Deadly Justice (4 page)

“Other action items involve creating a useful profile of the killer, defining his working environment, and setting a trap. But we’ll talk about those when the time comes.” He flipped to the back of his notebook. “On the last page, you’ll find orders informing you of your work assignment on the task force. A lot of thought has gone into these assignments, so I don’t want to hear any bitching about them. We’ve tried to distribute the work so as to make maximum use of our available talent. We expect each of you to perform your assigned tasks to the best of your abilities.”

Tomlinson turned to the back of his notebook and read the order sheet. Under his name, the assignment name read:
SWITCHBOARD/RADIO DUTY.

Switchboard/radio? Tulsa was facing the most heinous crime wave in its history—and he was going to be the frigging telephone operator? Tomlinson slammed the notebook shut.

Morelli heard the noise, but didn’t comment. He told everyone to “get their butts in gear” and dismissed the meeting.

Tomlinson followed the crowd out of the room, then started down the hallway to—he could barely even think about it—the switchboard room. He wasn’t going to take this lying down. If Morelli didn’t have any faith in him—
fine
. He’d prove himself without Morelli’s help, and with any luck, he’d make Morelli look like a fool in the process.

He checked the duty roster. He would be off the switchboard by midnight. No problem—he’d start then.

Someone was going to have to make the first breakthrough. This time, it was going to be him.

B
EN SCANNED THE OUTER
offices of the Apollo Consortium headquarters. The architecture was elegant and expensive—the general design was of spiraling glass columns and gold-plated panels. The glass glistened; the gold panels were polished and gleaming. The building was less than a year old; Apollo was probably the only business entity in all of Oklahoma that was ostentatiously spending money during the recession that had paralyzed so much of the Southwest.

Howard Hamel stepped out of the elevator after Ben had waited less than a minute. I don’t get service this prompt when I visit my mother, Ben thought.

“Ben! Great to see you again,” Hamel said, his hand extended. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you accepted our offer.”

“Well, it was a difficult offer to refuse.”

“Good. It was intended that way. In case you haven’t gotten the message yet, the Apollo Consortium wants you bad.”

“I suppose I’ll need to fill out some forms. Insurance, direct deposit…”

“Sure, sure, but later. Let me take you on a tour of the complex. Our first stop is at the top—Robert Crichton’s office.”

“He’s the head of the legal department, right?”

“Right. In fact, he’s general counsel for the entire Apollo Consortium.”

“And he wants to see me?”

“Damn straight. He told me to show you in the moment you arrived.”

Hamel ushered Ben into a glass elevator that rose up the south side of the office building. Ben watched south Tulsa recede as the elevator rose toward the penthouse floor.

“Great view, huh?” Hamel said. “Strictly speaking, these exposed elevators are illegal here, but we managed to pull a few strings with the city counsel and get a variance.” He winked. “Called in a few vouchers.”

“I’ll bet.” Ben gazed out through the elevator glass. He could spot Southern Hills, the Sheraton Kensington, and the Oral Roberts campus, with its shimmering towers like something out of a Fifties science fiction movie. He felt a sudden clutching in his chest; Ben was not handy with heights. He turned away. “The view must be terrific at night.”

“It is. But don’t take my word for it. Come up some night and see for yourself.”

The elevator bell dinged, and they stepped off. They passed through an elegant private dining room staffed with waiters in formal attire, and a large health spa.

“Is this open to the public?” Ben asked.

“You must be kidding. We have over three thousand employees in this building. If the spa and restaurant were open to everyone, no one would be able to get a toe in edgewise. No, this whole floor is strictly for the top executives.”

“Oh. Pity.”

“Fret not, Ben. If you want in, we’ll get you in.”

They approached two huge wooden doors with ornate burnished paneling. A secretary sat at a desk outside.

“Janice, I have Mr. Kincaid.”

She pointed toward the doors. “Mr. Crichton said you were to bring him in immediately.”

“Right-o.” Hamel pushed the heavy doors open. Ben followed. The outer office was large and luxurious. No surprise. The glass and gold design of the front lobby was repeated, although one wall was white stucco. A painted mural stretched from one end to the other. It was an N. C. Wyeth mural, if Ben wasn’t mistaken. Could it possibly be an original?

