Niel’s eyes glimmered. “We’re going to straighten this out with you, Mr. Jenkins. Once and for all.”
“Peter, you remind me of your client, Albert Chin,” Harry continued blandly. “Albert threw many temptations my way: first, a trip for two to the Bahamas, then thoughtful little gifts of flowers and food baskets. But as soon as I refused to act further, my headlights were smashed in and then Chin, when he was arrested, tried to frame me.”
Natasha had talked about trusting his instinct and taking risks. Harry turned to Rosenberg and spoke quietly. “But Arnie,” he said, “there’s something I just don’t get.”
There was nothing to connect Cheney’s with Frank’s murder. Staring at Rosenberg, with his darting eyes, Harry forged on. “How do those guys from Buffalo figure in all of this, Arnie? I mean the ones who slit Frank Sasso’s throat.”
A flash of pure hatred crossed Rosenberg’s face, but there were no words from the man.
“Jesus!” said Conroy. “What’s this all about, Arnie? What’s this about Buffalo? Who in hell is Frank Sasso?”
Taking another chance, Harry answered Jonathan. “Poor Frank! He was the low man on the totem pole. He brought the dirty money from Buffalo to Chin, who delivered it to Tony. Frank was stupid enough to steal from the mob, so Tony ordered his execution.”
Arnie retreated and took his seat. He said quietly and evenly, “I had nothing to do with Buffalo. That was McKeown’s department. I dealt only with Hong Kong and…” His voice trailed off as he looked down the table to see Conroy’s shock. Slowly, the significance of his own words set in.
Conroy rose abruptly. His voice was strained. “You mean, you knew, Arnie?”
Arnie sat in silence, his head bowed.
Harry broke the silence. “He’ll tell you nothing, Jonathan. But you should understand, by now, that your firm uses men like Benny and the mob.”
“Arnie, is this true?” Arnie did not speak. The revelations had staggered Conroy. His face grew ashen.
Slumping into his chair, he could hear Bunnie warming up. “You didn’t stand up to some two-bit lawyer? Jonathan, you are a gutless wonder. Ready to throw everything we’ve worked for down the drain.”
He had to save the firm and himself. After taking a long time to light his cigar, he finally spoke.
“Look, Harry,” Jonathan began wearily, “Seems like we’re all in this together. Let’s fix this up.” His hand was on Harry’s shoulder. “After all, nobody outside this room has to know a thing.”
Harry marveled at the swiftness of the Treasurer’s recovery. Natasha was right about Conroy.
The Treasurer’s smile grew as he pulled up a chair next to Harry. “Besides, both our firms have a fine history. Surely to God we can’t sacrifice that.”
Harry could see the lines of red in the senior partner’s eyes. Conroy paused in hopes of a reaction from Harry. Since none was forthcoming, he stumbled on. “Listen: you keep the money, Harry. I’m sure you can use it as much as any of us. And move your practice in with us. Keep your own clients, and we’ll see you get five hundred thousand a year!”
Harry said nothing; he only smiled. A look of confusion crossed Conroy’s face. “What, you want more?” He laughed, looking desperately at his colleagues. “Tough negotiator, isn’t he, boys?” The room was silent.
“Listen, Harry, name your price! Whatever you want, it’s yours. McKeown was real trouble. I see that now. If he murdered the girls and the Deighton woman, then I’m not surprised he had this Sasso killed. But McKeown’s probably going to die, Harry. As God is my witness, Harry, I knew nothing of that part of it!”
Harry spoke quietly. “That’s very interesting, Jonathan. Are you prepared to put that offer in writing?”
The silence grew. Jonathan grabbed Steeves’s pad and tore off the sheets of black circles so hard they flew to the floor.
“I most certainly am!” Jonathan said, scrawling a number of lines on a clean page. “I know it’s hard to make a go of practice these days, Harry. Isn’t it time for you to relax a little and enjoy some of the rewards of our profession?” He shoved the pad across the table for Harry to read.
No one moved. Harry took his time in reading the lines several times. There it was—an offer, signed by Conroy—five hundred thousand a year and a signing bonus of one million.
