by Jayne Blue
I put up my hand. “Thanks. Actually, stepmother. And it looks like she had a stroke in her sleep.”
“Right.” Furlong nodded; some light bulb of understanding brightened his eyes. “Yeah, I didn’t see any kind of resemblance. I suppose there are worse ways to go. She was something else when I knew her. Most of us in our office were kind of scared shitless of her. Come to think of it, the McLain case was a really rare loss for her. That’s why it was such a good career notch for Andy Talbot. Besting the dragon lady gave him some street cred for a while.”
“I’ll bet,” I said.
“So why are you interested in it? Did you talk to her about it?”
Here was the tricky part. I had to hope that in sending me to Furlong, Reed knew discretion was key.
“Miranda and I, we weren’t exactly close. You called her the dragon lady. She was my wicked stepmother, ya know?”
Furlong laughed. “I guess I can see your point.”
“What do you remember about the case?” I decided to dive in.
Furlong shrugged. He put his napkin across his lap as the waitress dropped off our sandwiches. He took a great bite and wiped a dollop of mayonnaise from the corner of his mouth before answering me.
“Well, this is gonna maybe sound strange, but I remember it was kind of easy.”
“How so?” I jabbed a steak fry into some ketchup.
“Well,” Furlong said, “there weren’t a lot of gray areas in the evidence, I mean. Every case is gonna have its strengths and weaknesses. You don’t always have a slam dunk on every element. But that one, we kind of did. We had a clear money trail.”
“So that’s what it turned on?” I asked.
“Pretty much,” Furlong answered. “We had lower level guys in his organization who flipped pretty easily. They led us to the warehouses where the dope came in. And when we froze his accounts and got in to them, it was all right there. All the deposits.”
“They’re not usually like that?”
Furlong shrugged. “Guys are usually smarter. McLain kept everything in one place for the most part. Only one or two bank accounts if I’m remembering it right.”
“So, McLain was careless,” I said.
“Maybe,” Furlong said. “You know. I have to ask you. Bottom line, Reed Burnett and my dad go way back. If Reed asks for a favor and if it’s within my power I’m going to grant it. But why are you so interested in all this?”
“I hope you can accept a partial answer,” I said. I’d been rehearsing how to answer this question since last night. “I have the same relationship with Reed and, of course, he wanted to know too. I have a friend who has a vested interest in the case. On the strength of our mutual affection for Reed, can I ask you to let me pretty much leave it there?”
Furlong smiled. “Reed ever tell you you should have been a lawyer too?”
This got a genuine laugh out of me. “Once or twice, yeah.”
“Have you met him then? Declan McLain?”
I set my sandwich down. “No. We just have a friend in common.”
Furlong nodded. “I ask because you wondered if McLain was careless. The thing is, that was the part that makes me remember that case the most. I wasn’t a rookie when I assisted on that case. I’d tried or second chaired dozens of RICO cases and higher level drug trafficking cases. McLain was smooth, smart, but he seemed more salt of the earth than a lot of these guys. They usually have this arrogant, Teflon quality. Like they all think they’re Al Capone and this is The Untouchables. McLain wasn’t like that. He seemed genuinely shocked about what was happening to him. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.”
“No,” I said. “That actually explains a lot.” I wanted to be careful here. I didn’t want to let on to Frank Furlong that I thought he was innocent or the theory of who framed him. I trusted him because Reed did, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be careless or loose lipped.
“And your stepmother was weird too,” he said. “That’s the other thing I remember.”
I sat forward in my chair. I tried to maintain an air of casualness but knew I was probably failing.
“Weird how?”
“Well, like I told you. I said a lot of us were intimidated by her. That’s true. But watching her in the courtroom was a little like saying you got to see Jordan play in his prime. We were always on opposite sides in those days, but she was brilliant in there. No one could take that away from her no matter how much of a cast-iron bitch she was on a personal level.”
