Body of Shadows (3 page)

"That was to a number registered to Pantage Phair," Sydney said. "She's an attorney in the same firm as Jackie Lake."

"Okay."

The entry before that was a phone connection, not a text, lasting about two minutes. Sydney pointed to it and said, "That call was to Grayson Condor. He's an uppity-up in the firm."

Those were the only entries from yesterday, the day she got murdered.

Drift stuffed
the records in a manila envelope and said, "You feel like taking a ride?"

"To where? The law firm?"

"I'll give you a hint. I'm either thinking of that or the flower shop."

"Well it's not the flower shop."

"Bingo."

6

Day One

July 18

Monday Afternoon

The disbarred lawyer,
Richard Blank, lived in a contemporary mansion in Beverly Hills. Yardley pulled the BMW through the wrought iron gate past the stone lions, up the cobblestone driveway and next to the water feature, where she killed the engine and stepped out.

The air was more humid than she expected.

Cotton-ball clouds swept overhead.

When she knocked on the door, a man answered. It was him. She recognized him from the pictures and, seeing him in the flesh for the first time, began to work on how to best change his face.

"Yes?" he said.

"How would you like to be a lawyer again?" Yardley said.

The man wrinkled his brow.

He was 45, six-one, with blond surfer hair and a manly face with a dimple in his chin, the epitome of what a good trial lawyer should look like.

"Who are you?"

"I'm someone who can change your life," she said. "Before I say more, I need your assurance that our conversation will remain personal."

He sized her up.

Then he swung the door open and said, "Come in."

They ended up in the back by the pool in the shade of a cabana with a pitcher of iced tea.

"This is nice but it's not a courtroom," she said. "You're bored here." She looked around. "I would be too. There's no fight, no action, no conflict. There's no one hanging on your every word." She looked him in the eyes. "You miss that. That's not the question. The question is, how much do you miss it? Do you miss it enough to do what it takes to get it back?"

He cocked his head.

"What's your game?"

"No game," she said. "I'm someone who can get your license back. It's that simple."

"No one can do that."

"I can."

"How?"

"I'll explain," she said. "But first answer my question. Do you miss it enough to do what it takes to get it back? The reason I ask is that if we go forward, you're going to have to do things. Some extreme things. So, here it is again, do you miss it enough to do what it takes to get it back?"

A pause.

His face got serious.

"Yes."

"Good," she said. "In that case we may be able to do business together. Let's find out."

He took a sip of tea.

"Let's."

She studied the pool.

"The water looks nice," she said. "Is it warm?"

"Warm enough."

She walked over, scooted down and felt it with her hand. It was almost the temperature of a hot tub. The sun reflected into her eyes.

It felt nice.

"Have you ever been to New York?"

Blank shook his head.

"No."

"That's where you'll be practicing," she said. "New York. It's nice there. You're going to like it. You're going to be a freaking rock star again. You won’t have a pool though. No one in New York has a pool."

7

Day One

July 18

Monday Morning

Pantage waited
until Renn-Jaa stopped knocking, then opened the door a crack, stuck her head out and looked up and down the hall. No one was in sight. Her plan was to slip out of the firm but that changed just before she got to the elevators. Instead, she took the spiral staircase up to 41 and went to Jackie Lake's office. The door was closed but not locked. She slipped in and closed it behind her.

She sat down in the woman's chair and shut her eyes. Her head spun as if she'd just chugged a glass of wine.

What happened last night?

What got so important that it escalated to murder?

Something grabbed her attention on the floor under the desk. It turned out to be a picture of Jackie straddling a man's lap as if giving him a lap dance.

It was jagged but sensual.

The man was enjoying it.

So was Jackie.

Pantage stuffed it in her bra next to her heart and closed her eyes.

The darkness was a drug.

She needed more.

Suddenly the door opened and Xavier Zarra walked in, one of the senior partners from the top floor. The shock on her face was palpable.

"What are you doing in here?"

"I don't know. Saying goodbye, I guess."

"This office is off limits," she said. "There was a global email sent this morning to that effect."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Did you touch anything?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

The woman gave a mean look, then let it transition to a smile.

"We're all upset," she said. "Let's just try to handle it."

"Okay."

She walked back down
to 40 and headed for the elevators, only to spot a man and woman in the reception area. The man was about thirty-four, six-two, with a solid body and a drop-dead gorgeous face that belonged on the cover of GQ. He had longish brown hair that tended to flop over his eyes. He wore jeans, black leather shoes, a blue cotton shirt and loose blue tie. He was engrossed with one of the oil paintings on the wall, the Delano.

The woman was younger, African American, with a gym build.

The man turned to Pantage as she crossed.

Their eyes met.

There was something wrong with his, no, not wrong,
different
. It took a heartbeat before she figured it out. One was blue and one was green.

He looked at her, first as one stranger looking at another, then as something more.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

She continued.

