"Then I found the Genneco security system contract negotiation files. And, yeah, it was checked out to Donald. But if he'd used them to get access to the botulism he sure as hell wouldn't use his own name. Then I asked Mrs. Bendix to find any other files Donald had supposedly checked out recently. There was one--an insurance claim. Where a car went off the road and looked like it was going to sink in the reservoir in Westchester but ended up on a ledge of rock that kept it from sinking. In exactly the same place we drove into the reservoir that night. You needed to make it look like Clayton was desperate enough to kill us so he'd be desperate enough to kill himself. Right? Am I right?"
Reluctantly he nodded.
"Oh, sure, a lot of people had motives to kill Clayton. Thom Sebastian and Dudley and Sean Lillick ... and Donald here. Even Donald's wife. And probably a dozen other people. But I decided you were wrong--when you told me that motive is the most important thing in finding a killer. No, the most important thing is finding the person who has the will to murder. Remember your herald, Mitchell? Preparation and will? Well, of all the people in this firm, you were the only one I believed could actually murder someone. The way you destroyed that doctor on cross-examination ... you had a killer's heart. I could see that.
"But even then I wasn't absolutely sure. So I called Donald earlier tonight and we arranged this little play of our own--to find out for sure."
"You don't understand," Reece whispered desperately. "Clayton was pure evil. There was no way to bring him to justice otherwise. He--"
Taylor's hand flew up toward him, palm out. "Justice?" she raged. "Justice?" She sighed and lowered her head, speaking into the microphone hidden under her collar.
"John, could you come in please?"
The door opened and John Silbert Hemming entered. Reece stared up at the huge man as he gripped Reece's arm tightly and stepped protectively between the lawyer and Taylor.
The man said to her softly, "You could have stopped earlier, before he tried to use that." Nodding at the gun. "We had enough on tape for a conviction."
She was looking into Reece's evasive eyes as she said in a whisper, "I had to know."
The handcuffs went on quickly, with a crisp, ratchety sound.
"You can't do this!" Reece muttered bitterly. "You have no legal authority. It's illegal detention and kidnapping. And that fucking tape is illegal. You'll be subject--"
"Shhhh," John Silbert Hemming said.
"--to civil liability and criminal charges, which I'll pursue on the federal and state levels. You don't know the kind of trouble--"
"Shhhh," the big man repeated, looking down at Reece ominously. The lawyer fell silent.
Seeing Reece standing in front of her, oddly defiant, even angry at what they'd done to him, she wondered if she was going to scream, or slap him, or even reach for his throat with her hands, which seemed to have the strength, more than enough, to strangle him to death.
Reece said, "Taylor, I can make you understand. If you'll just--"
"I don't want to hear anything more."
But she was speaking only to John Silbert Hemming, who nodded solemnly and escorted the lawyer out into the firm's lobby to await the police.
She spent an hour giving several lengthy statements to two humorless detectives from Police Plaza. She refused a ride home from gallant John Silbert Hemming but promised that she'd call him about their opera "date," a word that she pointedly used.
"Looking forward to it," he said, ducking his head to step into the elevator car.
Taylor walked slowly back to her cubicle. She was almost there when she heard the sound of a photocopier and noticed Sean Lillick copying sheets of music on the Xerox machine near the paralegal pen. He looked up and blurted, "Taylor! You're out of the hospital? We heard you were totally sick."
"Back from the dead," she said, glancing at the music, the copying of which he was probably charging to a client.
"You're all right?"
If you only knew ...
"I'll live."
He nodded toward the manuscript paper. "Take a look. My latest opus. It's about Wendall Clayton. I found all of these pictures and papers and things in his office the other day and I'm writing this opera about him. I'm going to project pictures on the screen and get some Shakespearean text and--"
She leaned close and shut him up with an exasperated look. "Sean, can I give you some advice?"
He looked at the music. "Oh, these're just the rough lead sheets. I'm going to arrange them later."
"I don't mean that," she whispered ominously. "Listen up: If Donald Burdick doesn't know you were Clayton's spy yet, he will in about a day or two."
He gazed at her uneasily. "What're you talking about?"
"I'm talking about this: Pack up your stuff and get out of here. I'd recommend leaving town."
"Who the hell're you to--"
"You think Clayton was vindictive, you ain't seen nothing yet. Donald'll sue your ass for every penny of the money Clayton paid you to be his weasel."
"Fuck you. What money?"
"That you've got hidden under your stinky mattress."
He blinked in shock. He started to ask how she knew this but he gave up. "I was just--"
"And one more thing. Leave Carrie Mason alone. She's too good for you."
The kid tried to look angry but mostly he was scared. He grabbed his papers and scurried off down the corridor. Taylor returned to her cubicle. She'd just sat down and begun to check phone messages when she heard someone coming up behind her. She spun around fast, alarmed.
Thom Sebastian stood in the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets.
