Blind Justice

25

HE HAD HOPED SHE wouldn’t be there.

But of course, she was. Marjorie sat at the front desk in Swayze & Reynolds’s office lobby, typing away. If she had been ten months pregnant before, she was at least twelve months pregnant now. She greeted him by name.

Well, it was encouraging that she remembered. Sort of. “Hello, Marjorie. I’m here to see Mr. Reynolds.”

“I don’t see you on his appointment schedule. Perhaps you called while I was at my Lamaze class?”

“No, I don’t have an appointment. But it’s urgent that I see him.”

She frowned, then punched a button on her intercom and whispered into the box. After a few moments, she said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kincaid. He says he’s busy—”

“Tell him if he’s not out in five minutes, I start smashing Lalique.”

He was out in two.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” Reynolds said, as he escorted Ben back to his office. “I was on the telephone with my wife. The judge.”

No kidding. I thought maybe it was your other wife. Ben walked into Reynolds’s office and, to his surprise, found Margot Lombardi sitting at the conference table.

Margot spared Reynolds the ordeal of a graceful introduction. “Mr. Kincaid and I have met,” she explained. “And I behaved disgracefully. I had no right to burden you with my problems.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ben said.

“There’s no excuse for such a public display. On the contrary it’s time for me to stop feeling sorry for myself and get on with my life. That’s what Mr. Reynolds is helping me do. He’s the executor of Tony’s estate.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“The FBI is determined to link Tony’s assets to drug smuggling,” Reynolds said. “If they are successful, they can confiscate the assets. In the meantime, the estate is frozen.”

“I don’t know why they’re doing this,” Margot said. “What have I ever done to them?”

“Don’t fret,” Reynolds said, patting her on the shoulder. For a moment, Ben thought, he almost sounded human. “Everything will work out in time.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.…” Ben said, suddenly regretting his door-smashing tactics.

“Not at all,” Margot said. “I was on my way out.”

Reynolds helped her out of her chair, then escorted her to the door. When he returned, he and Ben sat at the center table.

“How’s Polly?” Ben asked.

“Oh, she’s…as she always is.”

Ben examined the parrot, almost motionless in her tiny cage. She was not as she always was. She was still a regal purplish blue, but the colors seemed faded since his last visit. Her reddish brown tail feathers were almost black. At the bottom of the cage, he saw a small bed of feathers.

“She’s feather-plucking!” Ben cried.

“She’s what?”

“Feather-plucking. Clayton Langdell was telling me about it.”

“Clayton Langdell is…something of an extremist,” Reynolds said, in his slow, pained manner.

“Maybe so, but he knows his parrots. Feather-plucking is an abnormal behavior pattern—the parrot goes crazy and starts mutilating itself.”

“That hardly seems likely.”

“That’s exactly what’s happening. You’ve got to set this bird free. Or turn her over to someone trained to care for birds.”

“Mr. Kincaid. Do you have any idea how valuable that bird is?”

“I don’t really care. This isn’t Waterford crystal you’ve got locked up there. It’s a living creature. A fellow animal.”

Reynolds seemed vaguely amused. “Have you been spending an inordinate quantity of time with Mr. Langdell?”

“I’ve been reading his brochures.”

“That explains a great deal. Now, were there any legal matters you wished to discuss, or are you simply here to admire my parrot?”

“I’ve come to renew my request that you permit me to examine Lombardi’s financial records.”

“Really, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Hear me out. I know you don’t have to comply. But I’m hoping you will anyway. I need to learn more about Lombardi’s business, especially his dealings with Albert DeCarlo. Those financial records may be the first step toward discovering who’s behind Lombardi’s murder. I can’t believe you’re so heartless you’d let your former employee be executed just to keep a dead client’s confidences.”

“My position is not changed by your hyperbole, Mr. Kincaid. What if you in turn provided the documents to the FBI, and they used them to seize the assets that rightfully belong to Margot Lombardi? I simply can’t risk it. And may I also say I resent your turning my compliance with established rules of ethics into a vast moral indictment.”

“Mr. Reynolds, you are somewhat responsible for Christina’s plight. And so far, your only contribution has been firing her. Here’s your chance to help.”

“You’re wasting your time, Mr. Kincaid.”

“What’s in those records that you don’t want revealed?”

“I don’t understand you.”

“You’re not a stupid man, Reynolds. And I can’t believe you’re devoid of human kindness, much as you might pretend to be. Therefore, I have to assume there’s information in those records you don’t want me to see.”

“Assume what you like. However, if you do your assuming anywhere outside this office, you may find yourself in a court of law. Not as a counselor, but as a defendant.”

“At least allow me to see the documents in probate. The will, any prior wills, the property assignments. Let me see who else might’ve had a motive to kill Lombardi.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Those documents are going to be public eventually.”

“All the better for you. Perhaps you should move for a continuance.”

“I already have. Several times. The motions were denied. I need those documents now.”

“I am sorry.”

“Are you a beneficiary of Lombardi’s will?”

Reynolds stared at Ben as if his parents simply had to be first cousins. “As you should know, if I were a beneficiary, I couldn’t act as executor.”

“Did Lombardi create any charitable trusts? And appoint you as trustee?”

Reynolds stuttered for a moment. “I—he—”

“Yeah. I get it now. You’re going to be the chairman of the Lombardi Memorial Fund for Widows and Orphans.”

Reynolds wasn’t pleased, but he wasn’t denying, either.

“You must be looking forward to playing J. P. Morgan—doling out money to charitable groups as the whim strikes you. If they please your delicate sensibilities. If the fund is well endowed, this could make you almost as important as your wife.”

“I think you should leave now, Mr. Kincaid.”

No way. “Funny thing is, nothing I’ve heard about Lombardi suggests that he was the charitable type. I wonder if maybe you cooked up this trust yourself, then shredded all the prior wills and underlying documents to cover your trail. That would explain why you’re refusing to cooperate. If I scrutinized the records too carefully, I just might figure out what you’ve done.”

Reynolds rose to his feet. “Go.”

“When I see the documents.”

Reynolds walked to the credenza on the north wall. “Do you see this drawer, Mr. Kincaid? It is filled with the documents you so strongly desire. All the information you need to know. I’ll tell you something else, too. The documents are loaded with information you would love to have. The references to Albert DeCarlo are legion.”

His voice rose. “And do you know what else, Mr. Kincaid? You will never see these documents. Absolutely never!”

He pointed toward the door. “Now leave, before I call the security guards.”

Ben stomped out of the office, smiling at Marjorie on his way through the lobby. All right, he thought. Have it your way. I’ll go.

But I’ll be back.