Crooked Numbers (25 page)

“And just what does that mean?”

Mr. Lee took a few steps into the living room. He looked down at our mugs of hot chocolate and shook his head.

“Did Mr. Donne tell you about his trip to the hospital the other day?”

“As a matter of fact, he did.”

“So, I imagine he also shared his conspiracy theory with you.”

I had something to say about that but decided to keep my mouth shut. For now.

“I don’t know, Douglas,” Mrs. Lee said. “Three boys—three
friends
—from the same school. And all this tragedy? I think I understand Mr. Donne’s interest. I believe you would do well to listen—”

“Mr. Donne’s interest?” His voice was getting louder now. “Mr. Donne is a schoolteacher, Gloria. His interest should have been met when he attended Douglas’s wake.” He looked at me and lowered his voice. “Which was greatly appreciated. But this continued involvement of yours is uncalled for, and you’re lucky my client did not wish to press charges.”

“And again,” I said, “your client’s lucky I was outside the hospital when his daughter was tripping on whatever was in her system.”

“That was fortuitous, yes. But I cannot tolerate your coming over here and filling Gloria’s mind with these conspiratorial thoughts of yours.”

“Filling my mind?” Now it was Mrs. Lee’s turn to raise her voice. “You talk as if I’m a child, Douglas. I asked Mr. Donne for his help, because he was the only one I knew I could turn to.”

“You could have turned to me, Gloria,” Mr. Lee said.

“I did.” Her voice was a bit shaky now. “But you either didn’t hear me or didn’t like what you were hearing. Mr. Donne got Douglas’s story in the newspaper, and that got the police moving in the … well, it got them moving. I called him this evening because, out of all the people I’ve asked for help, he’s the only one who
has
helped.” She took a breath. “You’re right. He is a schoolteacher, and maybe he
shouldn’t
have involved himself the way he did.” She looked at me. “Doing well more than I asked of him. But I’ll tell you right now, my hand to God, I’m glad he did. Nobody else seemed to be stepping up!”

Douglas Lee looked exasperated. “There’s a line, Gloria, between ‘stepping up’ and interfering with an active police investigation. Mr. Donne is well aware of that line.” He looked at me. “It doesn’t seem to concern him, though.”

My turn to speak. “It does concern me, Mr. Lee. I’ve spoken with the detective on the case, and we’ve agreed my involvement is over. I’m here tonight as a friend.”

“Gloria has enough friends.”

“Don’t you speak for me, Douglas,” Mrs. Lee said. “You’re my brother-in-law, not my attorney. Or my father.”

Mr. Lee had no immediate comeback for that one. So the three of us just stood there in silence. After a few moments of awkwardness, Mr. Lee spoke.

“Is there any food left over?” he asked. “I was supposed to have a dinner meeting with some clients, but…”

“There’s food in the fridge,” Mrs. Lee said. “I’ll be more than happy to make up a plate for you, soon as I’m done speaking with Mr. Donne.”

Douglas Lee looked down at the tray. “Any more hot chocolate?”

That brought a small smile to Mrs. Lee’s face. “I’ll get you a mug, Douglas.”

As Mrs. Lee left the room, Douglas Lee removed his coat and draped it over the back of one of the living room chairs. He sat down in the same chair and let out a long, deep breath and closed his eyes. I had the feeling he was trying to wish me away.

“Long day?” I asked.

With his eyes still closed, he said, “They’re all long days. I’m sure you know all about those, Mr. Donne.”

“I hear that,” I said. “In fact, I probably should be heading home.”

“Don’t leave on my account.” A small grin crossed his face.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Lee.”

The man looked as if he could fall asleep where he sat. Mrs. Lee came back into the room with a mug. She went over to the tray and poured some hot chocolate.

“Douglas,” she said.

Mr. Lee opened his eyes, saw the mug, and said, “Thank you, Gloria.”

She took the mug over to her brother-in-law then turned to me. “Would you care for some more, Mr. Donne?”

I finished off what was in my mug. “No, thank you, Mrs. Lee.” I looked at my watch, even though I was pretty sure of the time. “I should probably head home.”

“You sure you don’t want me to fix you a plate? It’s no trouble.”

“I’m good. Thanks.” I grabbed my coat off the couch and slipped it on. “I’m glad you called,” I said. “Please feel free to do so anytime.”

