Killing the Lawyers

by Reginald Hill

  Joe looked for a hiding place. The curtains were floor length, and looked full enough to hide a man. He went towards them to check. Failing that there was a door in the wall opposite the fireplace. A cupboard? A closet? Perhaps Montaigne had been in there ... knocked something over and attracted Potter's attention ... perhaps he hadn't intended to show himself and kill his partner but, once discovered ... this was a ruthless man.

  The curtains would do at a pinch, Joe decided. But not the best of hiding places. He turned towards the door, then paused, turned back, looked out of the window.

  Parked in the yard below was Darby Pollinger's white Merc.

  "Oh shoot," said Joe. He was having one of his feelings that had nothing to do with reason and logic but had served him far better than either of those two shifty customers.

  He knew that when he opened that door he was going to find Pollinger's body. Then he'd have to ring the cops. With his luck, he'd probably get Chivers. Then it would be all to go through again. And again.

  Much simpler to head downstairs, thank Mrs. Mattison for her coffee, and leave.

  Leaving that poor woman to stumble across Pollinger by herself?

  No, he couldn't do that, not to anyone. Well, perhaps to Chivers. Or PC Forton. But not to someone like Mrs. Mattison.

  Taking a deep breath, he flung open the door.

  He'd been right. He'd found Pollinger's body.

  It was standing over a toilet bowl, having a pee.

  With no sign of surprise other than a slight arching of his left eyebrow, the lawyer said, There you are, Mr. Sixsmith. Be with you in a jiffy."

  Twenty.

  The closet turned out to be a fair-sized bathroom not much smaller than Joe's bedroom, shared between Potter's room and Pollinger's next door.

  "So you can get from your room into Potter's without going outside?" said Joe, after the lawyer had washed his hands and led the way into his office which, rather to Joe's surprise, was very modern hi tech.

  "Very perspicacious of you," observed Pollinger dryly. The same applies to Felix Naysmith's and Victor Montaigne's rooms along the corridor. Sandra has ... had her own facilities, as I understand they're called nowadays, downstairs."

  Was it sexist to dump a female off the partners' floor simply because of the sanitary arrangements? wondered Joe. One for Butcher.

  "Are the doors kept locked?"

  "Only when in use. Chap in occupation, so to speak, makes sure the door to the next room is locked, and of course unlocks it when he's done so next door has access if necessary."

  "You didn't lock it," said Joe.

  "In the circumstances, I didn't anticipate interruption from that direction," said Pollinger. The police, I should point out, have been through all this with me. Sorry to be a wet blanket. Have you met our Mrs. Mattison? Good. How did you get on?"

  "Fine," said Joe. "She seems a nice lady."

  "Indeed. And useful?"

  "Eh?" said Joe.

  "I assume you used the opportunity to get her views on recent events."

  "Yeah, well, they did come up. Naturally. Got a vague impression there could've been some tension between Mr. Montaigne and the other partners."

  "I hope there was," said Pollinger, unsurprised. "Victor was the latest to join us. Felix and Peter I took on together seven or eight years ago. Part of their function was to shake up Ced and Ed, that is to say Cedric and Edward Upshott, my two rather elderly partners who were getting a little set in their ways. Since then one has retired, the other died. Natural causes, in case your detective mind scents a pattern. Upon Ced's retirement, I offered a partnership to Sandra. I felt we needed a woman on board. Also her appointment gave Peter and Felix a bit of a jolt, just in case they thought they were a little more in charge than they really were."

  "And the same with Mr. Montaigne's appointment?" said Joe.

  That's right. When old Ed, my remaining senior partner, died, I thought it would be good to bring in a young Turk to complete the freshening-up process."

  "And the others didn't like it?"

  "Yes and no. There's nothing like a natural superiority for getting on people's nerves, is there? But he was clearly an asset to the firm. Since his arrival there's been a significant rise in our partnership profits. And lawyers, as I'm sure you know, will object to everything except more money."

