Swann Dive

by Arlene Kay

  “Thursday. Three days before she died?”

  That lying sack of shit said he hadn’t seen her in weeks!

  “Yes, there was a bit of fuss about that.”

  I gained a new appreciation for dentists. Questioning Malcolm was like pulling teeth.

  “What kind of fuss?”

  His face grew ashen, highlighting the sprig of freckles on the bridge of his nose. “It’s only hearsay. You’d better ask Meribeth Foye. She heard everything.”

  “You were the one she trusted,” I said. “You monitored her messages, made all her appointments. What about Dr. Townsend?”

  “Townsend?” He’d perfected a blank, unreadable stare.

  Discretion is fine. Commendable. But Malcolm Cates was pissing me off. “She’s gone,” I said. “You can’t protect her now. We both know she was seeing a shrink. Acrophobia’s nothing to be ashamed of.” I jabbed my index finger at him. “Tell me everything you know.”

  Malcolm swallowed hard and sipped his latte. “She kept it quiet. Didn’t want to show weakness. This is a cold, harsh place, Ms. Kane.” He stepped over to CeCe’s computer and accessed her calendar. “Ms. Swann went once a week to Townsend for six months. Then she stopped. Wouldn’t say why.”

  I raised my eyebrows skyward and stayed silent, willing him to crack. Malcolm was a tough customer, but he finally relented. “Okay, it may not mean much, but she and Dr. Townsend spoke on the phone.”

  “Often?”

  He shrugged. “Once or twice, maybe. I heard her raise her voice one time, and that was unusual. Ms. Swann was always a lady . . . very self-contained.”

  A good detective knows when to quit. I thanked Malcolm and gave him my card with instructions to call me directly.

  He squeezed my hand as I left and whispered to me. “She’d found what she’d been searching for. She was happy, Ms. Kane. At peace.”

  ANIKA JOINED ME this time. She accepted Meribeth Foye’s teary condolences and introduced me, trotting out that “future daughter-in-law” fiction.

  CeCe seldom spoke of her paralegal, not out of animus, but because the poor thing was so damn dull. She even dressed like the Catholic schoolgirl she’d once been: buttoned-up white shirt with Peter Pan collar, pleated plaid skirt, and lumpy, ill-fitting blazer. The oxfords were missing, but I bet they held pride of place somewhere in her closet. Frumpy women like Meribeth make stringy hair and mottled complexions a point of honor. It’s a welcome reprieve that makes wallflowers like me feel almost sultry.

  I’d never swallowed her selfless serf pose. It was too facile an explanation for a very complex woman. Meribeth radiated subservience and piety, but I’d seen the mask slip more than once. Her brand of salvation entailed sprinkling nuggets of malice everywhere while exposing her victim’s every vice to relentless scrutiny. I envisioned her in seventeenth century Salem, brandishing a torch as she led the mob to the gallows.

  “Eja wants to ask you some questions,” Anika said. She hesitated, drew a beautiful lace hanky from her purse, and dabbed her eyes. “It’s difficult to talk about. I know that. But having a memoir—something we can turn to—might give us comfort.”

  Meribeth’s avid little eyes glistened. They were her best feature, a rich shade of chestnut that enabled her to skirt the line between plain and ugly. “Naturally I want to help, Mrs. Swann. Anything I can do.” She fumbled with a file folder on her desk. “We were close, you know. Very close.”

  I forcibly restrained myself. Instead of slapping the lie off her chipmunk cheeks, I smiled tremulously. “Do you have time now? I have only a few questions.”

  Anika rose and patted Meribeth’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you girls alone while I go speak with Pamela.” She walked unsteadily toward the door, teetering on her stilettos. I could tell by the way she clutched the doorframe that Anika wasn’t faking. She and CeCe had been allies as well as mother and daughter, joining forces against the male Swanns. The enormity of her loss was staggering, and Anika was barely holding on.

  “So sad,” Meribeth said. “The Swanns were like a second family to me.”

  More lies. Anger subsided as curiosity overwhelmed me. Why was this pompous mouse pretending? Was she delusional or just a cunning liar?

  “You were a great comfort to her,” I lied. “Especially in the past few months. She barely confided in me anymore.”

