Two bright spots of color burned in Mary Hale’s cheeks. She hesitated, choosing her words with care. “Mr. Benson had not been…productive in recent times,” Mary said finally. “There’s not much in his files, I’m afraid.”
“I find that difficult to believe. Reed is one of the top firms in the city. It’s known for being polite but ruthless in weeding out dead weight. If Jed Benson wasn’t producing, he never would have lasted here.”
“Ms. Vargas, I’m telling you we have nothing responsive to your request. Are you questioning my word?”
“Ms. Hale, this is a murder investigation. I can’t rely on your word. I’ll wait here while you get the boxes, or else you can bring them to the grand jury when I subpoena you. Whichever you prefer.”
Mary Hale gave a shocked little grunt. Rather than backing off, Melanie took a small step toward her, increasing the pressure.
“As I said, this is our firm’s policy,” Mary said huffily. “I can’t make an exception without consulting my partners. If you insist, I’d be prepared to take this matter up at the next partners’ meeting, a week from Thursday. If my partners agree, we’d produce the documents in a conference room here. You could make copies. No need for a subpoena.”
“I expected that would happen today. Jed Benson’s killer is still at large. I can’t wait until next Thursday.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to. We couldn’t possibly convene a meeting before then, given everybody’s schedules.”
Melanie realized Mary wasn’t giving an inch, at least not today. Why was she even bothering? She was wasting her time. She had subpoena power. She didn’t need voluntary compliance.
“Tell Mr. Reed to expect my subpoena. Directed to him personally,” she said, taking a guilty pleasure in watching the woman’s face fall. “No need to show me out. I remember the way.”
She picked up the manila folder, shoved it in her handbag, and headed for the door.
MELANIE STEPPED ONTO THE ELEVATOR, THINKING that little had changed in the few years since she’d left her old law firm. Back then she’d been utterly unable to read these corporate-law types, and she still couldn’t. Mary Hale looked like somebody who was deliberately hiding something, but Melanie couldn’t be sure. These places bred closemouthed, uncooperative attorneys. Maybe Mary never produced documents until she was forced to, as a matter of principle. She probably prided herself on it. Whatever her motive, though, the result was the same. Melanie came away with nothing but a useless piece of paper.
She looked at her watch and sighed, annoyed at the time she’d wasted. She’d predicted this outcome, so why hadn’t she dispensed with the courtesy visit and sent a subpoena in the first place? Just because Reed, Reed and Watson was such a big name? Next time she’d remember not to be impressed. To top it off, she was on the local. She tapped her foot impatiently as the elevator doors opened on thirty-one and a young woman got on. Melanie recognized the woman by her pink suit as the one who’d checked her out in the reception area earlier. She must be an associate here.
In defiance of elevator etiquette, the young woman faced Melanie and made eye contact, looking her full in the face. She was in her twenties, quite attractive in a wholesome sort of way, with wide green eyes and long, light brown hair. She took a step closer, leaning toward Melanie purposefully.
“You’re the prosecutor?” she asked, her voice low and conspiratorial.
“Yes. Why?” Melanie’s heart began to pound. She knew this was important.
The elevator stopped on thirty. As the doors glided open, the young woman snapped around to face the front, her face blank and composed, as if she’d never spoken to Melanie.
A middle-aged man in a charcoal pin-striped suit got on.
“Well, hello, Sarah,” he said pleasantly. “Still buried in that Securilex transaction?”
When the doors opened on twenty-nine a moment later, they both got off. The woman was obviously not willing to be seen speaking to Melanie. Why not? Sarah. Melanie pulled out the manila folder and made a note of the name, nodding to herself. How many young female attorneys named Sarah worked at Reed, Reed and Watson? Shouldn’t be too difficult to track down. Maybe her trip hadn’t been a waste of time after all.
11
THE STREETS AROUND HER OFFICE WERE CLOGGED with cars and buses by the time Melanie got back downtown. It was rush hour, still threatening rain, and everybody in the world seemed to be heading home except her. She sat in traffic waiting to turn into the lot to return the borrowed G-car, stomach tight with anxiety. Where had the day gone? She’d never even called Elsie to ask her to stay late.
Walking into her building, too frazzled to make conversation, she pretended not to see Shekeya Jenkins heading straight for her. But Shekeya spotted her and called out her name.
“Yo, Melanie! Look, I got ’em done at lunchtime!”
Melanie couldn’t help smiling. “Okay, lemme see.”
She held out her hand, and Shekeya placed hers on it, fingers splayed. On each fingernail a white dove decal flew over a multicolored rainbow, set against a pearly blue sky decorated with gemstone stars.
“Wow, Shekeya, they’re amazing!”
“Girl, that woman is an artist. She take half my paycheck, but it’s worth every penny.” Shekeya laughed but then turned serious. “Listen, you a decent person, so I’ma do you a solid. Word of advice: Watch out for the boss today.”
“More than usual?”
“She got it in for you today, girl, most definitely.”
“Why?”
“Beats me, but she just headed to your office with a mad bug up her ass.”
“Oh, great. Just what I need. Thanks, chica.” She squeezed Shekeya’s arm.
Melanie worried the whole way up in the elevator, and rightly so. The security guard buzzed the bulletproof door to let her onto the floor. It opened directly across from her office, revealing Bernadette standing with her arms folded across her chest waiting for Melanie. Two of Melanie’s colleagues, Joe Williams and Susan Charlton, stood near the fax machine halfway down the hall. As Melanie entered, they glanced at her with a combination of sympathy and embarrassment. Everybody in the office seemed to know before she did that she was in for a tongue-lashing.
“Bernadette, what’s up?” Melanie asked, a note of annoyance creeping into her voice. All her boss did was make things harder.
Bernadette jerked her head toward Melanie’s door. Melanie walked in. Bernadette followed, closing the door with a slam. The histrionics were part of her standard repertoire, but they alarmed Melanie nonetheless. What could she possibly be in trouble for?
“What the hell did you think you were doing with Amanda Benson?” Bernadette demanded as they turned to face each other on the small strip of floor between the filing cabinets and the desk. The exhausting day after the sleepless night had taken a toll on Melanie. She walked over to her desk and sat down heavily in her chair.
“Well? Answer me,” Bernadette said, planting herself firmly in front of Melanie’s desk, glaring down at her.
“Randall Walker and I went to interview her. What’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem? Threatening a victim in her hospital bed is the problem! Please, tell me you didn’t really say you’d throw that girl in the grand jury.”
“Her mother wouldn’t let us near her. You would’ve said the same thing.”
“I would not! When the girl is suicidal and the mother as well connected as Nell Benson? Please! You think you’re a hero? All you’re doing is buying us an expensive lawsuit. Use your brain.”
It had started already, exactly the type of pressure Melanie feared when she took on this assignment. She was accustomed to running her own cases without interference, and she liked it that way. Normally Bernadette wouldn’t question her interview tactics. She was much too busy to micromanage like that. Come to think of it, normally Bernadette wouldn’t even know who she was interviewing.