In Firm Pursuit

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “How do you know this?” I asked.

  Stevens shrugged again. “Just take what I said as fact, not speculation.”

  “Are we talking about an intimate relationship?”

  He nodded again.

  “But he approved Randle’s termination. The fact that he was dating the complainant would’ve been a clear conflict of interest.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So you do believe that Henry Randle was set up.”

  “Once again, Ms. Henderson,” Stevens said, “what I believe is not important.”

  CHAPTER 69

  By one o’clock the following day, I had not heard from Hamilton regarding the settlement agreement. I checked my e-mail every thirty minutes or so, hoping and praying nothing had gone wrong.

  I had just returned from the ladies’ room when Haley walked in.

  “I was just wondering whether I might be able to help you prepare your opening statement for the Randle trial,” she said eagerly.

  The girl was really hurting for work, I thought. She needed to bill at least one hundred eighty hours a month. More than two hundred if she wanted to stand out. I had already advised Porter about the settlement, but I wanted the signed agreement in hand before announcing it to anybody else.

  “Thanks,” I said, “but I have everything under control.”

  Haley exhaled and took a seat in front of my desk even though I had not invited her to sit.

  “I was just about to run downstairs and get a sandwich,” I lied, hoping she would leave.

  “There’s some food left over from the Labor Department lunch,” Haley said cheerfully. “I can go grab you a sandwich.”

  “No, you don’t have to do that. I can—”

  “I don’t mind.” Haley was out of the door before I could finish protesting. She returned almost as fast carrying a turkey sandwich, pasta salad and a can of Diet Coke.

  “I only brought you a Diet Coke because I’ve seen you drinking it before. I…uh…I’m only telling you this because I don’t want you to think I’m trying to say you need to lose weight or anything.” Haley laughed.

  “Thanks, Haley. I really appreciate your doing this.” Now can you leave?

  As hard up as Haley was for work, she would probably try to bill the client for her little errand. I made a mental note to double-check her time sheet to make sure she didn’t.

  Haley stared at me as I ate. When I took a second bite of my sandwich, Haley closed the door before taking a seat. She started to speak but paused as if unsure of herself. “I guess I kind of got off on the wrong foot at the firm. Everybody hates me.”

  Maybe if you weren’t such a pompous little witch, you’d have a friend or two around here. “Nobody hates you,” I said. The lie rolled effortlessly off my lips.

  “Yes, they do,” she said, “but thanks for saying that.” Haley looked down at her hands. Her nail polish was badly chipped and her fingernails were bitten down to the nub. She pulled a long curl out of her face and smiled at me. The girl was making a real pitch for sympathy, but I wasn’t buying it.

  “Before I got to law school, everybody I knew told me I’d never make it as a lawyer because I was too shy,” Haley said. Her voice sounded small and childlike. “Including my own mother. You have no idea how awful it is to have a judge for a mother and a political consultant for a father. All they cared about was making sure that I didn’t do anything to embarrass them. They demanded that I be perfect at everything.”

  I could hear her right foot tapping the floor.

  “All through law school, I practiced being assertive. I always volunteered in class, took on any student leadership role I could get and tried to act assertive and super-confident, even though I was shaking inside.” Haley stopped talking and looked at me as if she needed to hear some words of support.

  I took a big bite of my sandwich to avoid having to say anything. I found it amazing that anybody with Haley’s looks and brains could be insecure.

  “But I was determined to show my mother that I could make it as an attorney,” Haley continued. “And after spending so much time acting like somebody who had it all together, it began to feel natural. People were attracted to my new, gregarious, confident personality. But when I got here, it kind of backfired. I guess it was a bad idea to use TV lawyers as my role models,” she said with a nervous laugh.

  I could see now that Haley’s arrogance masked a deep-seated insecurity, but I still didn’t feel all that sorry for blondie. “One of the principles I live by is to treat other people the way I’d like to be treated,” I said. “And that extends to everybody. Even the folks in the copy room. You never gain anything by being rude to people.”

