Final Verdict

by William Bernhardt

  Or more likely, Kakazu pondered, there was no way to cover up a body flying out of your penthouse office window. So you concocted a story and called the police before they called you.

  Sweeney continued. “I suspected a connection to that cartel. They’ve been out to get me for years. Tried to strongarm me into providing them tech in violation of USMCA. I’d die first.”

  “You said in your report that the man attacked you?”

  Sweeney pressed a hand against his forehead. “Completely without warning. I was just standing behind my desk, thinking. He punched me in the face. Broke my nose. While I was dazed, he threw me against the window and broke it. Miracle I wasn’t the one who fell. But I pulled my head together and retrieved the gun I keep in my desk. Unfortunately, a man in my position has to be prepared for the unexpected. I shot him, and the bullet propelled him out the damaged window.”

  “Sounds like quite the action-packed ordeal.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Mind if I look around?”

  Sweeney spread his arms wide. “Of course not. I’d stay away from the window, though. It’s a windy day and I can’t guarantee that cardboard will hold. I have a man ready to replace the window, but the police asked me to wait until the investigation is completed.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be able to repair it soon.” Kakazu approached the window and did his best to see beyond the cardboard and tape. Prudence followed him around, keeping a semi-discreet distance, but matching him step-by-step.

  Could a bullet push someone out the window? Granted, it was already weakened. But Kakazu still wasn’t sure he bought it. He’d studied the reports on the caliber, load, and bullet. While it wasn’t impossible, it didn’t seem probable. Nothing about this story did.

  Or maybe he was just suspicious because he knew Daniel Pike was convinced this man was in league with the cartel—or had been. A falling-out would be a much more convincing explanation of why Fuentes appeared and a fight-to-the-death ensued.

  “Has this been photographed?” Kakazu asked Pemberton.

  “Yes. Before it was patched.”

  Kakazu turned back to Sweeney. “And you have no idea why this man wanted to kill you?”

  “None.”

  “How did he get past your security?”

  Prudence answered. “Someone broke into the HQ on the first floor. Dismantled the security protocols. Turned off the cameras.”

  “Wouldn’t someone need inside information to pull that off?”

  “We suspect Fuentes paid someone on our security team.”

  Sweeney had an answer for everything. But Kakazu still wasn’t sure he bought it.

  He paced around the immense office, taking time to admire the fixtures, the architecture, the art. He knew Sweeney had resisted selling art to pay off his debts, but the courts would soon take that out of his hands...

  He stopped.

  Sweeney was an egomaniac. He loved his art.

  But he was savvy enough to know he would soon lose it.

  Or more accurately, he would soon lose the art anyone knew about. Everything on display.

  The safest way to make sure no one stole your prize possessions was to make sure no one knew about them.

  He completed a full tour of the office, carefully measuring it with his eyes. Because this was a crime scene, he had reviewed the floor plans on file before he arrived—and something wasn’t adding up.

  “Anything I can help you with?” Sweeney asked.

  “Maybe.” Kakazu took another slow spin. “Is there...more to this office than meets the eye?”

  “Isn’t it enough?”

  “This office should be even bigger than it is.” He stepped behind the desk, nudging Sweeney out of the way.

  Sweeney never moved far from his desk. Was there a reason for that?

  Kakazu examined the wall carefully. Then he knocked on it, hard.

  The sound was more of a hollow echo than a solid thud.

  Kakazu turned. “Mr. Sweeney—”

  “It’s Dr. Sweeney,” Prudence corrected.

  “Dr. Sweeney, then. Is—”

  “And he has an urgent appointment. I’ll show you the way out.”

  Kakazu ignored her. “Is there another room attached to this one? Maybe a...secret room?”

  Watching Sweeney’s expression was like watching a Shakespearean actor at work. Something was going on in there. A flickering behind the eyes. Sweeney was weighing his options...

  And finally smiled. “You are an astute observer, detective. There is indeed another room. I didn’t show it to you because it has no relevance to this matter. Fuentes was never in there. But just so you know I’m not hiding anything, let me show it to you.”

