The Great Divide

by T. Davis Bunn

  “Of course you did. Even so, I’d have to say it was a smart move on Glenwood’s part. Very smart. The First Federal contract he brought in more than pays the rent.”

  Logan bit off the snarl before it could fully form. When Randall Walker’s secretary had called to set up this meeting, she had said Randall expected to pay the full hourly rate. For both Suzie and himself. That earned Randall Walker the title of client. And a client was permitted one snide remark. One.

  Logan led him into the largest salon in the partnership and said, “I don’t believe you’ve met my associate, Suzie Rikkers.”

  Suzie Rikkers was an oddity, an outstanding legal analyst and a fair trial lawyer who was constantly on the verge of being fired. What put most people off Suzie Rikkers was her attitude. She alternated between treating life as a battlefield and complaining that people never gave her a chance. Every problem was a personal attack. When she was not angry, her voice clung to an off-pitch mewl. Most of the partners avoided working with her, and the associates and paralegals loathed her. Two things kept Suzie Rikkers on staff—a solid client base, and Logan Kendall. Logan endured her attitude and loved her loyalty. She might be a witch with a buzz-saw voice, but she was his witch.

  Suzie Rikkers offered their guest a rail-thin hand. “Mr. Walker.”

  “A pleasure I’ve long awaited, Ms. Rikkers.” Randall Walker bowed slightly as he shook hands, then turned to admire the room. “This place is even more beautiful than I’d been led to believe.”

  The firm’s inner sanctum reeked of legal heritage and beeswax polish. When the old courthouse was torn down, the firm had acquired the chief superior court justice’s private chambers. Paneling of South American mahogany graced three walls. The fourth wall was an enormous expanse of glass.

  Logan turned to the side table where a coffee service of bone china had been set up. “How do you take your coffee, Randall?”

  “Black, two sugars.” He continued his circuit of the interior walls. A pair of Chagall lithographs and a silk Kashmiri tapestry splashed the room with color. “I believe Mr. Glenwood was responsible for your acquiring the fittings of this room as well. Charlie Hayes, the old chief justice, was a personal friend, was he not?”

  Logan’s hand jerked hard enough to spill coffee onto the saucer. He set down the pot and used a napkin to dry the stain. His back to the room, he replied, “Like I said, we all played a role in the move.”

  “Yes, yes, of course you did. And my, what a lovely setting. Mr. Glenwood certainly made a splendid choice. The view from here is magnificent, wouldn’t you say, Ms. Rikkers?”

  Logan turned in time to watch Suzie grind out the single word, “Great.” Marcus Glenwood had twice put his name to her being passed over for partner. And after she had hounded his favorite paralegal until the woman left for another firm, Marcus had spent months trying to gather enough support to have Suzie fired. Defeating that motion was the one battle Logan had managed to win outright against Marcus Glenwood.

  “Thank you, Logan.” Randall accepted his cup and pointed toward the sunlit day. “Is that White Memorial’s steeple I see out there?”

  “I have no idea.” Logan poured himself a cup and sat down. He did not need to admire the view. The first weekend after being made partner, Logan had spent an entire Saturday afternoon sitting in one of these padded suede chairs. Raleigh was full of parks and trees old enough to blanket all but the tallest buildings. Away from downtown, steeples rose like pointed reminders that this was indeed a city and not merely well-tended woodlands.

  Instead of taking the expected seat at the head of the table next to Logan, Randall walked around the conference table and stood up close to the window. After a loud sip from his cup he declared, “Do you know, I can stand right here and point to five of our clients’ headquarters. No, make that six. I’m almost positive that’s the roofline of the Burroughs headquarters I see out there in the distance.” He turned back and beamed at the room. “Must make you feel like the lords of all you survey, sitting up here in this fine chamber. Speaking of which, Logan, I believe congratulations are in order. You’ve recently been made partner, is that not correct?”

  “Yes.” Four months tomorrow, to be exact. Some days he could scarcely believe he had made the grade. Most days, however, he felt like he had been at it for a lifetime.

