Mistress of Justice Page 24

  "One moment, your honor." The Hanover & Stiver attorney bent toward one of his clients, probably Lloyd Hanover, Taylor guessed, to judge from his slick, tanned appearance, which matched what Reece had told her of him. After a bit of conversation the attorney stood up. "Approach the bench again? With opposing counsel?"

  The judge gestured them up. The defense lawyer said, "Your honor, my clients would like to present a settlement offer to the plaintiff."

  The judge lifted an eyebrow to Reece. Taylor's father had also taught his daughter that settlement was the Holy Grail of judges. Burdened by an endless workload, they infinitely preferred the parties' agreeing to work out their differences rather than slugging it out at trial. The judge might even be able to get in nine holes today.

  "We'll entertain it," Reece said stiffly.

  The lawyer moved closer to Reece and whispered, "Look, you can get a judgment entered for the face value of the note plus interest but there's no way there'll be enough cash left in the company to collect that much by the time you enforce it. Not to mention your legal fees' eating up a lot of the rest."

  "A number," Reece said. "Just give me a number."

  "I--"

  The judge: "Give him a number."

  "Sixty-five cents on the dollar."

  Reece said, "Eighty cents on the dollar. U.S. cash, not negotiable instruments or assets or tangible property, even gold."

  "We're trying to be cooperative. But we have to be realistic," Hanover's lawyer said. Then he added ominously, "The money just won't be there in a few months."

  "Then we'll just have to go a-lookin'," Reece said cheerfully. "Now, Lloyd Hanover personally guaranteed the debt. I'm ready to interrogate--excuse me, depose--every one of his relatives and every business associate of his for the past ten years to find out where he hid the money."

  "He didn't hide--"

  "We'll look into every deal he's ever been involved in, every charity he ever gave money to, his kid's college funds."

  "He's completely innocent of secreting funds if that's what you're suggesting."

  Reece shrugged. "Dismissal without prejudice. Eighty cents on the dollar. Cash. And we close within one week. If not, then Lloyd Hanover and everybody he's ever known won't have a minute's peace."

  The lawyer held his eye for a moment and strode back to his client, who listened, gave a searing look to Reece then whispered something to the lawyer.

  When the man returned he said, "Agreed."

  Reece nodded and said, "We'll execute the stipulation now."

  "We don't want to take the court's time. I suggest--"

  "I think his honor would prefer to spend a few extra minutes now rather than risk being back here in a few weeks for a full-fledged trial. Am I right about that, your honor?"

  "You are, Mr. Reece. Write out the stipulation by hand and we'll get it signed up."

  The defense lawyer sighed and scurried back to give the bad news to the client.

  After the paperwork was completed hands were shaken among comrades, glares delivered between opponents and the courtroom emptied.

  In the courthouse rotunda, the New Amsterdam vice presidents and executives clustered together, enjoying their relief. Taylor followed Reece to a small vestibule that contained public phones, which unlike most in the city were in old-fashioned booths with closing doors. He pulled her inside one and kissed her hard. After a moment he released her and leaned back. "What on earth happened? Where were you?"

  "I was almost through searching Clayton's office but he came in early to take care of some last-minute things for the merger. I hid in the bathroom."

  "Jesus. What happened then?"

  "About nine or so he had to use the john. But I unscrewed the lightbulbs before he got there. So he went up the hall. When he did I grabbed the last stack of paper and ran down to my cubicle with them. I found all of this in the envelope the note was in."

  Reece took the sheets of paper that Taylor offered. Shaking his head, he looked at them closely. A copy of a letter to the National Law Journal. "Re: Careless Security Costs Firm Client." The letter blamed Burdick and the executive committee. There was also a typewritten list with the names of several other clients and cases that Clayton was going to sabotage while, presumably, shifting the blame to Burdick.

  From her purse Taylor then took a small tape recorder and held up a tiny microcasette. "This was in the envelope too." She inserted the cassette into the player and hit a button. They heard Reece's voice, thick with static, talking to her about the promissory note. She shut it off.

