Sheer Gall (23 page)

“Ah,” Vincent said with a wistful smile, “I have only regret.” He looked at me across the table. “I would have liked to see that woman's expression when you unveiled Exhibit J.”

I glanced over at Jacki, who was trying to keep a straight face. I looked back at Vincent. “Then you should have no regrets, Vincent. No one would ever have seen that exhibit.”

Vincent frowned. “But it was the next one. It was up on the easel. I put it there myself.”

“Remember I had the bailiff lock it away. If trial had resumed after lunch, the easel would have been empty.”

Now he was baffled. “But, Rachel, wasn't it a photograph of that horrid woman in my dress?”

I leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret?” I whispered.

He nodded. “Certainly.”

I looked around the table with a conspiratorial smile. “The photographer checked the other roll of film. He didn't have a single picture of her that night. Not one. Exhibit J was a blank piece of poster board.”

Victor looked at his wife and then back at me. “I don't understand.”

“Have you ever played poker?” I asked.

He stared at me for a moment, and then leaned back with an admiring smile. “You were bluffing?”

I gave him a wink and pressed my index finger against my lips. “Shhhh.”

Chapter Twenty-six

Faith Compton adjusted my right arm. “Remember, Rachel, it's a two-step move: out slow until the chain is fully extended, then up and around hard.”

I nodded, trying to visualize the move. “Okay.”

Faith had sensed something was awry during the self-defense class. When it ended, she pulled me over as the others gathered their stuff to leave. I was reluctant at first to tell her about the key-chain failure in the parking lot the night before. In fact, I was mortified at having performed so miserably. But she wouldn't let go. She pulled the story out of me, and by the end, with tears welling in my eyes, I let all my frustration pour out. She let me vent, and when I was through she gave me a pep talk, her arms grasping my shoulders as her eyes bored into mine.

“You are no one's victim, Rachel,” she said fiercely. “You are not the prey.”

She showed me the maneuver for getting the key chain cleanly out of a coat pocket without cutting down on the force of the swing. For the past fifteen minutes, she'd been drilling me in the move.

“Are you ready?” Faith asked. She was standing directly behind me. To protect her hands she was wearing a pair of heavy-duty work gloves.

I nodded. “I think so.”

“Let's try it three-quarters speed. On the count of three. One…two…
three
.”

I pulled the key chain clear of the pocket without a hitch. She caught the keys in mid-arc.

“Good. Again. One…two…
three
.”

We did it twenty times, and then ten more times at full speed.

“Excellent,” she said after the last one. “That's enough for tonight.”

I turned toward her, my face flushed with exertion.

She nodded, her jaw firmly set. “You'll be fine.”

“I feel so much better, Faith. Thank you.”

“Practice that move, Rachel. Practice it every night. Over and over until you can do it in your sleep.” She paused, studying me. “You have great natural talent, but you mustn't let it master you. You must strive to become the master of your talent.”

***

First I had to strive to get home in time to shower and change before Jonathan Wolf arrived. I wasn't planning on getting fancy for him, but I didn't want to meet with him in my exercise outfit, which tonight consisted of a plain gray sweatshirt, black exercise tights, floppy white socks, and Nikes.

I got home in time. The problem was that Benny got there five minutes later.

“Oh, hi,” I said ambivalently when I opened the door. He had a large bag in his right hand and a six-pack of Rolling Rock in the other.

“Hey, sexy,” he said with a big grin, “how about some Chinese takeout for the victorious trial stud? I hear you kicked major butt in court. Mazel tov!”

I didn't have the heart to do anything but feign gracious appreciation and invite him in. I followed him into the kitchen, padding behind in my socks.

“I figured you'd be getting back from that judo class around now,” he said. “You must be starved.”

“That's sweet,” I said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. Actually, I was still stuffed from the victory lunch at Kemoll's. As Benny started to unpack the bag, I glanced up at the clock. Jonathan would be here in less than twenty minutes.

“Uh-oh,” Benny said, pausing with a white takeout carton in his hand. He'd caught me looking at the clock. “Do you have a date tonight?”

“Oh, no,” I said, trying to make light of it. “It's just a Sally Wade matter. Jonathan Wolf is dropping by at seven-thirty. Strictly business.”

He chuckled. “Sure. Strictly business. Bet you've heard that line before.”

“Don't start,” I warned.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Just kidding.”

“Anyway, he's probably bringing Neville McBride along.” After a moment, I said, “It's just that I hate to meet him dressed like this.”

