by Lee Goldberg
"We've all got problems, Scott, but we need to talk about the fixtures deals."
Scott cast a quick glance at Mason as he stepped onto the elevator, then took Vic Jr. by the arm and led him to his office.
The Johnson County Courthouse was in Olathe, Kansas, another once sleepy small town that had grown into a virtual suburb of Kansas City, even if it was twenty-five miles southwest of downtown and on the other side of the state line. On his way there, Mason left a message for B.J. Moore, a good friend and a better criminal defense lawyer.
He first met B.J. when they shared a client who had been charged with embezzling three million dollars from his employer at the same time he was making a workers' compensation claim against the company. The client pled guilty to the embezzlement charge and the DA agreed not to prosecute him for what turned out to be a fraudulent injury claim.
B.J. returned his call as Mason crossed the state line into Kansas. He was already at the courthouse on another case and would wait for Mason. Thirty minutes later, they were ushered into an interrogation room in the county jail across the street from the courthouse.
The room was a bleak display of tax dollars at work, off-white walls, white ceiling tiles, and green linoleum, wooden table, four chairs, and no windows. They excused the deputy sheriff who was there to protect them from Pamela and then listened as she declared her innocence and screamed at them to get her out of the goddamn jail.
"If I'd have wanted to kill that no-good bastard, I'd have shot him with my own goddamn gun!"
Jail was a true class equalizer. Dressed in an orange prisoner jumpsuit, her hair tangled, her makeup smeared, and reeking of bad breath, body odor, and stale booze, Pamela had morphed from an upscale Mission Hills widow into a drunken bag lady charged with murder.
"We'll try to get you out of here as soon as we can," Mason said, "but I can't represent you."
"Why not?" she snapped as she threw herself into one of the metal folding chairs.
"Because I could be a witness. You need the best lawyer you can get, and that's why I asked my friend B.J. Moore to be here."
B.J. was pear-shaped and shaggy haired, and his suit looked as if he had picked it up where he'd dropped it the night before. Women liked him because he was cuddly. Men liked him because he was without pretense. He had a knack for making people comfortable with him.
"Please don't take offense, Mr. Moore," Pamela said, "but I don't know you, and I'd rather have someone I know."
"Mrs. Sullivan, I'm more interested in how you feel after your case is over. Let me figure out if I can get you home for dinner. If you're still here at breakfast, you can hire somebody else."
B.J. looked into Pamela's eyes as he spoke, holding the gaze until she softened, fussed with her hair, and dipped her chin.
"Okay," she said.
B.J. took her hand. "Good. Let's get started."
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Kelly was waiting in the hall.
"What's she doing in a Kansas jail for a murder she supposedly committed in Missouri? And why was she only charged with conspiracy?"
"She was arrested in Kansas. The DA went for the conspiracy charge because he wanted to grab her and the headlines. It's easier to back off of that than a murder charge if he can't make the case."
"Doesn't sound too bright to me."
"That's never been an obstacle to elected office."
They walked across the street and sat in the shade of the gazebo in the center of the Courthouse Square. Mason nodded at the few familiar faces passing by. A groundskeeper rambled away, leaving them alone except for the yellow jackets feasting on the flowers planted nearby.
"The sheriff's detective on Harlan's case says it looks like a burglary that went bad," Kelly said. "They're trying to find out if anything's missing. Where's his family?"
"Two kids, one on each coast. His wife died a couple of years ago. Do you really think Pamela murdered Sullivan?"
"I didn't arrest her. The Johnson County DA is up for reelection, and he's grandstanding. That doesn't mean she didn't kill him, but I wouldn't have gone for the arrest until I had better evidence."
"I thought it was your case. What happened?"
"I needed a search warrant for Pamela's house. The DA had to get it for me because I'm out of my jurisdiction. We may have found something, and he decided to charge her with conspiracy to commit murder so he could hang on to the case."
"Based on what?"
"We found a syringe and a vial of an unidentified substance. If it turns out to be insulin, he'll claim she planned the murder in Johnson County, which gives him his conspiracy count."
"What happens to the murder charge?"
"The crime was committed at the lake. We'll charge her there and Kansas will extradite her so we can try her on the murder charge first. The DA still looks good when he ships her down to us."
"Which gets me back to my first question. Do you think she did it?"
"He was cheating on her and she knew he had exposed her to HIV—not bad for a motive."
"How did she find out that Sullivan was HIV positive?"
"Sullivan's doctor, Charlie Morgenstern. Sullivan tested positive for HIV last year during his annual physical. He told me that he threatened to tell Pamela if Sullivan didn't."
"So she had a motive. What about the means?" Mason swatted away a bee that threatened to land on her sleeve. "Let's walk."
They brushed shoulders as they stood, letting the contact linger for an extra moment, smiling and admitting that they'd taken a small step.
"She's been volunteering at a hospital, which means she could have had access to insulin. We're checking it out. And she fed him his last supper, so she had the opportunity."