  "Son of a bitch," Reece said. "He bugged my office. That's how he knew we were after him. He's known all along. He ..." Then Reece paused and looked at his watch. "Oh, no."

  "What?

  "The firm's voting on the merger any minute now. We've got to tell Donald about this. It'll change everything."

  He grabbed the phone and dug in his pocket for some change.

  Perpetual motion does exist.

  In business, in fact, where the mere laws of science mean zip compared with the power of greed and ambition, it's one of the essential principles.

  Donald Burdick sensed the undercurrent of this energy surrounding each partner as he or she entered the big conference room. Mostly they were uneasy. They lingered at the door, pretending to leave messages with the conference room secretary, pretending to wait for comrades so they might enter with human shields, or at least with allies to deflect the glare of the partners representing the other side of the merger issue from theirs.

  As always, few of the younger partners would make eye contact with Burdick but this morning he felt this evasion was due not to distance in social station but to hostility on the part of his opponents and shame in the hearts of those who had betrayed him.

  The Danish pastries on the Limoges china, the coffee in the sterling urn were practically untouched. Burdick, looking down, reviewed a loan document that did not need reviewing. He heard conversations about the Jets and Giants, about concerts, about vacations, about closings, about the faux pas of opposing counsel, about the Supreme Court's latest excursions to Olympus, about rumors of other law firms breaking up.

  Finally, at eleven o'clock, Burdick started to call the meeting to order. He was about to ask for a quorum vote when:

  "Excuse me," said Randy Simms, whom Donald Burdick couldn't help but picture as a handsome leech.

  "Yes?" Burdick drew the word out threateningly.

  Simms said, "We're not all present."

  Eyes coursing leisurely around the table, Burdick said, "But we have a quorum."

  "Well, Mr. Clayton isn't here."

  "Either we have a quorum, in which case the meeting proceeds, or we do not, in which case it doesn't. Whom that quorum is made up of is not, to my memory, an issue of any concern in Robert's Rules of Order."

  "I'm just thinking that it might be appropriate--" But the slick young sycophant's words were interrupted by a bold knock. The door opened and Burdick's secretary walked inside with a sealed envelope. Ignoring everyone in the room, the older partner took it, slit the seal open with his gold pen and read the note. He handed it to Bill Stanley, who blinked in surprise.

  Burdick said, "If you'll excuse us for a moment please. There's something that needs attending to. We'll adjourn for fifteen minutes. Bill, you come too."

  Donald Burdick was as angry as Taylor had ever seen him. He glanced at her and she looked away from his towering fury.

  They sat in Burdick's office. Bill Stanley was on the couch, a fat ankle resting on a fat knee, and read over the papers Taylor had found in Clayton's office.

  Stanley muttered, "What a stupid, stupid thing to do."

  But Burdick was venting at Reece. "Why the hell didn't you tell me about the note?"

  Reece said, "It was a judgment call. I didn't want word to get out. I had my own way of handling it."

  "You almost lost the case," Burdick spat out. "You almost got yourselves killed."

  Reece withstood
the anger easily. "Clayton wasn't going to hurt us. I'm sure the car incident was just to scare us. As far as losing goes, well, yes, I took that chance."

  "You risked our client because you were afraid you'd lose your job."

  The associate fired back, "Of course that was one reason. But it was also because if word got out it would be bad for the firm. In my assessment we had to act covertly."

  " 'Covertly.' You sound like a damn spy." Burdick took the papers and the tape recorder from Stanley. "He wanted the merger so badly, he'd do this?" Burdick's anger was giving way to astonishment.

  Stanley considered something. "You introduced the note into evidence, right?"

  Reece nodded. "Hanover's agreed to settle. We're going to close in Boston next week."

  "Well, then Clayton will've heard you found it. He'll know he's in trouble."

  Burdick nodded. "That's why he's not at the meeting." The old partner rubbed his eyes. "What a mess."

  "Fucking scandal," Stanley growled. "Last thing we need."

  "Give me some thoughts on the damage assessment," Burdick said to the rotund partner.