  Meribeth nodded. “I told her to tell the cops. So many nuts run around these days that you can’t take chances.” She folded her arms in self-righteous glee.

  Holy shit! CeCe had a stalker. Meribeth would clam up if I asked direct questions, so I opted for sheer cunning. “Did you keep them? You know, the things the stalker sent?”

  Meribeth Foye set her lips in a mean, firm line. “She told me to destroy them.”

  I played a hunch. “Good thing you ignored that. Sometimes CeCe had no common sense. She needed someone to take charge of things like that.”

  Meribeth rewarded me with a tight smile.

  “Where are they? I’d really like to see them.”

  She reached into a capacious knitting bag and pulled out a packet of letters. “I hid them here so the police wouldn’t find them. You’d think even stalkers would use email these days. This feels like some convoluted mystery novel.”

  Don’t get insulted, I told myself. After all, mysteries weren’t everyone’s cup of poison. Besides, threatening letters were a tried-and-true literary device that still worked even in the Internet age.

  I handled the letters gingerly, although any fingerprints were long gone. Meribeth had neatly grouped a series of six letters with envelopes. All were uniform size and shape, the type of cheap lined stationery stocked by every CVS or Walgreens in the Bay State. Each was directed to Cecilia L. Swann, Esquire. That was curious. The sender was educated enough to address a lawyer properly and intimate enough to know her middle initial. CeCe never used that initial—claimed that she had no middle name. Even her diploma from Harvard Law School didn’t include it.

  The message was printed in block letters that would be difficult to identify. Its tone was hostile but marvelously simple. Back off, bitch or you die. Each message escalated the threat until the final one said, You die tomorrow. It was postmarked last Thursday in Boston. The date stamp from the mailroom confirmed that CeCe received it on Friday, two days before she died.

  “Wow! These don’t seem like office pranks. They’re serious.” I gave Meribeth a winsome smile. “Who would do something like this? I’ll bet you have a hunch. CeCe always said you were shrewd.”

  Actually, she’d called her a shrew, but why quibble.

  Meribeth swelled with self-importance. “I have suspicions. Nothing more.” She leaned forward, her voice barely audible. “Some people around here think only lawyers have brains. Ms. Swann was different. She listened to everyone, even me.”

  “I’ll bet Lieutenant Bates would be interested in these letters. Let me take them to her. That way you won’t get in trouble with the firm.”

  She hesitated for a moment and checked her watch, no doubt weighing the merits of playing hero with the downside of unemployment.

  “Wow!” I said. “Your watch is terrific. I love a Rolex.”

  The compliment unleashed a tide of resentment that threatened to swamp any further conversation. Meribeth’s chest inflated like a pouter pigeon. “Rolex! That’s a laugh. Do you know what they pay me around here? It’s a fake. I’m lucky to have a Timex.” She gathered the notes and thrust them at me. “Here. Take the nasty things if you think they’ll help. Ms. Swann wasn’t bothered one bit. In fact, she laughed. Said they were only a ruse. I got the idea she knew exactly who sent them.” Meribeth wrinkled her nose. “I remember when the last one came on Friday. Ms. Swann tossed it right in the trash.”

  I tried subtly. “I’ll bet she made some quip. Just like CeCe.”<
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  The paralegal froze. “She said something, but it didn’t make sense. Something about a rook trying to be a queen.”

  CeCe and her chess metaphors! Even I knew that rooks didn’t have the power of the chess queen. That wouldn’t stop one from trying some upward mobility by capturing the queen. I summoned every ounce of hypocrisy in my body. “Lawyers are used to confrontation, I guess. They seem to enjoy it.”

  Meribeth gave another supercilious smile. “You’ve got that right.”

  “What was bothering her, Meribeth? You’d know better than anyone.”

  Appeals to vanity often work. They’re especially effective when the target is delusional law firm chattel. Meribeth swelled with pride and a touch of malice.

  “There was one thing that drove Ms. Swann absolutely bonkers.” She paused theatrically and said, “Losing. She hated losing a case. Wasn’t used to the downside like most of us.”

  That surprised me, but I decided to play along. “She seldom lost. Not CeCe Swann.”