"Hey," he said, "only me. Mr. Party Animal. Didn't mean to spook you."
"Thom."
"I was mega-freaked when I heard you were sick. They wouldn't let me in to see you. Did you get my flowers?"
"I might have. I was pretty out of it. I couldn't read half the cards."
"Well, I was worried. I'm glad you're okay. You lost weight."
She nodded and said nothing.
A dense, awkward moment. His voice quavered as he said, "So."
"So."
He said, "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know.... Looks like I'm leaving."
"The firm?"
He nodded. "What I was telling you about, that new firm I'm starting with Bosk? It's going to happen. Tomorrow's my last day here. I've got ten associates from Hubbard, White coming with me. And a bunch of clients too. We've already got fifteen retainer agreements. St. Agnes, McMillan, New Amsterdam, RFC, a bunch of others."
Taylor laughed. "You're kidding." These were Hubbard, White's biggest clients. They represented close to one third of the firm's revenues.
Thom said, "We're going to do the same work Hubbard, White did but charge them about half. They were ready to leave anyway. Most of the presidents and CEOs I talked to said everybody here was paying too much attention to the merger and firm politics and not enough to the legal work. They said the other associates and I were the only ones who gave a shit about them."
"That's probably true."
"The funny thing is, if I'd made partner I'd be under a noncompetition agreement so I couldn't've taken any clients with me. But since I'm just an associate the firm can't stop me."
"Congratulations, Thom."
She started to turn back to her desk. But he stepped forward nervously and touched her arm. "The thing is, Taylor." He swallowed uneasily. "The thing is, I have to say something." He looked around, his eyes dark and troubled. "I've spent a lot of time ..." He swallowed. "I've spent a lot of time thinking about you and checking you out. What you found in my office, my notes about you? I shouldn't've done that, I know. But I just couldn't get you out of my head."
Taylor stood up, glanced at her arm. He removed his hand from it and stepped back. "What're you saying?" she asked.
"I'm saying I learned some things about you that're a problem for me."
She looked at him steadily. "Yes?"
"I've l
earned that you're the sort of person I don't think I'll ever meet again. Who I think I could spend the rest of my life with." He looked away. "I guess I'm saying that I think I love you."
She was too surprised even to laugh.
He held up a pudgy hand. "I know you think I'm goofy and crude. But I don't have to be that way. I can't be that way at my new firm. I'm giving up the drugs. That's what I was meeting with Magaly about the night she was killed--the night you got me out of jail. I wasn't going to score anything--I was going to tell her I wasn't going to buy from her anymore. I was doing that for you. Then, that night at the Blue Devil, I was going to ask if you maybe wanted to go out with me--kind of, I guess, steady." He shook his head at the old-fashioned word. "I had it all planned out, what I was going to say ... but then Magaly got shot and you had to bail me out. The whole night went to hell and I couldn't even look you in face, let alone tell you how I felt about you."
She began to speak but he took a deep breath. "No, no, no, don't say anything yet. Please, Taylor. Just think about what I said. Will you do that? I'll have the firm, I'll have money. I can give you whatever you want. If you want to go to law school, fine. You want to play music, fine. You want to have a dozen babies, fine."
"Thom."
"Please," he begged, "don't say yes and don't say no. Just think about it." He took a deep breath and seemed on the verge of tears. "Jesus, I'm the world's greatest fucking negotiator and here I am breaking all my rules. Look, everything's in there." He handed her a large white envelope.
"What is it?" she asked.
"I did kind of a deal memo."
Now, she couldn't help but laugh. "Deal memo?"
He grinned. "For us. About how we might work things out. Don't panic, we don't get to marriage until phase four."
"Phase four."
"We'll take it nice and easy. Please, just read it and let the idea sit for a while."
"I'll read it," she said.
Then, unable to resist, he threw his arms around her and hugged her hard. He retreated before she could say anything more.
Don't get too interested in her.... Sebastian's comment to Bosk. It was a warning from a jealous lover, not a potential killer.
Taylor lowered her face to her hands and laughed softly. Thinking: I guess it's safe to say, What a night.
Her desk was a mess; Vera Burdick's ransacking hadn't left it in very good shape. When she'd called Burdick about Reece earlier in the evening she'd asked him bluntly why his wife was searching through her things.
"Vera doesn't trust anybody," Burdick had said, laughing. "Samuel Lockwood's daughter? She thought for sure you were working with Clayton, helping him push the merger through--or, after he died, sabotaging me. You should consider it a compliment."
The way a fly should feel complimented that he's a spider's first choice for dinner.
Taylor noticed a blinking red light on her phone. She lifted the receiver and pressed the play button.
"Hey, counselor."
Hello, Dad.
"Listen, hope you're feeling better. 'Cause I've made some plans for us tomorrow. I get into La Guardia in the morning. How 'bout you come pick me up? I've made lunch reservations at the Four Seasons. There's somebody from Skadden I want you to meet. A senior partner. He said they're looking for people like my little overachiever. Now, get a pen: My plane gets in at--"
Click. Taylor Lockwood hit a button.