He grabbed her arm.

"Hold it a second," he said.

"What's the problem?"

He brought his face close to hers and whispered, "I looked for you, after that night. I went back to that bar six different times."

She pulled her arm free.

"You have the wrong person."

"No I don't."

"I've never seen you before in my life," she said.

"Why are you saying that?"

"Because it's true."

He wrinkled his forehead.

"You really don't remember me?"

"You can't remember someone you've never met," she said.

"If we never met, then tell me one thing," he said.

"And what's that?"

"How come I know you have a yin-yang tattoo on your right cheek?"

The words startled her.

They were true.

"I have to go," she said.

"Then nothing's changed," he said. "That's too bad."

She headed
for the elevators. Halfway there she turned and came back.

"I'm sorry I don't remember you," she said.

He shrugged.

"It's okay. I'm a pretty forgettable guy."

She paused, not sure if she was actually going to say what she was thinking of saying, and then said, "Not really." A beat then, "When was it that we knew each other?"

"Last summer, late August," the man said. "For two days."

"Two? Are you sure?"

He nodded.

"I'm sure. Well, let me take that back. Friday night to Sunday morning, whatever that calculates to be."

"That's a long time," she said. "You must have made an impression."

"I do what I can."

She smiled and walked away.

"Hey, wait."

She turned.

"Yes?"

"What's your name?"

She shook her head.

"No names."

8

Day One

July 18

Monday Morning

When the raven-haired beauty left,
Sydney got in Drift’s face and said, “You never told me about that one. Why not?”

“You want the truth or lies?”

“Whichever you have handy.”

“That would be the latter,” he said. “She picked me up in a bar one night. We spent some time together. She left while I was sleeping. That’s it.”

Sydney made a face.

“No, that’s not it, because if that was it you would have told me about it back when it happened,” she said. “You kept her from me.” Her face brightened. “You actually liked her.”

He shrugged.

“Maybe.”

She punched his arm.

“You dog,” she said. “You’re in love.”

“
Was
,” he said. “A little bit, maybe.”

She studied him.

“No
was
about it, Drift. I know that look. It’s the same one a wolf has when it sees a rabbit.”

“Nice comparison.”

“So what are you going to do now that you know who she is?”

“Nothing.”

She shook her head.

“The day you do nothing is the day I start liking the Beach Boys.”

A woman approached
and announced that Mr. Condor was free now. “Would you like to take the stairs or the elevator up to his office?”

“Stairs,” Drift said.

Five minutes later they were on 42 in an unoccupied corner office that was bigger than Drift’s house. Two of the walls were glass, not windows, glass—floor to ceiling. Drift walked over, keeping his distance, and took a timid look down. Denver unfolded beneath his feet and fifteen miles to the west the mountains jutted out of the flatlands with a jagged force.

Against one of the interior walls was as old jukebox.

Drift went over and checked the playlist, then punched K5. The machine jumped to life, a 45 got placed on a turntable and a needle set down. A scratching sound came from the speakers.

Then the music came.

Geraldine, oh Geraldine,

Get your big old tits off my back.

Geraldine, oh Geraldine,

Get your big old tits off my back.

It’s sugar in your tea baby,

But it’s giving me a heart attack.

Suddenly the door opened and three people walked in, two men and a woman, each wearing clothes that cost more than Drift’s first car. The front man extended his hand. “I’m Grayson Condor, the managing partner. These are two of my partners, Tom Fondell and Xavier Zarra."

Condor was almost Drift’s height with a solid build and a python-strong handshake. His face was tanned and his hair was slightly disheveled, as if it would be more at home on a sailboat than in a boardroom. His teeth were white and his smile was big. Tom Fondell wasn’t even a candle compared to Condor. In fact, as soon as Drift looked away, he forgot what the man looked like. The woman, Xavier Zarra, reminded Drift a lot of Leigh Sandt, classy with shapely legs encased in nylons.

They ended up seated at a small but expensive conference table with fancy coffee cups and coasters. Drift looked at Condor and got to the point.

“Jackie Lake made a few phone calls yesterday. One of them was to you.”

Condor nodded.

“That’s true.”

“What was that conversation about?”

“Jackie was in San Francisco taking depositions,” he said. “On Saturday she deposed a woman named Blanch Wethersfield, the assistant CFO of Hedgley Management Group, which is a party that our client, Daniel Dexter, is suing. On Sunday Jackie deposed Johnnie Squares, the CFO of Hedgley. Jackie called me on Sunday to brief me on the depositions. I’m the primary attorney on the case. Jackie and two other attorneys—Peter Slide and Jesse Jones—are working the case with me, under my direction. All four of us have formally entered our appearance in court as counsel of record.”

Drift nodded.

“So how’d they go?”

“The depositions?”

“Right.”

“Well, I can’t get into specifics because of attorney-client confidentiality and all that, but I’m probably at liberty to say they went well.”