The Only Good Lawyer - Jeremiah Healy (38 page)

Its stenciled picture window constituted most of the
visible ground floor.

I walked inside the door next to the window. A woman
beaming a Pepsodent smile sat at the front desk to my left. It was
removed from the dozen others in two rows behind her, at which three
women and two men sat, several with telephones cradled at the
shoulder while they scrolled information across computer screens. The
reception desk seemed far less cluttered than the others. Just a pad
and a telephone console.

"I'm Kelly O'Shea." The beaming woman
beamed at me until I turned and she noticed my right eye. "Uh,
welcome to Harborview Realty. Can I help you?"

"I'd like to speak to Ms. Baker, please." I
enunciated the syllables carefully, just so O'Shea wouldn't think the
punch-drunk in front of her had said "Barber."

"And your name, please?"

"John Cuddy."

"One moment." O'Shea lifted her receiver
and hit two digits. I could see a fortyish woman who hadn't been on
the phone pick up her extension.

The receptionist said, "Kim, a Mr. Cuddy is here
to see you."

The woman at the rear desk smiled and beckoned to me
while mouthing something into her line. O'Shea nodded, and they hung
up in unison.

I said, "Do you drill together often?"

"Pardon me?" replied O'Shea.

"Never mind. I can find my way."

I moved down the aisle between the desks, Kim Baker
rising from behind hers. She stood about five-one and wore a stylish,
green wool dress with a scarf artfully draped over a shoulder and
part of her chest.

When I got within greeting distance, she extended a
hand, professionally oblivious to the damage my face showed. "Mr.
Cuddy, Kim Baker. A pleasure."

"Same. But I do have kind of a threshold
question."

A wariness crossed her features, as much from my
voice, I think, as my words. She said, "A threshold question?"

"Yes. Is there a reason you go by 'Barber' as
well?"

Wary graduated to stiff. "Who are you?"

“
The man who called a while ago."

"Show me some identification, or I'm calling the
police."

"If you'd like, I can give you the separate line
for Homicide."

"Oh, God. On television, you people always come
in pairs."

I didn't want to disabuse Baker of the notion I was a
cop.

"I'm afraid this is real life."

She looked around quickly,
then said, "Let me get my coat."

* * *

"I like to eat lunch out here." Kim Baker's
tone didn't suggest much of an appetite right then. "This bower
effect and the water, it's really . . . soothing?

We were sitting on a bench in Christopher Columbus
Park, about a three-block walk from her realty office if that area of
town were measurable in blocks. The park is only a few acres of lawn
and paths, but the sun shining through the latticework of the bower
overhead created a pastoral pattern of shadows on the ground around
us.

"Ms. Baker, could we go back to my threshold
question?"

Both hands grappled nervously on her lap, feet flat
on the ground, knees close together. Then Baker shivered a little,
and I didn't think it was from the air temperature.

"I used the name 'Barber' for confidentiality.
It's easy to remember because it's so close to the real one."

"Confidentiality because of your divorce case?"

A blinking look. "My what?"

"Woodrow Gant was a divorce attorney at Epstein
& Neely. Somebody there said you were a client of his."

Baker squeezed her eyes shut briefly. "That
makes sense, actually."

She'd lost me. "Maybe I should stop asking
questions and have you just answer them."

"I don't understand"

"Okay, let's start with an easy one. What was
your relationship with Mr. Gant?"

"Professional and client."

"And how was he representing you?"

"No," with a shake of the head. "No,
you've got it backwards."

"Backwards?"

"Yes. Woodrow came to me—or called me,
actually."

"Called you as a real estate broker?"

"Right."

I was getting deeper and deeper into the woods, so I
just said, "Go on."

"Well, he wanted me to start scouting
properties, but naturally Woodrow didn't want anyone to know, so I
suggested we use the name 'Barber' with my direct-dial number at
Harborview because I'd never used it before"

"Never used what before?"

"The name 'Barber.' As a cover. You know, like
in the spy stories?"

Spy stories. "But why would you need any 'cover'
at all?"

Baker looked at me, a little more relaxed now that
she believed I was a dunce. “So nobody at the firm would recognize
me."

"Because?"

"Because I was the one who'd helped the senior
partners when they did the same thing."

"What same thing?"

"Left their old firm, of course."

That stopped me. "Woodrow Gant was leaving
Epstein & Neely?"

Baker's turn to stop. Then, "You didn't know?"

The penny finally dropped. "He hired you to find
him new space for his own office."

"Their own office, actually."

"Meaning?"

"Deborah Ling was leaving with him. They were
going to be partners together"

"But Ms. Ling was barely out of law school."

“
Yes, but Woodrow said she was contributing half
the capital to get things started."

"Why would he tell you that?"

A disdainful expression. "Any commercial lessor
worth its salt would want a credit rating on a new tenant. The
typical commercial lease is for five years, with an option to renew,
and the lessor has to be sure the tenant is a good risk."

I turned it over. "So Ms. Ling was putting up
good-faith money from her end."

"Yes."

Meaning from Nguyen Trinh's end, probably. Another
way he'd have gotten to control Woodrow Gant, to "watch him from
the kitchen" at a higher level.

The penny also dropped on the photocopied phone
message I'd received. "So that's why you called both Mr. Gant
and Ms. Ling at the firm."