I shook my head. Yes. I was beginning to like Frank Furlong. His assessment of Miranda’s character was dead on. It might mean that his assessment of Tora’s father was too.
“She was sloppy in that trial,” Furlong said. “She gave a kind of paint-by-numbers defense and we thought she missed things. Nothing that would have risen to the level of inadequate counsel. But she just didn’t have the same fight in her. She didn’t go after witnesses as hard as she could have. There just wasn’t a lot of strategy coming out of her. I mean, it was a victory, and we were glad for it. McLain was responsible for putting a lot of heroin out there. But . . . I don’t know. Beating her that time just didn’t seem as fun as it should have been. It seemed easy.”
I finished the last of my iced tea and set it down. “Thank you. This has been enlightening. Very.”
Furlong raised a ruddy brow and nodded. “I don’t feel like I told you much of anything.”
“No, you have. Truly. Can I ask you hypothetical?”
“Sure.” Furlong downed the last of his tea, smacking his lips.
“If there was something, some new evidence that might put the case against McLain in a different light. Could I run it by you to get your take on it?”
Furlong raised a brow but nodded. “Of course. But I gotta tell you, he should have taken a deal.”
“Was there one on the table?” I asked.
“There almost always is,” Furlong answered. “I can’t remember what we were offering and I probably wouldn’t be at liberty to tell you anyway. But McLain refused. We wanted to go after his M.C. too. Most of the witnesses we had didn’t give us a direct line to the Great Wolves. Just to McLain. He could have made it easier on himself if he’d just given us something.”
“A real martyr, huh?” I asked. The word I wanted to use was stubborn. Just like his daughter.
“I suppose that’s how he saw it,” Furlong said. “Stupid, if you ask me. He got life. Real life. That poor bastard is never going to see the sun over anything but razor wire again. And he was basically a kid too, I remember that. I don’t even think he was thirty when we put him away. Hope he’s as tough as he looked.”
“Me too,” I answered.
“I’m really sorry to eat and run,” Furlong said, looking at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting on The Hill I’ve got to get to.”
I stood and shook his hand again. “Again, I can’t thank you enough for taking the time to meet with me.”
“My pleasure,” he said.
“Truly. Can I ask you, though? If you think of anything else ... anything at all that struck you as odd about that trial or the case against McLain, could you give me a call?” I pulled a business card out of my breast pocket and handed it to him.
“Sure,” he said, drawing out the word as though he found it an even odder question than those I’d been putting to him all through lunch.
We said another polite goodbye and he left, bounding around the corner and out of sight. I sat back down after he’d gone. I ran my thumb down the side of my glass, tracing a line in the condensation. I remembered the rugged face of a young Declan McLain staring back at me from his mug shot. But then I remembered the despair in Tora’s face when she came back from seeing him a few weeks ago. Whatever had happened in Marion prison over the last thirteen years had worn him down enough that his daughter worried it was killing him. Furlong’s words rang in my head. Hope he’s as tough as he looked.
Maybe he was. I hoped so. But, like Tora, I had the sense that
he was also running out of time.
Chapter Fifteen
Tora
“You’re making a very big mistake, Mrs. Manning.” Mary Barlow said the name like it caused her actual pain.
“Maybe,” I answered her. “But you do understand that it’s mine to make.”
Since we’d returned from The Maples, I had been itching to handle my first order of business. Sacking Mary Barlow. With the wedding over, Seth didn’t have any real reason to object anymore.
“You’ll never find anyone as capable as I am at running this house. And Mrs. Manning. The real Mrs. Manning would never have stood for this.” Something about her tone sent a shiver of ice down my spine. Like she knew that I was The Pretender to the Mrs. Manning title. All the more reason for me to get her out of here.
Seth was leaving later this afternoon for another meeting with outgoing senator Ed Jeffries. Whatever happened at The Maples, the old man was finally on board with supporting him as a replacement, it seemed. It got Seth excited and for the most part out of my hair. I would have two unfettered days to pore over Miranda’s files and finish constructing the timeline that would help me figure out how to free my dad.
