“I think it’s four-three-four.”
“Bingo! Can you summarize all of this stuff, pointing out the key things for me? I have a call to make.” Jackie ran into her office and kicked the door shut behind her.
She tried a reverse phone-number search on the Internet first and came up with nothing. Marilyn could probably trace it with her contacts, but Jackie’s eagerness gripped her. She dialed the number. The phone on the other end of the line rang four times before someone answered.
“I’m calling for Bob Shifflett, please.” Jackie asked using her most professional tone. Stone wanted her to contact this man, but why? The receiver slipped in her sweaty hand. What was she going to ask this guy? She didn’t even know who he was, other than he must be connected with Marshfield’s college years.
“Speaking.” The voice was quiet with just a lilt of a Southern accent.
“Mr. Shifflett, I’m calling to obtain some information about Brandon Marshfield.” Having flunked Lying in the Name of the Law 101, Jackie opted for a fast pitch down the middle.
There was a long pause on the line. “Who’s calling?”
“My name is Jackie North. I’m a lawyer in Baltimore.”
“Who gave you my number?” The man was calm. His voice was inquisitive but not annoyed.
Jackie paused. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that. My source is confidential.” The phone line buzzed softly. “Mr. Shifflett? Are you still there?”
“I’m here, ma’am.”
Jackie took a deep breath. Bob Shifflett, whoever he was, was a man of few words. Usually, witnesses eventually started talking to fill a void of silence. This guy was smarter than that. Chances were, he’d used the technique himself. That meant he was probably a cop, lawyer, or human-resources executive. On the positive side, he hadn’t hung up on her.
“Look, Mr. Shifflett, I’ll be honest with you. An anonymous source gave me your name and number in connection with a case I’m handling.”
“What kind of case? Civil or criminal?” Good, his interest was piqued. Scratch HR. Her money would be on cop, but lawyer wasn’t out of the picture.
“Obviously, for client confidentiality reasons, I cannot disclose details.” Jackie hedged to see how much he might know about what she could or could not say.
“Are you under seal? What’s public record?”
She was opening him up. “Civil.”
“Marshfield a defendant?” There was a little hiccup of laughter in his voice.
“A witness. An expert.”
This time he didn’t try to hide his laughter. “An expert of what?”
“Finance. Mr. Shifflett, obviously you know who Brandon Marshfield is. I assume you’ve crossed paths with him while he was a student at the University of Virginia. Can you please provide me with any information as to when and why your paths have crossed?”
Another long pause ensued. Jackie crossed her fingers.
“Ma’am, I’m just a retired cop trying to catch a fish when I’m lucky and spend a little time with the grandkids. Marshfield was a long time ago. And it didn’t have a thing to do with finance, so I think you’re safe there.”
“Mr. Shifflett, let’s cut through the bullshit. It’s public record that I represent a group of investors suing Ashe Investment Company alleging fraud. Mr. Marshfield is Ashe’s expert. I’ve gotten a tip to contact you about Marshfield. Criminal matters are also public record, so I can find out what I need about the case from a long time ago if I need to. I can subpoena you if I find any information that could be relevant. Can we not make this harder than it needs to be?”
“Did you say Ashe, as in Robert Ashe?”
“Yes. The company owned by Robert Ashe and operated by his son, Robert Ashe, Jr., is the defendant.” Jackie scooted to the edge of her chair. “Why?”
“Because that kid is a snake, that’s why.”
“Now we’re talking the same language.” Jackie leaned back in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair.
“Not so fast. I’m not sure I’m interested in dredging up the past. I’ll need to think about your request and call you back.”
Jackie provided Shifflett with her contact information. Any time he wanted to talk, he could call.
“Mr. Shifflett, if I could ask just one more question. What crime are we talking about?”
“Aggravated assault and manslaughter. At least those were the charges. And let me tell you, that’s being charitable.”
Chapter Eleven
Unable to bear the constricting pants any longer and pondering the feasibility of burning the offending turquoise panties, Jackie went home to change. With no other court appearances or client meetings on her calendar for the rest of the day, she didn’t have to face the war zone formerly known as her closet to pick out another outfit. The dry cleaning could wait until the morning. She changed into bike shorts and a T-shirt. A long, meditative ride after work would cleanse her mind.