In an instant, Harry could picture the good life offered by Jonathan and his cronies: the mansion in Rosedale, the summer residence in Muskoka, never a worry about money. Laura had always wanted him in on the real money. How ironic! Now that she was gone, the real money was offered.
But money was someone else’s yardstick, and the measurement was constantly shifting. He had yearned for more. But more what? Certainly not what Conroy offered!
Funny thing about money, Harry thought. Once you construct the good life, would you ever really have enough? And how much is enough? Harry smiled. Natasha understood evil. She had predicted the offer of hush money, a bargain for one’s soul.
Carefully, Harry set down the pad. He extracted a pen from his breast pocket. The executive committee watched as he took his pen, then slowly and gently pushed the pad back to Conroy with the pen. No one in the room moved.
“You can’t buy me or your way out of this, Jonathan,” Harry said quietly.
Conroy was almost gasping. “Harry! What’s wrong? It’s a fantastic offer.”
Harry settled back in his chair. “I want to tell you a little story, gentlemen.” He gazed up at the ceiling. “Before I came for lunch, I took a walk over to the Law Society. You know those wrought-iron gates, built more than a century ago to keep out grazing cattle? As I squeezed my way through those gates today, I thought of how we all got into this profession. It wasn’t easy. Remember? Like going through the eye of a needle. But once we got through the gates, we found a beautiful garden inside. All sorts of advantages were given to those who made it through the gates. The good life. A very good life.”
Harry continued to look at each member in turn. Niels and Rosenberg were huddled to one side. Conroy and the others sat rigidly in their seats, mouths agape.
“I like to think,” Harry continued, “that lawyers are supposed to tend that garden and preserve its beauty. To help clients, not take advantage of them for our own personal gain.” Harry smiled at the confusion on their faces. “Of course, for any of you having trouble understanding me, I speak metaphorically.”
His voice grew in strength as he rose from his chair. “That may sound old-fashioned and idealistic. But it isn’t just a question of a little fraud, or misrepresentation, or laundered trust funds. That’s just money. This is about killing people who get in the way.”
He turned and spoke directly to Conroy. His voice was hushed. “Do you get it now, Jonathan? Everything in your firm reeks. The most serious crimes have been committed here. But instead of coming clean, you want to hide the evidence. And you want me to help.”
Harry reached across the table and retrieved Jonathan’s pad. Everyone in the room watched in silence as Harry tore the page containing the offer from the pad. Carefully, he folded it and inserted it in his breast pocket. “I’ll just keep this offer, gentlemen, for the Law Society to reflect upon.”
Harry shook his head sadly. “No, gentlemen, we can’t work together. We belong in different worlds. The Law Society has a copy of the file. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from them, as well as from the police.”
Placing the file in his briefcase, he smiled and nodded to the executive committee. “I’m afraid I can’t stay for lunch, gentlemen. My appetite is a little off today.”
Suddenly, Rosenberg stood before him. His small, sharp face was contorted with rage. “Jenkins!” he hissed. “Don’t give us all this high-and-mighty shit! You walk out of here without a deal, and maybe our friends will pay you a visit!”
Harry stared at the man, then glanced over his head to Conroy. “You see what you have in your midst, Jonathan? I don’t envy you!”
Opening the door, Harr
y turned back into the room. “Good day, gentlemen.” He shook his head sadly.” I’m afraid we’re too many miles apart to do business.”
Harry walked slowly across the City Hall Square in the sunshine. Suddenly, he picked up his pace. He was hungry after all. He bought a hot dog from the vendor under his red-striped umbrella, then sat on a bench near the pool and munched voraciously. Although he felt stronger than he had in years, he saw that his hands were shaking. What about the threat? He pushed Rosenberg’s twisted features to back of his mind. Never mind. Back to business. The Deighton estate fees would more than cover any shortfall from the return of the Chin money. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind. One of them was Natasha. She had been right all along. He could not wait to tell her.
Life surged in him. Thinking of Marjorie Deighton marching to the strain of “Pomp and Circumstance,” he smiled. He knew exactly how she felt in wanting to break free.