"That doesn't explain how she could have given him the insulin. I doubt if she sneaked up on him and stabbed him with the needle or talked him into letting her inject him with a fatal dose. Did you question her?"
"She's watched a lot of TV. When we arrested her, she called you and didn't say another word. How is she?"
"She's actually quite well except she says that orange is not a good color on her."
"Okay, I deserved that. Are you going to represent her?"
"No. That's one case of malpractice I'm not going to commit. She's talking with a friend of mine, B.J. Moore. He's topflight. If she did it, why would she keep the vial of insulin lying around? She can't be that stupid."
"The jails are full of stupid criminals. That's why cops have job security."
He looked at her for some sign that she'd give him an honest answer to his next question, but he kept getting lost in her eyes.
"Do you have another question, Counselor?" she asked, grinning as if she could read his mind.
"Yeah," he answered, clearing his throat and losing his nerve. "What are the odds that both named partners of a law firm under investigation by the Justice Department will be murdered within a week of each other in unrelated crimes?"
She lost her grin, glaring at him for an instant. "I thought of that, but there's nothing to connect them. Pamela's not strong enough to snap someone's neck, and I don't know of any reason she had to kill Harlan."
"That's my point. Maybe someone had a reason to kill both of them. That would exclude Pamela."
"That's the problem with you amateurs. How do you explain the syringe and the vial we found in her dresser drawer?" She couldn't hold back a satisfied smile.
"How do you explain that there were break-ins at both homes?" He enjoyed her annoyed, tight-lipped response. "That's the problem with you pros. You're too smug. Pamela told me they had a break-in about a month ago."
Their teasing had the familiar ring of a mating dance. They didn't know each other well enough for serious emotions. But chemical reactions were as good a place to start as any.
"Don't get cocky. I'll follow up on the burglaries. If you've got any better suspects, you'd better tell me at dinner. If I don't like them, you buy."
"You'd better plan on a leng
thy interrogation."
"I warn you, Counselor, I'm very persuasive."
She gave him a long, promising look before returning to the jail. He rode that look all the way back downtown.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Angela was planted at the receptionist's desk, reviewing bills between phone calls, when Mason arrived at the office.
"How's the radio traffic and troop movements?" he asked.
"Vic Jr. left with Scott about ten minutes after you did."
"That kid is like a pimple on your butt. He'd be a lot less irritating if you could just squeeze him until he popped. Where's Sandra?"
"Locked in on thirty-one."
Mason took the stairs two at a time. Sandra was leaning back in a chair, feet up on the conference room table, staring out the window. He sat next to her, propping his feet alongside hers.
"Your eyes look fixed and dilated."
She turned to him, frowning. "And you are positively glowing; hardly the look of a man whose partners are being picked off one by one. Tell me, Lou, is it her uniform or her handcuffs that have turned you to jelly?"
Mason laughed with none of the nonchalance he wished he had. "I'll let you know when we get past the initial frisking. We're having dinner tonight."
"Does this mean you're going to stand me up again this weekend? I'll wear a uniform too if that will help."
He was still trying to figure out Sandra's interest in him. Mason was willing to believe that any woman could be attracted to him, but Sandra wasn't on his list of Most Likely to Swoon. Maybe a murder investigation was the key to her heart. He enjoyed the attention, but Sandra had an air about her that said "look before you leap." Still, the leap was very tempting.
"Come on, Sandra. Things have gotten pretty crazy around here lately. I don't know if I'm coming or going."
"Well, I definitely recommend coming before going."
"Yeah, well, that's good advice, but we better sort out this firm scandal before we start on the next one."
Mason walked behind her, forcing her to change positions. She made him wait but finally put her feet down and swiveled her chair toward him. He gave her the rundown on the charges against Pamela.
"And she wanted you to represent her?"
"Until I told her I couldn't and introduced her to B.J. Moore."
"Just as well. Mooning over the finest sheriff from the Ozarks in front of the jury would look bad."
"Okay, okay! Our partners are being knocked off like Kewpie dolls on the midway while gorgeous women beat a path to my door. I don't know why the fantasy has to be screwed up by the nightmare."
"Sometimes that's the difference between dreaming the fantasy and living it."
"So, you're a philosopher and a tease. A combination not found in every law firm."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Believe me, it is. I like you. You're smart, you're tough, and your legs make it very hard to concentrate. But there's only so much I can deal with at one time. Let's stay on track and figure out the rest when this is over."
"Well, I'll consider that a 'not now' instead of a 'no.' Fair enough?"
"Fair enough. So where are we?"
She switched from shameless flirt to killer litigator without breaking stride.
"We know that O'Malley has the loan limit problems, but it seems like there should be something else to bring all the feds' firepower down on us."
"I think you're right. Maybe there's some overall picture we've missed. Where are Diane's summaries?"
Diane Farrell had written summaries of the O'Malley transactions on poster-sized post-its, one for each of the seven years they were investigating. Sandra stuck them to the walls in chronological order.
The summaries set out the date each transaction closed, the name of the project, a description of the assets involved, and the Sullivan & Christenson lawyer who handled the deal. She highlighted in yellow each deal involving Quintex.