  Meribeth sniffed. “You’d be surprised. Ms. Swann lost three big cases recently. Product liability issues. Major clients. Mr. Michaels was livid. Lots of business lost there.”

  “But surely that’s expected. Can’t win them all, you know.”

  The paralegal glowered at me as if cursing my abysmal ignorance. “There was a big brawl, I can tell you. Opposing counsel accessed privileged information somehow.” She curled her lip. “Some people blamed Ms. Swann.”

  “CeCe told me she’d had a nasty encounter with another lawyer just last week.” I shrugged. “She blew it off immediately. Personally, I’d have been upset.”

  Meribeth slouched down in her chair after checking to see if we were alone. “Nothing scared Ms. Swann. Most of us, well, we avoid Ms. Schwartz if we can. Sometimes she’s as sweet as pie, but you never know when she’ll erupt. Last week she went wild.”

  I threw her a conspiratorial wink. “Men adored CeCe, and she reciprocated. I suppose that’s what they quarreled about.”

  Meribeth nodded. “Senator Lewis is a real flirt. He joked with all the girls when he visited here. Even me.” Meribeth’s expression morphed from sad to smug.

  Something clicked in my mind. On the videotape, Prescott Lewis said he’d considered other lawyers for that judicial slot, including Pamela Schwartz. No wonder she’d pitched a fit when CeCe, a woman ten years her junior, was selected.

  My heart palpitated, and my palms felt sweaty. I yearned to fly out of the office and find Deming. He’d know what to do, unless he cared for his lover more than justice. I yearned for the softness of his Kiton suit and the comfort of his arms around me. I was acting like a fool, and it didn’t faze me one bit. That was truly frightening. I kept dreaming, oblivious to time and place until Meribeth Foye’s violent gasp awakened me.

  Pamela Schwartz stood in the doorway, oozing the synthetic charm of a road-stand cobra.

  Her eyes widened as she gave me a quick, expert appraisal. My buffed and polished image left her temporarily speechless. That felt good!

  “Why Eja Kane, you look marvelous. Whatever have you done to yourself?” She stepped closer, giving my curls a quick tug. “These highlights are superb! Who did them?”

  “No one can fool you, Pam.” Anika slipped into the office, putting her arm around me. “Eja and I had a session with Harpo. He’s a wizard, don’t you agree?”

  Pamela nodded, showing a predator’s grin. Her teeth were enormous—perfectly formed, soldier-straight, and blazing white. Made for ripping and tearing prey.

  “I understand congratulations are in order, Eja. Such a shock! Dem never mentioned anything about you two. He’ll pay for that when he stops by. Count on it.”

  Color flooded my face. “Nothing’s official yet,” I stammered. “Everything happened rather quickly.”

  She blocked the door. Otherwise, I would have stampeded headlong toward the elevator. Deming would be furious when he heard. He’d think I was trying to trap him into a relationship he neither wanted nor needed. Anika’s well-intentioned ploy no longer amused me. It was humiliating.

  I focused on a seascape adorning the far wall. I’d always loathed that dreadful painting, but today it provided a welcome distraction.

  Anika choked back a sob that seemed genuine. “Oops! I shouldn’t have said anything. Bolin will be so cross. It’s just . . . since we lost my daughter, Eja has been such a comfort. She’s already a member of our family.”

  “Let’s leave,” I said, gathering my things. “These ladies both seem very busy.”

  I was desperate to flee the tasteful, hermetically sealed prison where nothing was as it seemed. Somehow CeCe had thrived here. She loved the palace intrigue and the sweltering egos. I was made of simpler stuff, content to hunch over my computer, crafting fiendish murders in the solitude of my living room.

  “Nonsense,” Pamela purred. “Come have a latte in my office. You’ve had an exhausting day. I’m sure you could use the caffeine.” She swept out of CeCe’s area with Anika and I trailing in her wake.

  Pamela’s office was a large corner space with stunning views of the Boston skyline. The modern décor and stark black-on-white color scheme sent a chill up my spine. It was a pristine blend of leather, chrome, and glass that flirted with sterility. No signs of disarray: Not a paper clip, magazine, or pen out of place in Pamland. I wondered if she was equally tidy in her most intimate moments. Deming Swann knew how to ravage bed linens and their inhabitants. Maybe she made an exception for him.

