Losing Faith (17 page)

Rosenthal is quick to answer. “Then I propose that going forward we only represent the most virtuous companies and individuals. Anyone who has legal problems of any kind is simply not welcome as a client of this morally superior law firm.”

This elicits some laughter, although Aaron notices that Pierce does not seem amused. Goldman and Cleary aren’t either, for that matter,
but at least Abby and Dalton crack a smile.

Aaron decides it will be best to just get the bad news over with as quickly as possible. “There’s no reason for this to take up any more of the committee’s time. We’re not going to continue in the Garkov representation. I spoke with Clint Broden yesterday, and he’s coming in for us.”

The bombshell disclosure only seems to embolden Pierce. “Wait. So, let me get this straight then,” he says. “We lost ten million, maybe twenty million, in business and perhaps some of our best young lawyers over a less-than-two-hundred-thousand-dollar matter? Do I have that right, Aaron?”

“We haven’t lost anything,” Aaron says sharply. “The associates aren’t going to leave, not with what we pay them, and we earned a hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a few hours’ work. I fail to see what the problem is.”

“I’ll tell you the problem, Aaron. Craig Sinoway of Globe Tech told me point-blank that he’s going to pull his corporate work—that’s twenty million dollars annually—because of Garkov. That’s the goddamn problem, Aaron.”

“Isn’t that convenient, Don,” Aaron replies. “Blame me when you lose a client. You don’t think the fact that you royally screwed up their secondary offering has anything to do with the loss of business?”

Aaron and Pierce are staring daggers at each other when Dalton chimes in. “That’s uncalled-for, Aaron. Donald is making a valid point. No partner should take on a matter that’s going to be a net loser for the firm. That’s just common sense.”

Across the table, Rosenthal and Aaron share a silent moment. They both now know that Elliot Dalton is Pierce’s fourth vote.

25

O
f all the time-wasting things that Agent Kevin Lacey could imagine, questioning Nicolai Garkov about the murder of Faith Nichols ranks near the top. There is no way a guy like Garkov, sitting next to a lawyer like Clint Broden, is going to give
anything
up.

When Aaron Littman was representing Garkov, he at least had the decency to tell Lacey no thanks over the phone, but the day after the memorial service, Lacey got a call from Clint Broden, who said he was in as Garkov’s new counsel, and that he wanted a face-to-face. And when the prime suspect to a murder wants to talk, you drop everything to hear what he has to say, even when you know that it’s likely going to be little more than a chain yanking.

The fact that the FBI has to go to Garkov—and at Trump Tower, no less—just makes it that much more distasteful. But the main reason Lacey is annoyed this morning has nothing to do with the venue or the task at hand, but with the fact that Tim Walker is coming along for the ride. Walker is the agent in charge of the original Garkov case, the money-laundering and obstruction indictments that landed Garkov on trial in front of Judge Nichols in the first place, and Walker is still trying mightily to transform those into a conspiracy to commit murder. If Garkov went down because of Judge Nichols rather than the American students in Red Square, the job would be considered just as well done.

The problem is that Lacey thinks Walker is a pompous ass, and not nearly as good an agent as everybody says. Worse still, Lacey has it on good authority that Walker thinks the exact same thing about
him.

“I can’t believe this asshole is back to living here,” Walker says as they take the elevator to Garkov’s apartment within Trump Tower.

“I guess Judge Koletsky didn’t want to end up facedown in Central Park,” Lacey responds.

Upon entering Garkov’s apartment, they’re greeted by Clint Broden, who looks as if he’s about to give an opening argument, attired in a dark, finely tailored suit; bright tie; and gold cuff links in the actual shape of dollar signs. By contrast, Lacey and Walker are wearing jeans and sweatshirts. They dress for court only when they’re going to court.

“Mr. Broden,” Lacey says, “I’m Special Agent Kevin Lacey and this is my colleague Special Agent Timothy Walker.”

“Welcome, gentlemen,” Broden says. “Come in. Mr. Garkov is waiting.”

Lacey has the feel of being at the circus, staring up at this giant approaching them. Garkov is also dressed to kill, although in his case that means a red velvet smoking jacket.

