“That law firm’s involved in all this up to its ass,” Teffinger said. “I just don’t know how.” He studied the buildings as he drove and tried to pay enough attention to the road to keep from running into anyone. “Aspen Wilde’s been snooping around,” he said. “She overheard two of the lawyers talking about a death.”
“Which lawyers?”
Teffinger tried to remember.
“I have it written down,” he said. “Anyway, one of them, the guy lawyer, is turning out to be seriously strange. According to Aspen Wilde, he frequents an S amp;M place called Tops amp; Bottoms where he sticks pins into the girls.”
“That’s goddamn sick.”
Teffinger agreed.
“I mean, how does a guy get to be like that?”
“I don’t know, but a mind that thinks that’s okay probably wouldn’t flinch at cutting someone’s head off.”
“So you think he killed Rachel Ringer?”
“He’s got my attention,” Teffinger said. “Especially now that we know the firm has lots of BMWs. We need to find that building and confirm that’s where the killings took place. Then squeeze it for evidence.”
Three blocks later they came to an abandoned building enclosed in a chain-link fence.
Teffinger held the picture up and compared it to the structure in front of them.
“Bingo,” he said. “The monkey spells a word.”
All morning, Aspen expected someone to walk into her office and ask what she’d been doing in Derek Bennett’s office last night. When no one came, she started to feel better. That changed when Blake Gray called shortly after ten and asked if she was available for lunch today.
“Of course. What’s the occasion?”
“Nothing special. Why don’t you swing by my office at 11:30 and we’ll try to beat the crowd.”
As soon as she hung up, she ducked into Christina Tam’s office, closed the door, and told her.
“Somehow he knows,” she said. “I can feel it.”
Christina didn’t seem concerned.
“How could he?”
“They could have this place bugged a million different ways and we’d never know it.”
Christina rolled a pencil in her hand.
“Now you’re getting paranoid,” she said. “Just calm down, go to lunch, and see what he has to say. It’s probably nothing.”
She looked amused.
“What?” Aspen asked, curious.
“Here’s a list of things to not bring up,” she said. “Tops amp; Bottoms, Rebecca Yates, Robert Yates, flashlights, coat closets, and guns in drawers.”
“And Derek Bennett,” Aspen added.
“Right. And me too, for that matter.”
Aspen kept her nose to the grindstone all morning and then inconspicuously went to the billing room and pulled the time sheets for Jacqueline Moore and Derek Bennett, to see if either of them had been in New York on July 22nd when Robert Yates got murdered.
Both had been right here in Denver.
Billing clients like there was no tomorrow.
For the week before and the week after as well.
Just for grins, she checked on Blake Gray too.
Same thing.
In a corner booth at the Paramount Cafe, over the lunch special-salmon and salad-Blake Gray gave Aspen the inside track on how to survive life in a big law firm. Then he got to the point of the meeting.
She shouldn’t let her guard down.
He still firmly believed her life was in danger.
She should go to the firm’s D.C. office until everything blew over.
She listened carefully, thanked him overwhelmingly for his concern, and then politely rejected the offer. Then she changed the subject.
“Christina was telling me about this huge antitrust case that the firm won, over a hundred million,” she said. “I can’t even imagine what that must feel like.”
“Ask Derek Bennett,” Blake said. “He spearheaded the whole thing.”
She bit her lower lip, trying to not visibly react.
“Talk about your nasty kick-’em-in-the-balls fight, this was the granddaddy of them all. It was the legal equivalent of two packs of junkyard dogs ripping each other wide open. Lucky for us Derek Bennett was the biggest dog in the bunch.”
“Wow.”
“Bow wow. As usual, though,” Blake added, “the drama behind the scenes was a whole lot more interesting than the case itself.”
“How’s that?”
Blake finished chewing and then said, “The defendant, Tomorrow Inc., was owned and run by a guy named Robert Yates, an insanely rich guy, at least on paper. Have you ever heard of him?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t remember him being at my last party.”
“Mine either,” he said. “Anyway, he makes a slick move and persuades the trial judge to stay execution of the judgment without posting a supersedeas bond. So he’s temporarily off the hook. Then while the case is on appeal he starts to secretly buy the stock of our client, Omega, which is publicly traded. He’s doing it in small chunks, through a lot of dummy corporations, friends and brokers, to keep everything under the radar so the price doesn’t go up.”
“A takeover,” she said.
“Exactly,” he said. “A takeover, but not by the company itself, since it wasn’t Tomorrow buying the stock, but a takeover by a private party.”
“Why?”