off by his confidence. Partners have been feeding him a lot of work, especially Stan Busch, and Gordon wasn’t afraid to flaunt that.”
“How about his work? Was there anything he was working on lately that could have caused him some trouble? A difficult client perhaps? Maybe opposing counsel he had an issue with?”
Preston shook her head, “For the last three or four months he’s been heavily involved in a case that was supposed to go to trial starting next week. It’s a complex shareholder lawsuit. Gordon Oliver was working with another very good senior associate named Michael Harris. Both of them were working for Happy Hour.”
“Happy Hour?” Lich asked quizzically.
“Happy Hour is Stan Busch,” Preston replied. “I guess he’s kind of what I would call our morale partner. He’s notorious for taking people out for drinks after work. He’s done it for years. We call him Happy Hour.”
“We’ll need to talk to him and the whole firm,” Lich said.
“We’ll need a whole roster of your employees,” Mac added. “We need to speak with everyone and know who is here and who is not.”
“Please wait here for a minute,” Preston replied. “I need to make an announcement.”
Mac and Lich spent the next three hours interviewing lawyers throughout the offices. The atmosphere was somber. Doors were closed. Discussions were in hushed murmurs. There were enough teary eyes and sad faces to suggest Oliver was liked by a fair number of people around the firm.
They started with the lawyer Oliver was doing most of his work with. Mac and Lich caught Stan Busch a/k/a “Happy Hour” as they exited the conference room with Marie Preston. Busch was just arriving in the office, carrying two briefcases, a black leather litigation case and a weathered tan executive briefcase. Preston informed him of the news.
Busch shook his head, “I knew the womanizing would get him sooner or later.”
Mac and Lich shared a look and then followed Busch back to his well-appointed corner office. It reeked of old school lawyer and law firm, with fifteen-foot-high ceilings, crown molding, oak wood floors and dark cherry wood furniture. The office was a power office and Busch looked plenty comfortable sitting in it even given the circumstances. The veteran lawyer was nattily attired in a navy blue pinstripe suit, red silk tie and a crisply pressed blue dress shirt with a white collar. Busch sat casually, one leg crossed over the other, in his high backed leather chair behind his large cherry wood desk, cutting the look of a lord over his law practice.
Behind Busch was a large cherry wood credenza full of family photos, many taken on family ski, beach and tourist trips. Mac could make out two of the pictures which were clearly from Venice. The walls of the office were dotted with pictures of Busch with the powerful and elite of the state; governors, legislators, lawyers and even the odd celebrity. To the right of the credenza, on the floor, were two more high-end leather square litigation cases to which Busch had added the two briefcases he brought with him to the office.
“I like your tan briefcase,” Mac said. “Reminds me of the one an uncle bought for me when I graduated law school.”
“Thank you,” the lawyer responded, glancing briefly to the briefcase and then back to McRyan with a quizzical look. “If you went to law school, why are you a homicide detective?”
“It’s a long story. Besides, we’re not interested in my story, we’re interested in yours and that of Gordon Oliver.”
Stan Busch liked Gordon Oliver. “It will be a real loss. He was a very fine young lawyer. Everything you want in a young associate. He was really coming along nicely and I could envision him doing my work and the firm’s work for many years to come.”
“So we understand Gordon Oliver was working a lot for you as of late,” Lich said.
“Exclusively for the last four months. We have a case scheduled to go to trial starting next Monday. Gordon, along with Michael Harris, was going to be covering much of that trial, along with me of course. Gordon was going to handle a number of witnesses at trial. After we are done meeting here, Michael and I will have to start working on a continuance.”
“Was he having any trouble with anyone here in the office or on that case?”
“On the case, no. It’s a complex albeit garden variety shareholder dispute case. Other than the typical push and pull of litigation, there have been no problems. So no, work was not a problem for Gordon, not at all. My clients really liked him and he did good, very good work, work beyond what most fourth year associates are capable of. Now his personal life? That is another story. That will likely provide you with your killer.”
“How so?” Mac asked.
Busch shrugged. “I’m sure you’ve heard. Gordon liked the ladies. I saw him in action a number of times. He used to say, man’s gotta use all the tools…”
“…in his toolbox,” Mac finished the phrase for Busch. “I’ve heard that a few times today,” Mac added, a tinge of disgust in his voice.
“Gordon said it at least once a day, whether he was doing legal work or chasing the ladies. It was his signature catch phrase, I guess. You’ll find it on a wood plate on his office desk.”
“So who from Mr. Oliver’s personal life would have it in for him?” Lich asked.
“I think there is a husband or two of our female staff that are not fans of Gordon. I’m sure Marie Preston told you of the incident in the lobby a month or so ago.”
Mac and Lich nodded.
“Well that wasn’t the only time he had to deal with Mr. Burrows. Gordon told me there were phone calls, e- mails and one threat to kill him, so I’d check on that Burrows fellow.”
“Did Oliver report the threats to the police?”
“I’m not sure. I recommended he do so.”
Mac made a note to look into Burrows the minute they left the firm. “Any other spouses or boyfriends we should look into?”
Busch nodded and quietly said, “You will want to talk to Genevieve Mathis, a paralegal, and Heidi Sawyer, an associate here in our office. I know Genevieve is engaged to be married and Heidi has a long-time boyfriend and I know for a fact that Gordon slept with both of them.”
“How do you know this?” Lich asked.
“I saw him leave with them on different nights when we were out at The Mahogany. From what I could tell, they weren’t one time occurrences either.” Busch gave them the details as best he could recall.
“Sorry I have to ask this, but where were you last night between midnight and two a.m.?” Mac asked.
“No problem detective, I understand,” Busch replied reasonably. “I left the office around 6:30 last night and spent the night working at home. I went to bed around 10:30 or so. My daughter stayed the night with me.”
Mac and Lich spent another five minutes with follow-up questions and then Mac asked: “So I understand they call you Happy Hour?”
Busch smiled, “Detective McRyan, we demand our people work hard around here, especially our associates, and they make the partners a lot of money. So I don’t think it’s asking too much to take our people out a few times a week for a drink, some appetizers, an occasional nice dinner at Kincaid’s to say thanks for a job well done.”
Mac and Lich worked their ways through the offices for the next two hours, interviewing staff and lawyers regarding Gordon Oliver. They took a break in a conference room just after the lunch hour to look at their notes to review who they’d interviewed, who was left and what they’d learned. It was an interesting mix of people to say the least.
“How about that one lawyer, the older guy with the comb-over, what was his name, Sander Anthony, what a piece of work.”
“The guy who remembered interviewing me when I was in law school?” Mac asked, taking a sip of coffee. “The one who didn’t really like Oliver?”
“Yeah, that guy. He was kind of a douche bag. What did he say about Oliver’s office philandering?”
“Wouldn’t a prudent lawyer avoid the chance of such office scandal by not bedding the help,” Mac replied, mocking Anthony’s stuffy voice. “The one that cracked me up was the woman lawyer, that little pit bull named…”
“Oh yeah, Powers, Barbara Powers,” Lich finished. “Man, she went off on Oliver about his litigation skills, how he did this wrong or that wrong. How cocky and condescending he was.”
