“Good. I’m happy you’re happy. It’s been nice working with you.”
She faced me and said, “What does that mean?”
“I quit. Or maybe, you’re fired. Pick a term.”
“Oh, stop this.”
I didn’t reply.
“Don’t you want to find Lisa’s killer?”
I still didn’t reply.
“What’s this about?”
Sometimes the best way for two people to communicate is to not communicate. Again, I declined to reply.
Well, the silence lasted a really long time, before she finally said, “Sean, stop this. I can’t do this without you.”
“Go on.”
“I need you.”
“For what?”
“Because… because I’m almost certain Lisa was murdered for some other reason than we know.”
I’d already been there, heard that, and I frowned to signal we were back at square one.
“Lisa called two days before her murder,” she informed me.
“And said what?”
“She was spooked. She thought somebody was watching her house.”
“Go on.”
“She saw a car parked in front of her townhouse one night. A few nights before, she had an eerie feeling somebody was watching her through her second-story window.”
“A feeling?”
“Yes. But Lisa was very levelheaded. You know her.”
Yes, I did, so I asked, “She had no idea who was watching?”
She shook her head. “I asked if she had anything to be afraid of. She said nothing specifically. I asked about grudges from old cases. She couldn’t think of any. She said, if she had time to research it, maybe…” She shrugged.
“Which you and I just did.”
“Right.” She added, “She also mentioned there were things about the firm that bothered her. I asked her what. She told me she was still running it down and wouldn’t be sure for a few days.”
“And…?”
“That was all.”
“No hints… no clues?”
“I sensed she didn’t want to talk about it. Either for client confidentiality or that it was just too vague. But it was her opinion that it had nothing to do with somebody following her.”
“But that was conjecture on her part.”
“Yes. But she sounded confident.” Her face turned slightly flushed and she added, “I should have pressed her more.”
And I should’ve been at the parking lot at nine, and the parking lot should’ve been better lit, and in a better world everybody would grow up happy and well-adjusted and there wouldn’t be any sicko assholes murdering young women.
But the world was far from perfect, and I therefore considered what Janet had just told me. Over the course of her year at Culpert, Hutch, and Westin, Lisa had worked for a number of partners on a number of issues. The guiding idea of this screwy working-with-industry program was to get exposure to the full panoply of corporate legal issues; thus every month Lisa was shuffled to another case and client. Her final month had been spent on Cy’s team, exclusively on the Morris Networks account. Assuming the firm was somehow involved, and I assumed no such thing, that left a wide breadth of cases she’d been involved with.
I recalled that Lisa had mentioned in our final conversation that she had things she wanted to share with me about the firm. But there was no sense of pressing urgency, nor any trace of fear or anxiety in her voice. I assumed then, as I assumed now, that she had intended to educate me about which piranhas and sharks I’d better not give a shot at my ass.
“I don’t see it,” I informed Janet.
“Maybe Lisa didn’t see it either.”
“Look, we just left our third murder site, where a woman was killed in an almost identical manner. Your sister was numbered, and spattered by sperm.”
“Thank you. I know that.”
“Then what’s the point?”
There was another moment of silence before she said, “The night Lisa was murdered, what made Spinelli conclude it was theft?”
“Her purse was stolen.”
“Was anything stolen from Cuthburt or Fiorio?”
“I don’t… well, nobody mentioned it.”
“Fiorio’s purse was on the floor of the car. I saw it.”
“Go on.”
“Now think about this. Lisa was a lawyer. She always carried a briefcase. Where’s that briefcase?”
“How would I know?”
“I searched her apartment. It wasn’t there. I called her office at the Pentagon; not there either. I think her briefcase was stolen also.” She added, “And her computer was stolen from her apartment, right?”
“There are many possible explanations for the thefts, assuming her briefcase was stolen.” Then I asked, “Why didn’t you bring this to Spinelli’s attention?”
“Because, if I’m right, the police will blow it.”
“How?… Why?”
“What will the police do?”
“Standard procedure. They’ll start interrogating the firm to see what cases Lisa was involved with.”
“And how will your firm respond?”
I was starting to see where this was going. “Like any law firm, they’ll tell the cops it’s all legally protected, confidential information, and tell them to stuff it.”
“And if somebody in the firm is involved?”
“I’ve got it. A lot of burn bags will be carried out of the building over the next few days.”
She had obviously thought this through, and she concluded, accurately, “There won’t be a trace of evidence left.”
I suggested, “And that’s why you want me involved?”
When she didn’t reply to that, I filled in the blank. “You want me to spy on the firm.”
“Spy is a very ugly word.” She stroked her hair and added, “Perhaps nose around a little. But not unless you want to.”
“Want to? Excuse me, isn’t there something in the legal canon that makes that taboo?” I added, “That wasn’t a question.”
“Murder is taboo, also.”
“Janet, you’ve got a missing computer, and maybe a missing briefcase, with dozens of possible explanations, and you think that means there’s a serial killer in one of the most prestigious law firms in the country.”
“Did I say there was a killer in the firm?”
“You implied it.”
“I did not. I suggested a connection.”
“No.” I emphasized, “I mean it-No.”
“Well, I respect your decision.” She paused, then said, “The stolen computer indicates her killer was concerned about an electronic message or file. Get me in to look at Lisa’s computer.”
“Sure. We’ll walk in together, and I’ll say, ‘Excuse me, but my friend here wants to see who murdered her
