[Kate Lange 01.0] Damaged

by Pamela Callow

  “I agree. They are identical.” His gaze sharpened. “Due to paperwork error. Simple as that.” His tone implied she should have figured that out without needing TransTissue’s CEO and her boss to tell her.

  “I agree. It could be a simple photocopy error.” It was the easiest explanation, but her research of the U.S. cases wouldn’t let her leave it at that. “We need to see the originals. Without the names or ID numbers blacked out.”

  John folded his arms. “Do you seriously believe that TransTissue was falsifying documents?”

  She met his gaze head-on. “I don’t think TransTissue is falsifying records. However, I think that their supplier might’ve been sending in fake blood samples.”

  John’s brows rose, a look of incredulity on his face. “Were you watching CSI Miami last night?”

  A flush heated her cheeks. “I came across this in my research of the U.S. cases. Whenever the tissue processors got in trouble, it started with the suppliers. They were harvesting contaminated tissue and falsifying the donor reports.”

  John leaned back in his chair and studied her. She couldn’t read his expression. After his CSI barb, she was tensed for anything. “So you think that TransTissue has a bad supplier and is ignoring the problem?”

  Relief surged through her. He was finally getting it. What she didn’t understand is why it took him so long. He was well-known for his abilities to ferret out the weak links in much more complicated chains of evidence than this. “That is one possibility. Have you heard of a company called BioMediSol?”

  John frowned. “Vaguely. Why? Were they the supplier?” He picked up a pen and rolled it between his finger and thumb.

  She nodded. “Yes. And the blood samples they sent to TransTissue for testing came up with the exact same results, five times out of twelve.”

  He sighed softly. “As Bob Duggan said, it was a paperwork error.” He put the pen down and held her gaze. “Kate, you have got to understand something. You are on shaky ground. TransTissue has above-standard industry screening procedures. They have a rigorous selection process. They have a health care professional who personally approves all tissue.” He shrugged. “They happen to have a PR gal who made an error.”

  She squared her shoulders. “Like I said, it’s not TransTissue themselves that worry me. It’s their supplier.” She didn’t understand why John, the veteran litigator that he was, wasn’t more concerned. “Better us than Morris MacNeil. Because I’ll bet he’ll be asking.”

  “Perhaps.” John picked up the pen and snapped it back in its holder. “But the problem is, you have managed to annoy a major client of LMB. They want you off the case.”

  “What?” She felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Yes. I’ve tried to smooth things over. But I can only do so much.” His eyes met hers. “I think you are an exceptional woman. In every respect—”

  She kept her features stony as he began the spiel of rejection she knew was coming.

  “—But you are walking on quicksand. First, the Lisa MacAdam debacle. Randall came very close to firing you.”

  She swallowed but held John’s gaze.

  His expression softened. “Did you know that Randall and Judge Carson were once an item?”

  She stared at John. “No.”

  “It was a long time ago. But those are the ties that bind people.”

  Randall Barrett and Hope Carson, once lovers. Had that former relationship been enough to let Hope compel him into stealing her notes?

  Would he really put his professional ethics aside for the sake of an ex-flame?

  She exhaled slowly. Hadn’t she let Ethan guilt her into doing the same thing?

  John clicked his pen. Kate’s gaze snapped back to him. She forced herself to concentrate. “The real issue is that you’ve antagonized a major client.”

  “I was trying to get the facts straight. The reports seemed fishy—” She stopped abruptly. She couldn’t afford to lose her cool. She’d already staked too much on this job, this case. She smoothed a finger slowly over the file folder. “I guess I should have been more diplomatic in the way I phrased my question to Bob Duggan.”

  “Yes. You should have. But—” his expression hardened again “—I called you in for a different reason.”

  Was he going to fire her for antagonizing their client? LMB had let go of associates for lesser trespasses. She braced herself.

  He leaned forward. “I advised Bob Duggan that we should settle.”

  “What?” She started, her fingers reflexively grabbing the file before it slipped off her lap.

  John gave her a slight smile. “He accepted my advice.”

