When The Devil Whistles (31 page)

Julian Clayton walked through the cafe door and looked around. He spotted Connor and walked over. “Sorry I’m late. Pastor Dan wanted to talk about the Guatemala mission trip. Want me to get you anything?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Five minutes later, Julian sat across from him, stirring too much sugar into his coffee. “So, what are we going to do with our mutual client?” Even though there was no reason to believe that anyone was eavesdropping, he avoided using names in public—a habit common to both lawyers and detectives.

“Good question. I can’t keep representing her and I can’t stop representing her. So I’m pretty much stuck. How about you?”

He took a sip of his coffee. “I’m taking your advice. I’m going to call her tomorrow morning and tell her I’m going to the police. If she wants me to wait so she can go back into that other company, I’m going to tell her I want a videotaped statement now.”

“Good idea. Give her the chance to do the right thing, but don’t trust her.”

Julian tore open yet another sugar packet and emptied it into his cup. “You can’t do the same thing? Kick the can down the road far enough to give her some time to do whatever she’s going to do?”

“Nope. That’s what’s bugging me. I can’t stay in a case where I’ve got an ethical duty to withdraw, and I can’t withdraw without announcing that she’s connected to Devil to Pay.”

“Why not?”

“Because the judge has told me that I have to talk to an officer of the company before I can withdraw, and she’s the only officer.”

“Can’t you just make someone else an officer?”

Connor shook his head. “No one knows about Devil to Pay except her, me, and a few lawyers at my firm and the Department of Justice.” Julian opened his mouth, but Connor quickly added, “And no, I can’t make myself an officer.”

“Oh, well never mind then.” He tipped back his coffee cup and shrugged, his hairless forehead wrinkled in sympathetic confusion. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

An idea kindled in Connor’s brain and he grinned. “Dangerous words, my friend.”

52

L
INE
3,
S
TATE
EX
REL
. D
EVIL
TO
P
AY
, I
NC
.
V
. D
EEP
S
EVEN
,”
ANNOUNCED
Judge Bovarnick’s clerk.

Carlos Alvarez and Connor walked up to the counsel tables and took their places. “Okay, this is Doyle & Brown’s renewed motion to withdraw, correct?” asked the judge as the lawyers situated themselves.

Connor stepped up to the podium. “Yes, your honor.”

“I’ve looked at your declaration and proof, and I’m satisfied that you’ve given proper notice this time.” She looked around the courtroom. “Is there a representative of Devil to Pay here today?”

“There is, your honor.” Connor turned to see Julian rising from one of the benches, wearing a twenty-year-old gray suit and looking distinctly unhappy. “Julian Clayton, the company’s vice president is in the courtroom.”

“Mr. Clayton, do you have any objection to Doyle & Brown withdrawing as your counsel?”

“No, your honor.”

“Do you have new attorneys?”

“We do not, your honor. We would like sixty days to find some.”

The judge drummed her fingers on her chin. “Thirty days.”

Julian shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Could we, um, could we have forty-five?”

She laughed and tossed up her hands. “Okay, fine. Forty-five, but that’s it—unless you have an objection, counsel?”

Connor turned to see Carlos Alvarez rising from his seat. “Yes, your honor. Forty-five days is much, much too long. The plaintiff has already had well over a month since Mr. Norman filed his initial motion to withdraw. The Court should not countenance further delay. Ten days should be more than sufficient.”

Connor wondered what he was up to. Delay is a defendant’s best friend, so why was he trying to make the case move faster?

The judge apparently was wondering the same thing. “Counsel, how will your client be prejudiced if I give them forty-five days instead of ten?”

“Well, your honor, the interests of justice will be prejudiced because the resolution of this matter will be postponed, which will waste valuable time and judicial resources.”

The judge shook her head. “All you’re saying is that
I’ll
be prejudiced, not that
your client
will be. I can live with whatever waste of judicial resources comes from giving them thirty-five extra days. Anything else?”

“Yes. Not an objection strictly speaking, your honor, but I’m concerned that we know very little about this Mr. Clayton. Might I suggest that the Court question him further before simply accepting his representation that he can speak on behalf of Devil to Pay. When did he become an officer of the company? What are his responsibilities? What is his connection to the facts underlying this litigation?”

The judge’s eyebrows slowly crawled up as Alvarez spoke. When he finished, she said, “Well, I’m touched by your concern, counsel. I’m sure the plaintiff is too, but I don’t see how any of that matters.” She turned to Julian. “Mr. Clayton, you are vice president of Devil to Pay, Inc. and you have authority to act on behalf of the company here today, correct?”