  He pressed the edge of the frame holding the spotlighted painting behind his desk. “It’s a fingerprint ID scanner. Only opens for my right index finger. No one can get in but me.”

  Kakazu heard a click followed by a popping sound. The wall behind Sweeney moved slightly.

  Sweeney gave the panel a push. A passageway appeared.

  Prudence did not look happy. Kakazu was glad she wasn’t armed.

  Sweeney passed into the room beyond. Kakazu followed him, crouching to pass through the hatch. Sergeant Pemberton followed a few steps behind.

  The room beyond was simpler than the one outside and had no furniture except a single recliner that appeared to be on some sort of turntable, like a huge Lazy Susan.

  He soon realized why. The walls were lined with paintings. Sweeney could sit in that chair and view one after another without getting up.

  “This is where I keep my favorite treasures,” Sweeney explained. “Call me selfish, but I think some art should be kept from the masses. A little privacy makes it more special.”

  Maybe, but he suspected the main motivation was to keep it out of the hands of tax auditors.

  “Museums have their place,” Sweeney continued. “I thought I might found one someday. But the true connoisseur craves solitude. Privacy. As the great poetess said, ‘How public—like a Frog.’”

  Sweeney had an aversion to publicity? Then why did he constantly stage high-profile charitable spectacles with himself at center stage? “Is that a Picasso?” Kakazu pivoted. “And a Vermeer?”

  “You have a fine eye. Most people would’ve gone first to the van Gogh. But Vermeer had more talent in a single finger than that Post-Impressionist hack did in his entire body. If the man hadn’t killed himself, no one would remember his name.”

  Doubtful, but Kakazu wasn’t here to argue art history. He noticed a refrigerator in the corner, plus what appeared to be a large stainless-steel freezer.

  Sweeney opened the fridge door. Only soft drinks. Lots of Fresca. No alcohol. “I’m a simple man.”

  Right. Kakazu looked at the freezer. The door on the front appeared to lift upward, not horizontally.

  Sweeney answered the unasked question. “It’s for ice cream. I’m a bit of an expert. I know, another indulgence, but if you can’t enjoy life, what’s the point?”

  “I saw you as more of a soufflé man.”

  “May I tell you a secret, detective? I worked in a drugstore, when I was a poor youth strapped for cash. Scooped ice cream day and night. This indulgence is a bit of nostalgia on my part. A reminder of my humble roots.”

  “Is it stocked?”

  “Indeed. Come around at dinnertime and I’ll offer you the best ice cream you’ve ever tasted.”

  “That does sound good...”

  “Then it’s a date. Prudence, please make an appointment. Have Maurice prepare the duck á l’orange.”

  Kakazu squinted. Why not offer him ice cream now? He’d been the epitome of hospitality before.

  He grabbed the handle on the freezer door and lifted it upward.

  Then screamed. He would later claim it was more of a shout, but at the time, the last thing on his mind was pitch modulation.

  A human body tumbled out of the freezer. In pieces.

 
; Chapter 4

  Dan sprinkled the sliced scallion into five bowls, added a dash of red chili flakes, then added a special dressing.

  “This is my homemade sweet and spicy soy sauce,” he explained. “You’re going to love it.”

  Maria and Dinah sat at the kitchen bar watching. “I don’t want to be a wet blanket,” Dinah said, “but I don’t normally go in for soy sauce.”

  Dan was undaunted. “You’re going to love mine.”

  “I don’t like salty stuff.”

  Maria nodded. “Smart girl. Salt is bad for you. Causes hypertension. And water retention.”

  Dan tried not to look perturbed. “Excessive amounts of salt have been linked with hypertension. But it doesn’t matter, because my sauce is more sweet than salty.” He held out a spoon. “Taste.”

  Dinah reluctantly did as instructed. “Oh. My. God.”

  Maria arched an eyebrow. “Meaning...?”