  She stared at him. “But we haven’t even conducted the discovery!”

  “I know. We’ll save our client a considerable amount of money.”

  She breathed in through her nose. It was supposed to calm her. It didn’t. “I don’t understand why you want to settle at this juncture. It will cast them in suspicion.”

  John spread his hands on his desk. “Kate, it’s simple.” His tone rebuked her, as if she should have figured this out without him having to explain it to her. She smothered her irritation. This was her mentor, her champion, the man who had given her the golden egg. He had never spoken this way to her before. He had never made her feel as if she was out of her league. Until today.

  Was this a taste of things to come?

  John pointed to a blue-cornered document on his desk. “We’ve now got two plaintiffs: Denise Rogers filed today. TransTissue doesn’t want the publicity. They’ve posted record profits—which is quite a feat in our current economic climate—and are in the process of buying several tissue banks in the U.S. This is a period of growth and excitement for them. They are considered industry leaders.” He spoke like a proud father. “To enter into a lengthy lawsuit—no matter how innocent we know they are—is not in the best interests of the company. Bob was very concerned that they’d be pulled away from their expansion to deal with this.”

  “What are the terms of the settlement?” she asked, her tone flat. The bubble had been burst. Rudely. Without warning. Without a safety net. All that work, all her excitement at being on a ground-breaking case, was gone. What was left was the sticky reality of her job at LMB: family cases.

  “Good financial remuneration for the plaintiffs, sealed with a nondisclosure clause.” John stood. “I can handle it from here, Kate.”

  He smiled. Kate knew it was meant to take away the sting of dropping her from the case. She didn’t smile in return.

  “You’ve done good work, Kate. Never mind your screw-up with Bob Duggan. I’m confident you won’t do it again. You’re a quick study.” He paused. He was waiting for her to thank him for his faint praise, thank him for looking past her bumbling error, thank him for keeping her safe in this den of lions.

  She rose to her feet and headed to the door. “So. Case closed.” She forced a light tone.

  He gave her a relieved smile. “Case closed.”

  She turned the door handle.

  “And, Kate?”

  She glanced back at him.

  “I’ll give you a call if something else comes up.” But would anyone else in the firm be interested in her now that John had dropped her from the case? She doubted it. When Randall heard about this, she would be associate non grata. If she wasn’t fired first.

  “Thanks.” She closed the door behind her. Her feet moved automatically down the hallway to the stairwell.

  She walked by Rebecca Manning’s office. The door was ajar. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed Rebecca behind her desk. Her smooth blond head was tilted, the phone cradled to her ear while she wrote on a LMB notepad.

  Kate continued walking, hugging the TransTissue file to her chest. A bitter smile twisted her lips. Rebecca had predicted this outcome. What she hadn’t predicted was the manner in which it would be done.

  John Lyons had indeed screwed her.

  Kate wondered if he’d enjoyed it.

  Ch
apter 34

  “Damn,” Kate muttered as she pulled into her driveway. She glanced again at the clock on her dash: 4:44 p.m. She was fourteen minutes late, but she bet it had seemed like forever to the two ladies standing on her front porch.

  She climbed hurriedly out of her car and strode up the walk, her trench coat flapping in the breeze. It was one of those unusually warm May afternoons, when the sun finally commits to spring. Kate knew that a day like this was illusory, that the sun would disappear like a sleight of hand into the fog, and suddenly it would be cold again. But right now the sun beat on the back of her neck. “Enid, Muriel! Hi!”

  She ran up the steps to where the elderly sisters stood. The casualness of her generation weighed upon her: in Enid’s day people were punctual and didn’t use excuses like “my voicemail was crazy.”

  Enid grasped Kate’s hand. “Hello, dear.”

  Kate smiled, relieved that Enid didn’t seem upset. “Sorry I’m late.” She put the key in the lock, twisting it past the sticky part until the lock released. The heavy door groaned open. Kate braced herself for Alaska’s welcome. But the hallway was empty. Eerily so.

  “Alaska?” She hurried into the kitchen.

