Four
“The modern world is an unforgiving place. Hesitation is the path to extinction.”
* * *
“Did you know there are fifteen-hundred-miles of electric wiring in this building?” Jennings Babcock sat in his wheelchair looking out the window of the Babcock, Boyle & Braden Law offices that took up the 97th floor of the Willis Tower.
“That’s good to know. Really glad you shared that factoid, father.” Eldon signed another document and slid it into a waiting file. There were a dozen more on his desk.
“Only twenty-five miles of plumbing. They needed sixty times more wire than pipe.”
Eldon rolled his eyes as he signed another. “Is there a reason you came in today?”
“Show some respect, son.”
“I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect.”
He looked over the city of Chicago that—like everything else—had changed so much. “They call me ‘Old Man’ Jennings around here. I still have ears in the office, yah know.”
“I’ve never heard it. The people respect you. They know you are the founding patriarch.”
The sprawling offices of Brayden, Boyle, & Babcock were dark and empty, except for behind the door of the CEO. Typically the partners worked Sundays to catch up. Weekdays were wall-to-wall court appearances and client meetings. But now they rarely came in on weekends. The staff of forty-two had been cut down to thirty mid-year, and the caseload at BB&B continued to decline. High-priced accountants projected severe financial consequences if revenues did not grow by eighteen percent, or expenses decrease by twenty-two.
“Yes. I’m here for a reason,” Jennings said. “The controlling partners met.”
“Really? I didn’t get the invitation. Rules say the CEO must be present.”
“You have ninety days to right the ship, son.”
Eldon dropped his Mont Blanc and leaned back in his $5,000 leather chair. His smile melted. “Are you serious? They think eliminating me will fix the problems in the world?”
“You decide what clients we take, son.”
“Believe me when I say that is not the root cause of our financial problems. Corporate law is strong—my area of expertise. We have major clients with solid futures—intellectual property management, mergers and acquisitions, regulatory affairs, and branding now represent sixty percent of our revenue stream. It’s growing.”
“We understand. Unfortunately, growth is too slow with the existing base. New clients in that segment are not coming on board fast enough to offset losses with the other forty percent. This did not happen overnight. We all saw it coming. We’ve discussed it before.”
“Civil litigation, environmental law, bankruptcy, labor relations, and foreclosure law are stagnant. E-discovery is an investment in the future. It will be here in another few years.”
“That is still only another ten percent of our portfolio. I noticed you left out the other thirty percent. That omission is the problem. You avoid dealing with—”
“I never liked criminal law,” Eldon barked. He returned to signing documents.
“That’s where the firm is hemorrhaging.” Jennings tugged at the plaid blanket on his lap and reached for his brandy. As he sipped he studied the man he dreamed would one day takeover the law firm he had built, a lifelong effort that almost killed him. It took every ounce of courage he could muster and a lot of luck. Jennings never considered himself a smart man. He was slower than most. But Jennings was a problem solver. He always found a path to success.
“Criminal law is the high growth segment we are missing,” Jennings said. “You can’t fix the firm without dealing with it.”
“Are we going there again?” Eldon sighed.
“You need to get over your ethics problem. I am not old school. It is you who is not being realistic. It is you not being a good businessman in today’s environment, and that is why your head is on the chopping block. BB&B must have a CEO willing to make CEO decisions. The modern world is an unforgiving place. Hesitation is the path to extinction.”
“We don’t want to go backward,” Eldon said. “It is time for the founding partners to step aside. The ‘modern world’ you refer to is very different. Your old ways do not work anymore. We have established a legitimate legal practice in this modern world. We cannot go back to smoke filled rooms to make deals with the devil. Some got away with it in the past, but most did not. Few of those law practices exist today.” Eldon poured more brandy and joined his father by the window. “I hope you’re not going where I think you’re going with this.”
Everything about Jennings Babcock was dead or dying. The old attorney lost mobility ten years ago, a fall and failed surgery. He lost weight to stomach cancer. He lost hair and teeth to chemotherapy, and he lost his fourth wife to a younger man with legs. The only things left were his sight, hearing, law practice, and son. He held tight onto all four although they were all fading.
“Sometimes a man’s principles can get in the way of good business decisions, son.”
Eldon smiled. “There are no more ‘necessary evils’, father.” He sat on the windowsill and looked at the city lights gaining strength as the skies darkened. Ice crystals sprayed the glass, and new ribbons of heat rose from floor vents creating a false sense of security in the cold world.
“We’re not dealing with mafia or drug lords,” Eldon said. “If I cannot appeal to your sense of ethics, maybe I can educate you on the new world dangers. Today is not like the fifties. Too many people are watching too many things—too many eyes in the sky. There are moles and whistle blowers, advanced technologies, monitoring devices, financial tracking systems, and a new mountain of government regulations. All must be successfully navigated by everyone in the firm. The risk of losing everything we’ve built at any moment is great. We cannot be stupid.”
“I have a way out of our financial problems, Eldon. You need to hear me out.” Jennings held out his glass waiting for a refill. He acted as if he hadn’t heard a word his son said.
With a grimace, Eldon poured. “You remember the James Pender case, father.”