  "So," said Joe, 'if I asked you which of the partners would be clever enough to rip off your client accounts and juggle the figures around so that no one noticed, you'd say Montaigne?"

  Pollinger showed no surprise or indignation at the question but said, "I hope that anyone I employ would be bright enough to get away with it for a while, but to get away with it for a long period and in the large amounts which seem to be involved, yes, I'd have to back Victor. Are you saying that he is seriously in the frame, as they put it on the telly?"

  "Until the police can track him down and establish his movements, he's got to be," said Joe.

  Pollinger frowned and shook his head.

  "I still find it hard to believe," he said.

  "Because he was so honest?" wondered Joe.

  "Because I think he would have been too clever to get caught with his hand in the till," said Pollinger. "When it1 came to insurance law, Peter was tops, and in matters of making and breaking contracts, I'd back Felix against all comers, but when it came to doing a balancing act with figures, they weren't in the same league as Victor."

  "We all have our off days," said Joe. "And if you take too much money, there has to come a time when there's not enough left to patch the gap."

  "Then why kill?" wondered Pollinger.

  "You catch people on the hop, they lash out, even clever people," said Joe.

  "Maybe," said Pollinger, as if he doubted the possibility in his own case. "So is there anything else I can help you with?"

  Joe considered then said, "Mrs. Mattison, how much does she have to do with the actual legal work of the firm?"

  Pollinger gave him an old-fashioned glance then sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers like some ancient actor playing the family solicitor in one of those British black and white movies on TV.

  "I would say that Mrs. Mattison is privy to all our intimate secrets," he said. "And probably capable of dealing in a proper legal manner with anything that might come up in regard to them. Certainly I have never known her mis field any query or problem that has come her way."

  "She said she doesn't like messing with things that ain't her business," objected Joe.

  "And so she doesn't. But I assure you, if a client came to see me in a tizz, and I was in bed with flu, and the other partners were on vacation, or in court, Mrs. Mattison would be able to display a detailed knowledge of their case and offer reassuringly sound advice till such time as I was back in the saddle. She has proved this on many an occasion. But it is not her job, she always protests. And so it isn't, though I think she gets some private satisfaction from being in many ways more expert than our official legal executives."

  "Yeah, she didn't seem to rate them," said Joe. "That's what Mrs. Naysmith was, right?"

  "Lucy? Yes, indeed. Mrs. Mattison mentioned her?"

  "I think maybe I did. Got the impression there was maybe something a bit more personal there?"

  "Very astute, though totally irrelevant. Only fair to put you in the picture, I suppose, so you don't let yourself be distracted by red herrings. Felix, that's Mr. Naysmith, is what used to be called a bit of a ladies' man. Basically a rather simple soul, he has the great attraction of complete sincerity. He always believes himself deeply in love. How a man should be able to maintain this belief during a succession of liaisons, some of which cannot have lasted more than a fortnight, I do not know. His passage through our secretarial staff when he first joined us was a kind of erotic blitzkrieg."

  "How did you feel about that? Office romances, I mean."

  "I held a watching brief, not in any voyeuristic sense, you understand, but merely to make sure the smooth runni
ng of the firm was never compromised."

  "You didn't worry about the girls then?" said Joe.

  "I assure you, Mr. Sixsmith, that as a lawyer I am fully aware of the implications of sexual harassment," said Pollinger rather acidly. "Felix's attentions were never of that kind. His technique, if technique it can be called, is to show a shy and respectful admiration till the female concerned understands that if she wishes to encourage his attentions, she must herself offer a signal to advance. Happily, on the whole Felix showed he was as adept at disentangling himself as he was at getting entangled in the first place. I think you will find across the range of Luton's legal practices and their support industries a sorority of Felix's exes exists without bitterness or recrimination, freely sharing their experience and comparing their trophies. He is a most generous man."

  "But Lucy pinned him down?"