  “Did you hear me, Eja?” Pamela had that strained smile on her face again. “Whole or skim milk in your latte?”

  “Skim is fine. Thanks. I was so busy admiring your office that I got lost.” I looked around for Anika.

  Pamela nodded to her assistant and joined me on the couch. “Anika took a break. Now, what can I tell you about Cecilia? For your memoir, I mean.”

  A sudden surge of adrenaline swept through my veins, making me more Wonder Woman than street urchin. I flashed my newly lined eyes at her, feeling a healthy jolt of self-esteem.

  “How about describing CeCe to me as if we were strangers.”

  She paused then tapped her finger on the glass cube. Her hands were perfectly manicured today. She’d repaired that broken nail and chipped polish.

  “Cecilia was . . . fearless. Bright, ambitious, and bound for glory. She was younger than most of our partners by quite a few years, but that never stopped her.” Pamela smiled. “If she had something to contribute, she’d do it. Her favorite phrase was, ‘Have you considered . . .’”

  That tugged my heartstrings. I’d heard my friend say those words in countless academic debates. More often than not her suggestions were brilliant. Unorthodox, sometimes shocking, but right on the money.

  “How did clients react? You’ve got some old-line Bostonians on your list.”

  “She charmed most of them—especially the men. Cecilia was hell on wheels in front of a jury. Until recently she got astounding results on corporate cases I thought were hopeless.”

  That intrigued me. Meribeth had mentioned the same thing.

  “CeCe didn’t like to lose,” I said. “She was such a competitor. Wouldn’t that make her a liability to the firm—losing cases, I mean?”

  Her expression mixed pity with contempt. “Every lawyer loses cases, Eja. Even Clarence Darrow lost a few.” Her smile was one notch short of a sneer. “Of course, since you’re a writer you probably judge everyone by Perry Mason.”

  I reminded myself that this was a mission. Any pleasure I’d derive from pummeling Pamela’s surgically sculpted nose would pale in comparison to achieving my goal. Maybe a well-placed lie would save the day.

  “I wonder why CeCe was upset about it then. Bolin said it really bothered her.”

  “Bolin knew about it?” Pamela stiffened.
“They were corporate cases. Sure bets until the other side anticipated our arguments. She lost only three. Three big clients.”

  Pamela’s lizard eyes darted back and forth, never leaving my face. “Of course there were downsides to her energy too. Cecilia could be intrusive. She spent far too much effort meddling in other people’s cases and their personal business.”

  I took a risk and played hardball.

  “I’ve heard that the two of you quarreled. Violently.”

  She burst out laughing. “You bet we did! That was the only way we could communicate. Two ambitious, strong willed-women. It was a recipe for disaster.”

  I glanced up from my notebook. “So you didn’t mind then . . . about the judgeship?”

  Tricking lawyers is hard. They’re duplicitous by nature and never afraid to lie. Pamela Schwartz fended off my feeble efforts without raising a sweat.

  “Mind? I was happy for her.” She ruffled her perfect bob. “Besides, I’d already turned Prescott down. I simply don’t have the temperament for wearing the robes. Frankly, I doubt that Cecilia had it either. She liked the limelight way too much.”

  I was peddling downhill at astounding speed while Pamela scaled the heights. She was an Olympian; I was the towel girl. That didn’t stop me. What I lacked in finesse, I made up for with grit.

  “Death threats are commonplace in your firm? That surprises me.”

  Her composure dipped for just a moment. “Death threats?”

  I resisted the temptation to check my mirror. Mirror! What was happening to me?

  “Don’t worry. I’ll ask Lieutenant Bates. Now, what other memories of CeCe would you like to share? I suppose you two played chess together.”

  She laughed and shifted in her seat. “You’re really something, Ms. Eja Kane. Not quite what you appear to be. No wonder Deming kept you under wraps. To answer your question, I don’t play games. That includes chess. CeCe was the game player in the firm. Always, always trying to finesse things.”

  I steadied my hand by foraging in my purse. A vial of eye drops provided a temporary diversion. “Excuse me. Chronic dry eye.”