As he entered the office, Miss Giveny greeted him at the door. Her brow was furrowed with concern. “How was the lunch?”
“There was no free lunch, Miss Giveny. I had a hot dog on the square.”
Determined to satisfy her curiosity, Miss Giveny followed Harry into his office. “But what did they say?”
“We were absolutely right. Corruption top to bottom. And yes, they did try to buy me off.”
Righteous triumph flashed in Miss Giveny’s eyes.
Harry smiled. His secretary was no fool. He put up with her crankiness because she was an essential part of the firm. But they need not be doomed to toil in such dreary circumstances.
“Get the newspaper, please. The office rentals section,” he said. Glancing about the office, Harry continued, “We can afford better than this. It’s time we left these old ghosts behind.”
Miss Giveny’s eyes widened. She scurried from the room, to return within moments with the paper. “Yes, Harry, it’s time,” she said.
CHAPTER 43
From the warmth of the late afternoon, Harry, laden with two briefcases, struggled into the foyer of the Alton Club. Each case contained a copy of the Chin and Deighton files. Immediately, he felt the cool air conditioning creep around him.
Mumford, the concierge, hurried to his side.
“So good to see you, Mr. Jenkins,” he said as warmly as his gravelly voice would permit.
Harry was surprised. Never had he received more than a curt nod from the concierge at the desk.
“Quite a shake-up around here, sir.”
“How so?”
“Mr. Conroy has resigned his post at the Club to go on an extended vacation.” Mumford winked and said, “Thought you would want to know.” Smiling blandly at Harry’s confusion, he concluded, “Mr. Barrett is waiting for you in the lounge, sir.”
Briefcases in hand, Harry proceeded across the cool marble foyer toward the bar. At first he didn’t see Stephen, who was seated off in a darkened corner. All the curtains in the bar were drawn against the sunshine of a lovely early-summer day.
“I brought the complete files and a copy of them for you.” Harry set down the cases. “I want you to turn them over to the Law Society.”
Stephen nodded and held up his hand for the waiter. “I have an appointment with the counsel for the Discipline Committee in the morning.”
“I hate this kind of thing,” Harry grumbled as he pulled out a chair. “There’ll be no end of questions.”
“What you’re facing is nothing compared to Cheney, Arpin. Besides, the senior partners have the police to worry about as well.”
“What about my position?”
“There’s absolutely no evidence of intent on your part. That’s essential to prove criminal fraud. The ledger you took from Tony’s office, showing the flow of funds, helps to establish that you were used.”
Stephen ordered the drinks, then said quietly, “It’s not the law I’d be worried about, Harry.”
“Meaning?”
“Your biggest problem is the guys behind Cheney, Arpin.”
Harry fumbled for his cigarettes. “You mean, Benny?”
“Yes. Conroy didn’t leave town because he’s ashamed of himself.”
“So the Buffalo guys are after him? Jesus!” Harry breathed. “That means me too?”
The waiter returned with the drinks. Stephen shrugged. “I think you’d better give the two hundred grand back, Harry.”
“Gladly! I don’t need that kind of trouble.”
Stephen nodded briefly. “Good. I’ll arrange it.”
Harry looked at his friend carefully. “You know these people, Stephen?”
“I know enough not to cross them.” Stephen sighed and then said, “Tony died this morning.”
Harry’s shoulders sank. “That will make it harder.”
“For the police, maybe. But for the Law Society, I hear there’s a pretty good paper trail.”
“What are the charges against Cheney, Arpin?”
“Conduct unbecoming a solicitor.”
“And me?”
“There aren’t any, and my job is to ensure there never are. The less you have to say, the better. You knew nothing. You were duped. That’s your defence.”
The waiter delivered the drinks.
“Funny, I was so sure Frank was Marjorie’s murderer—Rosie’s too. And Welkom was just as certain it was Chin. But both of us were wrong. I was so convinced, I almost missed the connection of the petal designs.”
Stephen leaned across the table and said quietly, “You’re the one who put it all together, Harry.” He chuckled. “I heard you had quite a session with the senior partners of Cheney, Arpin this morning.”