  The grand smile turned to where Suzie sat sipping her coffee. “And I have no doubt your own star will soon be rising, Ms. Rikkers.” He paused for another slurp, then added, “Especially now that your nemesis has been removed.” Randall Walker turned back to the vista. He shook his head in admiration. “My, my.”

  Logan demanded, “Could you tell us why you called this meeting?”

  “Why, I thought that would be clear by now. I wish to discuss Marcus Glenwood.” Before they could recover, he continued. “Logan, you have been with this firm for eight years, if my information is correct. And Ms. Rikkers, you’ve been here a bit longer now, isn’t that right?”

  Suzie gave Logan a startled glance, searching for her cue. “Almost nine.”

  “Actually, it’s ten next month, isn’t that correct?” He continued to address his questions to the window. “Logan, you are from Baltimore, do I have that right?”

  “I fail to see—”

  “University of Maryland undergrad and UVA law. Married a woman from Raleigh who was studying art history at that fine Jeffersonian establishment. Three lovely children, two boys and one girl who is approaching her second birthday as we speak.” Another noisy sip. “And you, Ms. Rikkers, hail from Chicago, our nation’s fine and windy city. Undergrad and law school at Northwestern. And still unmarried, a fact I find most astonishing. It must be from preference, certainly not from lack of opportunity.” His speech held a courtly air, as though bestowing a royal welcome. “Marcus was born in the Philadelphia area. Although his roots are mostly from these parts.”

  Suzie Rikkers’ voice had the metallic quality of having been pounded flat on an anvil. “Why have you been checking up on me?”

  “That’s simple enough, Ms. Rikkers. I like to know the people I’m addressing.” Randall finally turned from the window and slid into the seat directly across the table from them. “Now perhaps you would be so kind as to give me your impressions of your recently departed colleague.”

  Logan studied the man across from them. In the space of a few minutes Randall Walker had entered their domain and wrested control, and done so with the kindliest of manners. The man certainly lived up to his reputation. Randall Walker had been the youngest person ever to serve upon the federal appellate bench. After holding that position for eight years, he had formed a partnership that now included two former senators and a retired governor among its ranks. Randall served on the board of over a dozen Fortune 500 companies, and acted as outside counsel to another five or six. He charged 450 dollars an hour, the highest rate of any lawyer in the state.

  “Marcus Glenwood is history,” Suzie Rikkers snapped. “That’s all you need to know.”

  Randall nodded benignly. “He must have been quite a good trial attorney, to have risen to partnership in less than six years.”

  “So-so. He had great connections.” Suzie’s nails did a nervous dance upon the table. “Most of them through his wife. Her family was serious old money.”

  “His wife, yes. You represented her in their divorce, what was her name?”

  “Carol Clay Rice.”

  “That’s right. As in Rice Communications and the Rice Foundation.”

  Logan disliked being blindsided, and he distrusted the man’s courtly manner. He remained silent and let Suzie respond. “Marcus was dirt-poor. I learned that from his former mother-in-law. His parents split up and disappeared when he was about ten. He was raised by his grandparents.”

  Randall smiled delightedly, as though Suzie was bestowing the wisdom of the ages. “Did you ever work with him on a trial?”

  “Once. He went down in flames.”

  Logan listened to
Suzie twist the truth as if she were arguing a desperate case, and wondered how much Randall already knew. For example, did he know that Suzie’s account was a pack of self-serving lies, that Marcus had taken over the case from a partner dying of cancer? Logan had been present when Marcus, during his first meeting with the client, had declared that taking the case to trial would do little more than prepare an extremely expensive funeral. The client had subsequently thrown a ton of money at the firm and begged them to save his worthless hide. Marcus had, in fact, drawn from the jury an astonishingly lenient sentence. Logan watched Randall Walker sitting and feasting upon Suzie Rikkers’ monologue and decided the aging attorney knew a lot more than he was letting on.