  “Meaning I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever put between my lips in my entire life.”

  Maria smiled. “Ok, Dan, give it to me.”

  “I can’t resist an invitation like that.” He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her lips—which lasted longer than he had anticipated.

  Dinah looked away. “Ick. Take the orgy somewhere else, you two.”

  Dan grinned. “Fact of life. Culinary skills are inherently sensual. Cooking is an erotic art.”

  Maria scoffed. “You probably slipped an aphrodisiac into the sauce.”

  “A good sauce is an aphrodisiac,” he countered.

  “Ok,” Dinah said, “let’s get back to the soy sauce. If that’s really what it is. Since it isn’t salty.”

  “It’s not what you call it. It’s what you do with it.” Dan finished dressing the Buddha Bowls and passed them around.

  Dinah took hers eagerly. “The master chef strikes again.”

  He laughed. “Everyone should have a sister.” He paused. “And I’m very glad that I do. Lunch is served.”

  * * *

  Dan passed Jimmy and Garrett a bowl when they wandered downstairs, Jimmy in his traditional cardigan—despite the heat outside—and Garrett in a Rays ball cap, which he might not have removed since they made it to the World Series. Their law office, a converted Snell Isle mansion, not only provided his team with a kitchen and dining room but private offices upstairs. The kitchen was Dan’s favorite part, though. He lived on a sailboat, The Defender, docked not far away. He loved his boat, but there was no place to cook. The office allowed him to maintain his gourmet skills.

  Dan waited for the response. “What do you think?”

  Jimmy wolfed down his bowl in about three bites. “There’s enough for seconds, right?”

  “Right.”

  “But don’t eat so much you get sleepy,” Garrett warned. “Mr. K wants to chat with us.”

  “New big case?”

  “I don’t know what’s on his mind.”

  “That’s fine, as long as it’s not too urgent,” Jimmy said. “We have a Gloomhaven game to continue.”

  “When exactly does this game end?” Dinah asked.

  Never, Maria mouthed. “You’re still on my bad list, Dinah. You stole my spells.”

  “I’m a thief. I’m supposed to steal stuff. It’s on my player card.”

  “Female players have to stick together in this rough and sexist pre-Renaissance fantasy world dominated by barbaric male chauvinists.”

  “Sounds a lot like the real world.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Do we need to play today?” Dan asked. “I think Dinah was hoping for some more kitesurfing lessons.”

  Maria grinned. “You’re only doing it for her, right?”

  “The weather’s going to be perfect. I thought we might stop by to see Mandy on the way. I think I’ve almost got her convinced that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she and her puppy moved into an apartment.”

  “Can she afford it?” Jimmy asked.

  “She can if Dan pays her rent,” Dinah replied.

  “Short term,” Dan explained. “The city is trying to create more indigent housing. But their budget has been impacted by the COVID economic meltdown. Demand far exceeds supply.”

  Maria nodded. “Translation: Dan will be paying her rent.”

  He took a seat on the sofa beside her. “If it hadn’t been for Mandy, I might never have found my sister. I think I owe her a lot more than rent.”

  “Speaking of our latest teammate,” Jimmy said, “how are you liking the legal assistant class, Dinah?”

  “I think it’s super-cool. Law is my new jam. I can see why you guys are so into it. You can actually help people. And pay the bills.”

  “Sadly,” Garrett said, “some members of our profession forget the part about helping people. We’ve been fortunate. Mr. K has made it possible to practice our profession in a meaningful way without worrying about financial concerns.”

  Mr. K paid them a generous salary that bore no relationship to the number of hours they worked. All he asked was that when he brought them a case, they worked it to the best of their ability. His cases were always people who needed lawyers in the worst possible way. He called them the Last Chance Lawyers, because more often than not, their clients had no alternatives.

  “I see you as the Black Canary type,” Jimmy told Dinah. “Sidestepping the law to mete out your own brand of justice on the mean streets of the city. You know, Black Canary’s real name is Dinah.”