“Yes, your honor.”

She looked at Connor. “And you—speaking as an officer of the court—you have no reason to doubt that, correct?”

Connor shook his head. “No, your honor. Quite the contrary—I have good reason to believe that Mr. Clayton is telling the truth. And since we’re expressing our concerns here today, let me just say that I’m concerned about what Mr. Alvarez is suggesting. He apparently wants to turn this hearing into an improper surprise deposition of my client—er, former client.”

“I guess I’m the only one here who’s not concerned about anything,” said Judge Bovarnick. She looked down and started writing. “I’m going to sign your proposed order, Mr. Norman. Doyle & Brown has leave to withdraw. Plaintiff has forty-five days to obtain new counsel. If they don’t, I will entertain a motion to dismiss this case for lack of prosecution.” She stopped writing and looked up. “Everybody clear?”

“Yes, your honor,” said Connor, Julian, and Alvarez in unison.

Once they were outside the courthouse and walking beneath the gilded dome of San Francisco City Hall, Julian turned to Connor. “You didn’t warn me that I might have to testify today! That could have gotten very dicey if I’d had to answer those questions he was asking.”

“Well, the judge didn’t go for it. I’m surprised that he even tried that stunt. He’ll get to take your deposition soon enough.”

“I got the impression that ‘soon enough’ wasn’t soon enough for him. He seemed to be in a big hurry.”

Connor nodded slowly as he thought that through. “He was. Which is odd. He’ll be able to schedule your deposition in a month and a half and the case is basically on ice until then, so why does he care?”

“Even if the case is on ice, I’m guessing that something else isn’t.”

“Yeah, that could be. Maybe they’ve got something going on right now, something that won’t wait until they can take your deposition in two or three months. They think we may know about it, so it’s probably related to the lawsuit somehow.” He grimaced in frustration. “I knew we hit a nerve at Deep Seven. I just don’t know which nerve. If only Allie hadn’t—” He bit off the rest of the sentence.

Julian nodded. “But she has. At least she’s trying to undo some of the damage.”

“So she says. I’m not completely sure this whole thing isn’t some new scam I haven’t figured out yet.”

“I hear you. I don’t trust her either.”

“Best to make sure we don’t have to. I’m going to make a point of staying out of situations where I have to rely on her.” “We should let her know about today, though.”

“You mean that Alvarez wanted to cross-examine you in the middle of the hearing? I’ll tell her to keep her eyes open, that there might be a confidential project that’s going to be active in the next sixty days. Something like that. Something she might have stumbled across the last time she was there without knowing it.” He paused. “I wonder if Samuel Stimson came across the same thing.”

53

A
LLIE WORMED HER WAY THROUGH HER NEW APARTMENT
,
NAVIGATING THE
maze of boxes that held her life. She was surrounded by cryptically marked packages that she needed to unpack. Until she did, they loomed around her in guilt-inducing piles, forcing her into narrow, complicated paths and threatening to topple and make ugly messes if she didn’t tread carefully.

This place was smaller than her old apartment. Shabbier too. Painted-over cracks marred the off-white plaster walls. Holes left by long-gone carpet nails lined the edges of the hardwood floors. But this place had two big advantages over her last address. The first was that it had the best security she’d ever seen at an apartment building. The second was that it was half a block away from Tang Dynasty’s San Francisco restaurant.

After three hours of unpacking (which had not visibly reduced the number of boxes), her leaden arms and rubbery legs told her it was time for a break. And her guilty conscience told her it was time to do what she had come back to do.

She picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number. Half a minute later, Trudi’s voice came through the phone. “Hello, TempForce. Trudi Wexler speaking.”

“Hi, Trudi.”

“Hey, Al! It’s great to hear from you. Where have you been? I haven’t been able to get hold of you for months. Where are you?”

Allie sat down on the only chair in the apartment not occupied by a box. “I’m back in the city. I’ve got a new place down South of Market. It’s all full of boxes right now, but it’ll be something once I’ve unpacked. I love the neighborhood.”

“Very cool! Welcome back.”

“Thanks. Say, all this moving has me starved. What do you say to an early dinner at Tang Dynasty?”

“I’d love to, but I need to get home. Our nanny gets off at six, and Dave and I were both late yesterday. Not good. We should get together for coffee or something. I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to, what’s going on with you and Erik, and all that stuff.”

“Erik and I aren’t together anymore.”

“Oooh! Okay, maybe I’ve got time for a quick cup of tea or something. I’ll charge it to employee relations. Speaking of which, are you looking for work?”