“A conservator?” Nina said. “I think that’s what you mean. Someone to take care of his money for him.”
“I would be willing to do that.”
“Just thinking aloud, and this shouldn’t be construed to be a piece of legal advice, but a conservator would take care of his legal affairs, too.”
“Like deciding whether or not to stay with this case,” Rog said.
“But I can’t advise you about that.”
“Why not? Aren’t you supposed to be looking out for his best interests?”
“I suggest you consult another lawyer down there.”
“I will. Right away. Nina?”
“Yes?”
“Could we let Dave out and bring me in as the plaintiff? I’d be a much better plaintiff.”
“Believe me, I’ve thought about it, Roger,” Nina said. “You have a cause of action for the loss of your sister, but it’s not very strong, not like Dave’s legal position. And it’s too late in the game.”
“Could I sue for Chelsi’s death?”
“Sue who?”
“I don’t know. The John Does.”
“It’s all wrapped up in Dave’s case,” Nina said. “He has to hang on.”
“Okay. I’ll do what I can to help you. You need another check?”
“I’m afraid the bill’s in the mail.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll pay it. This is my daughter and my sister we’re talking about.” He hung up. Nina walked out to Sandy ’s office. Fresh coffee was brewing in the espresso maker through the half- open door of the conference room. Sandy and Wish sat at the table in there.
“I was just about to call you,” Sandy said.
“I never smelled anything so good.” Nina went to the coffee and started steaming some milk. “You know, it’s odd how allies turn into enemies and how new allies appear just when you need them.”
“If you say so,” Wish said. He was so soaked that rivulets of water were coursing onto the rug from his pants. His hair was plastered to his head, and his eyes were wild.
“Why, what is it, Wish?”
“I just heard from Ed Vasquez in Boston. He served the couple yesterday, then watched to see what they would do. They made a trip to the law offices of John Branson a couple of hours ago, about two P.M. Boston time-that’s eleven A.M. here-”
“Too bad,” Nina said. “I was hoping they would retain some charming, reasonable Harvard lady lawyer. I’ve already met that guy.”
“Listen,” Wish said. “They came out of the law offices, which are located on Boylston Street near Boston Common, at 2:35 Boston time. They walked to the side street where they had parked the car, a blue 2001 Corvette. The guy-Raj-got in the driver’s seat and the girl got in the other side. Ed was watching from across the street in his car. After about ten seconds they jumped out and ran into a bank right there on the street.”
Nina was still standing, her cup in her hand. “I’m getting a headache,” she said. “I just know I am. Go on.”
“The ’Vette blew up. That’s what Ed said.”
“It blew up?” Sandy said. “Ed said it blew up?”
“Exploded. Some people passing by got hit by glass. The bank windows were blown in. The car jumped about ten feet in the air and landed on its roof in the middle of the street.”
“The couple?” Nina said.
“Unharmed.”
Sandy and Nina looked at each other. Nina said, “Thank God.”
“They came out a minute later, looked around, then left. They flagged down a taxi and-”
“Their car blew up, you say?” Sandy said. “Is this a joke?”
“I am not kidding, Mom.”
“Someone went all the way to Boston to kill them,” Nina said. “Right after they got served.” She burned her tongue on the coffee, needed it too much to care, and drank some down, destroying a few taste buds in the process. “Because they got served. Someone knows exactly what’s going on in this case, minute by minute.”
“You make it sound like we have a mole here at the firm,” Sandy said. “Which consists of you and me and Willis, so I don’t think so.”
Wish was nodding fast. “It was the next morning after they were served, Nina! It has to be about our case! Anyway, so then they got in a taxi and Ed followed them. They went directly to the airport in Boston -Logan-and they went to the Lufthansa counter and bought tickets for a flight to Frankfurt, Germany, leaving in four hours. Ed called as soon as he could. They’re still in the waiting room, but they’re about to board-he couldn’t call right away-”
“They’re going a long, long way away,” Nina said. “Maybe they should.”
“Shall we call the police in Boston? Try to stop them?”
Nina said, “My thought exactly.”
“Have Ed tell them everything?”
“Sure. Have him call right away and report that the owners of that Corvette are fleeing the country.”
