondering if there's anything for which she might have to recuse herself.”
“Of course. They're not going to be pleased with an open-minded judge. Ask Opal to check about her family this afternoon. Frankly, I think everyone's family has at least one cousin or uncle or grandparent with mental illness. No reason to demand she recuse herself.”
“Worth looking into. You look fantastic, by the way.” He stood, righted his tie, and put on his suit jacket. He checked a large gold watch she hadn't seen. “Rolex.” He shrugged. “A graduation present I had to wear.”
She laughed. “I thought you might be going gangsta'.”
“It's coming off as soon as I get back. Gotta go. Can't be late for Dad.”
Mark hadn't been gone more than two minutes when Opal walked in with the staff directories at Commonwealth Psychiatric for the past seven years. “There's a lot of turnover even at the top. There have been six chiefs of staff.”
“Mmmm,” Bella said as she perused the list. “Let's start with the nurses—RNs, BSNs, and NPs. They usually have a good handle on what's going on. Set up depositions for the ones who have retired, resigned, or were terminated first. We'll get subpoenas for current employees.”
Opal sat next to Bella on
the white leather sofa. “Bella, this is such a cool job. It's like being a spy.”
Bella laughed. “It's called legal discovery. Getting information. You never know what might turn up and change the entire case. It's fun sometimes. At least when the surprises are in our favor.”
“Why do I think nothing surprises you?” Opal asked.
“It's Friday. I think surprises are over for the week.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The downside of the genius phone system was that it required Bella to have a phone. She didn't expect any calls. She was surprised to hear its annoying buzz about eight o'clock Friday night. Mark. She picked up.
“I need you.”
“Where?” She forced herself to sound delighted to receive what was either a drunken call or a panic call.
He gave her the address of a college hangout near the Commonwealth Club. She assured him she'd be there soon.
She wore emergency black. Sweater, slacks, and boots. It made her blue eyes even more noticeable and flattered her skin tone. With her blonde hair loose, she was a knock-out. She couldn't recall pulling a drunk out of a bar. Ever. She hoped it was panic.
Mark was hanging on to the black iron rail outside the red brick building in a row of red brick buildings. He looked unsteady, but not drunk. Panic she could handle.
“What's up?” she asked.
“I need help getting home. I drank too much.” He spoke clearly. His speech wasn't slurred. Definitely just panic.
“And no one could call you a cab?” She pretended to pout.
“Not anyone I wanted to talk to once I got there.”
Taxis didn't regularly cruise the streets of Richmond. The ones that did traveled the circuit of downtown hotels for patrons going to the airport, dinner, or events at the Coliseum. She took out her phone and pressed the app for a cab. The address of their current location popped up automatically. A cab would be there in 6.35 minutes.
She put her arm through Mark's and walked to the corner. She'd get in first. The driver wouldn't see her. He'd only see Mark. She leaned into him and whispered, “No talking in the cab. Security. Remember?”
He put his finger to his lips in a gesture of silence.
The cab arrived, Mark spit out an unintelligible address, and the cab headed south and west. They rode for about fifteen minutes and pulled in front of a row of steel and concrete townhouses. Mark's was on the end overlooking the James River. He gave the driver a fifty-dollar bill and got out. She quickly slid out before he closed the door on her.
“Do you have your keys?”
He held up a sterling silver key ring and an electronic entry card. He walked straight to the entrance, opened it, and entered the enormous first floor that was almost completely empty except for a sleek white kitchen. He didn't move like he was drunk.
“Go upstairs and sit,” Bella said.
If Mark noticed that she knew the location of his seating area, he didn't mention it. As with Daniel's home with Selma, Bella had visited Mark's townhouse. She knew the layout of his townhouse and emptiness of his lifestyle. He was a good lawyer for her purposes, but he was immature. He'd lived in a downtown condo near the courthouse where many other single professionals did until two years ago, but most of his neighbors had married, moved to houses, and had children. He'd bought this townhouse on a whim when one of his law school buddies had offered him a chance to get in at a pre-construction price. He had a housekeeper who came once a week who cooked, left meals, and cleaned. Evidently, she hadn't come this week.
“Can you make it on your own? I'll make coffee.”
He nodded and started up the stairs. Bella hated being in a kitchen. Fortunately, Mark had one of those cup-at-a-time brewers so she selected Columbian Blend, inserted it, and waited thirty seconds for it to pour. He had white ceramic mugs. She thought about sugar and cream and decided against it. Strong, hot, and black would wake him up. The aroma was pungent. That would help.
The townhouse was huge and empty. What little furniture and wall decor existed was grey, white, and metal with black and white art in metal frames. It read cold. Not how a successful thirty-five-year-old man should live.
She walked up the steps to the second floor and found him sitting in a cushioned wicker club chair on the balcony. She handed him the coffee and sat in the chair next to him. “It's pleasant out here. A nice night.”
