Dead Lawyers Tell No Tales

by Randy Singer

  ///

  Sean Phoenix took another sip of water.

  He almost smiled as he considered the unbelievable irony of it all. Fifteen years ago, he had given up on the rule of law. Those in power had let him down and caused the death of his lover. Sean had become a renegade, a vigilante. He had been on a personal mission to avenge Fatinah’s death and punish those who had been complicit in it. Along the way, he had added to his list of enemies. Men like Elias King and John McBride. Greedy and selfish men who had tormented his company in order to advance their careers.

  Sean had done plenty of secret things for the good of his country and to enact vengeance on those who had crossed him. Now he was being framed for things he hadn’t done. The shootings of Landon and Elias King. The deaths of Brent Benedict and Rachel Strach. Yes, Sean had framed Elias King, John McBride, and Judge Zimmerman. And yes, he had reluctantly ordered the deaths of Erica Jensen and Harry McNaughten. But someone with even less respect for the rule of law than he had was framing the great Sean Phoenix for crimes he hadn’t committed.

  Sean studied Landon for a moment. Did this kid really have it in him? Had Sean Phoenix been duped by an ex-jock? And what was Kerri’s role? Had this all just been an elaborate setup from day one?

  These were questions he couldn’t answer—at least not right now. So, with Landon’s devastating question hanging in the air like a guillotine, Sean Phoenix sought shelter in the only place left, a place which suddenly had far greater allure for him than it ever had before.

  The U.S. Constitution. The bastion for those who believed in the rule of law.

  “I refuse to answer that question,” he said. “I’m availing myself of my rights under the Fifth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution.”

  92

  ONE DAY LATER

  BILLY THURSTON WAS NOT AN IDEAL PATIENT. After twenty-four hours in Sentara Norfolk’s trauma center, he wanted to go home, but the doctors insisted on keeping him another day for observation. The nurses got a kick out of the guy, and he signed more than a few autographs for their kids.

  The Wolfman had shattered Billy’s cheekbone and broken his nose, but none of this stopped his jaw from working, and Billy was not a fan of hospital food. So on Friday, Landon grilled steaks and Kerri fixed mashed potatoes, and the former quarterback and his former center closed the door to the hospital room and had a feast.

  In the last twenty-four hours, the two men had witnessed the breathtaking collapse of Cipher Inc. amid one startling revelation after another. Based on Sean Phoenix’s testimony in court and the contents of his cell phone, the Feds had obtained a warrant to search the entire company’s headquarters. FBI agents descended in droves, and law-enforcement sources were beginning to leak some of the incriminating information they had found. One agent let Landon know that they had found the original photos of him and Rachel. Landon assumed Phoenix had sent them anonymously to pressure Kerri into taking that job in D.C. and to pull Landon away from the firm.

  “It happened just like I laid it out in court,” Landon said to Billy between bites. “Cipher Inc. placed their moles at McBride’s firm and Elias King’s firm and in Judge Zimmerman’s office. All three Cipher agents had access to their bosses’ computers. They framed them for insider trading. But Erica Jensen got emotionally attached to Elias. When she found out she was pregnant, she decided to go to the Feds and tell the truth about Cipher’s attempts to frame Elias. She was hoping to cut a deal and avoid jail time. She couldn’t live with herself if Elias went to jail on these trumped-up charges.”

  “Ouch,” Billy said. “I’ve gotta chew on the other side. That dude can kick.”

  “You wouldn’t believe all the stuff Sean Phoenix did,” Landon continued, ignoring Billy’s comment. “He had an enemies list that started with the men who killed his lover fifteen years ago. Once you make that list, you’re toast.”

  “You should have brought some A.1.,” Billy said. “That way I wouldn’t have to chew—it could just slide down.”

  “The best chefs don’t want you smothering their steaks in A.1.,” Landon said.

  “Who said anything about the best chefs?” Billy asked. He took another bite. “Looks like you made the enemies list.”

