contractor who's been bitching to anyone who will listen about his
business problems. I wanted to blow him off, but you know the boss.
Any allegation of official misconduct gets a thorough vetting. I'm
probably going to wind up letting the guy have a say in front of the
grand jury, then I'll tell them to no-bill it.'
'What kind of misconduct?'
'The guy's paranoid. I guess there's this process they have to go
through to get permission to make certain changes to historically
significant properties, which includes just about every old building in
the central corridor. His company's request got declined, and he's
claiming that someone at City Hall's on the take, since other companies
don't seem to have any problems.'
'Why would that come to you?'
'It shouldn't. There's a city process the guy's using, and the police
could potentially investigate the allegation as a crime if there were
any meat there. But this guy called Duncan personally, so now I'm
stuck trying to find a palatable way to dump it. Technically Gangs is
the white-collar unit.'
The reality, of course, was that this office had never prosecuted a
significant white-collar criminal. Those cases went to the feds, and
the small-time embezzlers simply got away with n, the victims brushed
off with an explanation that the theft was 'a civil matter' or an
'employment issue.'
But now wasn't the time to hash out office filing decisions. I wanted
to know more about Grice.
'So if someone called the switchboard and asked for whoever dealt with
white-collar crime or government corruption or something like that, Liz
would connect them to you?'
'She should.'
'Then I think I know why Clarissa Easterbrook called you. Is Max
Grice's company called Grice Construction?'
'I'd have to double-check, but that sounds right.'
'Clarissa recused herself from a case where Grice Construction appealed
an adverse decision relating lo a remodel of a Pearl District
warehouse.'
'That'd be my guy.'
And the guy was complaining about the very program that had been at
issue in Gunderson's case in front of Clarissa. A case where Gunderson
had won because of Clarissa's decision.
I looked at my watch. 'I've got to go over to the Justice Center. But
can you get me a copy of whatever you have on Grice?'
'No problem.'
Roger was already waiting in the courtroom with Townsend. In the row
in front of them, two men I recognized as Gunderson and Minkins sat
with a lawyer type I assumed was Jim Thorpe. I should get a kickback
for all the fees I was bringing in to Dunn Simon.
I noticed that four of the five of them watched me as I passed. Men
tend to do that when there's nothing else going on. Although they all
looked unhappy, Roger looked particularly pissed. At a formal level,
I'd hidden my role in what brought them here, but Roger knew me well
enough to suspect something.
The fifth guy, Minkins, was still wearing his hat and turned his head
the other way when I walked by. That's what we lawyers call
consciousness of guilt. Like a suspect who flees, Minkins was hiding
something. I was pretty certain that the something was his snooping
around at the library.
Judge Prescott walked out of her chambers promptly at ten. She noticed
Gunderson et al. in the front row. 'I see we've got some newcomers,
but where, pray tell, is Mr. Szlipkowsky?'
'I haven't heard anything, your honor,' I said, 'but I'm sure he'll be
here. He left me a message last night saying he had subpoenaed some
additional witnesses.'
I heard someone huff behind me and guessed it was probably Gunderson.
Prescott ordered her clerk to tell her as soon as Slip arrived and then
headed back to her chambers. Some judges enjoy the chitchat that goes
on with the lawyers before proceedings commence. Not Prescott.
Her departure left the courtroom awkwardly silent. Since I was
supposedly an innocent, I figured I'd better play the role of
cooperative prosecutor. When I walked back toward Roger and Townsend,
I noticed that, once again, Minkins looked away.
'Hi, Townsend. How are you holding up?'
'Fine,' he mumbled, 'under the circumstances. Thanks.' Then he went
back to staring at the bench in front of him.