  “I know, I know,” Haley said. “I really screwed up and now I’m paying for it.” She started peeling the nail polish from her ring finger.

  “Just put everything behind you,” I said. “Memories fade fast around here.” That lie was more for my benefit than Haley’s.

  For the next few minutes, Haley shared other personal details of her upbringing. When she was done, I had a mental image of Haley’s mother as Faye Dunaway in Mommy Dearest.

  “What do you think about the Randle case?” I asked, wanting to discuss something less depressing.

  “I think some of the company’s actions are pretty suspect,” she said.

  “Does it bother you to have to defend a suspicious case?”

  “No, not at all. That’s what I get paid to do.”

  “You’ll make a great lawyer,” I said.

  “Thanks. I’m really trying to be.”

  Haley didn’t realize that my statement was not intended as a compliment. We chatted for a few more minutes.

  “Thanks,” she said again as she was about to leave.

  “For what?”

  “You’re the first person who’s been nice to me since I got here.”

  I didn’t want to give the girl the impression that we were on the road to friendship, so I just took another bite of my sandwich.

  “Well, if you have anything I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask,” Haley said.

  “I won’t.” I was glad she was finally leaving. As she walked out, I tossed the remains of my lunch into the wastebasket underneath my desk. Just then, my intercom buzzer sounded.

  “You have a visitor in the lobby,” Shelia said.

  I glanced at my calendar to make sure I had not forgotten some appointment. “Who is it?”

  “Detective Mason Coleman with the LAPD. He says it’s extremely urgent.”

  I began to get excited as I waited for Shelia to escort Detective Coleman into my office. Maybe he had some information about the ATPs. I had settled the Randle case and perhaps Detective Coleman was now about to hand me some more good news. I was definitely on a roll.

  When the detective walked in, he was wearing the same suit he’d had on at Special’s place. That crusty mustard stain on his lapel was now a very noticeable shiny spot.

  “Nice to see you again.” I rose to greet him. “What did I do to earn this unscheduled visit?” I wanted to be cordial, but I also wanted to let the detective know that he couldn’t just drop by unannounced, even if he was the LAPD.

  “I think you better have a seat.”

  “Wow, is the news that good?” I asked, returning to my chair. “Don’t tell me. You’ve figured out who vandalized Special’s apartment and you’ve solved the Carruthers case, too.”

  “Not exactly.” He looked away, then got up to close the door. “It’s about Special.”

  “What now?” I braced myself for a shocker. “Please don’t tell me she’s still snooping around in the case after I told her to cool it.”

  Detective Coleman stuffed himself into one of the chairs in front of my desk. “Special’s been hurt. She’s in intensive care at Centinela Hospital.”

  “Oh, my God!” I blasted out of the chair, covering my mouth with both hands. “What happened? Was she in a car accident? Is she okay?”

  “
Please calm down. Somebody broke into her house again last night. She was beaten up pretty bad. Stabbed in the neck and chest multiple times.”

  “Oh, my God!” I fell into my chair. “Oh, my God! I never should’ve made her go back home. It’s all my fault!”

  “No. You can’t think like that.” He sounded as distraught as I felt. “I’d be glad to drive you over to the hospital.”

  I grabbed my purse and was out of the door before Detective Coleman could hoist his enormous body out of the chair.

  CHAPTER 70

  Entering Special’s hospital room and seeing her lying there unconscious rendered me totally numb. Her barely recognizable face was bruised and swollen, and her neck and chest were patched with bandages.

  I walked over and embraced Special’s parents, who were standing on the far left side of Special’s bed.

  “I don’t understand why somebody would do this,” Velma Moore cried, turning back to Special and stroking her limp hand. “Why would somebody want to hurt my baby?”

