Claire claimed all her truths were brutal or they weren’t worth believing. Mason tried convincing himself that he took the job with Sullivan amp; Christenson for the change of scenery. The brutal truth was that he took it because he thought it was safer. He could live with stealing one thief’s money back from another more easily than he could live with another Tommy Douchant. In the last three days he’d discovered that Claire was right. There was nothing safe and easy at Sullivan amp; Christenson.
Mason wondered how much of the firm’s business for heartless corporations would be left after Sullivan’s death as he cinched his navy and red tie beneath the collar of his white shirt and slipped on a gray suit. It was the lawyer’s uniform. Appropriate for partners’ meetings, funerals, and circumcision ceremonies. Today promised to roll elements of all three into one festive occasion.
Scott Daniels and Harlan Christenson were waiting for him in his office.
“Harlan and I want to go over a few things with you before the meeting,” Scott said.
Harlan’s face sagged under his silence. He had the connections that got the firm started. Sullivan had the backbone that made it a powerhouse. Without Sullivan, Harlan was lost.
“Before we get to that,” Mason said, “the sheriff investigating Sullivan’s death called me late last night. She said Sullivan was murdered.”
Harlan muttered, “Dear God,” and shrank farther into his chair. “How?” It was all he could manage.
“She didn’t say.”
“What’s next?” Scott asked.
“She’s coming here this afternoon to ask me some more questions. That’s all I know.”
“Why is she so interested in you?” Scott asked.
“How should I know? Either she thinks I did it or she can’t resist my boyish charms.”
Scott studied him for a moment. “Then we’d better focus on what we do know. I came in early this morning to get a look at the files the grand jury subpoenaed. Quintex Land Corporation was at the top of the list.”
Mason said, “I thought Quintex was the company O’Malley used for his real estate deals. St. John is after him for bank fraud, not real estate fraud. What’s the connection?”
“I don’t know. Quintex has been around a long time, and a lot of assets have passed through it.”
“Did O’Malley use Quintex for anything else?”
“A few years ago, he started using it for other investments.”
“Were the deals clean?”
“Sullivan handled the real estate deals. I don’t know about them. I handled the investments. They were all cash deals. No banks involved. St. John can’t be interested in those.”
“Maybe one of the other partners knows something that might explain some of this.”
“We have to tell them about the subpoena, but I don’t think we should put the details on the table yet. For now, we’d better keep this among ourselves. Harlan agrees with me.”
Steady breathing was Harlan’s way of saying yes.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The eleven remaining partners of Sullivan amp; Christenson assembled in the firm’s south conference room on the thirty-second floor of the Grand Street Pavilion, an O’Malley Development Co. project, financed by O’Malley’s Mid-States Savings amp; Loan and managed by O’Malley Properties. Sullivan insisted that the firm not exceed the developer’s allowance for tenant improvements. “Wallpaper won’t make you money,” was his explanation. In this case he was right. Leasing from the firm’s biggest client at market rates kept O’Malley happy by filling his building. There was no need to add to the expense.
The conference room, like the rest of the two floors the firm occupied, was finished in a nondescript blend of taupe, mauve, and teal hues woven through the carpet, woodwork, and grass-cloth wallpaper. Equally generic art decorated space that could be quickly vacated for new tenants. Twelve chairs surrounded the conference table, five to a side and one at each end.
Lawyers are pack animals with a clear pecking order reflected in office assignments and seats at conference tables. Mason had inherited a seat on the side with a view out the windows. Harlan took his customary seat at the far end of the table. Mason wondered if anyone would adjust the pecking order by claiming Sullivan’s vacant chair at the head of the table opposite Harlan. Grabbing it too soon could send someone to the back of the pack.
Scott was the last to arrive and, without breaking stride, landed in Sullivan’s chair, dropped a sheaf of papers in front of him, and looked around the table.
“Okay, Harlan, the day’s gonna be a bitch, so let’s get started.”
Harlan described what was known of Sullivan’s death, omitting that he had been murdered. Mason attributed the omission to Harlan’s innate avoidance of unpleasant news. Harlan spoke of his shock, his sympathy for Pamela, announced that the funeral would be Wednesday at one p.m. at the Ward Parkway Episcopal Church, and turned the meeting over to Scott. The partners swiveled their heads in unison to the other end of the table.
“Harlan and I will contact Sullivan’s clients and reassure them that their matters are being taken care of. Call any of your key clients who should be personally informed. Everyone else will receive a letter that should go out by the end of the day.”
Mason was surprised that Scott also didn’t disclose that Sullivan had been murdered. He wondered if Scott and Harlan would rather the partners read about it in the newspaper.
“Has anyone spoken to O’Malley?” asked one of the partners.
“He’ll be here at eleven to meet with me, Scott, and Lou,” Harlan said.
Scott pressed ahead before Mason could remind him that he hadn’t agreed to stick around.
“That’s going to be a tough meeting,” Scott added. “I found out yesterday that Sullivan and the firm are now targets of the grand jury investigation into O’Malley. The firm’s files have been subpoenaed for this Friday.”
“How did you find out, Scott? Was that the surprise in your box of Cracker Jacks?” Sandra Connelly asked.
Sandra joined the firm as a partner a year before Mason did and was chair of the litigation department. She had been less than enthusiastic about hiring him. Scott told Mason that Sandra didn’t think an ambulance-chasing lawyer was corporate litigation material. Scott told Mason not to worry about her opposition. She had the title but none of the power and didn’t want the competition. She took her frustration out on Mason by alternating verbal jabs with a sterile indifference accentuated by calling him Louis, something no one had done since the third grade.
Sandra blended hard edges and soft touches. Her shoulder-length hair was the color of maple leaves in the fall. She had hazel eyes, high porcelain cheeks, and you-know-how-to-whistle-don’t-you lips with a body to match. She’d made more than a few opposing lawyers want to thank her for slicing open their jugular.
Mason invited her to lunch during his first week at the firm. It was like the Arab-Israeli peace talks. No one spoke the same language. Scott told him that she’d never been married, didn’t need the money she made, and was lethal in the courtroom.
Mason and Sandra hadn’t worked on any cases together. He wanted to break through her refrigerated demeanor just to make her stop calling him Louis and because he considered her hostility a challenge to his natural charm.
Scott answered Sandra without looking at her. “I found a target letter from Franklin St. John and the subpoena in Sullivan’s desk.”
“You mean Sullivan kept this secret from the rest of us but just happened to leave the subpoena and St. John’s letter lying around on his desk for the cleaning crew to read?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Sandra,” he answered, now looking at her. “I was looking for Sullivan’s drafts of my closing documents when I ran across them. Now one of us has to deal with the U.S. attorney. Lou will be seen as the least tainted since he’s only been here a few months. I think he should handle it. Harlan, what do you think?”
“Excuse me,” Sandra interrupted. “His name is Lou Mason, not Perry Mason. Would you like to know what the head of the litigation department thinks about putting the future of this firm into the hands of a lawyer whose idea of a courtroom victory is selling a rear-end collision whiplash sob story? To say nothing of the verdict he got for his best friend in his last trial.”