  “Yeah. Ironically, I hadn’t even figured out what was going on when they took their shot at me the other day. Harry, on the other hand, figured it out early in the case and went to Parker Clausen. Of course, Parker went straight to Sean Phoenix, who in turn had somebody take care of Harry. Then somehow Brent or Rachel must have figured it out too. So they were the next to go.”

  “I guess God decided it wasn’t your time yet,” Billy said.

  “I guess so,” Landon replied. He tried to act nonchalant, but his heart leaped to hear Billy say something about God. Until coming face-to-face with his own mortality the day before, the big man had been pretty resistant to spiritual things.

  “They going to fry him?” Billy asked.

  The man had a way of cutting to the chase. Virginia still had the death penalty, and they weren’t afraid to use it.

  “Probably,” Landon said. “He’s undoubtedly got a dozen different crimes that would qualify.”

  The two men ate for a while in silence. Billy had the TV on ESPN’s SportsCenter even though the news channels were providing hourly updates about Cipher Inc. Billy polished off the last of his steak, chased it down with an energy drink, and wiped his mouth.

  “I’m sorry about your knee,” Landon said. “It doesn’t seem right that you fly down here to take care of an old teammate and this happens.”

  Billy gave Landon a lopsided smile, the left side of his face turning up. “Poetic justice,” he said. “We both know I deserved it.”

  93

  RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

  AT TIMES IT FELT LIKE A DISNEY MOVIE. At others it felt like a Greek tragedy.

  Tonight was Disney. There was magic in the air. It was the kind of night Rachel Strach had imagined four months ago when Brent parachuted out of his plane over the Chesapeake Bay. He had squirreled away enough money in offshore accounts that he and Rachel could enjoy the finer things in life. The tricky part had been creating fake passports. But when you have the money, you can pay for the best experts.

  For Rachel, the whole thing still seemed surreal. Her head hadn’t stopped spinning since Brent first talked to her about who had killed Harry McNaughten.

  When Harry died and Detective Freeman started snooping around, Brent had been the first one in Harry’s office. He had found Harry’s handwritten closing statement and had been amazed at how Harry had connected the dots implicating Sean Phoenix and Cipher Inc.

  The one piece Harry hadn’t figured out was the role of Parker Clausen. But some of Harry’s notes reflected his phone call with Parker the night before the scheduled partner meeting. Harry had shared with Parker his concerns about Cipher Inc. and his plans to have the firm withdraw from representing them. That night, Harry was killed.

  Brent had confirmed his suspicions about Parker’s involvement by leaving the handwritten closing argument in plain sight on Harry’s desk. The next morning, he noticed Parker go upstairs for a few minutes. Later that day, when Brent went into Harry’s office, the papers were gone. Parker never said the first word about it.

  If there was any doubt left, it disappeared when Parker argued vehemently to keep the Elias King file. If he was working for Sean Phoenix, it all made sense. Control the defense. Don’t let King get new lawyers who might figure it out. Parker could always make sure that Landon didn’t start connecting the dots the way Harry had done. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

  After that firm meeting, Brent had brought Rachel into his confidence, and she had done some research on Parker’s book sales. He had been a midlist author with mixed reviews until about a year before Harry’s death. Then somebody—Parker claimed it was his publisher—began sinking a lot of money into advertising and book placement. Sales began to skyrocket. Reviews did not.

&nbs
p; When Brent first suggested his plan, Rachel thought he was crazy. But he convinced her that Cipher had tentacles everywhere and that Glaxon-Forrester would never leave them alone. Why not kill two birds with one stone? Fake their deaths and live happily ever after in a tropical paradise.

  Rachel was a sucker for romance and adventure. And Brent was a former SEAL.

  They used a little sleight of hand when boarding the plane at the Allegheny airport. Rachel arrived in a limo as Brent was completing the preflight. The stairs to the jet were on the opposite side of the plane from the small brick terminal. She boarded as Rachel Strach—short skirt, tight sweater, something memorable in case anybody was watching. A few minutes later, she walked down the steps dressed in the black uniform of a chauffeur, silly hat and all.