  "Indeed. She got pregnant. I do not suggest she did it deliberately, but Felix is a sucker for children. Lucy too was genuinely keen to have a large family. They were devastated when she miscarried. Then she got pregnant again. Perhaps too soon. I do not understand these things. This time there were serious complications which resulted in Lucy learning she could never have children. Hard to come to terms with, but they seem to be coping. Anyway, this is all irrelevant except insofar as sometime before his fancy lit upon Lucy, he had actually added Mrs. Mattison to his conquests."

  "Shoot," said Joe. Isn't there a Mr. Mattison?"

  "She was divorced some years back. We acted for her, of course. Got a first-rate settlement. I thought after that she was far too sensible to get involved with someone whose imperfections were continually under her gaze. But women are unpredictable creatures, aren't they? Even the most down to earth of them. She fell. I was seriously worried. A flighty eighteen-year-old secretary is neither here nor there. The job centres are full of them. But someone like Mrs. Mattison ... For the first time I spoke."

  "To her?"

  To him. I said that, were his intentions honourable, I would be happy to give the match my blessing, though of course there could be no question of Mrs. Mattison remaining in the firm if she became Mrs. Naysmith. On the other hand, if anything occurred which meant we lost her services without her becoming Mrs. Naysmith, I would be most distressed. Upon which hint he acted. I think he was ready to act in any case, but this time he was even gentler than usual in his disentanglement manoeuvres, and all was well."

  He spoke with some complacency. Joe shook his head internally. Mr. Pollinger might be hell on wheels as a lawyer, but when it came to women, he was an also-ran. OK, your eighteen-year-old in a world of shifting relationships might be happy to swop experiences of Felix with her friends, but no way would someone like Mrs. Mattison fit into that scene.

  Still, it wasn't relevant. Which implied he could recognize what was. In his dreams maybe!

  "So what progress have you actually made in your investigation, apart from cross-questioning me, of course," added Pollinger now.

  "Well, there hasn't been a lot of progress. I mean, it was only yesterday

  "Yes. Yesterday. And now it's today. And I presume that you will be charging me for the hours between, so presumably you have been doing something pertinent in that time?"

  This was a bit rich coming from a guy who almost certainly charged hourly even when he was having his after-lunch snooze. But he had paid cash money up front

  "Well, I went to see Mr. Naysmith in hospital."

  "And what did he have to say?"

  "Nothing. I mean, I didn't actually get to see him. Still a bit groggy."

  "Really? Seemed quite OK when I called in."

  "Well, I spoke to Mrs. Naysmith and she seemed to think it was better if he rested a bit longer."

  "So you're going back today?"

  "Well, no," said Joe. "I checked first thing and seems he discharged himself last night."

  "So not so groggy after all," said Pollinger, regarding Joe doubtfully.

  He thinks I'm pulling his wire, thought Joe.

  He said, "Look, Mr. Pollinger, the hours I work on your case will be fully accounted for when I do the final bill. I don't charge for more than one job at a time, and I do have other clients, and sometimes I even get to stop to eat and drink and sleep

  "And fight too from the look of it," said Pollinger disapprovingly.

  "No," said Joe. "I haven't been fighting. I've been getting beaten up by someone who thinks I'd be better off dead."

  "Good Lord," said Pollinger, taken aback. "You mean, in the line of business. Nothing to do with my case, I hope?"

  "Probably not," said Joe negligently. No harm in letting the guy think he might be putting himself in the way of physical harm to earn his pay.

  "I'm glad to hear it. I couldn't countenance you putting yourself at risk on my behalf," said Pollinger earnestly. "I'm paying you to investigate a crime, not to become a victim. There's been quite enough mayhem already."

  Whoops. Time to back pedal. Lot of harm in prompting your client to pull the plug just because he thinks there might be danger.

  "Oh, no. It started before I got on your case, Mr. Pollinger," said Joe firmly. "So it's definite there's no connection. In fact, I've got a very good idea who's behind it. Another case entirely. Look, if there's nothing else, I've got to go. Lots of things to do ..."

  "On my case or on this other case entirely?" said Pollinger.