“Of course,” Jennings snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it. You are missing the point, the opportunity.”
“Does it bother you that that piece of human garbage got away with cold-blooded murder?” Eldon waited for some kind of answer.
Jennings sipped. “We followed the letter of the law. We defended our client. That is how it works. Defense attorneys defend. It is not our right to determine someone’s guilt or innocence. You know this to be true. Why are you challenging the concept now?”
“Is that how you sleep at night? We bastardized the law. We tied the justice system into a series of well-crafted, intricate knots that essentially screwed the innocent people. We not only knew Pender committed the gruesome crime, we knew he did so with wicked enjoyment. We knew Pender was an evil man.
“What did we do? I’ll tell you. We found loopholes to keep damning physical evidence away from the jury. We silenced the poor man—the father and husband—who Pender made watch as he killed the son and raped and killed the wife. Where is the humanity in that?” Eldon shook his head staring at his face in his spit-polished wingtips. “I’m ashamed of myself.”
“Nonsense. We did our job. We put on a vigorous defense, as we are supposed to do for our clients. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. It is the prosecution’s job to prove guilt, not our job to prove innocence. Have you forgotten the fundamentals? Our job is to raise doubt. No sir. It is the prosecution who should be ashamed. They did the poor job. They let a guilty man get away with murder—a ridiculous plea bargain and a ridiculous sentence.”
“Pender is a monster.” Eldon seethed inside. He had learned long ago to hide his feelings from the crippled man who could justify anything.
“We don’t know that, son. You think that.”
“God only knows how many other women he violated and killed in his disgusting life. He is not done. We made it possible.” With contempt in
his heart he leaned into the old man. “You made me take that case. Know this, the day Pender received his pathetic sentence I made a promise to myself. I would never represent a predator—one with serial intent—again.”
Jennings looked away as if the declaration did not matter. “I would not turn my back on a friend. The Marcantonio family needed my help. They were there for me when I needed them. In the beginning, I was one of a hundred lawyers in the city struggling to survive. I needed someone to believe in me. William T. Marcantonio was a very big man in the city. He gave me a chance. If he had not, none of this would be here. Your mother would have never married me. You would not exist.”
Eldon downed his brandy contemplating his likely removal as CEO. He knew his ethics and business focus would not deliver the kind of numbers the board demanded. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would be moved aside.
Are you that different from me, old man? Eldon thought. Or is it my success that makes me the ethical man in the room? Does my wealth and position give me false values? Would I have them if I was poor and desperate? I don’t even know how that feels. But now, knowing I could lose everything, will I compromise? Will I rationalize? Will I do anything to keep it? God! Is the threat alone enough to generate doubt? Am I a fake? Maybe I’m no better than my crippled father with the twisted values, the man who knew fear and desperation. Maybe I am no better than the man who made everything in my life possible, even my ethics.
“You need to let it go, son,” Jennings said under his breath.
“If Pender had not been employed by the Marcantonio family, he would be serving a life sentence,” Eldon said. “We never would have been involved. His victims would have justice.”
“You don’t know that. Another law firm would have had the same opportunities to dismiss physical evidence and negotiate a plea bargain.”
Eldon did not hear his father. “And Pender would not kill again.”
“I saw you just got him paroled,” Jennings said.
“He gets out in a few days,” Eldon said as he blinked back into the room. “I pray he does not kill again. Regardless, your debt to William W. Marcantonio has been paid in full.”
“Wires and pipe, son,” Jennings said holding out his glass for another refill.
Eldon poured more brandy. “I’m worried about you, father.”
“You’re focused on wires, son. You need to focus on pipes.”
“What in the hell does that mean?”
“It takes sixty times more wire than pipe to get a job done.”
“Nice metaphor—the Willis Tower and your opening comments. I’m not quite sure about the relevance.”
“William Marcantonio called me last week. He needs our help.”
The blowers shut down leaving the rasping sleet on the twenty-foot glass windows of the sprawling corner office. Eldon looked up from his drink, his brow dipped.
“He is willing to pay a lot of money. He liked how we handled the Pender case. The retainer alone will be enough to right our ship. Your position as CEO would be secured.”
Eldon got to his feet. “You say Mr. Marcantonio liked our handling of the Pender case? Now I feel a whole lot better. Have you heard a single word?”
“We have a law firm to run,” Jennings said. “We represent clients. We defend people. It is our job to build cases and argue in a court of law on behalf of our clients. The prosecutors have their jobs. The judges and juries have their jobs. No. Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
Eldon returned to his chair and sunk into the soft cushions. Staring into the shadow under his enormous mahogany desk, he rubbed the growing ache in his neck.
“Something’s very wrong with our country’s system of justice,” he said as if he were standing alone looking in a mirror. “It was never intended to hurt the innocent and free the criminals.” His eyes found his father. “It’s happening too often across the country. The scales of justice are broken. I’ve been reading about it. Legal scholars are debating the new phenomenon. Many argue the justice system is overdue an overhaul—what once had its flaws is now broken. Too many high-priced lawyers know how to work it. We can tie it into knots. We know how to run the table. We can break the bank. Like Vegas, some of us ‘card counters’ should not be allowed in a courtroom. We need to be better regulated. And if it can be done without jeopardizing the accused, we need to revisit the concept—innocent until proven guilty.”