While they waited for Ed Vasquez to call back, Sandy made Wish take off his sweater and shirt and gave him a sweatshirt she had tucked in the drawer. They all drank espresso. Cars sloshed through the traffic light on the boulevard outside. Although it was barely past noon, night seemed to be falling, the day so dark the streetlights began to sputter on.
Nina went to the ladies’ bathroom at the end of the hall and took two ibuprofen, washed her face, forced a yawn or two.
When she came back, Wish’s long face told her all she needed to know.
“The police didn’t make it, Nina. Red tape. Ed doesn’t really know why. He couldn’t do anything to stop them himself. They’re at thirty thousand feet by now. I’m sorry.”
Sandy said, “How bad is it?”
Nina said, “I’m going into my office now. And I’m going to think about things. I’ll be back out in fifteen minutes with assignments.” She closed her door, gravitating as always to the window. Mist overspread the marsh leading toward the lake and she could hear rain pouring down the drainpipes, like Raj Das and Silke Kilmer, down the pipes and out.
20
A MAN RANG THE DOORBELL AT ELLIOTT’S house on Vashon Island. Elliott rushed downstairs. His father was coming from the kitchen, walking slowly, having a good day. He held a finger to his lips and his father said, “What’s gotten into you?” but in a whisper.
Peering through the peephole, he saw a stranger in a black windbreaker and jeans on the porch, carrying a clipboard, looking at his father’s roses.
“Yes?” he had opened the door a crack.
“Oh, hi. Mr. Elliott Wakefield?” The man smiled and held out his hand to shake hands, and Elliott said “Uh-huh,” and opened the door wider, automatically polite. Instead of a hand, a manila envelope full of papers came through the door.
“You’vebeenservedwithlegalpapersandyoushouldconsultanattorneyrightaway.” The smile never left his face. He turned and jogged back down the path.
Elliott closed the door.
“Why, El, you’re as white as a sheet,” his father said.
“It’s all right, Pop.”
“Who was that?”
“Just someone bringing me some papers on a consulting job. Pop, listen to me. You have to let me open the door. Don’t answer when I’m not home.”
His father looked stricken. “What is happening?”
“Just-someone is trying to find me. It’s a business thing. We have to be careful.”
“Who was it that called you last night and got you so upset?”
“An associate.” Silke, calling from Germany.
“Are you in trouble with the law? The IRS or something?”
“No.”
“Well? What is it, then? Don’t try to protect me.”
“I have to go to a meeting today,” Elliott said. “In the city. Please. Don’t answer the door when I’m away.”
“Take the ferry to Seattle?” He was tiring. A smell of burning bacon came from the kitchen.
“We’ll have breakfast first.” Pop nodded and went back to his cooking. Elliott showered and shaved, and when he came back down, dressed in a heavy sweater and jeans, he managed to deflect his father’s questions pretty well. He made sure his father was tucked into his favorite chair by the fireplace and that Gloria was on her way before leaving.
He hadn’t even opened the envelope. On the ferry he pulled it out of his backpack. It came from the Law Offices of Nina F. Reilly, Esq. When he read the contents, he groaned.
Now what? Wasn’t it enough that the shooter had tried to kill Silke and Raj, was probably looking for him, and he had to go talk to these corporate honchos today when he wasn’t feeling well?
At the ferry landing he pulled out his Seattle map. The building he needed was right downtown, only a few blocks away, and the day looked clear and cool. He could see the snowcap of Mount Rainier floating in the eastern sky. He walked past the Market and up the hill, turning right at the light. He felt frightened, but he really wanted to hear what these people had to say to him, so he trudged inside and went up to the fourteenth floor, to a law firm.
Oriental rugs. Mahogany reception desk, and a smart-looking receptionist who took his name. Uneasily, knowing he was out of his depth, he sat on the edge of one of the upholstered chairs and stared at the law books crawling up the walls all around. The place could have been empty for all the sound he heard. The receptionist murmured something into her phone, and a few minutes later two men and a woman strolled down the hall toward him.
“Elliott! It’s great to see you again,” Professor Braun said. He had lost weight, and it felt wrong to see him in this setting, but his handshake was firm. “Let me introduce the gentleman who let us borrow his office today, Mr. Phelps.”