She looked over at Mr. Lee sipping his cocoa. “I will,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Mr. Donne,” Mr. Lee said as he rose out of his seat. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I got dropped off. I don’t have a car.”

He put his coat on. “Then I’ll walk you out.”

“I’ll be okay,” I said. “I appreciate the offer.”

“I do not believe I
made
an offer.”

Lawyers.
“I guess you didn’t.” I stepped over to Mrs. Lee and took her hand. “Thank you again.”

“Thank you, Mr. Donne.” She glanced over at her brother-in-law as she let go of my hand. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll be right back, Gloria,” Mr. Lee said.

“I’ll get your plate ready, Douglas.”

Mr. Lee and I watched as she cleared the tray and headed toward the kitchen. When she was gone, Lee motioned toward the door with his right hand. “Mr. Donne.”

Outside on the steps, I buttoned up my coat. Mr. Lee kept his open. Whatever he had to say, I guessed, would not take too long. I decided to speak before he did.

“How’re the Quinn kids?”

He gave me a frustrated look, but chose not to ignore my question.

“Alexis is fine,” he said. “She just needed to get home and sleep it off.”

“And Jack?”

“When I left the hospital this afternoon, he was still in ICU.” He rubbed his eyes. “The doctors are uncertain as to how long he’ll remain there.”

“What happened?” I tried.

Mr. Lee shook his head and gave me a tired grin. “That’s family business, Mr. Donne. It is no concern of yours. Didn’t we just discuss this?”

“I’m sure Mr. Quinn appreciated your help.”

“Mr. Quinn is an important client of my firm. I’m sure you wouldn’t understand, but there’s often more to a client-attorney relationship than just legal matters.”

“And the more needy the client, the more accessible the lawyer.”

“I never said John Quinn was needy.”

“I kind of picked that up on my own, Mr. Lee.”

Mr. Lee buttoned up his coat halfway. Maybe this conversation was going to take longer than he’d thought. I looked up at the clear night sky and could actually make out a few stars. Somewhere close by, a truck driver was playing his horn.

“Mr. Donne, I’m not going to stand here in the cold and discuss my relationship with the Quinn family.”

“Was John Quinn the reason Dougie attended Upper West?” I asked.

“John … smoothed the way for Douglas, yes. But Douglas’s grades and his interview were the reasons for his acceptance.”

“I’m sure he charmed the very expensive socks off of them.”

“Yes. And before you ask, the fact that Douglas was African–American did help in the process. Upper West could fill every seat they have with a white student if they wished and still have a waiting list stretching into Central Park. The board decided years ago they wanted their student body to better reflect the city in which their students were to be educated.” He brushed something off his coat sleeve. “Douglas’s skin color helped in that regard.”

“Must have been a tough transition for him, though.”

“It was,” Mr. Lee agreed. “To come from this…”—he motioned with his head toward the street—“and to enter a private school on the Upper West Side of Manhattan would be stressful for any young man. Douglas was handling it with poise.”

“And that’s what you wanted for him?”

“That’s what
we
wanted for him, yes. Gloria, more than most mothers, understands the importance of a good education and the proper school environment. When the offer came, she accepted enthusiastically.”

“And Douglas?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did
he
accept enthusiastically?”

“He accepted,” Mr. Lee said. “The enthusiasm came later.”

“Must have been hard at first.”

“More than you can know.”

“What does that mean?”

The attorney smiled. “With all due respect, Mr. Donne, you have no idea what it’s like growing up black in this city.”

“I never claimed to.”

“And to
raise
a young black man,” he said. “Just as hard. Douglas was a bright young man, but there was so much he didn’t know.”

“Like what?”

“Are we really having this conversation, Mr. Donne?”

“Seems like it to me. Like what?”

“Like how it’s twice as important,” he began, a touch of anger in his voice, “for a young black man to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ than it is for a white kid in the same situation. Or when an Upper West Side white kid wears a hoodie, he looks like a track star. But when a black kid wears one, he fits the profile.”

“That’s got to be tough,” I said.

“I had to explain to Douglas that to some people, he’d always be the black kid who got in on a scholarship and there’s nothing he could do to change that image.”

I let that sit for a few seconds and took a chance.

“Must be the same for black lawyers.”

