'Mr. Balch, this is Dr. Alex Delaware. Alex, Mr. Bradford Balch. Esquire.'
Balch's hand was fine-boned and cold. I let go of it and
said:
'We've spoken on the phone.'
The attorney looked blank.
'You called me to arrange a visit to the Chancellor estate.'
'Oh, that,' he said, and pursed his lips. The memory of being used as an errand boy tasted bad. 'Why's he here?' he asked Milo.
'Consultant.'
Balch regarded me with distrust.
'I thought you were working for Mr. Souza,' he said.
'I was. Not any longer.'
'What are you here for? To check me out psychologically?'
'We've done all the checking out we need to,' said Milo. 'Have a seat and let's get down to business.'
'Sergeant,' said Balch, 'I insist that we talk alone.'
'Your insistence has been duly noted,' responded Milo, holding out a chair. 'Have a seat.'
'I'm serious, Sergeant - '
'Balch' - Milo sighed - 'you're in big trouble, and I'm letting you take a lot more than you're giving. Sp don't waste my time with power plays, okay?'
Balch blushed, and his eyes dropped to the floor. He sank down abruptly in the chair, swinging the case onto his lap, embracing it. Up close he looked very young - apple-cheeked and sandy-haired, the hair short and neatly parted, with a sprig of cowlick at the tag end of the part. His clothes
were expensive and traditional but a trace ill-fitting -button-down collar a half size too large, silk rep tie just a smidgeon off plumb. He seemed imprisoned in them, like a boy forced to be a man. 'Drink?' asked Milo. The attorney frowned prudishly. 'I just want to get this over with and get out of here.' 'Sure,' said Milo. 'This has to be ticklish for you.' 'Ticklish? It's a breach of ethics. Violation of confidentiality. If it ever gets out, I'm finished. Be lucky to get work as a paralegal.'
'No reason for it to get out.'
'So you say.' Thin, manicured fingers played with the clasps of the attache.
'It's tough,' agreed Milo. 'Damned if you do, damned if you don't.'
'Look,' said Balch, 'how was I to know the signature was forged? Mr. Souza vouched for it. Mrs. Cadmus was right there.'
Milo's eyes hardened.
'No one expected you to be a mind reader,' he said. 'Just to follow the goddamn notary rules: No stamp unless you personally witness the signature.'
'But there was absolutely no reason to suspect forgery,' insisted Balch without passion. 'The trust had a routine provision for mental incompetence: transfer of funds back to the guardian upon written request. In view of the beneficiary's mental status, it wasn't illogical for Mr. Cadmus to activate it.'
'For the kid's own good, right?' asked Milo. 'There were documents attached certifying incompetence,' said Balch. 'It wasn't illogical,' he repeated. 'Not illogical,' agreed Milo. 'Just fraudulent.' 'I had no knowledge of that.'
'I believe that,' said Milo. 'You were slipshod, not crooked. That's why I'm giving you an opportunity to do penance.'
Balch looked ill.
'The whole notary thing was a pain in the ass,' he said.
'Souza's idea. He said a trust and estates man should be a notary, in order to streamline things. I thought it more appropriate for a secretary. I should have insisted.'
'Gotta listen to the boss, right?'
'Shit,' muttered the attorney, and looked at Milo's drained gin and tonic.
'Sure you won't have that drink?' asked the detective.
'No - oh, why the hell not? Tanqueray on the rocks with a twist.'
Milo disappeared into the bar and came back with the drink. After loosening his tie, Balch tossed it back quickly.
'It was Nixon who ruined things for notaries, wasn't it?' said Milo. 'Donating all that stuff for tax write-offs, inflating the values - how was the notary supposed to know he'd be liable. I mean, this was the president, the big boss.' He smiled. 'Seems bosses have a way of screwing the little guy over, huh?'
Balch bristled, clearly miffed at being characterised as a little guy. He stirred the ice in his glass and asked:
'What I want to know is how you found out about it.'
'Little birdie with big ears.'
The attorney thought for a while, then groaned.
'Oh, shit. The chauffeur. He was there the whole time, waiting to take Mrs. Cadmus home. I never assumed he was paying attention to what was going on. Should have, the guy always impressed me as a sleaze - how much did you pay him, Sergeant?'
Milo ignored the question.
'Shit,' said Balch, looking ready to cry.
'Think of it this way,' said Milo consolingly. 'There's a positive side. You're the first one in the firm to find out about the boss's imminent decline. Gives you a head start on the job market. Where'd you go to school?'
'Penn.'
'Ivy League. You shouldn't have any problem.'
Balch drew himself up and tried to look dignified.
'I'll be fine, Sergeant. Can we get down to business?'
'Sure. Hand over the stuff; once I'm satisfied everything's there, we'll shake hands like gentlemen.'
'Before I hand over anything, I want your assurance that my name will never come up in any part of your investigation. And that no one will ever know where you got the documents.'
'The case is too hairy for me to promise you anything more than I'll try my best.'
'Not good enough,' snapped Balch.
Mill picked up a lamb bone and gnawed at it.
'How about Cub Scout's honour?' he said, crossing his heart.
'Dammit, I'm serious, Sergeant!'
Milo put one palm on the table and leaned in close, waving the bone like a scimitar. His brows knitted, and the candle highlighted the grease on his lips, creating an altogether menacing visage, a pirate sniffing plunder.
'So am I, Counsellor,' he said. 'Dead serious. Now open that goddamn case.'
WALKING NEXT to Antrim was like wearing a cobra for a necktie. The fact that he was cooperating was singularly unreassuring; I knew what he was capable of in an instant of rage. But his presence was an important part of the setup, and I'd gone too far to turn back.
The decision to use him - and me - had been made after three hours of meetings behind closed doors. Milo had come to my house and told me about it.
'We had him call and say everything was taken care of, but it's only a matter of time before they realise he's been
busted. Their kind of money means mobility: Learjets;
Swiss accounts; villas on islands that don't extradite - look
at Vesco, still out there, flipping off the government.
Which means if we don't move fast, we're at risk for losing
the big fish.'
'What do you want from me?'
He told me and followed it by assurances not to feel
pressured. I considered the alternatives, measured the
risks, thought of a 3:00 A.M. crisis call and all that had