  A half hour later, Brent took off alone. She and Brent had prerecorded some conversations that he played during the flight so ground control could hear the voice of Rachel Strach. He bailed over the Chesapeake Bay, right after confirming his final approach, just before the explosion. A former buddy from his SEAL team triggered the fireworks from a boat and plucked Brent out of the water.

  They had already started their new life in Rio de Janeiro when an unexpected twist occurred—something that even the warped mind of Parker Clausen, in his most convoluted novel, would never have dreamed up. Elias King rehired the firm. Rachel and Brent knew Parker would be ecstatic. He could now ensure that Cipher was never implicated. But they worried for Landon’s safety. What if he figured out Sean Phoenix’s involvement in Erica Jensen’s death or the insider trading scheme, like Harry had done? Somebody, sometime, had to stop Cipher and Sean Phoenix.

  She still couldn’t believe they had pulled it off. Outsmarted Sean Phoenix. Beat him at his own game.

  Live by subterfuge; die by subterfuge.

  Rachel had wanted to act as soon as Landon was rehired by Elias King, but Brent said he needed time to put the plan together. They had argued about it, the first real source of conflict between them. But Brent was stubborn, and they waited until the trial started.

  The plan was for Brent to shoot both Landon and Elias square in the middle of their Kevlar vests and frame Sean Phoenix in the process. The day of the shootings, Rachel threw up three times, sitting by the television in Rio de Janeiro, waiting for news of the events. When Brent called, he said the plan had worked to perfection except for one minor detail. Elias hadn’t been wearing a vest. Brent said he felt bad about it, but he figured Elias would rather deal with a bad leg than a death sentence.

  “Why couldn’t you just miss?” Rachel had asked.

  “How realistic is that? A sniper hired by Sean Phoenix misses entirely?”

  They were both proud of Landon for the way he had quickly figured out the clues they had planted implicating Phoenix. They had been prepared to provide a few anonymous tips to help him, but it hadn’t been necessary. The text message Brent sent to Sean Phoenix’s phone was the clincher. Phoenix would be found guilty of conspiracy to commit murder. He deserved that and more. He had conspired to commit other murders, even if not this particular one. And there was no telling how many charges he would ultimately be facing by the time the Feds concluded their investigation of his company.

  When Brent returned from that second trip, the romance was back. Rachel had always been intrigued by his special-ops background, a secret he had shared with her early in their relationship. She loved the way he never bragged about it to others. But it made her feel secure. Protected.

  Still, at a time when they should have been enjoying a storybook ending, Rachel sometimes felt more than a twinge of unrest. Her mind frequently drifted to Landon, and she had to remind herself that the one thing you want is not always the one thing you can have.

  There was a difference, she knew, between loyalty and love. A lasting relationship required both. She had seen it with Landon and Kerri. The way Kerri stayed loyal when Landon was in prison. The way he had returned the favor once he got out.

  Now it was her turn. And the man sitting in front of her certainly deserved her loyalty. Did she love him? On some nights.

  And this was one of them.

  They were sitting at a quaint outdoor cafe on opposite sides of a round iron table, enjoying some of Brazil’s finest wine. They had watched the sun set after a leisurely dinner. She loved the way he looked at her in the candlelight, the way his eyes conveyed his every emotion. She felt warm and loved and wanted.

  Perhaps someday they would return to the States. If it didn’t work between them, Brent had promised her they could both start over—brand-new identities, a whole new life. But that was plan B. Right now, she was determined to make plan A work.

  “Now that Parker’s out of commission, maybe we should write a book,” Brent suggested. He was leaning back in his chair, legs crossed in front of him. He took a sip of wine. “The Avengers.”

  “Already taken,” Rachel said. “What about Lawyers of the Caribbean?” She smiled at the thought of Jack Sparrow and the characters played by Keira Knightley and Orlando Bloom. The romance seemed to work out okay for them.

  “Not bad,” Brent conceded. Another sip of wine.

