Dead Lawyers Tell No Tales

by Randy Singer

  “So where does that leave our marriage?” she asked.

  “No different than it was before.”

  At this, she scoffed. There would be no satisfying her now.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “How about that you’re sorry? How about that you’re ready to leave the firm if that’s what it takes to keep our marriage together? How about that you understand why I would be so upset?”

  Landon spread his arms. “Kerri, I am sorry. And I’ll do anything it takes to keep our marriage together. But you’ve got to believe me—there’s nothing between me and Rachel.”

  Kerri stood there for a moment and then sighed. “You have no idea how deeply this hurts, do you?”

  Landon didn’t answer. What could he say that he hadn’t already said? He wanted to hold her. He wanted to tell her it would be all right, that their marriage was strong enough to survive. He wanted to tell her that he loved her.

  But right now, she wasn’t ready for any of that.

  Her shoulders sagged, and she went into the closet and brought out a small gym bag.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. I just need you to take care of Maddie tonight. I’ll pick her up after day care tomorrow. I need some time alone.”

  Landon tried to talk her out of it, but he knew it was a losing cause. She packed her stuff, went back and kissed Maddie, and walked out the door. She shut it behind her—not hard, because she didn’t want to wake Maddie. But there was an unmistakable finality to it.

  “I love you,” Landon said.

  He tried to call a few times that night, but she wouldn’t answer. He sat in the family room with the TV on until three in the morning.

  Simba stayed with him, sprawled out on the family room floor, breathing deeply, not a care in the world. Landon envied him.

  When did life get so complicated?

  52

  THE NEXT DAY, Landon couldn’t concentrate at work. He didn’t eat breakfast or lunch. Guilt weighed him down, smothering every emotion except regret and despondency. In truth, he had grown close to Rachel and had loved being around her. Kerri was right. Landon had blurred the lines and then stepped over them. Now he would have to re-earn Kerri’s trust.

  But he was also blistering mad. Somebody was trying to sabotage his marriage. His prime suspect was Carolyn Glaxon-Forrester. Her investigator would have been following Rachel around. Glaxon-Forrester had lost in court last week, so maybe this was her sick way of getting revenge.

  Landon called the divorce lawyer three times during the day and left increasingly irate messages. When she finally called back, late in the afternoon, she denied having an investigator trail Landon and Rachel. She denied Photoshopping any images.

  “Thou doth protest too much, if you ask me,” she said.

  Landon reamed her out and hung up the phone.

  He left work early that night and brought home a dozen roses. He pulled Kerri away from Maddie and tried to apologize.

  “I just need time,” she said. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

  Kerri had stayed at a hotel on Monday night, and on Tuesday, after Maddie went to bed, she started packing again. Landon insisted that she stay so they could talk it through. But Kerri said she didn’t have the emotional energy.

  “I’ve cried about this. I’ve gotten mad at you. I’ve beat myself up. I just can’t deal with it right now with everything going on at work and the thought that maybe our marriage isn’t what I thought it was.”

  “But that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Landon insisted. “Our marriage is everything you thought.”

  She wouldn’t hear any of it. So instead of watching her leave again, Landon said it was his turn. He took Simba and an air mattress to the office and tried to sleep there. The building had more moans and creaks than he had noticed during the day.

  He tossed and turned and couldn’t get comfortable. He told himself that it was just a matter of time. Kerri would come to her senses and feel sorry for him. They would kiss and make up, and Landon would be more careful with Rachel. Someday, Kerri and Rachel might even become friends.

  In the meantime, Landon wanted to kill Carolyn Glaxon-Forrester.

  ///

  The flight plan would be perfect. On his approach to the Norfolk International Airport, Brent Benedict would have to spend a good twenty minutes over the expansive Chesapeake Bay, just a few miles from the Atlantic Ocean, looping around before he merged into the approach vector. The plane would be close enough to shore that the explosion would be seen. Far enough out that most of the pieces would never be found.

  The Chesapeake Bay. What could be better?

  The NTSB, of course, would conduct a comprehensive investigation. It would be the agency’s job to determine the cause of the accident and to issue safety recommendations based on its findings. But they were only as good as the evidence they had to work with. And when a plane explodes into ten thousand tiny pieces over the Chesapeake Bay, most of the evidence is lost forever.

  The mastermind congratulated himself. It was a near-perfect plan.

  There was still work to do. The explosives couldn’t be attached to the plane until Thursday night, the night before Benedict’s return trip. But that should be no problem. The Cessna Citation would be sitting on the tarmac at the Allegheny County Airport. Ironically, even with all the elaborate security surrounding commercial flights—the invasive searches at the TSA checkpoints, the elaborate background checks on everyone working in aviation, the guards constantly patrolling the premises—private aircraft still had very few protections.

  He had already scoped out the facility. The airport closed at nine. Only one security guard roamed the premises at night, and he liked to watch TV. Sneaking onto the tarmac in the middle of the night and planting the explosives would be child’s play. The mastermind would use a plastic C-4 explosive, which could be molded into any shape and could be fastened securely into a hollow spot in the wheel well. He believed in overkill. He would have enough explosive power on board to blow up a small warship.