  Randall Walker was not an attractive man by any stretch of the imagination. Age had pulled the folds of his face down like melted tallow, until his chin appeared to be held in place by his starched collar and his tiepin. Even his freckles had stretched into age blotches. But his blue eyes twinkled and his smile charmed juries and ladies alike. Randall Walker’s reputation did not end in the courtroom.

  He even seemed to be working his magic on Suzie. “I can’t tell you, Ms. Rikkers, what a fine assessment like yours means to an outsider like myself.”

  Logan decided it was time to get some answers of his own. “Why are you interested in Marcus?”

  “His name has come up in several recent discussions.”

  He felt a bitter surge. It would be just like his old nemesis to land on his feet and be offered a job with Kedrick and Walker. “Within your firm?”

  “No, with a client.”

  “Marcus is trying to steal one of your firm’s clients?”

  “Actually, sir, Marcus might be calling a client of mine as a defendant.”

  Suzie burst in. “Then your client doesn’t have a thing to worry about.”

  The benign smile resurfaced. “And why is that, Ms. Rikkers?”

  “Marcus had a total breakdown eighteen months ago.” She did not even try to mask her pleasure. “After the accident.”

  “The accident, yes, how tragic. To have lost both his children like that. It must have been a terrible blow.”

  “Marcus went to pieces. I watched it happen.” She actually smiled. “The firm was going to let him go.”

  Logan started to correct her, decided there was no point.

  Randall said, “He resigned of his own volition, I believe.”

  “Only after the firm carried him for almost a year. Marcus was dead weight.”

  “And you say he still has not recovered?”

  “You didn’t see him at the divorce hearings. He was pathetic.” Suzie was cheered by the recollection. “If Judge Nicols hadn’t stepped in I would have eviscerated the man.”

  “Most interesting.” Randall Walker rose from his seat, walked around the table, and took Suzie’s hand in both of his. “Ms. Rikkers, I must thank you for a most enlightening little chat.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Logan, perhaps you’d do me the kindness of walking me out.”

  Randall left the room, still very much in charge. Once the two men were alone, he went on, “I can well imagine you must share a taste of your colleague’s venom for Mr. Glenwood.”

  “Marcus and I weren’t friends.”

  “Indeed not. I understand he was your principal adversary almost every step up the firm’s ladder.” A piercing blue glance shot his way. “And won more times than he lost, did he not?”

  Logan halted midway down the empty corridor. “Who’s your client in this case Glenwood is taking up?”

  “There is no case at this time, but I take your point. Some matters are not to be bandied about lightly.”

  Logan remained silent, immobile.

  “No, indeed not.” If anything, Randall appeared pleased by Logan’s reticence. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to answer one question: How would you like to act on my client’s behalf if this unfortunate matter does proceed?”

  Logan could not help showing his surprise. “You want me to represent your client at trial?”

  “If need be, sir. Only if need be.”

  “State or federal court?”

  “That has yet to be determined. But my guess would be federal.”

  “And the plaintiff’s attorney is Marcus Glenwood?”

  “So it would appear.”

  “Does he have a case?”

  “Weak at best.”

  “To have the chance to shame Marcus Glenwood in federal court,” Logan did not need to think that one out. “I’d waive my fee.”

  This time the smile was grand enough to show pearly capped teeth. “While the sentiment is most appreciated, the act will not be necessary. Of that I can assure you.”

  FOUR

  ON THURSDAY Marcus waited until Netty had left for lunch, then placed the call to Washington. When the tensely cultured voice came on the line, he said, “Ms. Stanstead, this is Marcus Glenwood. We spoke on Monday, I’m an attorney in—”

  “How did you get this number?”

  “Alma Hall gave it to me.”

  “You spoke with Alma?” The tension amped higher. “Are you taking the case?”

  “That’s why I’m calling, Ms. Stanstead. I’m trying to determine whether there is actually a case here at all.” He waited, and when another explosion did not erupt, Marcus continued. “You said you’d be willing to help me work through this.”

  “Yes. All right.” A breath pushed so hard Marcus could feel the unease in his own chest. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I have undertaken a preliminary search for court records nationwide.” Marcus drew the two sheaves of paper to his desk’s center. “New Horizons has facilities in sixteen states. If my information is correct, there are cases either pending or on appeal that name New Horizons as defendant at fourteen of these sites.”