They all take seats in the living room. Lacey and Walker sit on the ends of a long sofa, while Broden and Garkov are side by side on the couch opposite them. The giant lion’s-head fireplace breathes flame.

“Mr. Garkov, thank you for meeting with us,” Lacey says. “As I’m sure your counsel has told you, we’re investigating the murder of Judge Faith Nichols. We’d like to ask you some questions.”

Garkov nods but doesn’t give any other assent. Even so, it’s enough for Lacey to continue.

“Look, there’s no big state secret here, Mr. Garkov. You should be aware that we’re looking hard at you on this one. Obviously, your reputation precedes you, but the timing of her murder—a day after Judge Nichols revokes your bail—also doesn’t look too good for you. So before we get our feet stuck in the cement that you’re our guy, we figured we’d give you the opportunity to tell us otherwise.”

Garkov doesn’t look the slightest bit intimidated. “Well, I guess you have me, it seems,” he says in a slow voice. “You’ve figured it all out. I confess. I was so upset at being put in prison that on my second night there, I simply walked out the front gate, hailed a cab, and luckily for me, the driver did not think anything of picking up a seven-foot-tall man wearing an orange prison jumpsuit, nor did he mind that I didn’t have any money to pay him, and he took me straight from the correctional facility to Central Park. I knew that Judge Nichols would be there, because . . . well, it should be obvious, she confided in me her every movement. Then I killed her, of course, because she revoked my bail. Afterward, I left the park. Now, as luck would have it, the same cabdriver was nice enough to wait for me. He took me back to prison, where I reentered through the front door. So . . .
you got me!
Good work, Agent Lacey.”

Garkov bellows laughter, and Broden joins in.

Walker rolls his eyes at Lacey, making it clear that he views this as Garkov’s idea of a joke, jerking the FBI around.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, Nicolai,” Walker says, the anger evident in his voice. “All it would take is for you to have someone on the outside who’s following her. He watches her leave her home, follows her to the park, and cracks her skull.”

Lacey chimes in. “Yeah. It’s not the most intricate murder scheme of all time. And let’s not kid ourselves: there’s only one person who avoids life in prison if she’s dead. And I’m looking right at him.” Lacey’s stare says the time for fun and games is now over. “So let’s start again, with some feeling this time, shall we?”

“Hold on. My client is not going to say anything further at this meeting,” Broden says.

“Then why did you make us haul our asses up here?” Walker asks.

“Because I have something to say on his behalf. And I think that you’re going to want to hear it.”

Lacey and Walker share another look of mutual frustration. But Lacey figures that since they’re already there, he might as well hear
why.

“We’re all ears,” Lacey says.

Garkov nods at Broden, which apparently is the go-ahead for him to proceed, because Broden says, “I understand why the initial focus of the investigation might be on my client. But he didn’t commit this crime, and you’d be better served focusing your attention elsewhere.”

“Okay, then,” Walker says. “Thanks for clearing that up. Let’s go, Kevin. This is a fucking waste of our time.”

Lacey doesn’t move, however. “Where should our attention be focused, Mr. Broden?”

“Not so fast,” Broden says. “In return for the mother of all cooperation that Mr. Garkov would be providing, you’re going to need to give him complete immunity. That means on the indictment already filed, everything related to the Red Square bombing, and anything else that you might choose to tack on. We’re talking a complete and total one hundred percent get-out-of-jail-free card. If you have him on jaywalking charges, it’s going to be covered.”

Walker explodes. “No fucking way! Do you honestly think for a second that we’re supposed to recommend a free pass to
this
guy?! Who everyone in America wants to take a shot at right now?!”

Broden turns to Lacey, asking him to confirm that Walker’s outburst expressed the FBI’s official position. Lacey knows a more measured response will be more productive.

“You’ve got to offer us something much more concrete than that before we think about making
any
type of deal here,” he says. “But I know that you already knew that. So, why don’t we cut through all the bullshit and you just tell us what you brought us here to say.”

Broden straightens up and whispers in his client’s ear. When he’s done, Garkov says, “Your murderer, gentlemen, is my former attorney, Aaron Littman. Is that concrete enough for you?”

