Murder.com (12 page)

Twenty-Two

Firm Meeting

“As you know, I'll be home a little late tonight,” Reuben said to his wife at breakfast Tuesday morning. “I really don't want to go to the firm meeting, but I guess duty calls. Then there's the little matter of the detective work with Luis I told you about.”

As for the firm meeting—he explained to his wife what she already knew—that as a retired partner he had no vote on any decisions that might be taken. But he noted that the firm's institutional memory was a short one and that occasionally he could help out with his knowledge of past events.

“I've kept the new partners from reinventing the wheel a couple of times,” he explained. “And even if I know only about half of them, it's a chance to look them over. I keep hearing they're an outstanding crop, but I always like to see for myself.”

“What are you going to say to Eskill Lander?” Cynthia asked.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Just be careful. That's all I ask,” Cynthia told him.

As soon as he reached the office, Reuben requested an appointment with Russell Townley. The reply from his secretary came back almost immediately—Mr. Townley would see him at once.

Reuben was sure Townley thought he had new information to impart; too bad the Executive Partner would be disappointed.

Just as he thought, the first words Townley spoke to him were: “What's new?”

“Nothing, I'm afraid, Russ. But I have a very delicate matter to bring up with you. I'm sure you're busy getting ready for tonight's meeting, so I'll be brief.”

Townley looked startled, and his hands started their customary nervous fluttering over the pile of papers he had been working on when Reuben came in. He asked his predecessor what he was referring to.

“Russ, back when I was the Executive Partner, computers were issued to all the lawyers, including partners. It was decided then to have a password system, so that the content of each lawyer's PC would be private to him. Each person's password would be known only to him—and his or her secretary, if the partner chose—and to the Executive Partner, who would keep a master list of passwords. As far as I know, that system is still in place, is it not?”

“Absolutely,” Townley said. “The master list is right here in my desk.”

“I need to know one of those passwords—and it's not my own. I'm quite aware that this is a most unusual request, but I give you my word that I am doing this in the best interests of the firm.”

“Can you be more specific, Reuben?”

“I really can't at this time. But if things go along as I think they will, I should be able to give you a full account of what is going on as early as tomorrow. Meanwhile, it is imperative that you not speak to anyone about this. And not a word about it at the firm meeting tonight. Is that agreed?”

“Reuben, I don't like this one bit. But I guess I have enough faith in your integrity—and your love of the firm—to go along with your request, on the condition that you promise to reveal everything to me just as soon as possible.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now, whose password do you want to know?”

“Eskill Lander's.”

Townley's hands began to shake even more than usual.

“Good grief, Reuben, are you serious? What on earth can the problem be? Do you think Eskill is stealing from the estates he administers?”

“No, no, not that. But I'm not going to say anything more right now. I'd like to, Russ, but I just can't. And, at this point, it would be unfair to Eskill if I did so.”

Townley sighed deeply as he pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, selected one, and opened his top desk drawer. He pulled out a folder and, with his hands still shaking, found it difficult to open. Once he had done so he looked through the pages inside and finally said, “Here it is. Are you ready?”

Reuben had taken out his pen and a sheet of paper he had put into his inside coat pocket for just this purpose.

“Eskill's password is RW35 … No, wait a minute. That's last month's.” He riffled through more sheets and then said, “Now I have it. This is the current one.”

Reuben hoped that Townley was right; it would not help the cause to be given an outdated password. But the Executive Partner's extreme nervousness caused him to have a scintilla of doubt that he might be getting the wrong information.

“The current password is XU21014Y.”

Reuben wrote it down carefully and repeated it back for confirmation.

“Russ, I apologize again for putting you in this awkward situation. But all will, I hope, become clear very shortly. And please remember, no mention of this to anybody.”

“I've given you my word on that,” Townley replied a bit shortly.

“Thanks very much. I'll let you get back to your preparations for our powwow. I take it there aren't going to be any bolts from the blue?”

“I don't expect any. The only bolt I know of is the one you promise to let loose.”

In recent years, the semiannual meetings of Chase & Ward had been held at the Evergreen Club, near the Flatiron district. It was not especially distinguished or exclusive, and its quarters were thought by some to resemble a Best Western motel, but it had the merit of admitting women members. Thus it was selected over the crustier (and misogynist) Odyssey Club, where meetings had been held for years before the firm elected its first female partners.

Originally, the meeting had been held over dinner, but now, with almost one hundred partners, that had become unwieldy. (Reuben nostalgically remembered that there had been sixteen partners when he joined the firm.) Now the members met in a meeting room set up auditorium style. There was no dinner, but drinks were served afterward. (Drinks had not been served beforehand for several years; at least since one particular partner's tongue was loosened by even one drink, to the detriment of efficiently disposing of the business at hand.)

Reuben arrived and sat off to the side, between two other retired colleagues, Kevin Rawley and Joel Patterson. He had glad-handed his way in, introducing himself to those that he did not know—many, but by no means all, from the recently opened offices in Los Angeles and London.

The firm's department heads, including Eskill Lander, took seats in the front facing the audience. Russell Townley, as the Executive Partner, went to the lectern and started the meeting promptly at five minutes after five.

Townley began with a brisk review of Chase & Ward's financial position, which he pronounced “as good as it has ever been.” There was no surprise here, as the partners received weekly reports detailing bills sent out; bills paid and amounts still outstanding; and office expenses. Nonetheless, it was comforting to hear Townley's assessment. There was an almost visible glow of satisfaction within the room. Reuben noted the contented smiles of his fellow retirees; their retirement payments, geared to firm income, would be secure for at least another year.