  No sign of him.

  “Alaska?” She rushed through the living room.

  There was a lot of hair on the carpet, but no sign of him.

  Then she remembered. This was the time that Finn took Alaska for his supper-time walk. She let out a breath. Man, she was a lot more stressed than she realized. The day had really gotten to her.

  “Is everything all right, Kate?” Enid asked from the porch.

  Kate turned, her nervous energy draining and leaving her limp. She wiped a sweaty hand on her skirt. “It’s fine. I forgot that Alaska is out for a walk with his dog walker.” She pushed the screen door open. “Please, come in. I just need to grab something and we can go.” She had a book upstairs in her study that she thought Anna Keane might like. It was a guide to legal instruments published by the legal education society. It might give Anna Keane some guidance about consent issues.

  Enid and Muriel stepped into the hallway. Kate hurried upstairs. She longed for it to be supper time. She longed for a glass of wine. She longed to tell her troubles to someone. Six months ago, she would have had Ethan to pour her troubles to. But now she had no one to tell about her ego-bruising, pride-wounding meeting with John Lyons.

  How had she ended up with no friends? All work and no play. It was a cliché, but like most clichés, it started with an essential truth. She’d been too busy, first with articling, then with Ethan, and now with LMB, to keep up her friendships from law school. She’d assumed she’d make friends at work. But she’d been too big an outsider and too big a threat for her colleagues. Oddly, the only person who’d extended any warmth to her was Randall Barrett. And now she knew even that support was like the spring sunshine. Deceptive in its warmth and quick to retreat behind the chill fog of ambition.

  She glanced at herself in her bedroom mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair mussed. She quickly threw on a fresh blouse, smoothed her hair and hurried downstairs.

  The sisters were no longer there. She glanced around the foyer, puzzled. Then she heard voices from the kitchen.

  “Mil, please come out.”

  “No! I’m busy.”

  She hurried into the kitchen and stopped abruptly. Muriel was kneeling by the old broom closet in the pantry, pulling out a dustpan. She threw it behind her. Around her lay scattered a mop, a bucket, several pristine scrub brushes and three bottles of cleaners.

  Kate prayed Muriel hadn’t found a dead rodent. That was the last thing she needed. Although it wouldn’t have been the first rat she’d encountered today.

  A broom skittered by her feet. Muriel leaned farther into the closet. An empty paint can rolled across the floor.

  Enid threw Kate an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, Muriel was in your closet.”

  “What’s she doing?” Kate asked, looking at the mess in dismay. She stuck out a foot to stop the rolling paint can and picked it up.

  “Mil, please get up,” Enid said. She tugged on her sister’s arm, but she was no match for Muriel’s size.

  “Get a sun bright,” Muriel called, her voice muffled.

  “A what?” Kate asked, stepping closer.

  “A flashlight,” Enid translated.

  “I have one over here.” Kate hurried to the kitchen drawer. “But what is she doing?”

  “She is looking for a hidden staircase we used to play on as children.” Sadness muted the sky blue of her eyes.

  Kate glanced at the clock. The dog-bone-shaped hand had moved past the five. “We have to get going.”

  Enid lowered her voice. “I’m concerned she might lose it if we force her to leave.”

  “Lose it?”

  “She can have these violent outbursts. Don’t worry,” Enid said hurriedly at Kate’s look of concern, “she’s never hurt me.”

  Kate frowned. She could either let Muriel tear apart her closet or deal with the tantrum of a demented lady. Tension pushed against the walls of her chest. What had she done to deserve a day like this? First Bob Duggan, then John Lyons, and now Muriel. “Is she almost done?”

  Something snapped loudly inside the closet.

  “I think so,” Enid said with a wry look.

  Kate turned on the flashlight and stood behind the old lady, sweeping the light around the closet. She stifled a gasp. Muriel had pulled away one corner of an old bookcase that had been propped on the floor and nailed to the back wall. It was only about three feet high, a rickety old thing, and the middle of the shelves sagged under the weight of ancient paint cans. Kate had meant to clean it out when she moved in. But like most of her good intentions about her house, she hadn’t gotten around to it. LMB had taken over. Now the cans lay in haphazard piles on the floor around Muriel’s feet.