They stepped quietly into the inner office. A man in his mid-forties was seated behind a desk, while a much younger woman slumped down in the chair opposite him.

“Look,” the man said, “I’m not saying you should put your job ahead of your baby, but—” Mid-sentence, he noticed his two visitors. “Hamel, what’s the meaning of this?”

Hamel stiffened ever so slightly. “I’ve brought Ben Kincaid to see you, Mr. Crichton.”

Crichton’s expression and manner changed the instant he heard the name. He rose to his feet. “Ben Kincaid. A pleasure.” Ben stepped forward, and they shook hands. After a moment, Crichton looked back, almost regretfully, at the woman in the chair. “Shelly…why don’t we continue this later?”

The woman in the chair was small, with a thin face and dishwater blond hair. She seemed to be pressed back as far as possible in the chair. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying or was likely to start at any moment. After Crichton dismissed her, she turned and rushed out without saying a word.

“Thanks, Hamel,” Crichton said. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Okay. Catch you later, Ben.” Hamel left the office.

Ben took the chair the woman had vacated.

“Sorry about that business with Shelly,” Crichton said. “Embarrassing to walk in on something like that, I know.” Crichton was an attractive man who wore his age well; the flecks of gray at his temples only accented his full black hair. He tossed himself into a chair and propped his feet up on the desk. “I hate it when a member of my staff isn’t performing up to snuff, but at the same time, I don’t believe in mollycoddling anybody. And it always seems to be the women.”

“Excuse me?” Ben said.

“Forget I spoke. I sometimes forget that I’m supposed to pretend that everyone is exactly the same these days. You don’t have a wife or kids, do you?”

Ben shifted his weight uncomfortably. “No.”

“Pity. I’m a big believer in families. My Emma is a saint; I don’t know how I’d get along without her. And my four kids are the most important parts of my life. Sure, I work hard and I’m not home a lot of the time, but everything I do, I do for them. They wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Ben wondered if they had been consulted for their opinion on this issue.

“Has Hamel taken you through the paperwork yet?”

“No. He said we’d do that later.”

“Take my advice, Ben. Let your secretary do it.”

“I wouldn’t want to take her away from important work for other lawyers.”

“Other lawyers? What kind of fleabag outfit do you think this is? You’ve got a secretary of your own.”

“My own?
All
my own?”

“Of course. Some of the worker bees at the bottom of the hive share secretaries—but a lawyer of your caliber? No way.”

“You know…” Ben said cautiously, “I don’t want to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs, but I can’t fathom why you’re so…interested in me.”

Crichton spread his arms across his desk. “I can answer that question in three words, Ben. You’re a maverick.”

“I am?’

“You’re a maverick, and that’s just what this maverick corporation needs. I’ve been following your career for some time. I consider it part of my job—constantly scouting for talent that can serve the Apollo Consortium. I wanted a real honest-to-God litigator. Not just some flunky to make an occasional phone call while outside counsel does all the real work. Someone to take the bull by the horns! A maverick, goddamn it!”

Ben was overwhelmed. “My preference would be to work in the litigation department. At least at first.”

“Done. And I have the perfect case for you to start on immediately. Hamel may have mentioned it—a products liability problem turned into a wrongful death suit. Rob Fielder has been working it, but he won’t mind backing off in favor of someone with your experience.”

“You know, sir, I’ve actually only been practicing for a few years—”

“The hell with that, Ben. It’s not the number of years that matter. It’s what you’ve learned during those years. You’ve got the right stuff. I can feel it in my gut.” He picked up a file on his desk and tossed it into Ben’s lap. “Here’s the case. We’re barely into preliminary discovery. Documents are being produced tomorrow; plaintiffs’ depositions are being taken the day after. I want us to get out there and win it.” He laughed. “Hell, I’d like to see the look on those poor plaintiffs’ faces when Ben Kincaid comes in to depose them! They’ll wet their pants!”

Ben listened in stunned disbelief. Had he fallen down a rabbit hole, or what? “What’s the case about?”

“Our transportation and automotive department designed a suspension system that our manufacturing department constructs and sells. They call it the XKL-1. Anyway, a local high school held a tractor pull after a football game—you know, sort of a hayride without the hay. Teenage boy fell off, got caught in the machinery, and was mangled to death. Horrible accident—but they want to blame it on us because we designed and supplied the suspension system used on the flatbed. It’s preposterous. How much do you know about cars?”