  “I know that.”

  “You …” Marcus stared at the wall. Netty had asked Deacon Wilbur to paint her entire office a buttery cream. The color seemed to swim. “May I ask how?”

  “I told you.” Snappish. Wary. Coldly hostile. “New Horizons was the subject of Gloria’s thesis. I was helping her.”

  Marcus flicked the summary sheets to the page marked with a paper clip. “Apparently the closest case to us here was at their former facility—”

  “In Richmond. I know.”

  Marcus let the pages fall. “You know.”

  “They were sued five years ago for polluting the James River. The plaintiffs were a couple of local eco groups and the state water board. When New Horizons lost the case they launched an appeal and simultaneously shut the facility.” The words came faster now. Impatient. “It’s a standard New Horizons revenge tactic, whenever the local government comes out against them, no matter what the reason. You must know that.”

  “No.” He turned to where the wall was dappled with afternoon light. “No, I was not aware of anything of the sort.”

  “Their headquarters were moved to North Carolina after a similar incident up in Delaware. The suit was brought by the state’s employment board and a couple of unions. They were hit with about a dozen labor violations.” When the news was met by silence, she pushed on. “Gloria lived for her work, Mr. Glenwood. We were friends. I helped her where I could.”

  “How long did you live with Gloria?”

  “Almost four years.”

  “My information is derived from an Internet search engine and is sketchy at best.” Nervously Marcus ruffled through the printouts. “The appeals against the Richmond ruling were apparently lodged with the appellate court there in Washington. I was wondering if you would search out the relevant documents.”

  Kirsten Stanstead’s voice turned wary. “Are you accepting this case?”

  A long breath, then, “If there is a case at all, yes. But I need a lot more information than I have right now to make that decision.”

  “Then the answer is, I don’t need to do any searching. Gloria kept her case documentation very up-to-
date.” The lofty impatience broke through once more. “I’ve been through all this with Mr. Grimes. Didn’t you discuss this with him?”

  Marcus grabbed the folder that had arrived with the morning’s mail. “You spoke with Larry Grimes?”

  “I told you I had the last time we talked, Mr. Glenwood. I do not like to repeat myself.”

  “No. Of course not.” The folder from Grimes contained nothing but the initial agreement with Gloria’s parents, a page of patchy notes, and the letter informing the Halls that there was no case to be brought. “How much in the way of data did Gloria compile against New Horizons?”

  “I don’t know.” Her wary hostility etched the air. “The attic is full of boxes. Gloria was a lot of things, but neat was not one of them.”

  Marcus sifted through the three spare pages another time, shook the folder, discovered nothing more. “In the letter Gloria wrote her family, she mentioned something about how the timing of her trip to China had become critical. Did she say anything about this to you?”

  “No. And I have to go, Mr. Glenwood. I’m already late for a meeting.”

  Marcus shut the folder, spread his hand out flat over the slick surface. “Would you mind if I came to Washington and had a look at Gloria’s work?”

  “I suppose not. When would you come?”

  “Tomorrow midafternoon, say around four.” Closing his hand into a fist. “I’ll leave here at dawn.”

  AFTER LUNCH Marcus took a drive. His only vehicle these days was a six-year-old matte gray Blazer with a hundred thousand very hard miles—a far cry from his former Lexus. Marcus slowed as he passed the New Zion Church. The whitewashed building was rimmed on three sides by dogwoods and tulip poplars taller than the steeple. The air above the ancient structure still shimmered from remnants of the Sunday service. As he drove past the cemetery and entered the rise of woodlands, it seemed as though Marcus could still hear the call of voices and the constant clapping.

  Early September had remained dry, hot, and cloudless. Sunlight bladed through the trees, then flattened across his windshield as he crested the hill. Marcus slowed and turned into the New Horizons drive, unable to read the brick entrance sign for the harsh afternoon light. He pulled to one side of the road and climbed from the car.