Then the Executive Partner asked each of the department heads to report on “manpower needs.” There were no surprises here, either, as the head of the corporate group said there was no immediate need for more partners. But he reviewed the prospects of three associates—two positively (“partnership material”) and one negatively (“just not up to our standards”). The tax chief agreed that there was no present need, but said there was a “true star” coming up in the ranks.

Craig Haskins, the head of litigation, said more hands were needed—many more, in his view.

“We are nearing a crisis where we're simply going to have to turn down good business, and good business from some of our most loyal clients,” Haskins told his colleagues. “And we've got the manpower to turn things around.” He reviewed not one or three associates, but six, all of whom he described with encomiums ranging from “absolutely brilliant” to “truly outstanding.” Other litigators chimed in to add their praise of the
papabile.
At times, it sounded like an election for new members of the Politburo.

The assessment by Haskins and his henchmen produced some knowing glances and eye rolling within the audience. The head of litigation was always predicting doom and utter collapse unless the litigation empire was expanded, and expanded with the luminous young candidates waiting to be tapped.

“We all look forward to making some selections in the fall,” Townley said when his partner had finished. “However, I think it fair to say that you might do some editing of your army of worthies between now and then.”

“That will be hard, sir, especially since we can use them all. We'll try, of course. You'll be hearing more from us.”

“You can bet on that,” Reuben's neighbor Rawley whispered to him.

Eskill Lander spoke next. Reuben paid strict attention and was pleased to note that Townley did not display any untoward emotion when introducing him.

“Our department is stable,” Lander began. “We've added a dozen or so T & E clients in the past six months, most of them with substantial assets. But we still have the same old problem—our clients refuse to die. So you'll just have to bear with us as we wait to collect the estate fees we know are there and will be ours eventually.”

“Kill! Kill!” came a cry from the audience, which provoked nervous laughter. Eskill looked startled. Too startled? Reuben wondered.

“I hear you,” Eskill said. “But the last time I looked, the measure you suggest was still illegal. As to our present condition, we have enough T & E partners and associates to handle business. That could change, of course, if we have multiple deaths and there's lots of administrative work to be done, but for now we're all right.”

“More than all right,” Rawley muttered to Reuben. “What does he need all those people in T & E for?”

Reuben shrugged.

“Is the Courtland estate still the biggest client you have?” Townley asked.

“Yes, that's correct,” Eskill replied. “Dan Courtland is very fond of our firm. I have the T & E business, and Hank Kramer handles the corporate affairs of Courtland Diversified Foods, inherited from Reuben Frost. Dan's loyalty is great. I think Hank will tell you that Dan prefers that his company deals with us, independent lawyers, rather than yes-men house lawyers. That translates right through to the bottom line.”

Kramer, sitting elsewhere in the audience, nodded vigorously.

“As you all know,” Eskill continued, “Dan Courtland's daughter was murdered here in the city at the end of last month. That's created something of a problem for us. He calls me every day to see what is happening, what's going on to solve the murder. He does the same to Russ, to Hank, and I'm sure to Reuben. He's got some fixation that we are detectives and can somehow get to the bottom of the mystery. I keep telling him that the problem's outside our expertise. He won't listen. And, of course, it's hard to make him understand this, given Reuben's reputation as an amateur detective. And I know Reuben's involved.”

“Is that wise?” Craig Haskins asked. “If the murder remains unsolved, it sounds like our biggest client may blame us.” As a litigator, he was jealous of the forays of a corporate lawyer, Reuben, into criminal law matters. Eskill had given him an occasion to needle—if not knife—Reuben.

“I feel the same way, Craig,” Eskill said. “It's really better if
all
of us stay out of it.” He looked straight at Reuben as he said this.

Reuben stood up, took a deep breath, and addressed his colleagues. He realized his response would have to include a touch of deception, but he had to explain himself.

“Gentlemen, ladies. I think you know me well enough to understand that the last thing in the world I would do is anything that would embarrass the firm or cast it in a bad light. I never have, and I never will. So let me try to explain. After his daughter's murder, Dan Courtland, one of my oldest clients and friends, asked me to get involved in solving the crime. Normally, there would be very little I could do. But as it happens, the police detective assigned to the Courtland case is a man I've known since Graham Donovan's murder years ago. So I have been talking with him. To that extent I'm ‘involved.' That's what our client wanted, and that's what I've done. My role, if you can even call it that, is strictly passive and I don't think is likely to offend Dan in any way.”
Even if the past actions of one of my partners may possibly do so
, Reuben thought but did not say.

“Maybe you can tell us what's happening, Reuben,” Townley said.

“As far as I know, nothing concrete as yet. The police are exploring some leads, but my best information is that they haven't reached any conclusion.”

“Well, keep your powder dry, my friend. And keep in mind the reservations that have been expressed here,” Townley instructed him.

“I think you'd agree that I've never been anything but discreet and I expect I will continue to be so,” Reuben said, before sitting down. His thoughts were confused. Had he been too disingenuous with his partners? On the other hand, he could not get up and say that Eskill Lander was the leading suspect in the case. Or that he was about to assist in breaking in to his computer. All things considered, he decided that his circumspection had been justified and correct.

“There's one other unpleasant subject I must bring up,” Townley told the group. “That is the murder of our associate, Edward Joyner. As far as I know, there's been no break in that case, either. But let me reiterate again the two things I said in the memo I circulated to all of you after his death. First, that each of us should give all cooperation to the police. I realize that this Detective Muldoon that's been assigned to the case is a rather rough diamond, but please answer any questions he has frankly and truthfully. On the other hand, if there are any inquiries from the press, they are to come to me.
No one
is authorized to speak to
anyone
in the media about this. So far, I don't believe that's happened, so let's keep it that way. And on that happy note, unless there's other new business, I declare the meeting adjourned. Let's have a drink.”