  "Mr. Pollinger, if I want the best lawyer, I don't pick a guy who's got no other clients," said Joe. It was a good line. He wished he could remember where he'd read it. Then, mindful that high horses were notoriously expensive to feed and stable, he added in a more conciliatory tone, "One thing you could do for me, ring Mr. Naysmith, say you'd like for me to interview him so that I don't get no hassle when I call."

  "Surely," said Pollinger.

  He picked up his phone and dialled. Joe wandered to the window and looked down into the yard at the white Merc. Must be nice to afford wheels like that, he thought. But there was no real envy in the thought. A man shouldn't waste time coveting what wasn't his due. But those things that were his due, like freedom, respect and, in his own case, an old Morris Oxford, he should be willing to fight to the last drop of blood for.

  He heard Pollinger say, "Oh hello, Lucy. Darby here. Listen, I've got a chap called Sixsmith in my office, private investigator I've hired to watch out for our interests in this terrible business. I believe you've met him ... yes, that's the one. Well, it would be useful if he could talk to Felix ... how is he, by the way? Resting ... very wise so would it be all right for Sixsmith to call round some time ... yes, of course he would ... fine, of course, you get back to the invalid. Give him my best. "Bye."

  He put the phone down. Joe turned to face him.

  "OK, is it?" he said.

  "Yes. I spoke to Lucy. Felix is taking it easy, it seems, resting in bed, though from the sound of it he's not making a very good patient. Banging on the floor to get her attention! Anyway, she says it will be fine for you to call, but could you ring before you go, just to make sure Felix is up to it?"

  "Sure," said Joe.

  "You'll need his number. He's ex-directory."

  Not if you want a taxi, he's not, thought Joe. But it didn't seem worth the effort of explaining.

  Pollinger scribbled the number on a piece of paper. Joe took it and put it in his wallet.

  I'll be on my way," he said. I'll check back with you the minute anything turns up. See you, Mr. Pollinger."

  "Yes, of course. Thank you, Mr. Sixsmith."

  On his way down the stairs he met Mrs. Mattison coming up.

  He said, "He's up there."

  "I thought he must be," she said. "He might have let me know."

  "Things on his mind," said Joe with masculine solidarity. "Nice to have met you, Mrs. Mattison."

  "You too," she said.

  He went past her but had only descended another three or four stairs when she called, "Oh, Mr. Sixsmith

  "Yes?"

  H
e turned and looked up at her. Handsome woman. More important perhaps, she looked like she was going to tell him something.

  Then she smiled and said, "Nothing. Just Happy New Year, Mr. Sixsmith."

  "And the same to you," said Joe.

  Twenty-One.

  This morning the Plezz was buzzing with activity as teams of workmen laboured to make it fit for the Grand Opening the following day.

  The main public ceremony would take place in the stadium just before the athletics meeting. The mayor would make a speech, an Olympic-style torch would be carried in by a young runner, and the whole shooting match would be declared open. In the evening, a civic reception was to be held in the new art gallery. Invitations were harder to get hold of than pickled onions in a narrow jar. It was rumoured that many of the uninvited had arranged holidays abroad to support their claims to have sent their apologies. Joe, on the other hand, felt neither surprised nor humiliated at not being on the list. In fact, if an invitation had dropped through his letter box, he'd probably have binned it as a bad forgery and a worse joke.

  He ran in to Hooter Hardiman as he entered the stadium. He looked harassed.

  "You still around, Joe?" said the man, making it sound like another straw on his already overladen back.

  "Nice to see you too," said Joe. "You had any more thoughts about who might have been planting those notes? Someone in the Spartans, you thought, maybe."

  A nonstarter, he reckoned. This thing was way beyond a nasty practical joke. But so long as Hooter stayed on his suspect list, he might as well keep him lulled. And just because Starbright had caught Abe and Mary humping was no reason to revise the list.

  "Don't you think I've got other things to keep me occupied than worrying about some hacked-off half wit demanded Hardiman. "Every other bugger responsible for getting things organized for tomorrow seems to think I should be doing his job. I don't see why I've got to take on yours as well!"