Authors: Lisa Scottoline
“No, that’s not true. I haven’t been charged with murder, and I certainly didn’t kill Mark. I want you to know that.”
“I don’t wish to discuss this with you, Ms. Rosato. I find this situation rather … horrifying. We saw Mark only yesterday. He was more than a lawyer to me, he was a friend.”
“I realize that. The purpose of this call is to tell you I’ve prepared a request for an indefinite postponement of the Cetor patent trial. I’d like to file it, with your permission.”
“We don’t wish to postpone the trial indefinitely, Ms. Rosato.”
“I’m afraid there’s no other choice. I’m not in a position to try the case.”
He cleared his throat. “Ms. Eberlein is fully prepared to go forward with the trial. We wish it to go forward, so that it concludes sooner. She has already asked the judge for a one-week postponement, and he agreed, in view of the circumstances.”
“What? How do you know this?”
“I have spoken with Ms. Eberlein by telephone. She is at home. Very upset, understandably, but as soon as she is feeling better we’ll go forward with her. Now I really must go. Please do not call me or Kurt again.”
“But Dr. Haupt—” I said, then the line went dead. I hung up slowly. Eve, trying the case herself? I was trying to process the information when the door to my office burst open. It was Grady, his print tie flopped over the shoulder of a blue oxford shirt. His eyes were bright with excitement behind his wire rims and he carried law books, legal pads, and photocopies.
“Look at this,” he said, shoveling papers over the desk at me. “It’s the will, Mark’s will.”
“How’d you get it?”
“The police, along with a real thin file. That’s all the information they would give us so far. But look at the will! Do you know who Mark named as his executor?”
“Who?” I thumbed through the pages, looking for the answer, and found it at the same time Grady said:
“Sam Freminet.”
I skimmed the provision, which looked standard. “So?”
“So! As executor, Sam gets two percent of the estate as a fee. He also has the power to choose the lawyers for the estate, and he can choose himself. This way, he gets the lawyers’ fees on top of the executor’s fees, also two percent, which can start right away if he wants them to. The topper is that the will sets up a trust naming Sam as trustee, so he also takes a trustee’s fee, one percent a year
for life.
It’s like an annuity. He’ll never have to work again.”
“I’m confused.” Half of me was still thinking about my conversation with Dr. Haupt.
Grady stood over me impatiently. “Considering the size of the estate, that means Sam makes a
million dollars
in fees, and the trustee’s fee goes on and on. It’s double, even triple-dipping, and he also gets the billings as the responsible attorney at Grun. You don’t think he’ll see some kind of bonus for bringing in an estate of this size?”
“And?”
“Bennie, aren’t you following me?” Two lines furrowed Grady’s usually mild brow. “Sam gets rich from Mark’s death. Does that say something to you about motive?”
“That’s absurd, Grady!” I felt angry, insulted for Sam. “That’s just absurd.”
“Is it? Please be objective. I don’t know Sam Freminet, only met him the one time, but money is a very powerful incentive.”
“Sam kill Mark?” I shook my head. “No way. Sam and Mark were friends. We all started at Grun together out of law school. Besides, Sam doesn’t need the money or the billings. He’s a partner at Grun, he probably makes over four hundred grand a year.”
“Do you know that for a fact? How’s his client list, do you know?”
“Sam’s a bankruptcy lawyer and everybody’s going bankrupt. I have to believe he gets his share of business.”
“You believe, but do you know? What about his bank account? Rich people are greedy. It’s the nature of the beast.”
“Come on, Grady, Sam has all the toys he needs. Literally.” I smiled, thinking of the stuffed Tasmanian Devil and Pepe Le Pew. Then I remembered Daffy Duck and his moneybags and stopped smiling.
“Bennie, think about it.” Grady unloaded his books and leaned on my desk, bracing himself on his arms. “Sam knew about Mark’s will, apparently he was the only person who did. You say you three were friends, but I get the impression Sam had more of a business relationship with Mark, but more of a personal relationship with you. Is that right?”
“Yes, I guess, since the breakup.”
“Could Sam have killed Mark to get back at him for leaving you? And make a bundle in the bargain?”
“It’s unthinkable!” I leaned back in my chair. “Sam Freminet is the gentlest soul in the universe. You don’t know him. Forget it. Nice try, lousy theory.”
Grady cocked his head. “Did you tell Sam that Mark wanted to break up R & B?”
“You mean after Mark told me? I went right to the river.”
“Do you know where Sam was that night?”
“I never know where he is at night. He goes out a lot.”
Then I thought of my meeting with Sam that day, in his office. “But he told me he heard some of our associates were leaving. Did you know anything about that?”
“Just that Wingate’s been grumbling, but you could see that. Do you think Mark told Sam he was going to break up R & B?”
“No. Sam would have told me.”
“Would he? He didn’t tell you about the will and he didn’t tell you he was Mark’s executor. Maybe you don’t know as much as you think about him.”
“I know enough to know that this is crazy, this whole discussion.”
Grady sat down, undaunted. “I’d like to call Sam and find out where he was that night.”
“You will not.”
“Bennie, we’re fighting the clock here, you heard Azzic. He’ll charge you as soon as he has something that can conceivably support it. Then where will you be? Murder’s not a bailable offense in Philly. You’ll go right to jail.”
I flashed on the women’s prison at Muncy. I’d been there to see clients and was always relieved to hit the front gate on my way out. “Are you trying to scare me, Grady?”
“I surely am.” He smiled, but I didn’t.
