“They build strip malls, mainly.” Bennie nodded, obviously thinking aloud. “I’ve heard of them. They did the one in West Philly, they got the contract over a minority business, and they did one also in Ardmore, I think I read recently. I wonder how many they do a year.”
Judy fetched the newspaper from her desk. “They have the contract on a mall at the waterfront pending.”
Bennie snapped her fingers. “That’s right! So they’re politically well connected. They’d have to be to get that big a city contract.” She thought a minute. “They must have labor work, tax work, all sorts of business advice. I think they’re represented by Schiavo and Schiavo.”
Judy would have no reason to doubt it. Bennie knew most of the lawyers in town. The Philadelphia legal community was small, so if you screwed somebody, they could screw you back, and sooner than you thought. It encouraged good lawyer karma.
Bennie faced Judy directly. “Carrier, if we can’t make some trouble for a major business like that, we should burn our law degrees.”
Judy tried to think. Her gaze fell on the article on her laptop. “At this point I’m only an expert on price-fixing.”
“Okay, start there!” Bennie grinned. “These jokers are in the construction business and they get an awful lot of contracts. It’s an extremely competitive business. The economy is good, and everybody’s building, including the city. I wonder how they do so well.”
“You think they rig bids?”
“Anything is possible. They could pay off Licenses and Inspections. They could excavate pools free for union officials. They could inflate their T and E expenses for the IRS. Pour too much sand in the concrete foundations. Keep their mistresses on the payroll. Have mob connections.” Bennie’s eyes glinted evilly. “Somebody really should investigate these matters. A lawyer, for example.”
Judy laughed, delighted. “But what about Rule Eleven? You have to have a factual basis for filing a lawsuit in federal court.”
“So get one! You gonna tell me the building trades are clean?” Bennie walked to the open door. “I’ll handle the torts suits and the animal cruelty. Get busy. We have work to do.”
“We have to file soon, huh?”
“No.” Bennie paused at the door. “We have to file tomorrow. Lock and load. Any questions?”
Judy thought about it. “How do I thank you?”
Bennie smiled and left, and Judy watched her bounce off in her sneakers. Then she cleared her desk and set to work. She worked all morning and afternoon, breaking only for hoagies they had sent in and for more coffee; Bennie’s was even stronger than Star-bucks. Judy researched cases on the construction industry, discovering the typical patterns of misconduct that gave rise to damages. It was an education.
Bennie had been right. The construction industry wasn’t the cleanest, and Judy’s online factual research discovered a number of websites devoted to encouraging contractors to report suspected bid-rigging, fraud, and kickbacks, guaranteeing their anonymity. So there was a clear potential for abuse, but that didn’t mean Judy had a sufficient factual basis to sue Coluzzi. A complaint had to be true and specific, especially if it was going to have the maximum terroristic effect on the Coluzzis. For that Judy would need facts, from an insider’s perspective.
She checked her Swatch watch. It was almost seven o’clock at night. She didn’t have any time to lose.
And she knew just who to call. Or as her mother would remind her, whom.
An hour later Judy was barreling down the expressway in a rented Saturn. She had left Frank’s truck parked near the office; she hadn’t wanted to risk taking it in case the Coluzzis had wired it for sound, and she also wanted to avoid being spotted by the press. Their numbers had grown outside the office building as the day had progressed, on the correct assumption that Judy would have to come out sooner or later. It had been all she could do to get out of the building through a service entrance in the back, while Bennie gave a diversionary press conference on the sidewalk out front. Bennie could give nonanswers to their questions forever. She was a great lawyer.
Judy hit the gas. She was heading back out toward Chester County. Judy didn’t know much about Philadelphia suburbs, but she was learning that all the rich people lived in Chester County and none of them seemed to mind sitting forever on Route 202 South. Judy had finally gotten free of that mess and could breathe again. She was almost there. Frank had agreed to help her, and Judy had to admit to herself she wouldn’t mind kissing him again.
Make that seeing. She meant seeing him again.
Chapter 23
It was dark by the time Judy found the address, or more accurately the mailbox, since the house couldn’t be seen for the hedge and trees that blocked it from the road. She turned onto an unpaved drive next to a verdigris mailbox embossed with running horses, and when she saw the white sign that read HIGH RIDGE FARM, Judy knew she wasn’t in South Philly anymore.
The Saturn’s tires rumbled down a gravel road lined with trees and ending in a circular driveway in front of a huge fieldstone mansion. Judy cruised to a stop in front of the house, which reached three stories and had two wings, one at either end, its banks of windows framed by black shutters. The night was cool and filled with the chirping of crickets. The setting was lovely but Judy was too preoccupied to notice. Where was Frank? How was he getting here, since he was truckless? The springhouse wasn’t far on country roads, but it was too far to walk. She cut the Saturn’s ignition and climbed out, which is when she got her answer.
Parked in the circular driveway were a midnight-blue Bentley, a champagne-colored Jaguar sedan, and a faded John Deere tractor. Frank was walking toward her with a grin. “Hey, lady,” he said softly, reaching to hug her, and Judy wasn’t objecting.
“Hey back at you.” She let herself be enfolded in his arms and pressed against the warmth of his chest, inside the same thin gray T-shirt he had on yesterday. It smelled faintly of sweat but she secretly liked that; it was a distinctly male scent and at least it wasn’t onion. Judy felt her body relax unashamedly in his embrace. It seemed like days since she’d felt this comforted. “If I
didn’t have to sue somebody, I’d stay here forever.”
“You won’t get any argument from me.”
Judy held him tighter. “How’d you get here? Found a tractor and drove it over?”
“Hell, no. Dan picked me up in the Bentley.”
Suddenly the front door opened, and a tall, thin man appeared on the threshold. “Frank, that you out here?” he called, and it broke their embrace.
Frank turned. “Here we come, Dan,” he called back. He gave Judy a quick kiss on the cheek and took her hand.
Soft light emanated from a Waterford lamp with a cut-glass pineapple for a base, glowing expensively on Judy, Frank, and Dan Roser as they sat on leather-covered chairs in his book-lined study. Built-in cherrywood shelves ringed the room, while a flat-screen TV, a compact stereo, and a large-screen computer sat recessed in a custom entertainment center, and a wet bar with gleaming nickel fixtures waited to lubricate everybody. It would wait forever. Nobody was in a partying mood, Judy least of all.
A fresh legal pad rested on her lap. “Mr. Roser, tell me something about yourself.”
“Please, call me Dan.” Roser, in Gucci loafers and pressed suit pants, with a white tailored shirt worn tieless, crossed his legs. Judy judged him to be about fifty-five years old, though he looked younger, with a golfer’s tan setting off hazel eyes and light brown hair, worn fashionably long. “If Frank gets away with it, you can.”
Frank snorted, and Judy smiled. “Okay, Dan. Gimme the summary.”