"Who are the shareholders, officers, and directors of Quintex?" Mason asked.
"Vic Jr. is the president, Harlan was secretary, and Scott is treasurer. Father and son are the only shareholders and directors."
He noted her correct usage of the past tense to describe Harlan.
"Were they the original officers?"
"I'll have to check." Sandra leafed through the Quintex corporate minute book. "The corporation was formed in 1984. Daddy was the sole shareholder, director, and president. Sullivan was the secretary, and there were no other officers. Fast-forward to 2008 and the current slate is swept into office."
"Look at the transactions since then. Sullivan was the lawyer on almost all of them until early 2008. Then Scott took over and all the transactions are fixtures deals. What are they about?"
"Quintex bought fixtures and leased them back to someone else."
"What kind of fixtures?"
"According to the lease documents, display racks, countertops, stuff like that. Phil Rosa did an analysis of the key deal points."
She handed him Rosa's memo. He studied it and the summaries on the wall.
"That explains what but not why or who. Quintex bought from one corporation and leased back to another. All those companies have alphabet soup names like NKC Corporation and EPT Enterprises."
"I'd say that someone on one end or the other, if not both ends, wanted to make it hard to trace the connection between them."
"We're focusing too much on the deals and not enough on who was making them. I want to know who the real players are, and I'll bet the O'Malleys know."
"The two might not have anything to do with each other. Vic Jr. may be doing his own deals just to prove to his father that he can make it on his own. Vic Sr. may not be involved in or know much about what he's doing."
"Yeah, but Scott and Harlan were involved and they would be a direct pipeline to O'Malley."
"Not necessarily. Scott wants out of Sullivan's orbit. Harlan's slipping further behind Sullivan every year in the amount of business he's generating for the firm. They both need a boost. Maybe they're working with Vic Jr. and don't want Sullivan or O'Malley Sr. to know what they're doing."
"If you're right, there's no connection between Senior's loan problems and Junior's fixtures deals."
"No intentional connection—but remember chaos?"
"God and bumper cars."
"Exactly. We know St. John is investigating Quintex, but we don't know if it's Sullivan's side or Scott's side or both."
"Meaning anything is possible. Great theory."
"You don't get it, Lou. We're assuming that things are happening for reasons we understand. But we may be completely off base."
"And we don't know what Sullivan knew and we don't know what Harlan knew, since they are both conveniently and permanently unavailable."
"All I'm saying is we have to be willing to look at things a little differently," she said. "We have to look for the unintended connections, not the grand conspiracies."
"Fine, but I'm sticking with what we know and what we don't know. And we don't know enough about the fixtures deals, and I'm going to change that."
Mason called Angela. "Find Diane, Phil, and Maggie. I want them back down here as soon as possible. Tell them to plan on a long night. Then call Victor O'Malley and tell him I'll be in his office in twenty minutes."
He hung up before Angela had a chance to remind him that she wasn't his secretary, and gave Sandra her instructions.
"Tell the troops to peel the onion and find out who owns those corporate layers and what kind of businesses are using those fixtures. I want you to talk with Vic Jr. about these deals. We'll compare notes in the morning before the partners' meeting."
"Don't you think we should synchronize our watches, Commander?"
"I'll settle for as close to seven as you can make it. Listen, Sandra, two people are dead already. We may step on the wrong toes with all of this, so please be careful."
"Lou, I'm touched."
"Let's just say that beauti
ful legs are a terrible thing to waste."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
When Mason started working on Victor O'Malley's case, he asked Sullivan why O'Malley paid rent instead of moving into one of his own office towers. Sullivan explained that O'Malley had the space tied up at rock-bottom rates through a series of long-term options, which was better than losing out on market-rate rents on his own property. Mason recalled the conversation as he walked to the Union Energy Building and took the ancient elevator to O'Malley's twentieth-floor office, knowing that his client was a man who didn't miss a trick.
O'Malley shook Mason's hand with both of his, patting Mason's back and smiling like a proud father. He ran his empire from a scraped and scarred desk too small for his frame. The walls were lined with photographs of his projects, leaving no room for pictures of his family or any other sentiment.
His office faced south and west, overlooking the site for the new performing arts center that would open next year. A fierce battle had been waged in the corridors of city hall by competing developers, each of whom had invested in pockets of property on the southern fringe of the downtown in the hopes that the city would choose their site for the project. Millions of dollars had been at stake, with each contestant promising to build a world-class facility. O'Malley outprepared and outfought the competition. Gleaming and buoyant, he drew Mason to the windows to show off his victory.
"Goddammit, Lou, just look at that! It's magnificent! Five years ago that land south of the highway was worthless. Half the buildings were abandoned and the few businesses that were left were thrilled to sell so they could pay their back taxes. You know what their problem was? No vision. No ability to look down the road and see what might happen—and not enough balls to take the risk they might be wrong."
He put his arm around Mason as they turned from the windows and eased themselves into cane-backed chairs facing each other across a small round conference table opposite his desk.