“How did you know?”
“Bill Cawthorne called me this afternoon. He wants to testify at any hearing.”
“Ah, a decent soul?”
“Perhaps.” Stephen smiled wryly. “More likely, he hopes it will help if he cooperates with the police and the Law Society. But if he does, he could be in trouble.”
Harry gulped his drink. “Then what about me?”
“Give the money back and keep your mouth shut as much as possible. You have no details about the connection with Buffalo. You were an innocent, drawn into something you did not understand.”
Harry grew clammy. After the past two weeks, he had hoped to be in the clear. The prospect of guys like Benny after him was chilling. Dull estate practice was becoming more attractive.
Stephen continued, “They searched McKeown’s apartment and found some very strange stuff. An extensive collection of silver knives and razors, lots of different gloves, coils of rope, and a few whips.” Stephen lowered his eyes. “A lot of photographs of women with petal designs.”
Harry took a swallow of his beer. “The guy is really sick! But he’s so polished. It’s like coming face to face with the devil.” Harry tapped Stephen’s arm. “When I saw the petal drawings in his agenda, he popped a candy in his mouth and confessed to an incurable addiction to sweets.”
Stephen raised one eyebrow. “There’s plenty more, Harry. He kept a locked room devoted to the display of chinaware. In a drawer, he kept broken pieces of china, each wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a ribbon. Each package had a woman’s name on it: ‘Marjorie Deighton,’ ‘Rosie,’ ‘Deirdre and Linda.’”
“Does that help to establish him as their murderer?”
Stephen smiled and shrugged. “Definitely. But listen.” His face darkened. “There were three packages with other women’s names: Jennifer, Megan, and Karla.”
Harry was silent for a moment, and then said quietly, “So he really was the Florist?” Suddenly he felt weary.
“Tony left a book,” Stephen said.
“You mean a diary?”
“No. More like a treatise on pleasure and death. Pretty cold and gruesome stuff, all about his duty to judge a life. Apparently, he thought he was redeeming their souls. Complete madness.”
They sat in silence for several moments.
Stephen continued, “The most recent entry wa
s the strangest. He wrote that his mother always accused him of having no compassion in his soul.”
“That’s for sure!” Harry said.
“And—” Tony held up his hand. “That more than anything, he longed to experience that emotion.”
“Good Lord. That would be like trying to describe ‘blue’ to a color-blind person.” Harry shook his head and stared into his glass. “God damn it. If I’d thought more about Chin at the outset—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Stephen grew stern. “If I’m going to represent you, stop beating yourself up. Believe me, Cheney, Arpin will try to spread the blame anywhere they can—so you needn’t target yourself for them. And tomorrow, bring a draft for the two hundred thousand, and I’ll get it delivered.”
Harry nodded. Thank God, he thought. He still had at least one hundred and fifty of Chin’s two hundred in his trust account. “Of course. I want to get rid of it as fast as I can.” Then after several moments of silence, he asked, “Did I tell you Laura’s living with Stover now?”
“No, you didn’t. When did this happen?”
“Almost a week ago.”
“Sorry, Harry.”
Harry shrugged and tried to smile. He sipped his beer, and then pulled back the curtain at their table. Shafts of sunlight penetrated the gloom of the bar. Beyond the leaded-glass window, he saw a young woman glancing in her compact mirror. The woman waved at her girlfriend crossing the street. Chatting together, they turned up the steps and entered the Alton Club, unaccompanied.
Harry smiled. “You know, Stephen, I’m seeing Natasha.”
“Wonderful. You like her?”
“Yes. A lot. I’m hoping it’s for real.”
Stephen nodded slowly, then winked. “Good for you, Harry. You need somebody.”
CHAPTER 44
Later in the week, Harry stood at his library window, staring down into the alleyway below. Only another month and he would be out of the premises, which the firm had occupied for more than fifty years. He would not miss the gray, rusted scene of fire escapes, peeling paint, and garbage cans. He shook his head, as if to dispel years of apparitions.
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