Let Me Call You Sweetheart

7

During the evening it crossed Robert Kinellen’s mind to call and see how Robin had made out at the doctor’s, but the thought had come and gone without being acted on. His father-in-law and the law firm’s senior partner, Anthony Bartlett, had taken the unusual step of appearing at the Kinellens’ house after dinner to discuss strategy in the upcoming income tax evasion trial of James Forest Weeks, the firm’s most important-and controversial- client.

Weeks, a multimillion-dollar real estate developer and entrepreneur, had become something of a public figure in New York and New Jersey during the past three decades. A heavy contributor to political campaigns, a prominent donor to numerous charities, he was also the subject of constant rumors about inside deals and influence peddling, and was rumored to have connections with known mobsters.

The U.S. attorney general’s office had been trying to pin something on Weeks for years, and it had been the financially rewarding job of Bartlett and Kinellen to represent him during those past investigations. Until now, the Feds had always fallen short of enough evidence for a solid indictment.

“This time Jimmy is in serious trouble,” Anthony Bartlett reminded his son-in-law as they sat across from each other in the study of the Kinellen home in Englewood Cliffs. He sipped a brandy. “Which of course means we’re in serious trouble with him.”

In the ten years since Bob had joined the firm, he had seen it become almost an extension of Weeks Enterprises, so closely were they entwined. In fact, without Jimmy’s vast business empire, they would be left with only a handful of minor clients, and with billings inadequate to maintain the firm’s operations. They both knew that if Jimmy were to be found guilty, Bartlett and Kinellen as a viable law firm would be finished.

“Barney’s the one I worry about,” Bob said quietly. Barney Haskell was Jimmy Weeks’ chief accountant and codefendant in the current case. They both knew intense pressure was being put on him to turn government witness in exchange for a plea bargain.

Anthony Bartlett nodded. “Agreed.”

“And for more than one reason,” Bob continued. I told you about the accident in New York? And that Robin was treated by a plastic surgeon?”

“Yes. How is she doing?”

“She’ll be all right, thank goodness. But I didn’t tell you the doctor’s name. It’s Charles Smith.”

“Charles Smith.” Anthony Bartlett frowned as he considered the name. Then his eyebrows rose and he sat bolt upright. “Not the one who…?”

“Exactly,” Bob told him. “And my ex-wife, the assistant prosecutor, is taking our daughter on regular visits to him. Knowing Kerry, it’s only a matter of time before she makes the connection.”

“Oh my God,” Bartlett said miserably.