He sipped the coffee and grimaced that it was black. Right, he liked lattes. Well, given the circumstances, he was lucky to get that. She did her best imitation of charm and concern.
“Have you eaten, Mark?”
“Not since lunch.”
“That's quite a while. Do you have anything in the kitchen?”
He laughed. “Whatever the housekeeper brings. This was the model unit. I bought it as is. There was plastic food in the refrigerator.”
“Got it,” she said. He looked like he'd need a second cup of coffee. She'd look for some crackers and assumed the plastic food was long gone. He finished his coffee in silence and put the cup on the table between them. She picked it up and headed inside. He touched her arm. “Please. Stay.”
“I'll be right back with a refill.”
When she returned, Bella had coffee and a package of unopened water crackers. It wasn't great, but it would be something in his stomach. She arranged them on a plate. No butter, cream cheese, or dip.
He ate a few crackers and dutifully drank the coffee. She took in the silence and the view of the river and the city on the other side. These were very pleasant surroundings if someone took the time to make a home.
“I'm not drunk. I needed to see you,” he said finally.
She'd wait for him to tell her whatever it was.
“I had two drinks at lunch and a couple of beers this afternoon in the bar, where those college kids made me feel ancient and jaded. I took a walk and ended up back there. I had to leave and didn't know where to go so I finally called you.” He looked to see if she was listening. “Lunch sucked.”
“What happened?” She summoned compassion. She’d already anticipated what had happened.
“Big show. My father put on a great act of having lunch with his only son at one of his clubs surrounded by all his friends. He laughed and shook hands and generally was a jolly good fellow. We had excellent food. No wine. That's for the rare woman guest. We had Scotch before lunch.
“We talked about nothing. He asked about Carlton and Redstone. Wasn't I ready for a new car? Did I really enjoy living on the south side? Had I heard from my sister? We had dessert and coffee. The dining room emptied out and we adjourned to one of the private rooms.”
Bella filled in the rest. “Where he got to the real purpose of the lunch, given that no business conversation is allowed in the dining room.” She wanted to hurry him along. Attractive as he was, she wanted him to get to the point.
“Right. Withdraw the lawsuit, let the state write the Coopers a check for $250,000 for their drug addicted son's death, and move on to matters more appropriate for someone like me. He'd be glad to make some referrals.”
“You were surprised?” she asked. She couldn't help herself.
He looked at her. Then he laughed his Mark crinkly-eyed rich laugh.
“Yes, I was. Unbelievable as it may seem to you, I was surprised. Bugging my office wasn't enough. You were right about the deb. She got a date with a trust fund boy who needs a wife and kids to keep him on the straight and narrow in return for letting workmen into the building. Yes, I was surprised my father was sent to warn me off.”
“Duly warned,” she said.
He looked her directly in the eyes. He seemed completely sober. He shook his head and looked at her again. “Does nothing surprise you?” he asked.
“I'm sure something will at some point.” She smiled.
“I've never met anyone like you. Man or woman.”
“I'll take that as a compliment.”
“This morning I felt like I was king of the world. The office is secure, O
pal is great, we're ahead of schedule. One lunch with my father and I doubt myself. You never doubt yourself, do you?”
She didn't take the bait. He kept talking aloud.
“Of course not. You think things through. You plan. You consider consequences and adjust the plan. Why should you doubt it? You've decided among all the scenarios, the one you picked will most likely work for you.”
He stared at her again.
“Something like that.” She sat back in her chair, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the light warm breeze on her face. Fall had yet to arrive.
“When this is over, I think I need to get out of Richmond. I'm thirty-five years old and never lived anywhere else except seventy miles away in Charlottesville. I'm not part of the club anymore. I don't have a family. My sister is in Australia and my parents are here, but not here for me.” He sounded like he was testing a theory.
“Get married. Make a family,” she said with her eyes still closed.
“What?” He raised his voice. She'd caught him off guard. She opened her eyes and turned in her chair to face him.
“You're thirty-five years old, Mark. Your family should be your wife and children, not your parents.”
“Ouch.”
“You didn't call me to sit with you because you wanted someone to listen to you. That's not what I do. You know that. You're too smart, handsome, and sexy to be living like a hermit in this cavernous house, working on cases you can handle in your sleep, and doing nothing for fun except some solo sailing. Someone broke your heart along the way. It happens. It doesn't require mourning for however long it's been.”
“Eight years. It's been eight years.”
“Move on. You've squandered eight years out of thirty-five on her. That's a quarter of your life. How many more years are you willing to give up?”
“I'm a pariah. I broke off an engagement with a deb. I let her say she did it to save face, but everyone knew. It was less than a week before the wedding. Her parents weren't happy. Mine certainly weren't happy.”
“You were happy, though. At least not shackled to someone you didn't want. Why the wait?”