“I don’t think I can do much, given my position. You may have to plan it, if Eve hasn’t already. I thought about it last night.”
“I’ll do it, don’t worry. A nice memorial service. Believe me, I can plan a memorial service.” He smiled sadly, his shoulders slumping. “Have you thought about who… did it?”
“I’m starting to.” I remembered my purpose in coming here. “The cops think it’s me because of Mark’s will. Why didn’t you tell me he had a will, Sam?”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t. It was privileged.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple moving visibly in a slender neck. “Besides, I thought Mark would tell you. It was his place.”
“Why did you draft Mark’s will?”
“He asked me to.” Sam edged back onto his chair. “When R amp; B grew, Mark started to think ahead. Right after his parents died, he said he needed a will. He told me the size of the estate and asked me if I knew any good estates lawyers at Grun. I told him I could do it for him.”
“I didn’t know you did estates work, especially for such big estates.”
“Sure I do. Estates, some tax, even some corporate. I like to keep my billings up, and estates that big don’t come along everyday. I wasn’t about to refer it. What am I, stupid?”
I remembered Grady’s suspicions. “But did you really need the business, Sam? I thought you had plenty of clients.”
“I do, but I could always use more. I’ve developed my own practice group. A firm-within-the-firm, a small business practice. Take them from incorporation to bankruptcy-cradle to grave-and do estates work for the principals.”
“Is it profitable?”
“Sure as shootin’. ‘I’m the roughest, toughest, he-manest hombre as ever crossed the Rio Grande-and I ain’t no namby pamby.’ ‘Bugs Bunny Rides Again,’ 1948.”
“Did you know Mark would make you executor?”
His smile faded. “Tarnation, Bennie. We’re friends, so I’m going to keep my temper and ask you what you’re suggesting. Are we hunting wabbits or what?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just asking.”
“Are you accusing me of murder, despite the fact that we’ve been buds for God knows how long?”
I felt a stab of guilt. “Of course I’m not accusing you, Sam. But I have to talk to you about it.”
“Me? Why?”
“Grady suspects you. He was going to call, but I wanted to be the one to do it.”
Sam’s face reddened and his mouth twisted bitterly. “Grady thinks I killed one of my dearest, oldest friends? What, are they taking anybody on that Court now? Who the fuck did he clerk for? Clarence Thomas?”
“He’s smart, Sam, and he’s trying to help.”
“He’s not that smart. Why would I kill Mark, for God’s sake?”
“For the executor’s fee? The billings?” I felt like a jerk for even explaining, Sam looked so nonplussed.
“Come on, girlfriend! I need billings as much as the next lawyer, but I wouldn’tkill Mark for them. I wouldn’t killanybody for them.”
“Grady says there’s a trustee’s fee, too. It adds up to a million dollars.”
“So what? Are you asking me for real?” His eyes narrowed, but I told myself to stay the course.
“Let’s just get it over with, Sam. If we’re friends, we can talk about anything.”
“We’re friends, so you can insult me? Bennie, listen, I don’t need the money, I have plenty of money. ‘I’m rich! I’m wealthy! I’m comfortably well off,’ as Daffy would say. I don’t need to kill my friend for a fee.”
“I thought so,” I said, backing off, but he leaned toward me, angered.
“You want details, I’ll give you details. I own my condo at the Manchester. My firstborn, the Porsche Carrera, is one year old next week and I bought him with cash. I take only one vacation a year, to South Beach, and I don’t have any dependents except for that Cuban waiter at The Harvest. I was with him on the night in question, by the way. If you want to check it, I’ll give you his number.”
“No, I don’t mean to get personal-”
“As for my assets, which Ramon tells me is my best feature, I’m taking almost four hundred thousand this year, not including the bonus from the First Federal bankruptcy. It’s in eleven mutual funds and some very frisky tech stocks.”
“Okay, Sam. I get the picture.”
“However, I do have a confession to make.” He held up a palm. “I confess, I’m too heavily into Microsoft, but I want Bill Gates so much I can taste him. Can you blame me?”
“Sam-”
“Except for that hair. If he washed it from time to time, I’d be in Redmond in a heartbeat.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I really am. Enough already. Sue me. Shoot me.”
“Apology accepted,” he said curtly. He slouched back into his chair, but he didn’t look like himself. Or maybe he wasn’t looking at me the way he always did.
I wondered if he ever would again.
14
Grady had me barricaded in my office with an amazingly good cup of coffee and the large wipe-off chart we use for jury exhibits. The chart rested on an easel and contained the names of all of R amp; B’s associates, with a grease-pencil grid to the left. I took one look at it and saw what Grady had learned, but he wanted to explain it to me anyway.
“Are you listening, Bennie?” he asked. Wielding a long, rubber-tipped pointer, in his violet-covered necktie and fresh white shirt, Grady looked more kindergarten teacher than lawyer.
“Of course I’m listening,” I said, but I wasn’t, because I already had a chart of my own in my head. I needed him for the legal end, not for this. I was the one who had to find Mark’s killer.
“You don’t look like you’re listening.”
“No, I am. I’ll be a good defendant, I promise.” I smiled in a way I hoped was convincing and took another sip of coffee. I felt stronger since I had eliminated Sam as a murder suspect, and the coffee was tasting better and better. “Who made this? It’s good.”
“I did, I cross-examined each of them on the phone. I finished the last phone call, with Renee Butler, at one thirty. Except for Wingate, I went over and talked to him. He’s real upset.”
“Why? He didn’t even like Mark. I meant the coffee, though. Who made it?”
“I did. Look at this.” He pointed to Jennifer Rowland’s name. “Jenny says she was working at home the night Mark was killed, editing a section of the brief in the
“Yes. Did you use the Maxwell House?”
“Whatever was there.” He made a neat check with a grease marker in the blank marked ALIBI. “I want to see Jenny’s time records, though she could have lied on them, too.”
“She wouldn’t be the first lawyer to write fiction.” I wanted to ask him how much water he put in, but it would be futile. The coffeemaker at work was a Bunn, the one at home was a Krups; it would never translate, English to German. At least not when I spoke the language.
“Amy here,” he said, pointing to the line that saidAMY FLETCHER, “was with Jeff Jacobs that night. It checks out from both sides. They’re seeing each other, did you know that?”
“Yes.”
He made purposeful checks byFLETCHER andJACOBS. “They could both be lying to me, but I don’t think so. Wingate says he was online in the Grateful Dead chat room. Do you know he goes in the teen rooms and tells them he’s Jon Bon Jovi?”
“Perfect. And I pay this kid?”
“He said he logged off at two in the morning the night Mark was killed. I’d like to check the AOL records, but Wingate has two housemates and they could have logged off for him.” He made a question mark in theWINGATE box, next to a “WW” in Renee Butler’s box.
“What’s WW mean, in Renee’s?”
“Weight Watchers. She didn’t want to tell me at first. She took Eve with her, to get her out of the house. Eve’s taking Mark’s death pretty hard, you know. She’s convinced you did it.”