“What are you talking about? Black tights and those legs. Damn, girl, you look like a Rockette.”

“I'm sweaty and disgusting.”

“Trust me, Rachel. You look awesome.”

I went over to the cabinet and got out two plates and some silverware.

“Benny,” I said in disbelief as I watched him remove the sixth white carton from the takeout bag, “there's only two of us.”

“And Ozzie makes three.” He looked over at Ozzie and winked. “Right, big fella?”

Ozzie wagged his tail joyously. Benny and Chinese takeout were two of Ozzie's favorite things in the world.

“I couldn't make up my mind,” Benny explained to me. “Gotta go with the Kung Pao Squid, right? Same with Moo-Shu Pork. Hell, a Chinese meal without Moo-Shu Pork is like a day without a good shit.”

I sighed. “You have such a winsome touch with the English language.”

“Then you got your Mongolian Beef, just sitting there on the menu crying, ‘Eat me, Benny, eat me.' And Ozzie loves it, don't you, you Mongolian Maniac?”

Ozzie barked twice, his tail whacking the refrigerator door.

Benny opened one of the containers and peered in. “Ah, yes. Tonight's special. Szechuan Crunchy Duck. Christ, the name alone gave me a woody.” He held it toward me. “Take a whiff of that, white girl.”

“Smells delicious,” I conceded.

“I almost stopped there, but Jesus, they have sixty-two entrees on the fucking menu, and I suddenly realized we didn't have a chicken dish. Gotta go with General Tso's Chicken, right? I was in a militaristic mood anyway. Guy must have been a trip. I mean, shit, how many army guys you know have a chicken dish named after them?”

“Do you realize,” I said as I took out two beer mugs, “that if General Tso ever invaded Kentucky, he could have fought Colonel Sanders?”

Benny gave me an appreciative grin. “That is one weird concept.”

Just then the doorbell rang. We exchanged looks.

“Hey,” Benny said with a shrug, “maybe the Wolf Man likes Chinese.”

Ozzie came with me to the door. It was Jonathan, looking as if he had just come back from court in his dark suit, white shirt, and striped tie. It was an unseasonably warm November evening, and he had his suit jacket slung over his shoulder.

“I'm early,” he said with an apologetic smile. “When we talked earlier I forgot that this is the housekeeper's night off. I have to leave here in thirty minutes.” He leaned over to scratch Ozzie behind the ear. “Neville's still at his firm,” he explained. “He's stuck in negotiations over some acquisition, but we can reach him by phone if we need to.”

I took Jonathan into the kitchen and introduced him to Benny. They seemed cordial enough as they shook hands, though it was obvious to me that Benny was sizing him up, assuming the role of my big brother. As for Jonathan, if he was wondering about my outfit or what Benny was doing in my kitchen with enough Chinese takeout to feed the St. Louis Rams, he gave no indication. He politely declined Benny's offer of food and glanced at his watch.

“Tell me about Tammy's call,” I said. “You can talk in front of Benny. He knows all about the case.”

Jonathan loosened his tie and filled us in. Tammy had called Neville at his office that morning. The call lasted twelve minutes and twenty-two seconds. (Neville has a timer device on his phone.) They exchanged pleasantries. She said that she hadn't heard or read anything about the case for a few days and hoped that that was a good sign. Neville explained that the lack of news didn't signify anything. He told her that his attorney was preparing for trial, which was still about a month away. She expressed her concern. He asked if they could meet somewhere. That question seemed to agitate her. She rambled on about her privacy and her fear of the media and the police. Neville asked if she would at least consider talking to Jonathan or, in the alternative, to the attorney for Sally's estate. She was unwilling to make any commitment on the issue, but took down our names and phone numbers, office and home.

“You think she has a criminal record?” I asked.

“Or maybe an outstanding arrest warrant,” Benny mused.

Jonathan shrugged. “Possibly. Or perhaps there was an embarrassing episode in her past that she's afraid will be exposed if she comes forward.”

“You really think she can help Neville?” Benny asked him.

Jonathan scratched his beard pensively. “She's acting as if she knows something critical.” He turned to me. “If she calls one of us, it's likely to be you.”

“Oh, brother,” I said, shaking my head. “I'll talk to her if she calls, but that's it. I've got to get out of this case.”

Jonathan nodded. “I understand.”

I shook my head. “No, you don't.” I paused, looking at both of them. “I got another threat last night.”

“What?” Benny said, appalled.

