he’d taken. He had crisp eyes that missed nothing.
Mason knew his story. O’Malley was awarded the Silver Star in Vietnam when he led his platoon in a successful bloody attack on a hill controlled by heavily entrenched Vietcong. He liked to say that’s when he learned the importance of location, after he built a banking and real estate empire in Kansas City. And, he would add, the importance of being willing to risk everything to survive.
Sandra Connelly was seated at the center of the conference table, her back to the door. Mason recognized O’Malley’s son, Vic Jr., leaning over Sandra, trying to make conversation while he stole a glance down the front of her dress. When she didn’t respond, he wandered back toward his father, who kept his back to him, barring Vic Jr. from his inner circle. He pretended not to notice by picking microscopic lint off his black silk shirt.
Vic Jr. had not climbed out of his father’s gene pool. He was round-shouldered, with a powdery complexion, a sharp nose, and close-set eyes. He had a nocturnal look, as though he preferred foraging at night to sitting in the conference room. He was a shadow alongside his father, for whom he’d worked since graduating from college a few years earlier. Mason had met them once before. O’Malley had done the talking. Vic Jr. had done all the whining.
Mason cleared his throat. “Sorry I’m late.”
O’Malley turned toward him, waving off any possible offense.
“Quite all right, Lou,” he said, extending his hand as he walked toward him. “I was just telling Scott and Harlan how much I’m going to miss Richard. I depended on him very much. I don’t know how to replace him.”
O’Malley’s two-handed greeting swallowed Mason’s hand, though he struggled to return the intensity of his grip. At six-five, O’Malley took up a lot of space. His oversized ego filled the rest of the room. A heavy gold ring with the Marine Corps insignia flashed off his right hand.
“It won’t be easy, but I’m sure Scott and Harlan will take good care of you.”
“Of course, of course they will. So long as you keep me out of jail.”
Harlan put his arms around Mason and O’Malley, forming a new circle. “Lou, I’ve told Victor that you and Sandra need to talk with him about the government’s case and the subpoena for our records. Take good care of him. Victor has been very good to us.”
They all laughed more than Harlan’s comment deserved. Mason closed the door as Harlan and Scott left the conference room, then sat next to Sandra. Father and son took seats opposite them.
Mason led off. “Victor, did you know that Richard Sullivan and the firm were targets of the grand jury investigation?”
“Cut to the chase, eh? I like that, young man. Yes. Richard told me. He said it was a sign that St. John was desperate but that I didn’t have anything to worry about. He said that you told him I was in the clear.”
Mason studied O’Malley for some indication that O’Malley expected him to believe that story. O’Malley’s face was a pool of calm water.
“We both know that’s bullshit. You’re smart enough to know how much trouble you’re in. The U.S. attorney doesn’t go after the defendant’s lawyers unless he thinks he can squeeze them to turn on their client to save their own hides.”
O’Malley didn’t flinch. “Then suppose you tell me how much trouble I’m in.”
“Here’s what I know. Your bank loaned money to real estate partnerships you controlled that were in financial trouble. The bank never should have loaned the money because the partnerships couldn’t pay the money back. You knew it and the bank knew it. The loans cost the bank fifty million. The government says that was criminal fraud.”
“And my lawyer advised me that the loans were reasonable business investments that turned sour. That’s not a crime.”
“And I’m not the jury. Did your lawyer get any of that money before he turned up dead?”
“I’m sure Richard charged for his services and was paid.”
“Did he collect for anything other than his legal fees?”
O’Malley offered a patient smile. “I didn’t write the checks. You’d have to ask him.”
“You begin to see the problem here, Victor. Richard Sullivan is dead. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”
O’Malley’s eyes narrowed and his congenial veneer evaporated.
“No, I haven’t, young man. My friendship with Richard was the only reason I stuck with this firm and didn’t hire a Wall Street heavyweight. I may have to rethink that now that he’s gone.”
“You may need a Wall Street firm sooner than you think. If the firm is indicted, we’ll claim that we didn’t know the true nature of your actions because you concealed them. The court will waive your attorney-client privilege, and we can fight over the movie rights.”
O’Malley nodded. “All right. You’ve made your point. Better to hang together than separately. What else do you want to know?”
“St. John has subpoenaed our files on Quintex Land Corporation. I want to know why.”
“I don’t know. The bank didn’t loan any money to Quintex.”
“What does Quintex do?”
“I use it to buy and sell land.”
“Scott said that Sullivan handled the real estate deals but that the company has made other investments besides real estate.”
“Look, Richard set up more corporations for me than I could keep track of. I certainly can’t remember every deal that I ever did. You’ve got the records. You figure it out and tell me if I’ve got another problem besides the loans.”
Mason shook his head, realizing the struggle that lay ahead. O’Malley wasn’t going to tell him anything he didn’t have to. Mason couldn’t blame him. They had met only once before. The lawyer O’Malley trusted was dead, and he hadn’t decided whether he could trust Mason.
Mason and Sandra spent the next two hours hammering him on Quintex, but they didn’t know enough to ask the right questions. They needed time to plow through all the material, so they scheduled another meeting for the following Monday afternoon.
“Well, what do you think?” Mason asked Sandra after O’Malley and his son left.
“No jury will ever believe that someone that successful could know so little about how he made all that money. He’s not going to help us more than he has to.”
“Doesn’t he know that the harder he makes our job, the more likely it is that he gets convicted?”
“Maybe. Unless he’s more worried about what the government doesn’t know than what it does know. We better buy some time from St. John.”
“Our appointment is at ten tomorrow morning. Let’s have a look at Sullivan’s office.”
The locksmith was just finishing under Angela’s watchful eye. She gave them the Girl Scout salute, handed each of them a key, and posted the
“The office is secure, so let’s leave it until tomorrow. Maybe we’ll have a better idea of what we’re looking for after we meet with St. John,” Sandra said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When Mason returned to his office, he found six banker’s boxes stacked against one wall. Each box was labeled
Mason ran his hand over the boxes, deciding whether to open them. He knew that when he did, he’d have no more excuses to quit the firm or to blame the result in Tommy’s trial on fickle courtroom gods. He used the letter opener Scott had given him for being best man in his wedding to cut the tape that held the lids on each box.
The first thing he saw was Tommy’s safety belt, the Philpott Safety System logo embossed on the back. It was more harness than belt. Tommy wore it wrapped around his waist and between his legs. A six-foot rope called a lanyard was attached to the belt. A hook shaped like a giant safety pin was attached to the other end of the rope.
