Page 5 of The Accomplice
I drained my first cup of coffee of the day and got up to fetch a refill from the machine in the kitchen.
‘Sit down,’ said Denise, with a smile.
She was holding a hot cup of coffee, but I noticed that it wasn’t her mug. She set the coffee down on the desk in front of me, said, ‘Here’s your second cup.’
Denise was an experienced legal secretary. Smarter than most lawyers, but fiercely organized and with a good head for business thrown in. A worker with a heart the size of Lake Michigan. Typing one hundred words a minute and half running my law firm were Denise’s main duties. Those duties did not extend to getting me my coffee. I didn’t like other people getting me coffee, or lunch. I looked after myself. Denise had never brought me so much as a glass of water before.
She stood there, smiling.
‘Do you need a raise ?’ I asked.
‘No, I’m fine. I know you’ve said before you’re not a hundred percent in the morning until you’ve had two cups of coffee.’
This was true, but I couldn’t remember when I’d said this to Denise.
Next thing, Harry Ford came into my office carrying a large bundle of papers that filled his arms. A former judge, my old mentor, and now a consultant who helped out with the thornier legal issues in our cases. Harry dumped the files on my desk, sat his ass down in one of my clients’ chairs.
Bloch, our investigator, followed Harry. She wheeled two chairs into my office, and sat on one, leaving the other free. Kate Brooks, my partner in Flynn & Brooks, came in with her own chair and folded her legs beneath it as she sat. Bloch and Kate had known each other from childhood and enjoyed that kind of shorthand that worked through looks, gestures and half-smiles. Bloch took her cell out of her jeans, turned it off. Kate, in her business suit, took her phone from her jacket and turned it off.
They were all staring at me.
‘Is this an intervention ?’ I asked. ‘I’m not drinking, ask Harry—’ I said, but Denise cut me off.
‘Drink up,’ she said.
‘What is this ? And why do I get the impression it has something to do with the suit in reception ?’ I asked.
Bloch pursed her lips and threw a look at Kate that must’ve been a cue.
‘We’re taking a new case,’ said Kate.
‘We ?’ I asked.
She nodded, said, ‘This one will need all of us at the top of our game. Bloch and I read the file over the weekend and Harry read it yesterday. It’s the big one, Eddie.’
I stood still.
I liked getting work. Helping people was the job, and it was good most of the time. If we had landed a big case, I would’ve expected Harry or Kate to have told me before now. Bloch never said a lot, although we were friends. She just didn’t say much to anyone.
‘If we’ve landed a big case then why do I feel like this is an ambush ? And why is Denise getting me coffee ?’
‘Because I like to get coffee,’ said Denise.
‘No, you don’t. Who is the suit outside ? Is he the client ?’
‘No,’ said Harry. ‘He’s the client’s lawyer.’
I craned my neck around the gathering, took another look at the man. That’s where I’d seen him before – on TV.
‘He’s Otto Peltier ?’ I asked.
Harry nodded.
It explained the suit, the haircut. He glanced back at me, wiping his lips with manicured fingers. Most criminal lawyers in Manhattan had never heard of Otto Peltier before last year. His clients lived in the high-class areas of New York and Otto practiced in the high-class areas of law. Real Estate, Tax, Wealth Management, Divorce and Probate. In other words, he saved his clients enough money on their taxes so they could buy a boat, or a house, and then he made sure they held onto it through their divorce, and, finally, made certain that the government didn’t take a big slice of the inheritance when they’d died. So it was a real surprise to the criminal lawyers of New York when Otto Peltier landed the biggest criminal case in the city. It showed on him. I could see the strain around his eyes.
Otto represented Carrie Miller – the Sandman’s wife. Last year her property was raided by police and FBI, after they identified Daniel Miller as the Sandman from his fingerprint and DNA left at a crime scene. A year later they were still looking for the Sandman. Some felt that because they couldn’t catch the real murderer, Carrie Miller was a good substitute. It made the feds, and the cops, look as though they had accomplished something. And they needed a win, because the city and most of the state had lived in fear of this man for a long time. Putting away a killer was the right political decision for law enforcement.
‘Wait a minute, he wants us to ride on his coat tails in this case ? I don’t sit in second chair,’ I said.