Walker actually laughs through his rage. “You know, honestly, that’s pretty funny. What, are you trying to get out of paying his bill?”

Broden looks at Walker with a mix of pity and disgust, like he’s never been in the company of such an idiot. “I’m sure that you’ll figure this out soon enough, but Aaron Littman and Judge Nichols were having an affair.”

Broden’s disclosure is met with the silence that such a bombshell deserves. How could a law-and-order judge like Faith Nichols and a lion of the bar such as Aaron Littman engage in such flagrantly unethical conduct?

Broden rises. “Thank you both so much for paying us this visit,” he says. “You now know what we want, and you know how to reach us, and so I look forward to hearing from you.”

OUTSIDE TRUMP TOWER, WALKER
still hasn’t calmed down. The vein in his neck is actually pulsating.

“You know we’re not doing this, Kevin.”

“I know,” Lacey says. “We’re not giving Nicolai Garkov immunity for two dozen murders. But that wasn’t the purpose of what just went on back there.”

“Sounded like it to me.”

“No . . . that was cover. They wanted to put Aaron Littman on our radar. That’s what that was about. The question is, why him? Garkov could have said anybody killed her, right? I mean, the judge’s husband, a random mugger . . . anyone. But he specifically said
Aaron Littman
. There’s got to be a reason for that.”

“Maybe it’s just like I said. He doesn’t want to pay his legal bill.”

Lacey smiles weakly, but he’s already a step ahead. “No. Seriously, I’ll bet you this: Garkov’s telling us the truth about an affair between Littman and Nichols. Broden’s smart enough to know we’d never offer Garkov immunity. This entire get-together was solely to make sure we were put on the right track. And if Garkov knew Littman was banging the judge . . . wow, that explains why he hired Littman in the first place.” Lacey pauses, putting the pieces together in his mind first, and then says: “That motherfucker was blackmailing his own
lawyer to turn around and blackmail the judge. He can’t admit it to us without incriminating himself . . . and so he needed a way for us to figure it out on our own.”

Walker looks hard at his colleague. Lacey may be a jack-off of the first order, but right now, damn, he’s onto something.

26

T
he term is
shadow counsel
. At least that’s what Stuart thinks it is. He heard Faith use it when she was in private practice. All he really knows about it is that the representation is to stay secret and that Faith hated it.

He didn’t use the words
shadow counsel
when setting up this meeting with Jennifer Bennett. But after the security guard in the lobby knew immediately who he was, he wished he had. The last thing he wants is for people to know that Faith Nichols’s widower visited a high-powered law firm.

“Stuart,” Jennifer says when she enters the conference room where he’s been for the last ten minutes. “I’m so sorry to make you wait. I was on a conference call and just couldn’t get off.” She says this with a smile but then catches herself, and with a much more somber tone, says, “So, how are you?”

“Somewhat in shock, actually.”

“I wanted to say something to you yesterday at the memorial service, but there were just so many people around that I thought I’d give you some space. But I’ve been thinking about Faith . . . all the time, actually. I just can’t believe that she’s gone. I owe Faith so much. I mean, if it weren’t for her, I know I wouldn’t be here right now.”

As she speaks, Stuart begins to catalog all the ways Faith undoubtedly saw herself in Jennifer. The most obvious, of course, is that they’re both beautiful, in a way that defies the odds, unless you’re on a movie set. Sometimes when he and Faith were watching some police procedural on television,
The Mentalist
or
Bones
, Stuart would
say,
Is there any workplace on earth in which three-quarters of the people in any given room look like models? You’d think that someone as observant as Patrick Jane or as smart as Temperance Brennan might note that the odds of such an occurrence are statistically impossible
. Faith’s comeback line was always,
What about when Jennifer and I worked together?

Stuart called Jennifer the moment he left Agent Lacey after the memorial service. He knew he should have told her why he wanted to meet, and why it had to be as soon as possible, but for some reason, he just couldn’t get the words out. Even now he wants to be cajoled into telling her, so he can continue to cling to the idea that retaining a lawyer isn’t actually necessary, even though he’s given up that idea by reaching out to Jennifer in the first place.

“So, what can I help you with, Stuart?” Jennifer finally says.