“I can’t imagine how,” said Chaney. “The banks approve the mortgages and set the terms. We simply make sure that everything is in the proper form, all the legalese, you know.”
I suspected there was more to their jobs than that, but I didn’t pursue it.
“What about an angry client, someone who’d lost a court case and blamed Terry?”
“Court?” said Chaney, with a frown. “Terry never went into court, Mr. Barnes. Chaney and Cox isn’t that type of law firm.”
He said “court” as though it were a place where one would be likely to contract a variety of venereal diseases.
“Terry get along all right with everyone here?” I asked.
Chaney smiled and said, “Here at Chaney and Cox, we pride ourselves on our nurturing and supportive work environment.”
“Mind if I talk to a few of Terry’s former colleagues before I go?”
Chaney hesitated, and then said, “By all means, Mr. Barnes, do what you think is necessary. However, I would ask that you be brief, and that you try to handle the situation with the delicacy it deserves. Terry’s death came as a shock to all of us.”
I assured him that I would be as delicate as possible, and then we all shook hands again, and as Chaney walked me to the door, I heard Cox say into the phone, “Melanie, please give Mr. Barnes whatever assistance he requires.”
As I walked back down the hall, I allowed myself the pleasure of speculating upon several of the more imaginative interpretations of that directive.
Chapter 14
When I got back to Melanie’s desk, I gave her my medium-to-high-wattage smile. I would have gone up a notch, but there was no need to have her disrobe right there in the lobby.
“Okay, Melanie,” I said. “You heard the man. I require assistance.”
“You certainly would appear to,” she replied, but, again, the twinkle in the eye. “What can I do for you, Mr. Barnes?”
“First, call me Jeremy. Second, who were Terry Pendleton’s closest friends here?”
She cocked her head to one side and then said, “I don’t know how close a friendship they had, but Mr. Pendleton and Mr. McKenzie sometimes went out to lunch together.”
“Is Mr. McKenzie in?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, no, he isn’t,” she said. “He’s meeting with a client this morning, and this afternoon he has two closings at a bank on the North Side.”
“What about someone who worked with Terry recently, someone he would have spent some time with here at the office?”
“Oh,” she said, “that would be Ms. Richardson. She and Mr. Pendleton were working on a big development project together, some kind of shopping mall on the old Gimbel’s site.”
“Any chance Ms. Richardson is in?”
“She came in just a few minutes ago. Let me give her a buzz.”
I stood by Melanie’s desk and managed not to look down her blouse while she called Ms. Richardson. A steely will, is all it takes.
Hanging up the phone, Melanie looked up at me and said, “She’ll be right out.”
I frowned and said, “I was kind of hoping for another ten-minute wait. I think we’re ready to take our friendship to the next level.”
“As much fun as I think that would be,” she said, “I fear it would be looked upon with a certain degree of disapproval by my boyfriend.”
I grimaced and said, “The story of my life. Always a bridesmaid.”
At that point, the door closest to Melanie’s desk on the left side of the hallway opened, and a stunning-looking woman in her early thirties walked out and extended her hand.
“Mr. Barnes? Hello, I’m Sandra Richardson. Please come into my office.”
As I walked by her desk, I looked at Melanie and raised my eyebrows. She just smiled and shook her head.
Sandra Richardson was model-tall, probably 5’10”, with medium-length reddish hair, green eyes, and, with apologies to Nicole Kidman, a body to die for. She was wearing a short brown skirt with matching fitted jacket, pale yellow silk blouse, understated but obviously expensive gold jewelry, and high-heeled pumps the color of her suit. After I followed her into her office, she closed the door and motioned for me to have a seat in one of the two wing chairs in front of her desk. I expected her to walk around and sit behind the desk; instead, she sat down in the other wing chair and crossed her legs, causing her skirt to ride several inches up her thigh. I did not disapprove.
“I know this is going to sound sexist as all get out,” I said, “but based on my admittedly limited exposure to this law firm, I think I know at least some of the criteria the partners use when hiring female employees.”
She smiled and said, “I graduated first in my class from Cornell law school, Mr. Barnes, and Mr. Chaney hired me over the phone.”
“Then he and Mr. Cox are to be applauded for their willingness to hire talent for talent’s sake, and for their good fortune in acquiring the beauty that occasionally accompanies that talent.”
She nodded and asked, “What can I do for you, Mr. Barnes?”
“I’m a private investigator. Rachel Pendleton hired me to look into her husband’s death.”
“Oh, my,” she said. “I assumed you were, well, a normal client.”
“I’m not a client,” I told her, “and there are those who would tell you the jury’s still out on that normal thing, too.”
She smiled again before saying, “I’m a little confused here, on several fronts. I thought Terry was shot by a mugger, so why would his wife hire a private detective? And how could I possibly be of any help to you?”
“Mrs. Pendleton thinks it’s possible Terry’s murder wasn’t just a botched mugging. She says there’s no way Terry would have done anything but hand over his money.”
She thought about that for a moment and then said, “His wife would know Terry far better than I, of course, but that sounds right to me.”
She shifted in her seat and crossed her legs the other way.
“Look, Mr. Barnes – ”
“Jeremy.”
“Jeremy. I didn’t know Terry all
