Rosato and Associates: Legal Tender Part 11

"My brief!" I yelped for show, but it was already too late.

Chapter 15.

A criminalist in a navy Mobile Crime jumpsuit crouched on the rug beside the laser printer, picking up the last page from the floor. She held a thick packet of already-printed pages to her chest, and I had no doubt she'd read them as she gathered them. d.a.m.n it.

"Excuse me, that's my brief," I said.

She straightened up. "I saw the pages falling out and thought I'd help." Her face bore little makeup and she had a cropped, no-nonsense haircut.

"Thanks. For the help." I eyed the papers in her arms and felt myself break into a sweat. I would've demanded them, but if she didn't understand their significance I didn't want to tip my hand and trigger another search warrant.

"You forgot you started printing, didn't you? That happens to me all the time. You start working on something else and you forget you started printing."

"Very good. You must be a detective," I said, and we shared a fake laugh.

"Nope, but I want to be some day. I'm just a crime tech, second year, but you gotta start somewhere." She hugged my papers to a black nameplate that said PATCHETT and nodded in the direction of the empty paper tray. "It looks like the printer ran out of paper."

"Naturally. Just my luck. Whenever you need something fast, you run out of paper." I didn't want to print with her watching, so I made no move to replenish the supply. We stood on either side of the laser printer, implausibly ignoring the flashing green lights. Playing chicken with the office supplies.

"Don't you hate that?" she asked. "When people see the paper is low and don't do anything about it."

"It's like running out of toilet paper. n.o.body wants to be the last one. I hate that."

"Same. Aren't you going to add the paper now?"

"You know, I'm embarra.s.sed to admit it, but I have no idea how to add paper." It was a lie, of course. I could repair the f.u.c.king machine if I had to. "The secretaries do it for me."

"I don't think any secretaries are in yet, but I'll help. I know how." She looked around for the paper supply, but I edged to the left, hiding the ream that sat on the table.

"I can wait to print the rest," I said, when I heard footsteps behind me. It was Grady, who was looking at me with a mystified smile.

"I'm surprised at you, Bennie. It's easier than it looks, changing paper. You just watch me."

"No, it's all right-"

"Please, it's no trouble at all." Grady reached behind me for the paper, reloaded the tray, and slid it back into place with a metallic click. "Press RESET if it gives you a hard time."

I could have killed him. "It's so nice to have a s.e.xist around the house."

"I'm not a s.e.xist, I'm a gentleman." Grady smiled politely at the criminalist. "I shouldn't be telling you this, but she can't make coffee either."

Ha ha. "That's enough, Rhett. Ms. Patchett, I'll take those papers now." I yanked my papers from the criminalist's grip as the printer spat out another month of Mark's calendar. She eyed it as I s.n.a.t.c.hed it up. "Thanks a lot for your help."

"No problem," she said, pursing her lips. "So that's what a lawyer's brief looks like? Like a calendar?"

"Yes, it's the appendix."

"Brief?" Grady said, then his face changed as he wised up. "Are you finishing that Third Circuit brief, Bennie?"

"All done. This is the appendix, with the calendars." The printer spewed more pages, which I gathered instantly. "I hope you didn't read any of my brief, Ms. Patchett. It contains a client's confidential information and is also subject to attorney-client privilege."

"Of course not." She smiled falsely.

"Good." I smiled back, just as falsely. I was gauging how long it would take her to get a warrant.

And wondering if it could happen before Mark's hidden files were deleted for good.

"Just who did you clerk for anyway?" I asked Grady, when we were safely inside my office. "Tell me it wasn't Thomas."

"Kennedy, and don't you say anything bad about him. What was that all about? You're not writing a brief. What were you printing?"

"Notes," I said, making a snap decision. I'd remembered the CO Wells on Mark's calendar and decided not to confide in Grady, at least not until I understood his secret meetings with Mark. "And next time, try to think before you help a criminalist in distress."

"Notes about what?"

"Just some cases." I picked up a red accordion file and slipped the copies inside, then threw the file into my briefcase behind the desk.

"What cases?"

"Those animal rights guys, their case." I was making it up as I went along, and from the expression on Grady's face, not doing a very good job.

"Thirty pages on an animal activist? What is it, a manifesto?" He folded his arms. "I'll ask again. What was it you printed, Bennie?"

"Tell me something first."

"Does everything have to be a negotiation?"

"Absolutely." I decided to cross-examine him, then watch his reaction. "Grady, where were you the night Mark was killed?"

His mouth opened slightly, then closed into a pat smile that masked something. Hurt. "You're serious."

"I'm sorry, I have to be. It wasn't on the chart you made."

"I had a date," he said evenly.

"Who with?"

"My old girlfriend. We see each other from time to time."

"What time did the date start?"

"At ten. I picked her up at her condo. She lives in Hopkinson House."

"What time did you leave work?"

"After we all met in the library. I packed and left." His answers were smooth and sure and he seemed poised, if piqued. It looked and sounded like the truth, so maybe it was. Still.

"When did you leave her apartment?"

"I'm not sure that's your business."

"I think it is, if you want to keep a client."