“You got that right,” he blurted out. “You don’t think I have to work fifty percent harder than the white lawyers at my firm? You don’t think that was on my mind the other day when John Quinn called
me
to help clean up his most recent mess? If I hadn’t done it, he would have found someone else to, and maybe I’d stop getting called at all.” He let out a deep breath. It looked like my uncle’s cigar smoke in the cold air. “I didn’t learn that until college. And law school? I made sure to sit in front of my white classmates and raise my hand twice as often.” He paused to catch his breath. “I wanted Douglas to have that experience earlier than I did so he’d be more prepared than I was. I lost too much time learning that particular lesson.” His eyes went off over my shoulder to somewhere far away, and for the first time I saw the resemblance to his brother. “Too much damn time.”

I tried to think of something to say, but came up empty. There was nothing for me to say. I’d grown up white, in middle-class Long Island, and even with all my years in Williamsburg as a cop and a teacher, there was no way I’d ever truly understand what Douglas and his uncle had to go through. After about a minute of silence, I realized the only thing I could say.

“I have to go, Mr. Lee.”

His eyes came back to me.

“Yes,” he said. “I think you should.”

I offered him my hand, and he took it. There was no tight grip this time.

“Listen to Gloria,” I said. “She needs you to do that.”

“I’m well aware of what my sister-in-law needs, Mr. Donne.” He let go of my hand. “But thanks for the advice.”

“Be well, Mr. Lee.”

Before I got to the bottom of the steps, I heard the door shut and lock behind me. I looked at my watch. It was still early, and I was still hungry. Big surprise, I decided to head over to The LineUp before going home.

“I’VE BEEN DOING A LITTLE
research,” Edgar explained as he pulled a bunch of papers out of his laptop bag.

“I can see that,” I said. “I don’t remember assigning any homework, though.”

Edgar faked a laugh. “Good one, Ray.” He pushed his empty plate to the right, moved his pint glass to the left, and put the papers down in the vacant space. “I don’t know. I just got curious about that guy Quinn and your boy’s uncle.”

“Douglas Lee.”

“Yeah, and their relationship. So I did a rather extensive search.”

I looked at the half-inch pile of paper he had in front of him. “How many hours did you spend on this ‘research,’ Edgar?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. Then he quietly added, “Five and a half.”

“And what new information did you acquire?”

“Well,” he began, “some of this stuff we actually knew. Douglas Lee’s firm has been representing Ward Fullerton Pharmaceuticals for about six years. It must keep Mr. Lee quite busy, because I was unable to find any other recent—within those six years—cases he was involved with. So I assume he is the firm’s main attorney when it comes to WFP.”

“Okay,” I said. “Go on.”

“I didn’t realize it until … this,” he said, pointing at his stack of papers, “but it seems as if pharmaceutical companies are constantly involved with one sort of legal matter or another. Not that they’ve done anything wrong. It’s just with copyrights, licensing, drug trials. I mean, according to what I read in the business sections and trade papers, representing a drug company is a lawyer’s wet dream. The work never stops.”

I remembered the exhausted look I’d seen an hour ago on Douglas Lee’s face.

“I guess that makes sense,” I said. “It’s one of the biggest businesses in the country, and one mistake could put you under. What was that drug a couple of years ago? Caused heart attacks when it was supposed to be lowering blood pressure?”

“Yeah,” Edgar said. “I don’t remember the name, but I remember the story.”

“I imagine suing these companies is pretty lucrative, too.”

“Big-time. There’s less info on that, though, because most of the time the drug companies settle out of court and that stuff’s all hush-hush. The only time they want to see their name in the papers is when they’re introducing a new product or in a full-page ad for their latest cholesterol-fighting drug.”

“Did you find anything on lawsuits against Ward Fullerton?”

“Not much. They seem to know what they’re doing.” He flipped through his papers. “Their specialty seems to be psychopharmacology.”

“Drugs that deal with psychological problems?”

“That’s an oversimplification.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t have five and a half hours of spare time to do my research, Edgar.”

“Not to worry, Raymond.” He patted my arm. “That’s what you got me for. Psychopharmacology deals with how drugs affect our moods, the way we think, even how we behave. It’s fascinating stuff, really. The big bucks come from antidepressants and ADHD meds.”