Primary Justice

39

THE FOUR MEN SAT in Sanguine’s office and stared at one another; Ben and Mike were in the chairs facing Sanguine’s desk, while Tidwell stood faithfully at his master’s side. The atmosphere was thick and heavy. No lawyer jokes today.

“Perhaps you misunderstood one of your professors in law school, Mr. Kincaid,” Sanguine said. “You see, in-house counsel is supposed to be an advocate for the corporation and its employees, not against them.”

“I never accepted that job,” Ben replied bitterly.

“God knows everyone at Raven thinks you accepted it,” Sanguine countered. “You still work for the Raven firm, don’t you? You go where the firm tells you to go and do what the firm tells you to do, right?”

“I never accepted that job.”

“Pity,” Sanguine said, glancing at Tidwell. “You may need a job soon.” He put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “I’m going to have to have a chat with Dick Derek. Promises were made; gifts were exchanged. God knows I’ve done enough for Derek in his time.”

He crossed and uncrossed his legs, with an exaggerated air of ease. “Well then, gentlemen, let’s see the evidence. I’m not going to try to obstruct justice. Show me the proof. Show me this corruption festering in the bowels of my company.”

Ben clenched his teeth. The man knew damn well they didn’t have the financial records. At best, they had a coded summary that could be interpreted by Sanguine flunkies to say anything. Sanguine was just playing games with them.

“We’re not prepared to preview our case at this time for your amusement,” Mike replied. “But I can assure you that I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think the evidence against your company and against you personally was substantial.”

“In other words, no evidence,” Sanguine said, making a check mark with a pencil on his desk blotter. “Got any witnesses?”

Ben could not restrain himself. “There’s no one left who can testify against you, you bloodsucker. You’ve taken care of that. But you won’t stay lucky forever. We’ve found Catherine.”

Sanguine displayed no outward emotion. “Catherine?”

“Yeah, we’ve found that disgusting little hovel at the Malador where you’ve been keeping her. She’s in pretty pathetic shape. She’s scared to death—afraid to go out, even afraid to talk. You did a fabulous job on her.” Ben took a deep breath. He had gone too far to stop. “It won’t last, though. We’re going to trace the rental payments on the apartment back to you, if we have to subpoena every check you’ve ever written. We’re going to work with Catherine, too. She’ll recover—I know she will. And when she does, she’ll start to talk.” Ben pushed himself forward in his chair. “Then where will you be, Mr. Sanguine?”

Sanguine went through the motion of stifling a yawn. “Tidwell,” he said, drowsily, “get me the file on rental properties maintained by the corporation.”

“Certainly.” Tidwell scurried out of the office.

Sanguine returned his attention to Ben. “Do you have any idea how much real estate this company owns?” He paused. “Well, you should. Your firm secured most of it for us. And a lot of that property is rental property. We use some of it for storage, some for branch office space, some for staff support and low-cost staff residences. I employ over three thousand people in Tulsa alone, Mr. Kincaid. Maybe we do rent some space at the … what is it? … Malador Apartments. Frankly, I haven’t the slightest idea. Do you really suppose that I know who’s living at every single property?”

“I think you know who’s living in this one,” Ben said quietly.

Sanguine stretched out his arms and propped up his feet. “You really should have become in-house counsel here, Kincaid. It would have yanked you out of this caped-crusader mindset and given you a strong dose of reality, something you sorely need.”

“I think this is getting away from the point,” Mike said. “Mr. Sanguine, two of your employees have been murdered in a two-week span. Surely you can understand our concern. One man was slain just as he was about to provide documentary evidence to the police—”

“Is Kincaid here with the police now?”

Mike hesitated. “He’s … working as a special investigator. Doesn’t the coincidence strike you as the least bit suspicious, Mr. Sanguine? Two of your employees in one month? Victims of very similar murders?”

Sanguine shrugged his shoulders. “As I said, Lieutenant Morelli, I employ over three thousand persons. I’m sorry two of them have died, but I hardly think it’s evidence of a gigantic conspiracy. And I don’t see how you became convinced the trail leads back to me. I barely even knew this last man, this …” He searched his memory for the name unsuccessfully. “… the accountant. And I can’t help it if Jonathan Adams liked to hang out in chain-and-leather biker bars.”

Ben felt his blood beginning to boil. “Someone lured Adams to the Red Parrot,” he said evenly. “Someone set up a meeting there. Someone with dark hair.”

Sanguine laughed heartily. “Oh well,” he said, wiping his eyes. “That proves it was me.”

“Mr. Sanguine,” Mike said coolly, “I suggest you take this matter seriously.”

“Why should I take this seriously? You barge in here in the middle of the working day, making the most outrageous accusations with a straight face, and you haven’t got the slightest shred of evidence. And no witnesses. You haven’t got anything but one snot-nosed kid who’s supposed to be on my payroll who doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about!”

He pointed angrily toward Mike. “I’ll tell you what, Lieutenant. I’ll give you what you want. I will take this seriously, and deal with it like I would any other threat to my business. I’m calling my lawyers in now, and they’ll spin you and your gang of civil servants around so fast you won’t know what hit you. A lawsuit for harassment, just for starters, with maybe some civil rights claims thrown in for good measure. Your department will wish you’d never been born.”

He jerked his finger in Ben’s direction. “And you! I’m going to file a bar complaint against you, Kincaid. You’ve been acting as my lawyer and trusted counselor and at the same time using my privileged confidences to nail me to the wall. I’d call that a serious conflict of interest and I think the committee will, too. You’ll never practice law again, kid.”

He returned the threatening finger to Mike. “Which reminds me, Lieutenant. I’m registering a formal complaint against you with your superior officer. That would be Chief Blackwell, right? Guess what? The chief and I are old fishing buddies. We play golf together at Southern Hills several times a year. You may be on permanent traffic duty real soon, pal. Or walking the beat with the street cops. And I have friends on the streets. They’ll be watching for you.” He reached into the humidor on his desk for a cigar. “This might be an advantageous time for you to consider another line of work. Maybe you could get into law school, Lieutenant.” A quick look at Ben. “They’re evidently not too particular these days.”

Ben closed his eyes. How in the name of God did this happen? They came in here from a position of strength to force Sanguine to talk, but it was clear that Sanguine had the upper hand. He was twisting them around like Silly Putty.

A beeping noise emerged from the telephone on Sanguine’s desk. Still washed with fury, Sanguine punched a button on the phone and turned up the volume on the intercom. “What the hell is it?” he shouted.

A female voice emerged from the speaker box. “Uh … I have the report on the Phoenix franchise you requested, sir.”

Ben sat upright in his chair. A sudden chill shot through his body.

“My God, we’ve got to get out of here,” Ben said, rising to his feet and grabbing his coat.

“What are you talking about?” Mike asked. “We can’t leave now. Don’t be such a—”

“I can’t wait,” Ben said, already halfway out of the office. “It may be too late already.”