  Muriel gripped the edge of the shelf that had been loosened and pulled again. A sharp cracking sound startled them both. One of the sides of the bookcase broke off and fell to the floor with a crash.

  “Help me,” Muriel said. Kate reached around her and gingerly pulled the pieces of the shelf out. She tried to not let her dismay show on her face. She’d have to buy another bookcase now.

  “Ah,” Muriel said. She leaned forward and ran her finger along the back wall.

  “Did you find it, Mil?” Enid asked, peering over Muriel’s other shoulder.

  Kate aimed the flashlight at the now-empty space. The wall was painted a dark brown. In the dim light of the closet it was hard to make out anything.

  Kate peered deeper into the shadows. “Is that a door?”

  Muriel ran her fingers along the edge of a small cupboard door. It was about the same height as the bookshelf, and had been painted over to blend in with the walls.

  Enid clapped her hands. “You did find it after all!” She turned to Kate. “This door leads to a secret passageway.”

  A shiver ran up Kate’s spine. She didn’t like the sound of that. At all. It hadn’t seemed real until now. Now it had all kinds of unpleasant potential. “Where does it go?”

  “It leads to a set of stairs. They end in the linen closet.”

  “Upstairs?”

  “Yes.” Enid smiled dreamily. “We had such fun playing in it with the Hansen children. We used to pretend the linen closet was a turret and we had to rescue the princess.”

  Muriel grunted, her shoulders straining as she tried to loosen the door from its seal of paint. She pulled again. The door popped open a few inches. Kate marveled at her strength. She was incredibly strong for her age.

  Dusty, stale air escaped from the crack. Kate shone the flashlight inside. Muriel and Enid strained to see. A heavy cobweb hung above the door. Muriel pushed it away impatiently.

  Enid gripped Muriel’s shoulder. “It hasn’t changed much, has it?”

  Muriel shook her head. Tears swam in her eyes. “We had so man
y happy times, Enie,” she whispered.

  “I know.” Enid pulled gently on Muriel’s arm. “We have to go now. Ms. Keane is waiting for us. Perhaps Kate would let us come back and explore sometime.”

  Kate nodded, bemused. Her house had a secret passage? The old ladies were delighted with their find. The more Kate thought about it the less she liked it. The linen closet sat right outside her bedroom. She had a sudden image of someone or something—like a rat—creeping up the stairs in the middle of the night. And then creeping into her room.

  “Come on, Mil.” Enid turned to the door. “We can’t keep Ms. Keane waiting.”

  Muriel rose reluctantly, throwing one last glance into the cupboard. Kate nudged a path through the scattered cleaning supplies with her foot.

  “I’m so sorry, dear.” Enid looked stricken as she surveyed the mess. She plucked a dish towel off the floor and folded it into a precise rectangle that Kate knew she would never be able to replicate even with twice the time.

  “I’ll clean it up when I get home,” Kate said, taking the towel and placing it on the table. She gave Enid a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it.” She was glad, in a way, that Muriel had found the secret passageway. Now she knew it was there. Once Muriel and Enid explored it, she would nail it closed. Properly this time.

  * * *

  The traffic wasn’t so bad going into the downtown area—everyone was leaving it—and they arrived at Keane’s Funeral Home around 5:40 p.m. Kate held the car door open while Enid and Muriel climbed out of the backseat. Grabbing her purse, she followed the sisters up the walkway to the ornately columned building. Enid charged ahead, her back already stiffening with indignation. Kate forced herself to keep up. She’d thought she’d excised her old fears with her last visit, but they surged again, tangling her feet.

  Anna Keane met them at the door. She was wearing a pale pink skirt, crumpled from the heat of the day, and a light silk blouse. Kate bet the funeral director had been waiting for them, waiting to finish with this one last client before going home to enjoy the gorgeous May evening. She hoped that Enid would give Anna Keane a chance to explain her actions.