Tuesday’s Child

“Nail his ass to the wall,” the blonde’s female counterpart called over her shoulder as she exited into the hallway.

“And you think he won’t retaliate? As you pointed out earlier, remember who his daddy is and remember all those important people he dines with, plays golf with, and vacations with. Chew on that, gentlemen,” the stunning blonde with the shrill voice said. She said gentlemen because there were only four men left in the room. “And before any of you can get up the guts to ask me, no, I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Son of a bitch!” the tall, distinguished man swore. “Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. There’s no way out of this; we’re going to have to pay up. The media will hound us, and this is never going to go away.”

The Santa figured rubbed at his chin. “Maybe if we could locate Sophie Lee, we could cut a deal with her.”

The other three men snorted at once. “Are you out of your mind? You couldn’t go near that young woman even if she were standing outside this door. She lawyered up. You can only deal with her attorneys,” the lead attorney for the state shot back.

“I have a meeting with the attorney general this morning about this mess, so I have to leave now. I’ll copy all of you on the results. In the meantime, no interviews, and someone, for God’s sake, find that young woman. I don’t care what it takes.”

The three remaining men watched the lead attorney walk out of the room, their eyes full of misery, except for the slick young guy, who started to laugh. “This is exactly what I love about politics: you never know what’s going to go down. It’s the challenge, gentlemen, the chase, the adrenaline rush. Well, good luck,” he said, waving airily as he left.

“Who the hell hired that guy, and who is he?” the Santa asked the only remaining person in the room.

The two men looked at one another.

“I never saw him before.”

“I thought he came with you.”

“I think he said he was with… crap, I can’t remember.”

The stunning blonde’s counterpart walked back into the room, accompanied by the lead attorney. “He’s with the Aulani law firm, gentlemen,” she said. “He just walked in here and took a seat, and no one questioned him. Out in the hall, I just asked him who he was since this was a closed meeting. He was laughing his head off when he handed me his business card.” The woman tossed the card on the table as the lead attorney took his seat again. “That, gentlemen, is what you are up against. And may the best man win.”

The men looked down at the pristine white card with the engraved name on it like it was a coiled rattlesnake. Three heads craned to read the name.

“Jonas Emanuel Darrow.”

“Nah, he can’t be…”

“Clarence Darrow’s great-grandson? Why the hell can’t he be his grandson?” the Santa shot back.

“Google the bastard,” the lead attorney for the state said.

“I thought you had a meeting with the attorney general.”

“I do, but I want to know if this guy is who he says he is, so I can report it. Will you just do what I tell you?

Ten minutes later, after the report on Mr. Darrow came back, the lead attorney said, “Yep, the son of a bitch is who he says he is. I take that to mean we’re screwed blue.”

No one said a word as they packed up their briefcases. “Well, I was right about one thing. This case has already grown a leg. Wait ten minutes, and six more will sprout,” the man in the charcoal gray suit said.

Chapter 10

RYAN SPENSER’S STAFF OF THREE WOMEN AND THREE MEN WERE on tenterhooks as they waited for their boss to return from his early command-performance meeting. All of them looked wary and uneasy as they tried to imagine what had taken place and what their roles would be when their boss returned to the office. The woman who was senior to the others whispered, “We’ll know by the expression on his face when he walks through the door. Let’s go over the checklist one more time.”

“Coffee’s fresh, pastries are under the dome so they don’t dry out.”

“E-mails are taken care of.”

“The Lee transcript has been opened, and everything is on Mr. Spenser’s desk. Even Kala Aulani’s appeals. Files are stacked next to the desk.”

“The plants have been watered.”

“All his appointments were canceled for the day.”

The senior member of the staff nodded as she brushed at an imaginary speck of lint from her jacket sleeve. “Then we just wait.”

“Maybe we should go back to our respective offices so he doesn’t think-”

“Good idea,” the senior member said as she walked away in relief. The others scattered like mice who had just smelled a cat coming in their direction.

The clock in the foyer read 8:50 when Ryan Spenser stormed through the door. He took a moment to glare at the receptionist, then slammed through the double doors that led to a hallway and his office at the end of it. “Everyone! My office!” he roared like a lion as he rushed to his suite.

When they heard the roar, the staff scurried again like the mice they were. They stood at attention, waiting for the shouts, the demands, the threats that Ryan Spenser was famous for.

“Coffee?”

“Here, sir,” a mousy looking young man who had graduated summa cum laude from Yale University said, his hands shaking as he set a cup of coffee on his boss’s desk. He almost fainted with relief when he realized he hadn’t spilled a drop.

The mousy young man stepped back into the precise line, his hands folded in front of him like the others, as if they were soldiers at a drill parade waiting for orders. No one blinked, no one twitched, and no one coughed.

Spenser looked down at his desk. His three daily newspapers were neatly lined up. The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, the Wall Street Journal, and the New York Times. He almost spewed the coffee he had in his mouth when he stared down at the color photo of Sophie Lee. His insides started to churn at how innocent she looked, how normal. They were right-she was the girl next door. A crazy thought invaded his mind. How could she be the girl next door when she was an orphan? Orphan was the magic word.

Spenser fixed his gaze on his senior staff member. “I want a full background on Sophie Lee from the moment she came out of some woman’s womb. I want twelve of the best investigators we have going at this full bore. Yes, I know a lot of that is in the transcript and in our files, but we are going to start from scratch as if this were day one in preparing for trial. Forget what’s in those files,” he said, pointing to the boxes neatly lined up at the side of his desk. “We need information yesterday. We work around the clock until we get this resolved. Screw up, and you’re on the unemployment line. From this moment on, your lives are mine. If I sink, you all go with me. No interviews. Is that understood?” Six heads bobbed as one. “Now listen up, and listen good.”

They listened, making mental notes as to their various assignments, then nodded again, until their boss was satisfied that they understood what their jobs were to be.

“Here’s a tip. Shake the tabloid trees. Those sleazy reporters know ways to get information we can only dream about utilizing. Promise them whatever the hell you have to promise. Pay them, do whatever it takes. In the end, they’ll probably get the information we need before our investigators can. And you also need to know this. At the meeting this morning there was a stranger there. His name was Jonas Emanuel Darrow. He’s the great-grandson of Clarence Darrow. He works for the Aulani firm, and he just marched into that private meeting like he belonged and sat his ass down and listened to everything that was said. He was a goddamn spy, and no one knew it. I didn’t know it either until one of the conferees called me on my cell after I left the meeting. The son of a bitch now has the inside track. We’re all going to look like fools on the next newscast. Did you all hear what I said? He just marched in there like he belonged, and no one knew who the hell he was. We all look like idiots. You’re all still