“You’re probably right,” I said. “In fact, I know you are. But that’s exactly why I need to make the change. Your loyalty to Seth’s mother is admirable, but this is my house now. You’re never going to see it as anything other than hers. It’s time for everyone to move on.”
“When is this effective?” she asked. She towered over me in the grand foyer. If she expected me to back up, I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. As far as everyone else was concerned, this was my house.
“Now, Mrs. Barlow,” I said, taking a step toward her, forcing her to step back to maintain her personal space. She might be taller, but I was tougher. I picked up a pink envelope from the low table against the spiral stairwell. She took it and held it to her breast.
“We’ve been more than fair,” I said. “You’ve been given six months’ pay. That’s at least twice a normal severance.”
“But I live here,” she said.
“You have enough money to stay at a hotel. If you need to. Your things have already been packed and there’s a car waiting for you outside.”
This got the biggest reaction out of her. Mary Barlow’s coal black eyes widened. I knew her game. She would have tried to drag things out, claiming the need to find a place and sort her things. I’d just lodged an implied threat. Get out now, or I’ll throw you out.
“Goodbye, Mary.” Seth bounded down the stairs as he fastened the cuff of his dress shirt. He had his suit coat slung over one arm. It was a rare moment of solidarity between us as he reached the landing and stood by my side. He too was getting tired of the specter of his mother and Mary embodied it.
She deflated as he stood there. If she had a tail (and I wasn’t entirely sure that she didn’t), she would have tucked it between her legs as she took two steps back, turned, and walked out the front door.
“Thank you for that,” I said, turning to Seth. “I think that would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t come down just now.”
Seth nodded but stepped around me and headed for the kitchen. It had been like this between us since we got back from Virginia. He was cold, distant, and always seemed like he was on the cusp of losing his temper. I had to find a way to level him out and quick if I expected him to admit anything to me on tape.
He sat at the island and flipped open the tablet he always kept in the kitchen to read the Tribune online. I poured him a black coffee and sat down across from him.
“Seth,” I said, sliding the coffee within his reach. He didn’t look up. I put a light hand over his.
“Seth,” I said again. “Is everything okay? Is there anything I can do?”
His eyes flicked to mine. “There’s just a lot going on. If this last meeting with Jeffries doesn’t go well, I’m going to have a real problem going forward. Everyone’s looking to his judgment about who should succeed him.”
“And he’s going to pick you,” I said. “He said so at the event last week. You impressed everyone. You should be feeling confident now, not pensive. I have a really good feeling about this.”
He took the coffee and sipped it slow, wincing as it went down since he hadn’t allowed it to cool.
“Are you still angry about George Pagano?” I asked. I’d trod lightly on the subject since the altercation the last night of our stay at The Maples. Seth himself barely seemed to remember it.
“I don’t think I want to talk about him.”
“We have to though,” I said. “You need Ed Jeffries’s blessing but you need George Pagano’s money. We need to figure out how to get it. He left the door pretty wide open, didn’t he?”
“Fine,” Seth said, sounding like the petulant child he often reverted to. “But don’t bug me about him right now. I have too much else on my mind.”
“Are you leaving for the airport straight from the office today?” I said. My back was to him while I poured my own coffee. I felt myself stiffen while I waited for him to answer. I was antsy to get working on the files ... antsy to have a block of time without either Seth’s moods or Mary Barlow hovering over me.
“I have a meeting downtown with the medical examiner’s office. They need me to sign some paperwork to close out my mother’s case. Then I have a seven o’clock flight.”
“Do you want me to meet you somewhere for lunch or maybe an early dinner?” I turned and took my seat across from him. I blew across the top of my coffee cup.
“No,” he said. “I’ll grab something on the plane.”
