The way Eddie erupted from the car terrified a tiny Oriental couple who were waiting at the cashier’s office. I tried to reassure them, but Eddie had already moved on to the sidewalk. He raced from pant leg to lamppost to hydrant in a state of olfactory frenzy until I pulled him up short with the leash. I hated to do it, but I had to grab him by the muzzle and look into his big round brown eyes.
“Knock it off. They’ll think you’re a tourist.”
That settled him down, and after he peed on a few things, including a stack of the
Litski, Goethles and Johnson had only one floor of the building. The guy at the security desk in the lobby was a little unsure about their dog policy.
“They’re waiting for him,” I told him. “Has to do a deposition.”
“Deposition. No shit.”
We took the elevator up to the seventeenth floor. It opened on somebody’s den, complete with bookcases, easy chairs and a fireplace. Plus a mahogany desk with a woman working at a black computer terminal. She wore dark blue.
“Well hello, fella. Aren’t you cute.”
Women are always telling him that. Probably explains his high self-esteem.
“I’m here to see Hunter Johnson. Two o’clock appointment.”
“He’s expecting you. Can I get you anything?”
“A cup of coffee would be great. And a little water for the dog.”
Eddie was panting, but in control of himself. The china bowl she brought was a little small, so half the water slopped onto the carpet. The woman in blue took it all in stride.
Johnson came out at the stroke of two. He was movie-star handsome, with a smooth tan complexion, full head of wavy brown hair and clear blue eyes. True to his press. His handshake was firm and dry. His suit expensive. He lit up when he saw Eddie.
“I didn’t know you brought co-counsel,” he said, roughing up Eddie’s head. “A mix, right? Setter-lab?”
“Name’s Eddie. Origin’s a mystery.”
“Who’s a good boy? Hey, there’s a good boy. How ’bout the ears, how ’bout a little scratch …”
Eddie ate it up. Their display of mutual admiration lasted so long I started to feel forgotten. I made a little noise.
“So, Sam, let’s go find a room. Bring your friend.”
The office area behind reception was built out with raised paneling and thick molding, all painted a soothing off-white. The carpet was deep forest green and lint free. It was virtually silent.
We settled in a conference room next to his office. More books and high-back chairs, tea sets and original oil paintings. Abby would know if the pieces were authentic or the overall design true to form. You could rate it by how hard she tried to hide the sneer.
Johnson took off his jacket before he sat down, so I did the same. I put a yellow pad, a stack of loose papers from my Regina file and a plain white envelope, face down, on the table in front of me. He looked down at the envelope then back at me.
“So, what can I help you with?”
I liked him a lot better in person than over the phone. I think I would have even without Eddie to break the ice.
“I’m not a lawyer, I’m an engineer. I was appointed administrator by Suffolk County, so sorry if I don’t know how this stuff works.”
“I think I explained estate planning isn’t within our expertise.”
“That’s right. But zoning is.”
“You’d mentioned you had information that might be important to our firm.”
“If you could help me with the protocol.”
“Certainly.”
“I told you this was sensitive. In a moment you’ll understand why.”
I tapped the white envelope, then pulled my hand away when he caught me doing it. He still looked relaxed, but caution was forming in the air.
“You have my attention.”
I took a breath.
“Okay, say I accidentally discovered there was a criminal act committed during the course of Bay Side’s development efforts, is that something I should talk to you about, or Milton Hornsby, or should I just go to the police?”
I’d spent a lot of time with lawyers when I was running my company’s technical services division. We had a complicated array of scary legal threats, like product liability, patent infringement, unfair trade practices, environmental compliance, as well as the usual human resources and regulatory hazards that stalk every operation. I liked our lead corporate guy. Unlike his boss, Mason Thigpen, he had a degree in engineering. And a sense of humor, which meant he had a little perspective and imagination. One thing he taught me was what you say or don’t say, when and where, what you do or don’t do, how you do it and why, are all perceived in the legal world through a filter that is entirely invisible to the rest of us, and entirely outside normal intuition. What they can’t see is a straight ball right up the middle.
“And this involves our firm?” he asked in carefully measured tones.
“I don’t think so. But I don’t know.”
“This is also likely beyond our purview.”
“You’re probably right, but here’s my problem. I’ve tried to speak with Milton Hornsby about this, and he won’t do it. So I asked this lawyer friend of mine if I can make Hornsby talk to me, and my friend says no. So, I talk to Hornsby’s lawyer, Jackie Swaitkowski, and of course she’s bound by attorney-client privilege, so she can’t help me. The only guy left, who I know is connected with this thing, is you. If you can’t help me, I don’t know what’s next.”
Johnson was studying me like a shrink. Looking for signs of underlying truth. Something to tell him to either throw me out or keep me talking.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m having difficulty connecting our work on a straightforward zoning appeal in Southampton with some sort of criminality, which you haven’t specified or revealed in any way.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And further, why, if you believe there’s been illegality, you haven’t already contacted the police.”
“That’s the other problem. I’m not sure about that part, either.”
Before he could say anything I said, “As you know, Bay Side Holdings is part of a trust, Bay Side Trust.”
“We were retained by Bay Side Holdings,” said Johnson.
“Right. But as I see it, the only people who really matter in this are the guys who actually own all that property, along with whoever’s controlling the trust. Which could be the same, for all I know. The beneficiaries, and those with fiduciary responsibility. Am I seeing this right?”
Johnson brought Eddie into the conversation for the first time.
“I think your master is trying to score a little free legal advice.”
We all grinned at each other.
“Actually, my lawyer friend’s already offered. It’s just, before I ask him, I’m seeing if you can help me out.”
“Is that what you’re doing, Sam?”
“Yeah, he’s a big-time guy. It’s embarrassing to ask for favors.”
“I still don’t see what sort of favor you’re asking of me.”
“Who are they?”
“Who?”
“Who runs the trust?” I asked.
“The trustee?”
“Yeah. And for whom?”
Johnson readjusted himself in the big chair, which had a back that went up way past his head. Made it harder to shoot him from behind.
