The Last Alibi

30

Shauna

Thursday, June 20

I shake hands with Rory and Dylan Arangold at the end of a three-hour meeting. We’re doing what you do as you near trial in a civil lawsuit: working on a dual track, considering an acceptable settlement while preparing for a trial if there isn’t one. Yesterday, the lawyers for the city said they’d accept $5.5 million from us to “make the case go away.” But $5.5 million will make Arangold Construction go away. It’s above the surety bond they obtained, and they don’t have that kind of money lying around, not in this economy.

The Arangolds are old-school males in the construction business, hotheaded at times but totally uncomfortable showing fear. Which is why it’s so unsettling to watch them sweat so profusely as we cover every aspect of this case, as Rory taps at that calculator at the various permutations of damages a jury could award, as we consider the risks and rewards of the certainty of a settlement versus the likelihood of victory at trial.

“So you think Jason’ll be at the next meeting?” Rory asks. “Is that trial almost done?”

I’ve created an excuse for Jason, a major trial (the details vague) that has consumed him entirely. I won’t deny that I find it a little insulting that they keep asking for my law partner, but then again, they probably wouldn’t have handed me this case without him. I’ve handled some smaller matters for the Arangolds for years, transactional work and mechanic’s liens and a few smaller contract matters, but I didn’t really expect to get this case. I didn’t expect two guys who still call waitresses sweetheart and who always compliment me on my appearance to hand over this bet-the-company case to someone with a vagina.

And so this lawyer and her vagina would really like to get these cavemen a good outcome.

After we say our good-byes, my associate, Bradley, goes to his office to check his messages. I walk down the hall to Jason’s office and consider asking him to an early lunch. I catch Joel Lightner walking out the door, waving to Marie.

“Fuck!” Jason shouts out as I approach. I don’t usually have that effect on him. “Oh, hey,” he says when he sees me.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He sighs. “Nothing.”

“You just like to yell ‘Fuck’ at the top of your lungs every now and then?”

He shakes his head absently. “Remember that weird guy, James Drinker?”

“The killer-who’s-not-a-killer.”

He looks out the window, his hands on his hips. “He lied to me. He claimed to have an alibi for one of the murders. His alibi was his mother. He said he was talking to her on his home phone. And now I come to learn that mommy is six feet underground.”

“Are you a cop now? It’s your job to solve crimes?”

He gives me a sidelong glance, an evil eye. “This is different,” he says. “A guy comes into my office and says he committed this crime or that-fine, I represent him, I’d never tell his secrets. But four women have been murdered and there’s no reason to believe there won’t be a fifth, and a sixth, and meanwhile I’m holding my dick in my hands-”

“Jason, it sucks, but you can’t turn in a client. You don’t even know if he’s guilty.”

Halfway through my lecture, he is shushing me with his hand, patting the air. “This from the woman who doesn’t practice criminal law because she doesn’t want to help set criminals free. But it’s okay to sit idly by and watch a serial killer run amok?”

That isn’t fair. There isn’t anyone who’d like to see this guy taken down more than me. But Jason, as always, is forgetting that he’s a lawyer with rules to follow. If he disregards them whenever his conscience bothers him, they aren’t rules at all.

“It isn’t a question of ‘okay.’ It’s a question of what you are ethically bound to do and not do. You can’t just go with some gut feeling and throw away your law license.”

“My law license.” He makes a noise, something between a laugh and a grunt.

I raise my hands. “I know this is tough, Jason. I do. It must be agonizing. I don’t work in your area of the law, so this is new to me. But I have to tell you, it seems to me that the rules are pretty clear.”

“I know.” Jason shakes his head. “I know you’re right.”

My eyes drift to the corner of his office where I left the Arangold materials. They still haven’t been touched, not one file.

“Listen,” I say, “I know this is tearing your hair out, but speaking of hair being torn out-are you going to help me on Arangold or not? It’s almost game time. Let’s end the suspense.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and puts out a hand. “I can’t think about that right now. I gotta figure this shit out, Shauna.”

I take a deep breath. Beneath my anger and frustration is something more. Jason looks terrible. Strung out. Sleep-deprived. Skinny. For the first time, I begin to wonder if there is something seriously wrong with him, if something happened to him while I’ve had my back turned these last six or eight weeks.

“Are you okay?” I ask. Normally, this would be the wrong approach. Jason isn’t your sensitive, sit-down-and-talk-about-your-feelings sort of guy. But I sense a dam about to burst.

He runs a hand through his hair. “No, I’m not okay. I spend most of my time trying to get people off for things that they did, for which they are totally and completely guilty. I kick the search on Billy Braden’s case so he can walk out of court and start selling drugs again right away. I’m just delaying the inevitable with these guys. I’m just making money. That’s all I’m doing. And now I find a guy who I know is guilty-I know it. Maybe it’s just my gut, but I know it. He’s killed and he’s going to kill again, Shauna, and he’s making me a part of it. I feel like I’m a coconspirator. And I have to sit here and do nothing?”

He sweeps a desk full of papers to the floor, something out of a movie, the disgruntled employee with the asshole boss who’s just had it! and quits.

“Fuck this,” he says, and he comes toward me, like he’s heading out the door.

“Hey, come on,” I say.

He stops and takes my arm. “I’m sorry about Arangold. I really am. But you’re better off without me. Trust me.”

He releases my arm and leaves the office without another word.