After the quick peddle to the office, she ran into the Fenton & Stone’s courier coming out her building’s front door. Jackie jumped off her bike and waved the man over. “Dan, what are you doing here?”
“Delivering your document request. I went over it with Marilyn. Good luck.” His smile was warm but faded fast as he moved by her and into the double-parked van. Fenton & Stone worked those poor messengers to death. They were always in a hurry.
Jackie entered the building, wheeled her bike to the elevator, and pressed the Up button while she said a silent prayer that it would be working today. The door rolled open slowly. Jackie exhaled. “Thank you, God.”
Jackie leaned her bike up against the wall in her office’s reception area. Before she could call for Marilyn, the motherly voice rang out. “In here, dearest. I hope you’re wearing something comfortable.”
With a groan, Jackie walked into the conference room. A mountain of boxes towered behind Marilyn. Jackie slid her messenger bag from her shoulder and let it drop to the floor with a soft
thud.
“Holy shit! Did he send anything electronically?”
Marilyn handed her a padded manila envelope. “The index. Gary’s outdone himself in dirty tricks this time.”
Jackie’s stomach seized. How would she get through these documents? She had no money left to hire a temp to assist her. The budget for part-time help had been spent over six months ago when she received all of the other documents relevant in the case.
She’d underestimated the defense Ashe would put up. Gary Stone played hardball. She knew that after working with him for seven years. This case was different. The avalanche of pointless motions Stone filed burned through her life’s savings at a rate she never could have predicted.
She was broke—as broke as when her dad left them when she was thirteen. For years she’d used that anger at him to fuel her drive to be a successful attorney. A
financially
successful attorney. All had gone as planned until she’d gotten righteous and quit Fenton & Stone because she wanted to make a difference. And get as far away from Gary Stone as possible.
She had made a difference. Hadn’t she? She’d given her clients hope. She wouldn’t let them down now. And when she won their life savings back, she’d take home a cool couple of million in her fees, more than enough to replenish her savings, set up a safety net, and establish her as one of Baltimore’s preeminent litigators.
If only the other expert was still around and not lying unconscious in an ICU.
Instead of that pushover, she faced Brandon. Of course, she loved the challenge. It was exhilarating to face a witness as competent as her, but at this point in the game, she’d take a cupcake on the stand.
Something inside her compelled her to know Brandon, but she wanted to do it off the witness stand. Maybe she should act on the bluff she pulled with Gary and file a motion to disqualify Brandon as a witness. She’d racked her brain over the last few days about what exactly her duty to the court was in this situation. It wasn’t uncommon for an opposing expert to know an attorney.
The only time she’d moved to disqualify a witness was when he had worked for her on a case only to resign and testify for the opposing side. That was a conflict because that expert knew trial strategy and details of her case. Brandon knew neither.
Actually, Gary should have him fired. Yet when she’d mentioned the possible conflict to Gary, he’d freaked. What would happen to Gary or Brandon if she filed a motion now? And what the hell was Brandon doing at the US Attorney’s building? She’d completely forgotten about that detail.
Her nervous habit of chewing on her lower lip got out of hand, and the metallic tang of blood slid over her tongue.
Marilyn clucked at her. “Stop fretting.”
“I’m not fretting. I’m thinking.” Nothing would be solved before the court closed for the day, and she needed to get through these documents. Jackie filed away a mental note to call her friend at the Maryland Bar’s ethics committee tomorrow.
“All right, then. Let’s hook up my laptop in here and get a look at the index or whatever this disk has on it. That might give me some clues as to where to look first. I’ll send a text to Marshfield and tell him to come over. Gary agreed to it. It’s going to be another long day, and night, I’m afraid. If you need to go home and change, that’s fine with me.”
Marilyn’s brow knitted. “Into what, dear?”
“Jeans or something more comfortable.” Was it possible that Marilyn wore pantyhose and knit ensembles on the weekends?
“Oh, this will be fine, I’m sure. I’ll get some food ordered in for dinner, though.”