A woman's electronic voice reported: "Your message has been deleted."
She hung up the receiver.
Taylor pulled on her raincoat and walked through the half-lit corridors. The Slavic cleaning women in their blue uniforms moved from office to office with their wheeled carts. Taylor could hear the whine of vacuums coming from different directions. She imagined she could smell sour gunpowder, as if Reece had in fact fired real bullets from the heavy pistol. But she realized, as she passed a conference room littered with a thousand papers, that the smell was only the residue of cigar smoke. Earlier in the evening a deal had perhaps closed here. Or maybe it'd fallen apart. Or maybe negotiations had been postponed till tomorrow or the next day. In any case the participants had abandoned the room for the time being, leaving behind only the pungent aroma of tobacco as the evidence of that success or failure or uncertainty.
The police had gone. Burdick had gone. The partner would need some rest--he'd have plenty to do in the morning. More favors would have to be called in. Taylor suspected, though, that Donald Burdick and his wife would have a sizable inventory remaining.
She continued through the firm, pressed a door latch button and stepped into the lobby. The door swung closed behind her and when the elevator arrived she stepped in wearily.
Outside, Wall Street was nearly as quiet as the halls of Hubbard, White & Willis. This neighborhood was a daytime place. It worked hard and curled up to sleep early. Most of the offices were dark, the bartenders had stopped pouring drinks, cabs and cars were few.
Occasionally someone in a somber overcoat would appear from a revolving door then vanish into a limo or cab or down a subway stairwell. Where, she wondered, were they going? To one of Sebastian's clubs, to pursue some private lust like Ralph Dudley, to plot a coup like Wendall Clayton?
Or maybe just to retreat to their apartments or houses for a few hours' sleep before the grind began again tomorrow?
What a place this was, the topsy-turvy land at the bottom of the rabbit hole....
But, Taylor considered, was this her land?
Alice's trips to Wonderland and the Looking-Glass world had, after all, been dreams and the girl had eventually wakened from them.
She couldn't, for the moment, say.
Taylor flagged down a cab, got in and gave the driver the address of her apartment building. As the dirty vehicle squealed away from the curb she slouched down in the seat, staring at the greasy Plexiglas divider.
Thank you for not smoking. 50-cent surcharge after 8 p.m.
The cab was a block away from her apartment when she leaned forward and told the driver she'd changed her mind.
Taylor Lockwood sat in the spotlight.
Dimitri twisted his curly hair and leaned over the microphone. (His habitual suspicion left when she told him, "I'll play for free. You keep the receipts--all of them--but the tips're mine. And, Dimitri: No satin touch. Not tonight, okay?")
"Ladies and gentlemen ..."
She whispered ominously, "Dimitri."
"... it is my pleasure to present Miss Taylor Lockwood at the piano."
He hit the switch controlling the faux spotlight. She smiled at the crowd and touched the keys, cold and smooth as glass, enjoying their yielding resilience as she began to play. After half an hour Taylor looked out into the cockeyed lights, brilliant starbursts beaming at her, so bright she couldn't see the patrons. Maybe the wobbly tables were completely occupied. Or maybe the place was empty. In any event, if anyone was in the audience they were listening in absolute silence.
She smiled, not to them but only for herself, and swayed slowly as she played a medley of Gershwin that she herself had arranged, all revolving around Rhapsody in Blue. Tonight she improvised frequently, playing jazzy harmonies and clever riffs, allowing the music to carry itself, the notes soaring and regrouping, then flying to risky altitudes. But Taylor Lockwood never let go completely and was careful to alight at regular intervals on the theme; she knew how much people love the melody.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jeffery Deaver's novels have appeared on a number of bestseller lists around the world, including the New York Times, the London Times and the Los Angeles Times. The author of sixteen novels, he's been nominated for four Edgar Awards from the Mystery Writers of America and an Anthony award and is a two-time recipient of the Ellery Queen Reader's Award for Best Short Story of the Year. His book A Maiden's Grave was made into an HBO movie starring James Garner and Marlee Matlin, and his novel The Bone Collector was a feature release from Universal Pictures, starring Denzel Washington. Turner
Broadcasting is currently making a TV movie of his novel Praying for Sleep. His most recent novels are The Stone Monkey, The Blue Nowhere (soon to be a feature film from Warner Brothers), The Empty Chair and Speaking in Tongues.
Look for his other suspense novels from Bantam Books: Manhattan Is My Beat, Death of a Blue Movie Star, Hard News and The Lesson of Her Death.
Deaver lives in Virginia and California and is now at work on his next Lincoln Rhyme novel.
Readers can visit his website at www.jefferydeaver.com and the site for his latest book: www.thebluenowhere.com.
Jeffery Deaver, Mistress of Justice
(Series: # )
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