  She was obviously puzzled. “Is this another comic book reference?”

  Jimmy nodded. “DC Comics made me the person I am today.”

  Maria sniffed. “Marvel is cooler.”

  “Marvel is for children. DC is for adults.”

  “Is that why every female character is drawn with a D-cup?”

  He appeared unperturbed. “The glorification of the human figure has been a constant throughout the history of art.”

  “Uh huh. Especially when the primary audience is young males suffering from arrested development.”

  Dan thought it was time to intervene. “Getting back to the topic sentence, Jimmy, why does Dinah remind you of Black Canary?”

  “Because she’s heroic. She fights for the little guy. Just like you.”

  Garrett cut in. “Mr. K is ready. I’ll put him on the television.”

  Everyone took a seat in the living room while Garrett transferred the Zoom call to the TV—though Dan never understood why he bothered, since there was no image, only sound. Mr. K preferred to keep his identity private.

  “Hello, Last Chance Lawyers!” The friendly voice crackled out of the set. “How’s my team today?”

  “Basking in the rapture of a fabulous lunch,” Jimmy said.

  “Something Dan whipped up?”

  “Yup. Buddha bowls. It was a religious experience.”

  “That’s good. You may need a little nirvana.” He paused. “Because I think the assignment I’m about to give you will shake you to the core.”

  Chapter 5

  The room fell silent. If Mr. K meant that lead-in to command attention—it worked.

  “Perhaps...you could give us a few details?” Dan suggested.

  “I’m guessing you’ve heard about the man who plummeted to his death from Conrad Sweeney’s penthouse?”

  “It would be hard to miss that one. Even if I wasn’t already...focused on the man.”

  “Focused?” Maria asked. “Try obsessed.”

  “He’s holding back information about my father.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Definitely.” Dan’s father was incarcerated for murder when he was young. He’d recently learned much more about the events leading to that arrest. His father shot a fellow police officer to protect his wife—Dan’s mother—and his sister. But he was convinced Sweeney was there and involved in some way. He was also convinced Sweeney built his financial empire by aiding, abetting, and laundering money for a Central American cartel.

  “I’ve t
alked to former friends in the prosecutor’s office,” Garrett said. “They say they’ve found no grounds to charge Sweeney.”

  “That’s true,” K said. “Sweeney seems to have cleaned everything up and advanced explanations that, however dubious, can’t be disproven. He says Fabian Fuentes broke into his penthouse office and attacked him. Says he almost went out the window himself but, at the last moment, he managed to grab a gun and shoot Fuentes, who then tumbled through the damaged window.”

  Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like a scene from a Die Hard movie.”

  “But so far, all the available evidence supports his claim that he acted in self-defense. He hasn’t been charged.”

  Dan exhaled, chuckling a bit. “For a moment, I was afraid you were going to ask us to represent him. Thought maybe you’d completely lost your marbles. But that can’t happen if Sweeney hasn’t been charged. Right?”

  The line went silent for several moments before K spoke again. “That’s just it, Dan. I am asking you to represent Sweeney.”

  “But—you said—”

  “About two hours ago, Conrad Sweeney was charged and booked on a count of first-degree murder. But it wasn’t for killing Fuentes.”

  “Then—who?” Maria asked.

  “The identity of the victim is currently unknown. But the dismembered corpse—or parts of it—tumbled out of Sweeney’s freezer. In a secret room only Sweeney can access. While Jake Kakazu watched.”

  Dan’s lips parted. “Wow. And you want us to represent him?”

  K didn’t miss a beat. “He’s going to need the best defense lawyer possible. And that’s you, Dan.”

  “But...how can I say this...? I hate him.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “I don’t want to be melodramatic, but...he’s like my archnemesis.”

  “Aware of that, too. But a lawyer has to be professional. You don’t have the luxury of only representing people you like. You have to represent the people who need you.”

  “K,” Dan said, “...this is asking too much.”

  “You don’t think I pay you enough money?”