“You’re talking nonsense. We use the legal system we have today. That simple.”
“Even the most sophisticated and complex systems in the world need revisions, upgrades, adjustment, rebooting.” Eldon said.
“Our legal system is special,” Jennings barked.
“Like everything else, it must evolve in this changing world,” Eldon said. “Tort reform is too slow of a process. We’re all busy playing the game and chasing the money.”
“It is what we have to work with today,” Jennings puffed as he wheeled over to Eldon’s chair. He bumped his knees into the soft leather to get his son’s attention. “I know you’re uncomfortable. I’ve been there in my life. It’s part of being the top man with the responsibility. I ask you to just meet with William Marcantonio. It is possible the arrangement he seeks can work. It may be nothing like the Pender case.”
I never understood why Marcantonio wanted to help Pender in the first place, Eldon thought. I remember that sick smirk on Pender’s face when he told me everything he did to the Dunn family—Marcantonio ordered him not to lie to his attorney. I remember walking out of that cell and puking in the parking garage. I should have gotten in my car and kept driving. I should have disappeared—the hell with the legal profession. Nothing can excuse what I did. Now I’ve gotta live with it.
Jennings whispered as he squeezed Eldon’s arm. “I need you to meet with Marcantonio.” Eldon blinked back into the present and nodded.
“Good. I will set it up and let you know. I think this can work for all of us.”
Eldon’s eyes found his father’s. “James Harvey Pender is symbolic of a much larger problem we all face. We are at a tipping point.”
Five
Wolfe stopped at the edge of the light pouring out the back of the ambulance onto the dark field filling with snow. He studied the bloody man in handcuffs sitting on the tailgate surrounded by paramedics and Chicago’s finest. The man’s eyes were swollen closed like a prizefighter after ten grueling rounds—a fight he lost. Wolfe estimated late thirties. The man sat still except for occasional chest heaves. Each time he sucked in air, it was as if he just remembered to breath. Each time the man’s body stiffened like a carp, CPD gun fingers twitched over holsters.
After working hundreds of homicides, Wolfe knew all kinds of killers and missed little. Standing at his latest spectacle, he was the only one who knew the cuffed man did not kill anyone this night. Whoever did was still out there and could be enjoying the show.
The lead paramedic recognized Wolfe—their paths had crossed many times before. He backed away from the medical team and spoke out of earshot. “Looks bad but none of his wounds are life threatening. Most of the blood came from the victim.” The medic leaned into Wolfe and whispered, “If you ask me, something else has traumatized this man. He’s not acting like a killer caught at the scene of his crime. However, I’m no expert.”
“What’s your plan Conway?” Wolfe asked with eyes on the catatonic manikin.
“We’re gonna take our time. He’s on the edge—shock induced from acute stress.”
“What’s your plan?” Wolfe asked again with a sharper edge.
“We’ll push fluids. He’s medicated—will let that take hold. I’ll give him ten minutes or so to calm down before we do anything. We could screw things up if we move him now. I want to avoid medical consequences. Been a long day.”
Wolfe’s eyes followed the IV line from the bloody arm to the bag of Ringer’s lactate. “Unless he’s dying, the man doesn’t leave here until I talk to him. We good?”
“We’re good,” Conway said as he returned to his medical team.
Before Wolfe could check his phone for messages—something relevant to his next mystery—a bouncing light pushed through the cluster of pines by the ambulance. Wolfe smiled when he saw the man in blue carrying a flashlight and clipboard forging a new trail in the snow. It meant his crime scene could still be intact.
“You Aaron Wolfe, homicide?”
“I am.”
“Lieutenant Huddle—first responder.” He pointed to the trees. “Wunders Cemetery. You need to come with me before the snow changes things too much more.”
They rounded the thick pines and walked Huddle’s trail toward the portable floods on tripods. The lights were set up in the middle of the ten acres of tombstones, cement crosses, and stick trees. Long shadows draped over the snow-dusted grounds. Flashlights bounced and dogs barked on the perimeter of Wolfe’s next hell. He scanned the markers on both sides of the isolated row pleased the CPD had protected the original route to the crime scene.
The macabre setting only pissed him off more. In silence, Wolfe knelt over the body and took in everything like no other could. Huddle gave Wolfe a moment and then started into the basics. “We have a thirty-eight-year-old white female—Miss Ellen Dumont. She lived in the 3700 block on North Sheffield Avenue—a brownstone two blocks away. At the moment, we don’t know what she was doing out here in the middle of the night.”
“Walking her dog and visiting her parents,” Wolfe muttered. “Where’s the ME?”
“Medical examiner’s on the way. Should be here any minute,” Huddle said. “How do you know about a dog and parents, detective?”
Wolfe moved his penlight from her face to her wrist. “The leather leash.” He lifted her coat sleeve an inch and pulled the strap from under her body. Huddle backed away when he saw the attached bloody collar. “Her dog’s out there somewhere. A little guy. Probably dead.”
Serial Intent Page 3
