The eleven remaining partners of Sullivan amp; Christenson assembled in the firm’s south conference room on the thirty-second floor of the Grand Street Pavilion, an O’Malley Development Co. project, financed by O’Malley’s Mid-States Savings amp; Loan and managed by O’Malley Properties. Sullivan insisted that the firm not exceed the developer’s allowance for tenant improvements. “Wallpaper won’t make you money,” was his explanation. In this case he was right. Leasing from the firm’s biggest client at market rates kept O’Malley happy by filling his building. There was no need to add to the expense.
The conference room, like the rest of the two floors the firm occupied, was finished in a nondescript blend of taupe, mauve, and teal hues woven through the carpet, woodwork, and grass-cloth wallpaper. Equally generic art decorated space that could be quickly vacated for new tenants. Twelve chairs surrounded the conference table, five to a side and one at each end.
Lawyers are pack animals with a clear pecking order reflected in office assignments and seats at conference tables. Mason had inherited a seat on the side with a view out the windows. Harlan took his customary seat at the far end of the table. Mason wondered if anyone would adjust the pecking order by claiming Sullivan’s vacant chair at the head of the table opposite Harlan. Grabbing it too soon could send someone to the back of the pack.
Scott was the last to arrive and, without breaking stride, landed in Sullivan’s chair, dropped a sheaf of papers in front of him, and looked around the table.
“Okay, Harlan, the day’s gonna be a bitch, so let’s get started.”
Harlan described what was known of Sullivan’s death, omitting that he had been murdered. Mason attributed the omission to Harlan’s innate avoidance of unpleasant news. Harlan spoke of his shock, his sympathy for Pamela, announced that the funeral would be Wednesday at one p.m. at the Ward Parkway Episcopal Church, and turned the meeting over to Scott. The partners swiveled their heads in unison to the other end of the table.
“Harlan and I will contact Sullivan’s clients and reassure them that their matters are being taken care of. Call any of your key clients who should be personally informed. Everyone else will receive a letter that should go out by the end of the day.”
Mason was surprised that Scott also didn’t disclose that Sullivan had been murdered. He wondered if Scott and Harlan would rather the partners read about it in the newspaper.
“Has anyone spoken to O’Malley?” asked one of the partners.
“He’ll be here at eleven to meet with me, Scott, and Lou,” Harlan said.
Scott pressed ahead before Mason could remind him that he hadn’t agreed to stick around.
“That’s going to be a tough meeting,” Scott added. “I found out yesterday that Sullivan and the firm are now targets of the grand jury investigation into O’Malley. The firm’s files have been subpoenaed for this Friday.”
“How did you find out, Scott? Was that the surprise in your box of Cracker Jacks?” Sandra Connelly asked.
Sandra joined the firm as a partner a year before Mason did and was chair of the litigation department. She had been less than enthusiastic about hiring him. Scott told Mason that Sandra didn’t think an ambulance-chasing lawyer was corporate litigation material. Scott told Mason not to worry about her opposition. She had the title but none of the power and didn’t want the competition. She took her frustration out on Mason by alternating verbal jabs with a sterile indifference accentuated by calling him Louis, something no one had done since the third grade.
Sandra blended hard edges and soft touches. Her shoulder-length hair was the color of maple leaves in the fall. She had hazel eyes, high porcelain cheeks, and you-know-how-to-whistle-don’t-you lips with a body to match. She’d made more than a few opposing lawyers want to thank her for slicing open their jugular.
Mason invited her to lunch during his first week at the firm. It was like the Arab-Israeli peace talks. No one spoke the same language. Scott told him that she’d never been married, didn’t need the money she made, and was lethal in the courtroom.
Mason and Sandra hadn’t worked on any cases together. He wanted to break through her refrigerated demeanor just to make her stop calling him Louis and because he considered her hostility a challenge to his natural charm.
Scott answered Sandra without looking at her. “I found a target letter from Franklin St. John and the subpoena in Sullivan’s desk.”
“You mean Sullivan kept this secret from the rest of us but just happened to leave the subpoena and St. John’s letter lying around on his desk for the cleaning crew to read?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Sandra,” he answered, now looking at her. “I was looking for Sullivan’s drafts of my closing documents when I ran across them. Now one of us has to deal with the U.S. attorney. Lou will be seen as the least tainted since he’s only been here a few months. I think he should handle it. Harlan, what do you think?”
“Excuse me,” Sandra interrupted. “His name is Lou Mason, not Perry Mason. Would you like to know what the head of the litigation department thinks about putting the future of this firm into the hands of a lawyer whose idea of a courtroom victory is selling a rear-end collision whiplash sob story? To say nothing of the verdict he got for his best friend in his last trial.”
Mason felt everyone’s eyes burning holes into him while waiting to see if he got up off the mat after Sandra’s body slam. His were on her. She didn’t flinch. Trouble was, angry as he was, she wasn’t wrong. Vicious, yes. Wrong, probably not. That was the nature of brutal truth. Had she known Mason was quitting, she would have thrown him out the window. Scott saved him from having to respond.
“As a matter of fact, Sandra, what you think is not the subject of this discussion. The people who built this firm will make these decisions. Lou is the right choice.”
“Sound judgment, Scott,” Harlan added. “Lou, get started today. Sandra will cover your docket and reassign anything that’s in need of immediate attention. You’ll have our complete cooperation. Just get it done.”
Bugging out now was not an option. Mason wouldn’t let Scott down and give Sandra the satisfaction of thinking she was right.
“Not a problem. I’ll take care of my other cases. That’s why I get the middle money. But I’ll need help on this.”
“Sure, Lou. I’ll back you up on the corporate side,” Scott said.
“You’ll have to stay out of it. You were too close to Sullivan. I don’t want St. John to focus on you now that Sullivan is dead. I want Sandra and two associates, one from litigation and one from corporate. Sandra, let’s talk after the meeting and make our choices.”
Mason couldn’t tell whether Scott or Sandra was more surprised, since both of them had stopped breathing.
“Look, Sandra,” Mason continued. “I know you don’t like me and you don’t think I know what I’m doing. I can’t help the first problem but you might be right about the second problem. If we work together on this, at least you can keep me from screwing it up.”
Mason worried that he was in over his head. Putting Sandra on the team gave him a chance to solve both problems. Though it may not have been a good idea to ask someone to hold his safety net who would be just as happy to see him fall off the high wire.
Scott caught his breath and tried to change Mason’s mind.
“Lou, I think we should try to keep this within as small a circle as possible …”
Mason cut him off. “Look, Scott, the stakes have gone up.” Mason looked around the table, making eye contact with each of his partners. “The sheriff at the lake called me last night. Richard Sullivan was murdered.”
He let the words sink in, watching the reaction of each partner. Most looked away as if to duck from Mason’s announcement. A couple covered their hearts with their hands as if they’d been struck. Only Sandra, Scott, and Harlan held his gaze.
Mason continued. “This isn’t about a partner who died in his sleep. It’s about a murder investigation going on in the middle of a criminal investigation of this firm. If I’m going to run this show, then I’m going to make the staffing decisions. I’ll lose my credibility if I lose my independence.”
Scott swallowed hard. “You’re right, of course. You won’t get anywhere with St. John if he thinks you’re shilling for Sullivan. Meeting adjourned.”