“Not much.”

“Well, here’s all you need to know. The axle is attached by U-bolts to the leaf spring, which in turn is attached to the frame of the flatbed. Subsequent examination revealed that the leaf spring—a half-moon-shaped contraption that runs the length of the flatbed—was broken. That caused the flatbed to dip to one side. The kid’s parents say our design was defective. We say they drove too fast on an uneven, bumpy dirt field.”

“We deny any responsibility for what happened?”

“Believe me, no one sympathizes with that poor kid’s parents more than me—I’ve got a boy about that age myself—but it’s just not Apollo’s fault. The parents’ lawyer went looking for a deep pocket to pick up the medical expenses, and Apollo was the only one he could find.”

“If we’re really not culpable,” Ben said, “we should be able to get summary judgment granted after we’ve taken the parents’ depositions.”

“That’s great! Brilliant!” Crichton rose to his feet. “My God, you’re winning cases for us already. I knew you were a champ.”

Ben felt his face flushing bright red. He hadn’t heard such effusive praise since he memorized “A Visit from St. Nicholas” in the second grade. “Of course, the validity of the summary judgment motion will depend on what we learn during the depositions. If the parents have a valid claim, it would be wrong to try to cheat them out of it with legal maneuvering. I believe that as officers of the court we have an obligation to see justice done.”

“Admirable sentiment, Ben, although I think you’ll find that in the corporate world most cases are somewhat less noble. Most of these lawsuits are just one asshole suing another asshole. Over money. It’s not about ethics; it’s not about right or wrong. It’s about bucks.”

Ben cleared his throat. “I’m sure that’s true in some instances, but—”

Crichton slammed his hand down on a button on his phone console. After a short buzz, Janice answered. “Yes, sir?”

“Get Fielder in here,” Crichton barked. “I want him to meet his new partner.”

“Right away, sir.” She clicked off.

“By the way,” Crichton added, “this weekend I’m taking my legal staff on a DARE retreat. I want you to be there. You don’t already have plans, do you?”

“Not that I recall. What’s a DARE retreat?”

Crichton grinned from ear to ear. “Just wait and see. And we’ll expect to see you turn out for our softball game next week, too. We’re taking on the Memorex Telex team. We’re going to clean their clocks.”

“Is Christina also invited?”

Crichton was puzzled for a moment. “Christina? Oh, she’s the legal assistant you brought on board, right? I saw a picture. What a babe—great ears on that cob. I can see why you wanted to bring her along.” He grinned again. “Hell, Ben, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve already made a significant contribution to the office! Sure, she’s legal staff, so she’s invited. I can’t wait to see her in an exercise suit.”

“Do we do a lot of these extracurricular activities?”

“Oh, yeah. I require it. Work hard, play hard—that’s what I always say. And I want you to be involved in all of it.”

Before Ben could reply, a young, athletic man in a pinstriped suit inched into the office. “You called, Mr. Crichton?”

“Yeah. Rob Fielder, meet Ben Kincaid. He’s taking over the Nelson case.”

Ben closed his eyes. Oh, thanks. This will undoubtedly be the start of a beautiful friendship. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Rob replied. To his credit, Rob showed no trace of resentment over the loss of his case.

“As I said,” Crichton continued, “tomorrow we’re producing documents. It’s a paper blizzard, but you’ll have to endure it so you can be prepared for the depositions. Rob will tell you everything you need to know.”

“Gladly,” Rob said amiably. “I’ll come by your office around ten-thirty.”

“That’ll be fine,” Ben said.

“Great, great, great,” Crichton said. “I can tell already you two are going to hit it off. Ben, I’ll let you get on with your business. We’ll have a staff meeting later so you can meet the other lawyers. But don’t work too hard, okay?” He winked. “It’s your first day, for Pete’s sake. No one’s going to notice if you disappear around noon.”

Hearing his cue, Ben started to leave.

“And Ben,” Crichton added, “one last thing. If you need anything, and I mean
anything
, just come to me. Don’t feel like you have to mess around with the toadies and middlemen. Just come to me. Understand?”