I nodded. “All right. But Seth? Can you make me a promise for when you get back?”
He stood up and swung his suit coat around his shoulders, threading his arms through the sleeves. I stepped around the island and straightened his tie, painting on the brightest wifely smile I could.
“Do you promise you’ll let me in a little afterwards? You’ve been so tense and I miss you brainstorming with me. I know I don’t know all of the political players and moves like you do, but I’m on your side, baby. I want to be there for you. I want you to let me try and help you. I’m your wife. Let me start acting like it.”
I reached up and cradled his face with my hands. He stiffened, but didn’t pull away. I pressed my advantage; going up on my tip toes I pulled him down toward me. His lips were cold when they touched mine but I opened my mouth, probing at his tongue. I slid one arm around his waist and he began to yield. His hands roamed; finding the opening at the front of my blouse, he slid one in and cupped my right breast. He squeezed me there and I arched my back into it, inviting him to grow even bolder.
He let out a moan, but finally withdrew his hand. “I can’t stay,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said. I lowered myself to flat feet and stepped away. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to wait right here for you, baby. We’re just getting started.”
“I’ll do better,” he said. “I’ll try to.”
“You don’t have to be anything other than who you are with me, Seth. Remember that. I’m the one place where you don’t have to be on. You need that. Let me provide it.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out. His face fell into a scowl. “My driver’s here, Tora. I need to get going.”
“So go!” I swatted him on the ass as he stepped around me. “Go out there and work to keep me in the style to which I’ve grown accustomed. I have lots to do here. I’m thinking about going shopping for paint. What do you think about redoing the master bedroom finally?”
I followed him out into the main foyer but stopped at the bannister. I leaned against the ebony post and affixed a doe-eyed smile on my face.
“That’s your department,” he called out as he opened the front door. He’d left his overnight bag there and picked it up, slinging the black leather strap over his shoulder. “But I hate yellow.”
I waved as he looked back one last time before closing th
e door and finally leaving me all alone. I waited a few beats then walked up to the front door. I peered through the beveled glass. I saw the distorted shapes of Seth and the great black town car that arrived to pick him up. I heard an exchange of muffled pleasantries as Seth greeted the driver. He stepped in the back seat. The engine revved and then the car wound its way around the circular driveway and out of sight.
My heart beat like a sledgehammer in my chest. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. There was no one here. No Seth. No Miranda. No Mary Barlow. For the first few seconds, I paced wild circles around the marble tile in the foyer. My hands shook and my mind raced.
Finally, I managed to quiet my emotions, or at least my beating heart, and I bounded up the stairs two at a time. I went to the spare bedroom across from the master suite. Most nights I slept in here, claiming Seth thrashed and snored too loud for me. I’d stashed my father’s files well back in the walk-in closet under two old suitcases. I grabbed them now; heaving them out of their hiding spot I plopped them on the bed. I went to the window and looked out one last time. Seth’s town car was long gone. Plus the security system was engaged. No one could come back into the house without me hearing a signal.
Carefully, like I was handling the Magna Carta, I laid the files out on the bed. The largest section contained Miranda’s discovery materials. All of the witness statements and copies of every record, photograph or other potential evidence used in the case against my father. Although it took up an accordion file two inches thick, it still seemed like a sparse amount of paperwork to take a man’s life away.
I knew there was a larger trial notebook back at the Crane Law firm but I wasn’t interested in that. That had copies of things she’d actually introduced as evidence in the trial. Right now, I wanted to know more about what she kept out and I’d find most of those answers right here.
I spent the better part of the morning categorizing each document. The crux of the case was bank statements and the testimony of two witnesses. I had their deposition transcripts as well as about a ream of documents from three different banks. My hands shook as I finally got everything more or less chronological. It was already eleven o’clock and my back cramped from hovering over the bed. I looked at a maze of documents and the words started to blur. The numbers on the bank statements jumbled to the point of losing meaning.