  He would need an accomplice, of course, because he couldn’t be in two places at once. For this, he enlisted an old friend with plenty of combat experience. The man would be well paid to drive the boat to the precise latitude and longitude on the bay, just under the flight path, close enough to detonate the explosives.

  The man could be trusted to keep his mouth shut.

  The deposition Brent Benedict would be taking was scheduled to start at 10 a.m. Friday. It was supposed to take at least six hours, so Benedict had filed a flight plan that had him leaving Allegheny County at six. By the time he flew out over the bay and radioed Norfolk air traffic control to get his final entry vector, it would be dark. The explosion would be even more spectacular in the nighttime sky.

  It was only May 3. But it would seem like the Fourth of July.

  53

  WEDNESDAY NIGHT Landon was facing his second night on the air mattress, and guilt was giving way to frustration. He hadn’t actually done anything. Yet Kerri was treating him like a serial adulterer. She had been jealous of Rachel before she ever met the woman. There were moments when Landon thought Kerri was blowing the whole thing out of proportion, and then other moments when he couldn’t believe how stupid he had been.

  He fell asleep that night sitting at his computer, wearing workout shorts and a T-shirt, his head tilted back, mouth wide open sucking in air. He was startled awake by Simba’s loud barking. It took Landon a few seconds to get his bearings before he realized that Simba was out in the hallway by the steps. He thought he heard a voice talking to his puppy. It was a female voice speaking in baby talk, and Simba had stopped barking. He was probably getting his stomach scratched. He would make the world’s worst watchdog.

  When Landon turned the corner in the hallway, he saw Rachel squatting down, giving Simba a belly rub. The dog was sprawled out on his back and twisted his head to look at his master. This is the life. />
  “What are you doing here?” Landon asked. It was nearly eleven, and he’d been asleep for an hour.

  “I work here, remember?” Rachel said, standing up. She was still perky, as if her motor was just getting started this time of night.

  “I didn’t mean that. I meant what are you doing here at eleven at night?”

  “Brent and I have a deposition Friday in Pittsburgh,” Rachel said. “I had to stop by and grab some files for our trip tomorrow. I saw your light on.”

  “Yeah, I’m practically living here these days,” Landon said.

  The whole conversation was making him nervous. It would be just his luck to have Kerri stop by the office to make amends and find him here with Rachel. On the other hand, he would feel like a jerk if he just asked her to leave.

  “I was actually just packing up,” he lied.

  “What are you working on?” Rachel asked.

  “The usual stuff—finding loopholes for serial murderers and terrorists. You know, criminal-defense work.”

  Rachel stood there for a moment and studied him. Landon knew her well enough to interpret the look. She had something on her mind, and she needed to talk. But he couldn’t go down that road again. Plus, he couldn’t let her wander back to his office and see the air mattress. She would ask questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

  “Have you got a minute?” she asked.

  He bit his lip. He wanted to help. Yes, she was gorgeous. It was only the first day of May, but her tan was already in midsummer form and her hair was more blonde than ever. Plus, the blue eyes and pouty lips knew how to beg. But this was how bad things started, things he would regret.

  “Actually, I’ve got to get going. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

  Rachel didn’t try to hide her disappointment. “We can talk when I get back,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. She brushed some hair back and smiled. “See ya, buddy,” she said to Simba. And then to Landon, “You sure you don’t need help with anything?”

  He hesitated for a moment. He wanted to tell her about Kerri. He wanted to get her advice. He’d only been working with her for a few months, but sometimes he felt like Rachel understood him better than his own wife. And he sure could use a woman’s perspective.

  But office friendships became office romances. That’s why he was sleeping here in the first place.

  “I’m good,” he said.

  “Okay,” Rachel said. She headed for the stairs but stopped and turned with one arm on the handrail.

  “Things are going great between me and Brent,” she said. “You’re a big part of the reason that’s even possible.”

  “Thanks,” Landon said, hoping she would come to her senses and dump the guy. “Good luck on Friday.”

  “I’ll need it,” Rachel said and then bounded down the steps.

  54

  THE WITNESS at the Pittsburgh deposition was an engineering expert in a complicated product liability case. Brent Benedict asked the questions, while Rachel fed him documents and huddled with him during breaks, suggesting additional questions that might have otherwise slipped through the cracks.

  One lawyer could have easily done the job, but it gave the two of them a chance to take another trip in the firm’s leased Cessna Citation Mustang. The day before, they had flown over the Blue Ridge Mountains on a cloudless spring day. Brent Benedict had opened up and shared a piece of his soul.

  Rachel was glad Parker Clausen wasn’t with them this trip. It was just the two of them. Alone. It was times like these when Brent confided in her. She already knew things about his past that Stacy never knew. But this trip was also about the future. It was a chance to bond and dream together and celebrate the fact that Glaxon-Forrester’s investigators could no longer do them any damage. Their secret was out. If somebody snapped a few more pictures of them entering or leaving a hotel room—who cared?

  The deposition was contentious, and the witness didn’t want to cooperate, so it took longer than expected. As soon as it was finished, Brent took a cab to the airport to log in and prepare the Cessna for takeoff. He filed a revised flight plan that would get them to Norfolk before the airport closed.