  He put his glass down and sat up straighter. “I’ve got it!” He tilted his head back and put on a stage voice. The man was proud of this one. “Dead Lawyers Tell No Tales.” He let the words roll off his tongue and picked up his glass for a toast.

  Rachel smirked and extended her own glass, toasting his brilliance and their future together.

  Forever.

  She hoped.

  “Dead Lawyers Tell No Tales,” she repeated. She took a drink and put down her glass. “Or do they?” she asked.

  Epilogue

  LANDON REED AND SEAN PHOENIX had been changed forever in prison. For Billy Thurston, it took a hospital.

  Kerri left a Bible with him and was smart enough to mark it and highlight it. John 15:13—“Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.”

  “That’s what you did for Landon,” she said. “And that’s what Christ did for you.”

  It confirmed what Billy had always suspected. Even Landon’s own wife didn’t know. She thought Billy was a hero. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  He couldn’t get his mind off that SEC Championship Game—the fourth quarter, the game-winning drive. He had blocked the linebacker instead of taking out the nose tackle. Landon had been blindsided and fumbled. Game over.

  But by the time the syndicate tried to pay him for it—seventy-five thousand, just as they had agreed—the guilt had taken over, and he had refused their “blood money.” It was the same syndicate that had convinced Landon to shave a few points in two regular-season games earlier that year. Landon had refused to cooperate in the championship. That’s when the syndicate had approached Billy instead.

  Somehow, Landon had learned that Billy was bought off, but Landon never said a word. He could have earned a reduced sentence by turning Billy in. Or Landon could have at least erased all doubts as to whether he had thrown the championship game. Instead, he confessed to his own crimes and kept his mouth shut about Billy’s. The men from the gambling syndicate only pleaded guilty to bribing Landon for the regular-season games. Billy carried on with his life.

  “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.”

  When Billy finally took time to read the Bible, nobody had to explain to him what grace meant. He had seen it with his own eyes.

  On the day of his discharge, he told Landon about his hospital conversion. Right there in the bed. Reading Scripture on his own. He explained how Landon’s self-sacrificial actions had played a big role in it.

  Tears formed in Landon’s eyes. Billy had to blink back his own. “I’ve called a press conference for later today,” Billy said. “I’m going to make things right.”

  Two hours later, standing on crutches in front of the hospital, Billy told the reporters everything. He promised to perform a thousand h
ours of community service in the next year alone. He would donate every dime of his annual salary to charitable organizations.

  “I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove that I can be a trustworthy teammate,” he said. “I apologize to every one of my teammates at Southeastern, as well as my coaches and fans. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.”

  He looked to his left, where Landon was standing. “And I apologize to this guy, who took a lot of heat because of me.”

  ///

  Landon had never been more proud of his teammate, and that was saying a lot. For a split second he caught Billy’s eye, the unspoken communication between two men who had been in the trenches together. I’ve got your back.

  When Billy finished speaking, the reporters started firing questions. Landon held up a palm.

  “Mr. Thurston won’t be taking any questions,” Landon said. “He looks forward to starting the healing process for his injuries and the healing process with his former teammates and the fans he let down. Right now, we’d appreciate it if you would just respect his privacy.”

  With that, Billy Thurston hobbled away from the mikes, and Landon fell in step beside him. The reporters parted as the two men made their way through.

  Walking across the parking lot, Landon could feel the cameras rolling behind them. Billy was keeping his head high, his eyes focused on the sky in front of him. He had a long road ahead, one that Landon knew too well. But he had taken the first critical step toward redemption—an admission of wrongdoing, a promise to make things right.

  Landon had warned Billy about the consequences of the press conference. Legally, Billy was in the clear. Georgia had a two-year statute of limitations for nonviolent felonies, and Billy could no longer face prosecution. But as a practical matter, this day would follow Billy the rest of his life. There would be no running from what he had done.

  “You sure I can’t talk you out of this?” Landon had asked. As a lawyer, he felt an obligation to protect his client. As a believer, he was secretly hoping that Billy would go through with it. There was no real freedom in living a lie.