“Okay. Fine. But if anybody talks to Sam, it should be me.”
“I’d like to, as your lawyer.”
“No. You don’t know Sam. He’s one of the dearest men in the world, he volunteers for Action AIDs. He was mad at me because I had a client opposed to AIDS research. He—” I stopped in midsentence. Bill Kleeb. Eileen’s threat against the CEO. I had completely forgotten. I checked my watch. 7:00. I wondered where Eileen and Bill were now, whether they were back at their apartment. If I couldn’t get to Detective Azzic, maybe I could get to them. I got up and hustled to my briefcase for their file.
“Bennie? What in God’s name are you doing?” Grady asked, astonished as I ran back and forth.
“I have to make another call.” I found the phone number Bill had given me and punched it in.
“Now? We’re in the middle of a conversation.”
I held up a hand when Bill Kleeb’s voice came on the line. “Can you meet me at eight tonight? It’s very important,” I told him. Bill agreed only reluctantly, and I named a place to meet, then hung up, feeling uneasy.
“Who was that?” Grady asked.
“A client.” I replaced the file and zipped my canvas briefcase closed. “I have to go. You want to walk me out?”
“Which client? Where are you going?” He stood up.
“To meet a client, the animal rights guy, okay? Maybe his girlfriend.”
“Why?”
“I have to.”
Grady put his hands on his hips. “Bennie, I’m your lawyer. I’d like to know as much as the police and the press do about you. Besides, you said you’d let me win the next one.”
He had a point. I would have smacked a client who was behaving as badly as I was. “I just want to check in with him, see how he is. I can’t tell you more than that, it’s confidential and I don’t want you involved in it.”
“You’re worried about a client when you’re being investigated for murder?”
We met eye to eye, and I wasn’t entirely comfortable in his gaze. “I’m worried about all my clients. You saw me, I made a zillion phone calls today.”
“Why does this client merit a personal visit?”
Because I wanted to see if he and Eileen were picking out china patterns or explosives, but I couldn’t tell Grady that. “He’s young, a kid. He needs some help. Extra help.”
“Good. I’m extra helpful, I’ll go with you.” He retrieved his suit jacket from the chair and tossed it over his shoulder, hooking it with a finger.
“You can’t come. You have to hold the fort.” I opened my office door, but Grady halted the door’s progress with a hand.
“I don’t get it,” he said, gray eyes frank behind his glasses. “I know how much you care about finding Mark’s killer, but you spent the day doing everything else but. Now you’re running off. Aren’t you avoiding it?”
“I have some things to get in order,” I said, though I sensed he was right. Somehow, the threat to the Furstmann CEO was urgent to me. Maybe it was a murder I could prevent, as opposed to one I couldn’t. Or maybe it was just too hard to deal with Mark’s death.
“Hello?”
“Grady, if all goes well tonight, we’ll solve this thing together. You need my help, I can tell.”
He laughed. “Oh yes, I need your help. Don’t know how I got along without you before. Now will you call Sam Freminet or should I?”
“I will.”
“Will you also think about who else had a motive to kill Mark? Was anyone angry with him? Any clients in the past, anyone like that?”
“Yes, sir.”
He grinned. “I like the sound of that.”
“Don’t get too used to it.”
“Don’t worry. Call me here or at home if you need anything, after your meeting or anytime. I’ll be doing my alibi research. I’d like to know where the other associates were last night about the time Mark was killed.”
It caught me up short. “Our associates? Christ.”
Suddenly my office windows filled with a harsh white light. The TV klieg lights, fishing for file footage. Grady turned toward the windows, now bright as midday despite the growing darkness. “Wonder if they got the telephoto on us.”
“Probably. Let’s go say hi.” I walked to the window, and Grady came after.
“Don’t give them the finger this time,” he said.
“You’re no fun.” I looked out the window, shielding my eyes from the searing light. Reporters thronged on the street below, silhouetted in front of the round lamps like shadows on the moon.
Grady scanned the crowd. “The First Amendment at work.”
“Right. Half of them are my clients in the libel cases. I defend their right to hound people.”
“Be careful what you wish for, right?”
I gazed into the hot white brightness, wondering whether the next scene caught in the spotlight would be my arrest for murder.
T
hey sat before paper cups of tap water, looking hungry. If you’re going to meet vegetarians for dinner, don’t do it at McDonald’s. I don’t know what I was thinking when I picked this place. Maybe about Mark’s death, Detective Azzic, and Muncy Prison. “I could get you some fries,” I said lamely.
“Thas’ all right,” Bill said, sitting slightly apart from Eileen. If they’d made up, it was an uneasy truce. He wore a plain white T-shirt and jeans, and his injuries were healing only slowly. The swelling on his forehead had gone down but the gash remained, and the white of his left eye was still bloodred.
“How about a Filet-o-Fish? That’s not meat.”
Eileen wrinkled her upturned nose. She was all nervous energy, eyes roving the restaurant, foot wiggling in white Candies sandals. “No fish. It has a face.”
“Not anymore,” I said, and nobody laughed. Christ, I was losing it. I sipped my coffee. At least it was hot, but even that would change, now that they’d been sued. “I don’t eat veal,” I offered, but Eileen was looking away again. She hadn’t met my eye once, undoubtedly blaming me for convincing Bill to plead out.
“You should read about factory farming,” she said idly. “Cows, pigs, it’s no different than veal. They grow them in pens and feed them antibiotics and steroids.”
“Steroids?” I pushed away my half-eaten Big Mac. If I got any bigger, I’d be Alice in Wonderland.