His mouth tensed. "About seven in the morning, then I went back to my apartment."

"In Old City?"

He nodded. "I got to work early to do some cleanup on MicroMAXel and the police were already here. When I got the distinct impression it was you they were after, I tried to reach you. Because I knew you were innocent."

I ignored the accusation in his tone. "Grady, what were you working on for Mark?"

"Nothing. I haven't worked with Mark for the past two years. Not after my first year here."

Hmmm. "Why not? Didn't you like working for Mark?"

Grady's expression changed slightly, his forehead creasing with discomfort. "What's the difference? The man has pa.s.sed, Bennie. I like working my own cases, that's all."

"That's not all. Why?"

"All right, all right. You're relentless." He eased into a chair like a benched basketball player. "I found Mark to be selfish. Unkind. He didn't like me developing my own practice, especially with the software companies. It threatened him."

"How do you know? Did he tell you?"

"No, but I got the message. Mark was more comfortable working with someone subordinate, like Eve. He wanted a permanent second chair, not a first chair. He didn't want an equal at all."

I still needed an answer for the CO Wells. "Did you meet with him and discuss it? You two have it out?"

"Fight? Lord, no. I haven't talked to Mark, alone, for ages. So, now will you tell me what you were printing? We have a deal."

"Oh, a personal file," I said, fumbling for an explanation. Grady was lying. The calendar proved otherwise. I couldn't tell him the truth, not now. I couldn't trust him anymore. And he was my lawyer.

"A personal file?"

"Love letters, to Mark. Seven years' worth, in a hidden file. I didn't want them on the computer anymore," I told him, in a nervous tone it wasn't hard to fake. Had Grady really killed Mark? Was he representing me to frame me? Outside in the hall there were voices, and bustling sounds. My house, full of my enemies. Now Grady. I felt paranoid, uneasy.

"The criminalist said it was a calendar."

"She saw my diary. I printed that, too, because I make notes on it. I wanted to keep it private, since the police took my computer at home."

His brow relaxed, and he seemed satisfied. "Did you delete the files from the hard disk?"

"Yes." I remembered Grady was a computer whiz. Did he know how to find hidden files, even in backup? "Could the police retrieve deleted files, if they got to the computers in time?"

"If they had a hacker on staff."

"How good a hacker? Good as you?"

"Good as Marshall." He frowned. "She's gone, you know."

"Gone?"

"That's what I was coming to tell you. I went to ask her about her alibi, but she wasn't in. I called her house and one of her housemates said she didn't come home last night. She's disappeared."

Chapter 16.

By midmorning I ventured out of my office to see if Marshall had materialized. I'd been calling her and leaving messages, but no one picked up. I was conflicted about her disappearance so soon after Mark's murder. Either she was in trouble or it was a vanishing act. A lose-lose proposition. Could she be connected to Mark's murder? Did the cops know she was gone? It seemed inconceivable she was the killer, and I wasn't about to put her on the hook to get myself off.

I was hoping one of the a.s.sociates knew where she was. I walked down the second floor hallway, avoiding the stare of another criminalist, and knocked on Renee Butler's door. "Renee? You in? It's Bennie."

The door opened after a moment, and Renee, in baggy jeans and a gray sweatshirt, stood there, appraising me with a cold eye. "What?"

"Do you know where Marshall is? I've been calling her, but there's no answer."

"No," she said. She turned without another word, went back to her desk, and sat down. I saw with dismay that the office had been almost completely emptied. Cardboard boxes were stacked on the floor and files and books were packed in shopping bags.

"I think we need to talk, don't you?" I gestured at the chair across from her desk, but she shook her head.

"No, I don't have anything to talk to you about.Latorno is almost done, I'm double-checking the cites. It'll be on your desk in an hour. My resignation will be with it. Today is my last day."

"Today?" I sat down anyway, in what was left of her office furniture. Only her altar to Denzel Washington was still standing, in the corner; a poster of the star in a muscle shirt, sloe-eyed, with fan magazine cutouts beside it. I'd initially been opposed to the display, but Renee's domestic abuse clients were tickled by it and they needed the levity. So did I, right now. "You sure you want to go, Renee?"

"Yes."

"What will you do?"

"Go solo. I'll work out of my house, starting in a week or two. There's room enough, it's right in town, and Eve doesn't mind." She smoothed back her hair, which was pressed into a stiff French twist and emphasized the heart shape of her face. Renee had pretty features, her skin as rich a brown as her eyes, and I never minded her extra weight.

"Why not stay? I'm working on keeping the firm. We could use you. I could use you." It was true. She was one of the smartest lawyers at R & B, her raw intelligence emerging despite a childhood in the projects and an education in the city schools.

"I don't care if there's a firm or not, I won't work with you. I know you killed Mark."

It fell like a blow. "No I didn't. Why do you think I'm the killer?"

She leaned forward. "You saw Mark leaving you and taking R & B with him. You loved him and the firm, and you saw them both slipping away. You had to stop it. And you're big enough and strong enough to do it, and you have no decent explanation for where you were at the time."

"That's all circ.u.mstantial. None of it proves anything. The cops haven't even charged me."