  "Probably not terrible." He nodded at Reece and Taylor. "They didn't tell anyone." A piercing glance at Taylor. "Right? You didn't mention it to anybody?"

  "No, of course not. When I found those things in Clayton's office I took them right to Mitchell at the courthouse. I didn't even call--because I thought the phones might be bugged. Nobody else knows what I was doing."

  Stanley nodded and continued, "The problem's going to be talking him into leaving. He knows we're afraid of publicity so we're not going to go to the police or going to sue him. Fucking clever when you think about it. He arranges to misplace a note, nearly loses our client and when we catch him red-handed he's practically got immunity from the liability."

  Burdick was shaking his head. "We'll find a way to oust him. That man has to ..." His voice faded as there was an urgent knock on the door.

  "Come in."

  The door opened fast and one of Burdick's secretaries stood there. Her face was white and her eyes were red from crying.

  "What is it, Carol?"

  Oh, no, Taylor thought: Just what they were afraid of had happened--word had gotten out that Clayton had stolen the note.

  But the tragedy was of a somewhat different order.

  The woman gasped, "Oh, Mr. Burdick ... it's terrible. They just found Wendall Clayton in the garage downstairs. In his car ... He's ..."

  "What, Carol?"

  "He shot himself. He's dead."

  TWO

  Men of Most Renowned Virtue

  "You will observe the Rules of Battle, of course?" the White Knight remarked, putting on his helmet....

  "I always do," said the Red Knight, and they began banging away at each other with such fury that Alice got behind a tree to be out of the way of the blows.

  --Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Only a few hours had elapsed since Clayton's suicide. But it seemed to Taylor Lockwood that days had passed--given all the conjuring that Donald Burdick had done in the wake of the tragedy.

  First, he'd appeared at the merger vote meeting and delivered the news to the partners. Then, leaving the stunned men and women to make what they would of the man's death, he'd returned immediately to his office, where Reece and Taylor had been ordered to remain.

  The senior partner had handled an endless stream of phone calls and meetings with his cronies. So far he'd talked to the mayor's and the governor's offices, the medical examiner's office, the police, the Justice Department, the press.

  Taylor was startled to see Burdick's wife make an appearance, walking into her husband's office unannounced, without the least acknowledgment of Reece or Taylor. The woman apparently knew all about the suicide and she and her husband retired to the small conference room off his office and closed the door. Five minutes later Burdick returned alone.

  He sat down, leaned back in the chair and then asked Reece and Taylor, "Do you have anything else that has to do with Wendall or the theft? Anything at all?"

  Reece shook his head and looked at Taylor, who said numbly, "I didn't think this would happen."

  Burdick looked at her blankly for a moment then repeated, "Anything else?"

  "No," she said.

  He nodded and took an envelope out of his pocket. "There was that suicide note in the car, the one the police found. Talking about pressures at work, being despondent." Burdick looked at both Reece and Taylor. He added, "But he wrote another one. It was on his desk, addressed to me."

  He handed a sheet of paper to Reece, who read it and then passed it on to Taylor.

  Donald, forgive me. I'm sending this to you privately to keep my theft of the note out of the news. It will be better for everyone.

  I want you to know that I truly believed the merger would save the firm. But I lost sight of how far I should go. All I'll offer is this from Milton: "Men of most renowned virtue have sometimes by transgressing most truly kept the law."

  Burdick took the letter back and locked it in his desk. "I'm going to try to keep this note quiet." He nodded at the drawer. "I'll talk to the police commissioner and I don't think he'll have a problem with it. This is Hubbard, White's dirty laundry and no one else's. Publicity would be bad for everyone. Bad for the firm. Bad for Clayton's widow too."

  "Widow?" Taylor asked suddenly.

  Burdick replied, "Yes, Wendall was married. Didn't you know?"

  "No," she said. "She wasn't in Connecticut the other day. I've never seen her at any of the firm functions. He never wore a ring."

  "Well, I guess he wouldn't now, would he? Given his extracurricular activities."

  His widow ...

  The words stung. Before his death Clayton the man had been hidden beneath Clayton the ruthless aristocrat. That he had a wife--and maybe children or living parents, siblings--was a shock.