Could she afford another night of takeout?
Marilyn gave Jackie a comforting pat on her forearm. “Don’t worry; Paulie down at the deli owes me.”
After sending Brandon a text, Jackie took the CD out of its envelope and popped it into her computer. It contained one file, an index in the form of a spreadsheet listing documents produced. Jackie sorted the list by name, author, date, and page length, hoping to find some clue as to where to start.
Nothing jumped from the screen. No familiar or strange names. No incriminating document names. Nothing. She wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t like there would be a listing for “Letter from mystery man Marshfield to slime ball Ashe regarding cover-up of Ponzi scheme.”
Jackie squeezed her eyes tight and pinched the bridge of her nose. She blinked to refocus on the computer screen. The index listed the Boyers Report that Brandon relied upon in his deposition. It was in box four of forty-seven.
She located the box and heaved it onto the table. She riffled quickly through the papers until she got to a spiral-bound document, the Boyers Report.
Jackie flipped through the pages. “Marilyn? Could you come in here, please?”
“Yes,” her life-saving assistant responded immediately from behind her.
Jackie jerked in her chair. “Jesus, how do you do that?”
Marilyn stood by her shoulder, having entered on cat’s paws, and gave her a motherly smile.
“Never mind. Can you scan this in right away for me so I can use an electronic search function?”
“In a jiff. Shall I start looking through some of this?”
“Maybe later. If you can finish your background work on Marshfield first, that would be best. Focus on the Charlottesville years. Something’s fishy about Brandon’s college days with Ashe.”
Within minutes Marilyn returned with the report. Thankfully Jackie had invested in a high-speed scanner when she opened her office. How much had that cost again?
Jackie moved into her office, where her supersize computer screen was easier on her eyes. She jotted down a list of potential key search terms. Twenty words or phrases neatly marched down the edge of the yellow legal pad.
The document was exactly where Marilyn said it would be and loaded quickly. With a quick tap on the keys, the search feature popped up on the screen. Her fingers flew over the keyboard to enter in “front-running.”
She wondered if Ashe was up to that. Sometimes a shady broker bought stocks for his personal account knowing that once he placed his customers’ orders, the value would increase. Twenty matches. It took only a handful of strikes on the Tab key to move through the search. Each reference was completely innocuous. No dirt there.
She used her orange Sharpie to strike through the first term on the legal pad. Nineteen to go. With each ensuing search, the marker’s line got more aggressive, and the tip smushed. The throbbing in the back right side of Jackie’s head pounded faster and harder like a basketball was being dribbled inside her head. Maybe the terms were just wrong. Five more words she’d scribbled produced the same lack of results.
Continuing this goose chase was pointless. Jackie made a guttural growl and flung the legal pad like a Frisbee against the wall.
She stood and walked into the conference room to pace back and forth along the wall of boxes, running her fingers over the tops. Did she expect to feel the answer or stir it up enough for it to jump out of the box at her? The amount of data produced was simply too much for her to digest in time for the trial.
She needed inspiration.
Desperately.
The glossy photographs of Brandon Marshfield tacked on the wall opposite the boxes captured her attention. The web of information had grown since she’d last reviewed it. He was a jock in high school and rowed crew in college.
She forced herself to look at the series of celebrity date photos to keep her mind from wandering to his body. He seemed to attract a lot of gorgeous, waiflike blondes whose job it was to look pretty or please their rich daddies. They were everything she was not.
Why was Brandon interested in her? Was he trying to get to her to pass information back to Ashe? Impossible. They’d met before the change in experts. Or was the other guy already indisposed? Was that meeting not a coincidence? Was his reaction at the deposition just good acting?
With her eyes closed, Jackie let herself go back to that night on his sailboat. Had he said anything important? She forced herself to see him and hear him, but she wouldn’t let herself go back to the touch of him. With a fierce intensity, she shut down those senses and focused.
His job—what had he said? Nothing, she was sure. Strangely, neither talked of their jobs that night. Being a lawyer was her identity. It was an integral part of every conversation, whether telling someone what she did or about her solo practice or even something as simple as applying legal principles to the topic at hand.