"Yes." Baker looked toward the water, a
couple of gulls wheeling and diving for something on the surface.
"But when Woodrow got killed, I was in Europe, so when I
returned last week and called the firm, naturally I asked for him."
She gnawed on her lower lip. "God, it was such a shock, but
Deborah assured me she was still interested."

"Interested?"

"In setting up her own practice." Baker
looked back to me. "In fact, that's why we were going to have
lunch when . . ." She shook her head.

I said, “Do you mean last Friday?"

"Yes." Baker's eyes returned to the harbor.
"When it got later and later without any word from Deborah, I
called the law firm twice and left blind messages for her just to get
back to me."

I'd heard one of them at Epstein & Neely's
reception desk. Now Baker closed her eyes again. "Then that
night, on the news . .

After a moment, I said, "Even without Mr. Gant
as a partner, Ms. Ling was still thinking about leaving the firm?"

"Not just 'thinking' about it, either. She'd
made up her mind." Baker came back to me. "I guess Deborah
had major doubts."

"About what?"

Baker shrugged. "About the viability of Epstein
& Neely for the future."

"Why?"

"Well, with Woodrow gone—dead, I mean—and
the other partner being made a judge, there—"

"A judge?"

"Yes. I guess it wasn't public information yet,
because Deborah insisted I had to keep that in strictest confidence."

I remembered Nancy telling me about the new slots
being approved by the legislature. "Do you know which partner
Ms. Ling was talking about?"

Another shrug. "She never said."

I remembered seeing somebody at the firm I didn't
expect to be there. Then I thanked Kim Baker for her time.

After she left me, I spent a good hour on that bench,
but I didn't pay much attention to the seagulls any more. Or anything
else, for that matter. I was pretty much lost in thought. Then I got
up to go see the person at Epstein & Neely who I figured pushed
that photocopied message through the mail slot in my office door.
 

Chapter 22

I WAS ABOUT to press the button for the small
elevator when I heard the car approaching the ground floor and saw
the diamond window line up with the lobby door. Through the glass,
Uta Radachowski was hiking the strap to a backpack higher on her
shoulder. I stepped to the side before she looked up, letting her
open the door.

When Radachowski came out, I said, "Knocking off
early?"

She jumped, then turned around. "You scared me."

The eyes behind her distorting lenses confirmed the
emotion.

"Why?" I said. "Trinh and Huong are
both dead."

A different look now. "I caught it on the news.
And can see it on your face."

"Bloodied, but unbowed."

Another hike at the shoulder strap. "Then what
do you want here?"

"Maybe to know where you're heading."

"Not that it's any of your business, Mr. Cuddy,
but I have a charity event I'm already late for. Now, is that all?"

"Except for an invitation to your swearing-in,"

Radachowski lips narrowed. "My what?"

"The ceremony when you put your hand on the
Bible and promise to be a good judge."

"Mr. Cuddy, I don't know—"

"I do know, counselor, and bluffing's not going
to work anymore."

Her eyes swam behind the distorting lenses. "Who?"

"Who told me, you mean?"

The eyes were steady now. And angry. "That's
what I mean."

I couldn't see any reason not to protect Kim Baker.
"Nobody. Not directly anyway."

"That's not possible."

"Sure it is. All those client files of yours
being carried to Frank Neely's office. Transferred to him, really.
The visit by Parris Jeppers to you last Friday."

"There was nothing inappropriate about that."

"Maybe not. A little odd, though, given that
Jeppers had told me he wasn't investigating Woodrow Gant anymore."

Radachowski didn't say anything.

"But our man at the Board might have been
keeping his ear to the ground for you. Making sure nothing came up to
scotch your nomination."

She didn't bother to look around because the lobby
was too small a place for someone to hide. "I'd be the first
declared lesbian on the bench, Mr. Cuddy, It would be very
embarrassing to the governor for this to leak before he's ready to
make the formal announcement."

"It won't, at least not from me. I just needed
to hear you confirm what I suspected."

Radachowski took a minute before saying, "I
guess I have to take your word on that."

"I guess you do. Like you 'had' to recommend
Woodrow Gant to Nicole Spaeth."

Radachowski blinked. "I don't . . . ?"

"You recommended Gant to her, even though you
were aware of his 'reputation' with female clients."

"They were just rumors. Unsubstantiated allega—"

"You strike me as pretty street-sawy. I think
you felt the rumors were more true than false, yet you still
recommended your law partner to the woman. Why, Ms. Radachowski?"

"I already told—"

"Because you were a little worried about your
old firm's 'future viability' without new business flowing into it?"

The jaw set. "Mr. Cuddy, it seems I'm doomed to
be terminating conversations with you."
 
Despite that last line, Radachowski waited until I
turned to open the elevator door before saying, "You're wasting
your time."

"Sorry?"

"Frank wasn't in his office, and Elliot's been
off at a meeting all afternoon."

"How about Ms. Burbage?"

"Imogene's still
there," said Uta Radachowski, though even from the kindly
judge-in-waiting, it came out more as, Imogene's always there.

* * *

"Me again."

Burbage hadn't been watching the elevator door, maybe
assuming that Radachowski had forgotten something and was coming back
to get it. My voice threw the woman behind the reception desk enough
that she looked up with her mouth open.

"Mr. Cuddy, I'm . . . I'm afraid no one's
available to see you."

"That's okay. You're the one I want to talk to."