  Rachel stayed behind after the deposition, cleaned up the exhibits, made copies of some documents, and headed for the airport in a rented limo. She carried the briefcases onto the plane while Brent completed his preflight.

  He received their clearances at 7:40. With a good tail wind, he could make it to Norfolk by ten.

  ///

  Two hours and ten minutes later, shortly after Brent had given his final approach vector, the explosion lit the sky over the Chesapeake Bay. Witnesses walking on the beach almost two miles away claimed to have felt the vibrations. A commercial jetliner, scheduled to land just after the Cessna Citation, actually had the best view.

  “It turned into this huge fireball for a split second,” the pilot said. “And then it just blew into a million pieces in every possible direction.”

  Tiny shards of the Citation rained like confetti into the bay.

  It would undoubtedly take the NTSB months to complete its investigation. But given the destructive power of the explosives and the location of the plane at the time, experts were already predicting that the report would be inconclusive.

  One thing, however, seemed certain. The plane had been deliberately sabotaged. Somebody wanted the lawyers dead.

  55

  A KNOCK ON THE DOOR at two in the morning is never a good thing. This one was insistent and loud. Kerri instinctively reached over and patted the other side of the bed, but Landon wasn’t there. Recently she had become accustomed to Simba going nuts when anybody came to the condo, but he wasn’t there either.

  Everything was working together to disorient her.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed, turned on the lamp on the nightstand, and thought about Maddie. Whoever was at the door knocked again, just as loud and insistent as the first time.

  Kerri ran her hands through her hair, pushing it back and out of her face. She grabbed one of Landon’s T-shirts and threw it on over her pajamas. She hustled down the hall to get to the door before the person knocked again. She flipped on the hall light and peered through the peephole.

  The woman standing there was in her midforties with dark hair, wearing khakis and a dark polo shirt. She was staring at the door with intense brown eyes that seemed to pop out of her head. Her hair, shoulder length, was pushed back behind her ears. She was plain and nondescript, as if her goal in life was to fit into every crowd. She frowned and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, very antsy. She reached out to knock again.

  Kerri cracked the door but left the chain lock in place. The woman flashed a badge. “Angela Freeman, Virginia Beach Police Department. May I come in?”

  The words made Kerri’s heart stop. Her first thought was of Landon. Maybe he hadn’t been staying at the office. Maybe he’d been in an accident. But suddenly the name registered. This was the detective who had interviewed Landon after Harry McNaughten’s death.

  That connection sent chills down her spine again. “Is Landon okay?”

  The question seemed to confuse Detective Freeman. She twisted her head as a look of concern flashed across her face. “Can I come in?” she asked again, nodding down at the chain.

  “Of course.”

  Kerri pushed the door closed and dropped the chain. She led Detective Freeman through the kitchen and saw Maddie standing in the hallway, thumb in her mouth, holding her worn blankie with the opposite hand. She looked like she was ready to cry.

  “Where’s Daddy?” Maddie asked. Her eyes were sleepy and confused.

  Kerri took a few steps and picked up Maddie. “Why don’t you just have a seat?” she said over her shoulder to Detective Freeman. “I’ll be right back.”

  She carried Maddie into her room and told her that everything was fine. Mommy had to talk to their guest for a few minutes. She explained that Daddy and Simba were at the office and would be back soon. She
tucked Maddie in, gave her a kiss, and turned off the light.

  She sat down opposite Detective Freeman in the family room. Freeman was on the edge of the couch, hunched forward, increasing Kerri’s anxiety.

  “Has something happened to Landon?” Kerri asked again, bracing herself.

  “He’s not here?” Freeman asked.

  Kerri felt her face flush. “He’s still at the office.”

  “At two in the morning?”

  Kerri shifted in her seat and looked down. She crossed one leg over the other and realized that Detective Freeman could read her every emotion. She was slowly waking up, and her reporter instincts were kicking in. “Can I ask what this is about?”

  Freeman leveled her gaze. “There was an accident last night,” she said calmly, measuring Kerri for any reaction. “The firm’s private plane went down. Brent Benedict and Rachel Strach were on board and did not survive.”

  The words carried a tsunami of emotion across the room, overwhelming Kerri. Landon was okay, but his colleagues were dead! It was a feeling of exhilarating relief meshed with horrifying sadness. Landon could have been on that plane.

  “Landon doesn’t know?” Kerri asked.

  Detective Freeman shook her head. “That’s why I’m here. To tell him.” She hesitated, but added, “And to warn him.”

  “Why? Did somebody sabotage the plane?”

  “We won’t know that for sure until the NTSB investigation is complete. But there was an explosion. And with three lawyers from the same firm killed within three weeks of each other, we have to assume the worst.”

  “An explosion?”

  Freeman nodded. “It blew up over the Chesapeake Bay, about ten minutes before touchdown.”

  Kerri asked a number of questions about the plane crash, none of which Detective Freeman could answer. Then the detective turned the tables, boring into Kerri with her icy stare. “Why is Landon working at two in the morning?”