over this investigation. I guess I’m a little irritable.” He then leaned against the side of my car and said to me, “All right. You asked, so I’ll fill you in on what I’ve discovered. I’ve reconstructed the murder sites and reviewed every element of the evidence and crime reports. You should always do that, right?”
“Right.”
“Because sometimes… well, sometimes you pick up things others missed. Not that they’re incompetent, but in the heat of battle, as you people call it, certain details can slip through the cracks.”
I didn’t want another long tutorial from this jerk, and I said, “Well, this is very interesting, but-”
“And,” he continued, “with a second look you pick up some of those things. Here’s an example. Lieutenant Martin’s log says that on the night of Lisa’s murder you arrived at the Pentagon parking lot at 9:27 P.M. Martin’s people estimate she was murdered about thirty minutes prior. You told Martin you were supposed to meet her in that parking lot. You see the problem?”
I was starting to explain what the problem was when he added, with a nasty smirk, “Of course, I’m not blaming you, but I did wonder why Lisa was standing around in a big empty parking lot, late at night, vulnerable to this monster. She was well-known for being cautious, efficient, and punctual. Then I put two and two together. And, this is just a guess… but I concluded that her date didn’t have the courtesy to be on time.” He added, “In fact, had you been on time, it wouldn’t have happened.”
Janet was giving me a queer look.
I looked at her and explained, “I was late because I was getting a ticket from a cop.”
He slapped a hand on my shoulder and said, “Don’t make up excuses for my sake, pal. I told you… nobody’s blaming you.”
He turned to Janet and said, “Why don’t I give you a lift back to your hotel? It’ll give us a chance to catch up, and discuss our arrangements for dinner.”
It struck me, as I watched them drive away, that I might have underestimated Mr. George Meany.
Did I get my ass kicked, or what?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Account Ingfest was in its death throes when I popped back into the conference room. The two dozen accountants who had inhabited this room had disappeared back into whatever hobbit hole they crawled out of. Three guys in gray coveralls were feeding reams of now useless spreadsheets into shredders, and a techie was noisily disassembling the phones in the corner.
The end of an audit is a sad and ugly sight, and a tear of regret spilled down my cheek.
Right.
Martha, the head number-cruncher, was huddled in the far corner with Jessica Moner, Morris’s beefy legal counsel and possibly my future boss, and beside her, to my surprise, was Barry, my backstabbing buddy and current boss.
They noticed me, and the conversation died. I mean, if Brutus and his buddies had been so ridiculously conspicuous, Caesar never would’ve had those shivs stuffed in his back, the Visigoths would’ve ended up a lost tribe, and we’d all be speaking Italian. But the lawyers, clever as they are in the arts of treachery, responded instinctively, smiled, and tossed a few innocuous waves. Martha stared at the floor and shuffled her feet, the picture of a troubled conscience.
I said to Barry, “Checking up on me?”
“What?… No, I, uh… I just dropped by to see how things are coming.” He patted my shoulder and added, “And everything’s great. Congratulations on making the timeline.”
“Well, you know, Barry, it was a great team effort. Yes, my legal contributions were both brilliant and crucial, but Martha and her people deserve a little of the credit.” I winked at Martha.
“Well… whatever.” He said to Martha, “Why don’t you get the audit?”
And Martha actually looked relieved as she left the room to retrieve it.
Jessica, still smiling, said to me, “We’re glad you showed up. Great timing. This is working out perfectly.”
“Why?”
“Your strategy concerning the Nash issue worked.”
“Of course. Am I some guy, or what?”
She explained, “In fact, the Defense Department held a protest conference this morning. Silas Jackler from Fields, Jason, and Morgantheau led a joint team representing Sprint and AT amp;T. Barry and I were present on our behalf.”
Barry chuckled and commented, “History was made this morning, Drummond. Silas Jackler developed a sudden case of lockjaw.”
Jessica also chuckled and explained, “The Defense Department lawyers asked Jackler to specify his concerns.”
I asked, “And did he?”
“He insisted it just looked suspicious. Apparently, he and his people were well aware of the legal risks.”
Always one to get in the last word, Barry said, “He tried to throw a few peripheral jabs about Nash and we sat and acted dumb.”
“That must have been very difficult for you,” I said to Barry, tongue in cheek.
“So,” Jessica summarized, “good work and we’re proud as shit of you.”
“Well, shucks.”
“The best news of all,” Barry added, “is that we persuaded the Defense lawyers to decide the protest by Friday.”
“Wow… Friday… imagine that.”
He added, “But we did have to guarantee the full audit immediately. And Jackler has until Thursday to submit any further documentation or the Nash issue goes away.”
Jessica grinned. “Get it, Drummond? You sign the audit, we submit, end of fucking story.”
The door opened and Martha hurried in, gripping a thin black looseleaf binder. She handed it off to Barry, who flipped it open, glanced at the cover sheet, and announced for my benefit, “Excellent. It all looks in order.”
He then tossed it at me, whipped his Mont Blanc power pen out of his pocket, and jammed it in my face. “Bottom of the third page, scribble your name, and we’ll get this over with.”
I took the notebook, flipped it open, and read the three cover pages. Jessica and Barry smiled, crossed their arms, and patiently waited.
I knew what it said, but in situations like this you go through the motions anyway. It was all pro forma crap-I was confirming the legal sufficiency of the audit, a lofty assurance open to fairly broad inter-pretation. In street talk, if anything illegal or unethical was done, moi’s ass was on Le Chopping Block.
I flipped shut the notebook and stated, “Boy… I’m guaranteeing a lot, aren’t I?”
Barry and Jessica exchanged quick, anxious glances.
“Nothing to be nervous about,” Barry assured me, before he swiftly added, “sign it.”
“No.”
“No?” Barry’s smile disappeared. “God damn it, Drummond, do what you’re told.”
Jessica put a hand on his arm. “Drummond, what’s the fucking problem here?”
“I’m not sure there is a problem.” To her confused look, I added, “I haven’t even seen the audit results yet. It wasn’t completed before I left last night.”
“Oh… you want to see the final results?”
“Well, that’s what I’m assuring, aren’t I? It shouldn’t take long
… maybe a day… maybe two.”
Jessica was nodding at me and looking sharply at Barry, like, Hey asshole, wasn’t it your bright idea to use this dunce for this job? Bang his balls together or whatever you need to do, but get the signature. Now.
And Barry very smoothly said, “Jessica, could you excuse us a moment? My associate and I need to talk.”
