Steven Gore - Absolute Risk

Gage withdrew his laptop from his attache case and located the law firm’s Web site. He found Wycovsky’s photo among the partners. Sitting at the far end of a conference table, the five other partners semicircled behind him, Wycovsky looking like a wolf among hounds and terriers. Gage navigated to his personal page. A ten-year gap between when he graduated from Brooklyn College and when he completed Flatbush Evening Law School.

Arndt’s page showed him to be a second-year associate with a Yale Law School degree, wireless glasses, and a haircut like a Chihuahua.

“How does an Ivy Leaguer end up taking orders from a guy like Wycovsky?” Gage asked.

“Maybe bottom of his class and lots of student loans to pay off.”

Gage returned to the home page and looked for a tab for notable cases or firm achievements or recent cases or trial wins. There was none.

Whatever kind of work they did, they didn’t want to advertise it.

“Don’t close it up,” Viz said, then reached into the console and pulled out a memory card reader. He handed it to Gage along with Hennessy’s cards. “The SIM is shot. The other one is okay. It has only one file on it, but I couldn’t open it.”

Gage plugged in the reader and copied the file onto his computer. He tried a few different programs, but none would activate the file.

“I better let the genius give it a try,” Gage said, then forwarded it to Alex Z.

Three hours later, Viz dropped Gage off two blocks away from Milton Abrams’s apartment, then drove over to Shadden Phillips amp; Wycovsky to watch for Arndt.

Gage had just finished filling Abrams in and going over Hennessy’s notebook, when Viz called.

“I spotted Arndt leaving work early. I called his office pretending to be a friend from Yale. His secretary said he had an appointment near his home in Scarsdale, then was going to work out at his club.”

“Did you get the name?”

“I played dumb and she spilled it,” Viz said. “I’ll come by and pick you up.”

Thirty minutes later, Gage was riding with Viz toward Scarsdale, and sixty minutes after that they were looking in through the storefront windows of a 24 Hour Fitness center.

Gage found it easy to spot Kenyon Arndt wiping his face with a towel as he ran on a treadmill in the middle of a line of others.

“I don’t think anyone’s face is supposed to be that red,” Viz said.

Gage nodded as he cracked a window to keep the windshield from fogging. “He’s getting into heart attack territory.”

Arndt reached up and punched at the display. A few seconds later his legs accelerated.

“Should I go in there and stop him before he kills himself?” Viz asked.

“It looks like that’s the point. With debts like Alex Z says he’s got, money from his life insurance may be the only way out for his family.”

A personal trainer wearing a club jersey and shorts walked up to Arndt and pointed at what looked to Gage to be a bruise on Arndt’s forehead, then down at the display.

Arndt stared forward, shaking his head.

She made a football referee’s timeout signal with the fingers of one hand T’d against the palm of the other and held it in front of Arndt’s face.

Arndt shook his head again, and she yanked the safety cord. Arndt’s legs slowed to a stop. He threw his towel against her chest, then turned and marched away.

“Kind of a punk,” Viz said.

“I suspect there’s a lot going on in his head that we don’t know about,” Gage said, then pointed at Arndt’s Volvo parked two spaces away, between two BMWs. “Why don’t you head on over there. When he comes out, pretend you dropped your keys in the slush.”

Viz looked over. “I guess it’s my turn for the cold job.”

“Only because he might’ve seen a photo of me, either from Davey Hicks or somewhere else, and I don’t want him to bolt. I’d rather not have to tackle him in the snow.”

Gage’s encrypted cell phone rang as Viz walked away.

“That file was a pain in the ass,” Alex Z said, “but I got it, boss. I just e-mailed it back.”

Just then, Arndt walked from the entrance toward his car.

“I’ll look for it. Thanks. I’ve got to go.”

By the time Arndt arrived at his driver’s side door, Viz was bent down sifting through the slush.

Through the gap in the window Gage heard Arndt challenge Viz, “What are you doing next to my car?”

Viz angled his head upward. “Looking for my keys.”

Gage got out of the SUV.

“Do it after I’m gone,” Arndt said.

Viz straightened up. Gage came to a stop behind Arndt, who looked back. The flush of exercise and anger faded from Arndt’s face.

Arndt turned his body sideways in the narrow space between the cars and spread himself flat against the BMW. His head swiveled back and forth between Gage and Viz. Gage had four inches on him. Viz had even more. Arndt’s gaze settled on Viz, a seeming effort to convince them that he hadn’t recognized Gage.

“What do you want?” Arndt said, his voice sounding forced, as though trying to use the words not as a question, but as an accusation.

Gage answered. “Let’s not play games. You know who I am and what I want: the name of your client and why he wanted me followed.”

“You’re asking the wrong guy,” Arndt said, now looking up at Gage. “My name’s not at the top of the letterhead, only in the small print along the side with the rest of the grunts.”

“I’m not sure why it’s on the letterhead at all,” Gage said. “You commit a sin in a past life?”

“It pays the bills.”

“No it doesn’t. I’ve seen your credit report.”

Arndt folded his arms across his chest. “And I’ve seen a hotel surveillance video of you and Strubb taken just before Gilbert’s murder.”

“Is that supposed to worry me? “

Arndt opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again.

Gage could tell that Arndt had realized that the role the video had been acting in the theater of his mind didn’t match reality.

“I also want to know why you were having Hennessy followed,” Gage said, “and whether you had anything to do with him going over the cliff.”

Arndt’s palm shot out toward Gage. “Wait a second. I didn’t get involved until just before he… he…” His arm now hung there without purpose, the meaning having been drained from the gesture by his inadvertent admission. He lowered it, followed by his head, and then clenched his fists by his side. “I knew it would come to this. I knew it-I knew it-I knew it.”

Gage pushed past the little-boy rant. It was too early to allow Arndt to see himself as the victim.

“Why did Wycovsky want you to manage the surveillance?” Gage asked.

“It sure as hell wasn’t because he thought I was competent,” Arndt said, shaking his head. He still hadn’t looked up. The slushing of club members’ feet as they shuffled from their cars to the entrance was now lost to him. “He just wants everybody’s hands as dirty as his.”

Gage turned and leaned back against Arndt’s Volvo, trying to make Arndt’s position seem less claustrophobic.

“I don’t know all of the details,” Gage said, “but I think your hands may be dirtier even than what you imagine when you’re lying in bed at night-and I’m not talking about Gilbert’s murder. I know why that happened and it had nothing to do with you.”

Arndt looked up at Gage. “Nobody said anything about killing Hennessy. They were just supposed to follow him.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know. They were different than the local people. I took over the Albany end when Wycovsky left for Marseilles.”

“What were they trying to find out?”

Arndt shrugged. “I still don’t know. But I think they were playing defense, not offense. Trying to find out how much Hennessy knew about something and how much he’d shared with others.”