  Although her eyes were swollen with grief, Special’s mother was still as immaculately dressed as ever. Her linen skirt was much tighter and shorter than the average fifty-five-year-old woman would have been comfortable wearing. A matching tam, tilted to the side, revealed only a glimpse of her honey-blond dye job. Her bright orange earrings, from the same set as her necklace and bracelet, dangled from her ears like two miniature sweet potatoes. Her two-inch heels did little to heighten her petite, five-foot frame. A strong whiff of Chanel No. 5 encircled her like an invisible hula hoop.

  “What did the doctor say?” I whimpered, unable to control my own tears.

  “Her lungs collapsed,” Milton Moore said quietly. His words were barely audible, as if he were mumbling to himself. I had never heard his normally booming voice sound so feeble. “But my baby’s a fighter like me. She’s going to be fine.”

  Special’s father was almost seventy, but he had the physique of a man almost half his age. After years of his wife’s nagging, he had finally started dying his naturally silver-gray hair. He insisted, however, on leaving his bushy eyebrows untouched. At six-four there was no question about where Special had inherited her height.

  “The doctor said they’re moving her out of intensive care as soon as she wakes up from the anesthesia,” Special’s mother said.

  I walked around to the opposite side of the bed and moved a wisp of hair from Special’s forehead. “You can’t leave me, girlfriend,” I sniveled. “You have to hurry up and get well.”

  Detective Coleman remained planted near the door until I remembered to introduce him. When I mentioned that he was with the LAPD, Special’s parents began pelting him with questions he could not answer. When did it happen? Who found her? Did anybody hear anything? Why would somebody do this?

  I torpedoed a sharp look at Detective Coleman to make sure he was not about to volunteer any unnecessary information. Special had never told her parents about the earlier break-in for fear that they would have pressured her to move back home with them.

  When I could no longer bear to look at my friend’s motionless body, I walked out into the hallway and pressed my face against the nearest wall. The initial flash of cold felt good. I pulled my BlackBerry from my purse and dialed Jefferson’s number. When I heard his voice, I tried to speak, but only sobs escaped from my lips.

  “Babe, babe, what’s the matter? Did something happen at work again?” Jefferson asked in alarm. “Are your parents okay? Please stop crying and talk to me.”

  “No, no. It’s…it’s Special,” I blubbered. Only the sturdiness of the wall kept my body from collapsing into a heap on the floor. “She’s at Centinela Hospital. Somebody broke into her apartment and stabbed her. She’s in intensive care.”

  “What?” The panic in Jefferson’s voice mirrored mine.

  “And it’s all my fault,” I sniffed. “She wanted to stay with me but I made her go home. She’d be okay if she’d still been at our house. It’s all my fault!”

  “No, no, listen to me,” Jefferson said. “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “Yes, I can! I shouldn’t have made her go home. Jefferson, I need you. I’m scared.”

  “Just calm down,” Jefferson said. “I’ll be on the next plane back home as soon as we hang up.”

  CHAPTER 71

  By nine o’clock that night, I was sitting across from my husband at our kitchen table, sipping cranberry juice, my nose runny and red. I had spent the last hour telling Jefferson everything about the Randle case, including my theory about the ATPs and Carruthers’s death, as well as my newest suspicion that Micronics probably had something to do with the attack on Special.

  When I finished, Jefferson had a look of complete shock on his face. “This sounds like something out of a movie,” he said. “I can’t believe you guys didn’t let the police handle this.”

  He reached across the table and grabbed both of my hands and kissed them. “I’m not going back to San Diego until I know both you and Special are okay.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “I know your project is in a crunch right now.”

  “No, I’m staying right here with you,” he insisted, “at least until all of this blows over. But there’s something I need you to do. You have to go into work tomorrow morning and tell O’Reilly everything you just told me.”

  I felt nauseous. “I can’t do that. They’ll fire me for sure!”