I told them about the incident in the Schnuck's parking lot.

Benny went ballistic. “This is a fucking outrage,” he said, slamming his fist onto the table.

Jonathan was visibly upset. “Have you talked to the police yet?” he asked.

I gave him a helpless shrug. “No. I was so upset I went right home. And then I ran out of time. I had the trial today, all kinds of catching up this afternoon, and then my self-defense class. The time got away from me.”

“I bet it's that fucking Junior Dice,” Benny said angrily.

I shook my head. “He's still in jail.”

Jonathan had me describe the incident one more time so that he could give the police and the FBI all the relevant facts. He was going to call his contacts at both places when he got home. “As far as Tammy goes,” he said, “if she should call you, just tell her to call me.”

“Oh, I can talk to her,” I said to him. “I don't mind that part. I just want to tie up the other loose ends, turn it over to you, and get on with my life.” I looked over at Benny. “For example, I've got Amy putting some slaughterhouse files together for me tomorrow.”

“Slaughterhouse files?” Jonathan asked.

I gave him a rueful smile. “I'm looking for gallstones.”

He frowned. “Pardon?”

I explained the gallstone angle, including the trip to Chicago and my discovery of the Bruce Napoli twist.

The Napoli connection surprised him. “Interesting,” he mused.

“It could be just a coincidence,” I cautioned. “After all, Napoli's probably near the top of most lists of St. Louis environmental lawyers.”

“How many matters is he handling for them?” Jonathan asked me.

I shook my head. “I don't know if he's ever handled any matters for them. In fact, you should talk to Neville McBride about that. See whether he can access the firm's files on Douglas Beef without Napoli's knowledge.”

Jonathan checked his watch and went over to the phone. “I'll ask him now.”

He reached Neville, quickly described the situation, and listened to his response, which he relayed to me. Although Neville could obtain copies of the firm's client/ matter listings, a request for anything more specific might get back to Bruce. All of the environmental practice group files were centrally maintained by a filing clerk who reported directly to Bruce.

“Is she loyal to him?” I asked Jonathan.

He nodded grimly. “She's his niece.”

I mulled it over. I'd worked for five years at a big corporate firm and was used to those client/matter listings; by contrast, Jonathan had only worked as a government prosecutor or in a two-man criminal defense firm.

I said, “See if Neville can drop off a copy of the lists at my office tomorrow. I'll take a look at them. If Douglas Beef shows up, you can move to phase two.”

“Which is?” Jonathan asked.

I grinned sheepishly. “I was hoping you'd tell me.”

***

“Come on, Rachel,” Benny said. “I've got a squid in here with your name on it.”

“No way,” I groaned. “I'm
plotzing
.”

Benny turned to Ozzie, who was sprawled on the floor in the corner. Tilting the container toward him, Benny said,
“Nu?”

Ozzie gazed at him but didn't move.

Benny shook his head with pity. “A pair of short hitters.”

Jonathan had left for home an hour ago, and shortly afterward Benny had announced his unsolicited approval of the match. He had proceeded to consume the entire carton of Kung Pao Squid while lecturing me on the reasons I should drag Jonathan Wolf up to my bedroom and “knock his yarmulke off.” Now that he was finished (the squid and the lecture), he took a swig of beer and reached for a fortune cookie and popped it in his mouth whole. I watched in amusement as he devoured the cookie without bothering to crack it open.

“By the way, Miss Manners,” I said, “you just ate your fortune.”

“Huh? Eh, fuck it. They're a rip-off anyway. You get aphorisms instead of fortunes. You know the world is going to hell in a handbasket when you get your world-view from your dessert.” He paused, as it fully dawned on him. “Jeez, I really ate my fortune?”

I cracked mine open, pulled out the little slip of paper, read it, and shook my head.

“Let me guess,” he said. “‘Smile and the world smiles with you.'”

“Nope. It says, ‘Large male friend just consumed winning number in Missouri Lottery.'”

“You're a regular comedian, Rachel.” He got up and went to the fridge. “Another brew?”

I shook my head. “Not for me.” I peered into the bag. “There's another fortune cookie in there.”

“It's all yours,” he said as he pulled out a beer.

I cracked it open and pulled out the slip of paper.

“What's it say?” he asked as he returned to the table.

I looked up with a smile. “‘Smile and the world smiles with you.'”

“Yeah, right.”

I held out the fortune. He read it, and looked up with a triumphant smile. “Need I say more? The prosecution rests.”