  "The newspapers'll get a watered-down story," Burdick continued. "I've called the public relations company. Bill Stanley's with them now. They're preparing a statement. If anybody asks we'll refer questions to them." He lowered his head and looked into Reece's eyes, then Taylor's. She had the same sense as when she met Reece's gaze, or Clayton's. Or her father's. They drew you in, made you forget who you were, forget your own thoughts. In Burdick's eyes she saw will and confidence, strong as bronze. Her mind went blank. He asked, "Will you back me on this? If I thought there was anything to be gained by a full disclosure I wouldn't hesitate to reveal everything. But I can't see any upside to it."

  Men of most renowned virtue.

  Reece said, "I won't perjure myself, Donald. But I won't volunteer anything."

  "Fair enough." The partner looked at Taylor.

  She nodded. "Sure. I agree."

  The hairs on the back of her neck stirred.

  Widow ...

  Taylor looked into the conference room, inside which Vera Burdick, her gray hair piled on her head in a stately bun, was on the telephone. She glanced back and caught Taylor's gaze. The woman half-rose and swung the door closed.

  Burdick's phone rang and he took the call. He mouthed something about its being from someone at City Hall but Taylor was preoccupied. She was seeing in her mind's eye the real suicide note, tucked away in Burdick's desk. She vaguely heard Burdick speaking to the caller in a low, reassuring tone. She watched his long, jowly face, carefully shaved, his sparse gray hair brushed into precise alignment.

  And Taylor Lockwood thought: What the hell had she been doing all along? What did she think would happen when she fingered the thief? Had she ever considered the consequences?

  Never once.

  Renowned virtue.

  Burdick hung up the receiver and nodded with satisfaction. "I think we'll get away with it."

  Taylor tried to figure out what he meant.

  "The Medical Examiner's office is going to rule the death suicide. The AG agrees. And we can keep our other suicide note private."
>
  Reece blurted an astonished laugh. "The ME ruled already?"

  Burdick nodded then looked at Taylor and Reece with a vaguely ominous gaze, which she interpreted as: Don't be too curious about this.

  The partner looked at his watch. He held out his hand to Reece, then to Taylor, who first wanted to wipe her palm. It was damp as a washcloth; Burdick's was completely dry.

  "You two get some rest. You've been through a hellish week. If you want any personal time I'll arrange it. Won't come out of your vacation or sick leave. Are you busy now?"

  Reece walked toward the door. "I've got the Hanover settlement closing in Boston next week. That's the only thing on the front burner."

  "You, Ms. Lockwood?"

  "No, nothing," she replied, still numb.

  "Then take some time off. In fact, I'd urge you to. Might be best."

  Taylor nodded and began to speak but hesitated. She was waiting for some significant thought to arrive, some phrase that neatly summarized what had just happened.

  Nothing occurred; her mind had jammed.

  Get away with it?

  "Oh, Mitchell," Burdick said, smiling, as if the suicide no longer occupied even a portion of his thoughts.

  Reece turned.

  "Congratulations on the Hanover settlement," the partner said. "I myself would have settled for seventy cents on the dollar. That's why you're a litigator and I'm not."

  He rose and walked to the small conference room, where his wife awaited him. Burdick didn't open the door right away, though. He waited, Taylor noticed, until she and Reece had left the office.

  They walked in silence to the paralegal pen.

  Everyone in the corridors seemed to be staring at her. As if they knew the part she'd played in the partner's death.

  Near her cubicle, in a place where the hall was empty, Reece took her by the arm. He bent down and whispered, "I know how you feel, Taylor. I know how I feel. But this wasn't our fault. There's no way we could've anticipated this."

  She said nothing.

  He continued, "Even if the police'd been involved the same thing would've happened."

  "I know," she said in a soft voice. But it sounded lame, terribly lame. Because, of course, she didn't know anything of the kind.

  Reece asked, "Come over for dinner tonight."

  She nodded. "Okay, sure."

  "How's eight?" Then he frowned. "Wait, it's Tuesday ... you're playing piano at your club, right?"