  “Babe, this is some serious stuff you just told me. These people aren’t playing games. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He stood up and pulled me into his arms. “I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but everything’s going to turn out fine. But you have to report what you know to the firm and to the police. And when I say police, I’m not talking about this Coleman dude.”

  “I know, I know,” I said. “But maybe if I confronted Ferris first, I could find out who attacked Special.”

  Jefferson gently squeezed my shoulders and leaned back so he could look me in the eyes. “No way,” he said firmly. “All this detective work you and Special have been doing is nuts. It’s bound to get you both killed. I won’t have that. You have to talk to O’Reilly.”

  “I know, I know,” I said again. “But how am I going to explain why I didn’t come to him earlier?”

  “Let’s just worry about that in the morning. Right now you need to get some sleep.” Jefferson placed his arm across my shoulders and guided me to the bedroom.

  Just as I sat down on the edge of the bed, I heard the faint ringing of a telephone. I dashed back into the kitchen, determined to grab my BlackBerry from my purse before my voice mail picked up the call.

  “Hey, what’s…what’s…happening, homegirl?” Special’s words came out haltingly, in a voice that sounded as if it belonged to a ninety-year-old woman.

  “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice,” I said. Tears started to flow again. “How are you? You had me so scared.”

  “Girl, you know I…ain’t leaving this earth until I get a look at Jefferson’s cousin,” Special said in a measured, raspy voice. “That man might be my future husband.”

  We both chuckled weakly. “Is there ever a time when you’re not thinking about some man?”

  “Hell, no,” Special said.

  “How are you really? Are you in pain?”

  “I’ve got stitches up the…wazoo, but I’m not really in that much pain.” The hoarseness in her voice indicated otherwise. “I have a…a machine with a little remote-control gizmo. The minute I feel even a twinge of pain, I can just press a button and boom. I’m as high as a kite. Technology is a mutha, ain’t it?”

  I laughed again.

  “And I even lucked up and got me a male nurse.” I heard Special grunt. “And he’s quite a hunk. I swear to God…” Her voice trailed off. I could tell it was a major struggle for her to speak. “He looks just like that fine brother who used to play for the Pittsburgh S
teelers, Jerome Bettis. But after that thing with Trent, I need to be extra careful. And he’s a nurse, so that’s already one strike against him.”

  “Well, don’t get too used to him because I want you back home. And when I say home, I mean home with me. I’m so sorry I made you go back to your apartment.”

  “Girl, this isn’t your fault.” Special cried along with me.

  “You told me to stay out of it. I should’ve listened to you.”

  “You were only trying to help me,” I sobbed.

  We both boo-hooed in unison for a while.

  “Anyway,” Special managed to say between sobs, “I don’t even remember what happened. The doctor said it’s possible I may never remember.”

  “Don’t cry,” I said, ignoring my own advice. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “I know I’m lucky to be alive,” Special said. “But, girl…tell me the truth. How bad did they mess up my face? They won’t bring me a…a mirror, and they won’t let me get out of bed so I can see for myself.”

  “Your face is fine.”

  “It feels hard and swollen and no matter where I touch it, it hurts. I bet they scarred me for life!” Special’s sobs were now interspersed with hiccups.

  “No, they didn’t. You’re still the finest woman in L.A.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “No, I’m not. You just have a few bruises that need time to heal. That’s all. I swear. I’ll even bring you a mirror tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. Now why don’t you get some sleep?”

  “Okay, girl, but don’t forget that mirror. And make sure you don’t let Jefferson’s cousin hook up with some other babe while I’m in here recuperating.”

  “I’ll tell Jefferson to put him under house arrest,” I said, chuckling. “I love you, girl.”

  “I love you, too.”

  CHAPTER 72

  The next morning, I paced the short length of my office until my feet went numb. I fully intended to keep my promise to Jefferson and tell O’Reilly everything, but each time I picked up the telephone to dial O’Reilly’s extension, I felt like I was having a panic attack.