Phillip Margolin - The Associate

Kate’s laugh brought Daniel an unexpected degree of pleasure. Kate took three thick strips and laid them in a pan. Daniel sat at the kitchen table and read the story about his case in the late edition of the paper. “I thoughtThe Oregonian was fair,” Kate said as she scrambled the eggs. “They wrote that Amanda cast serious doubts on Fairweather’s identification and they pointed out that there wasn’t any other evidence connecting you to the murder.” That should have made Daniel happy, but it didn’t. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop when the police interviewed Renee. Kate placed a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and toast in front of Daniel, then brought him a cup of coffee. “I’d never guess that you had this domestic streak,” Daniel joked. “Don’t get used to it,” Kate answered, tossing a set of keys next to Daniel’s plate. “You’re on your own after tonight.” “What are these?” “A spare set of keys to my house. I’m going to be away for a few days and you’ll need them.” “Where are you going?” “To Arizona.”

Daniel looked confused. “While you were getting yourself arrested the cops found out the identity of the dead man at the lab. It wasn’t Dr.

Kaidanov.” “Who was it?” “An Arizona lawyer named Gene Arnold.” “What was he doing at the lab?” “No one knows. His partner doesn’t even know what he was doing in Oregon. Arnold went to New York on business, saw a photograph in an art gallery of two people walking across Pioneer Square, and flew here. He checked into the Benson and disappeared. Now we know where he went, but not why. I’m betting the answer is in Arizona.”

Kate rented a car at the airport and drove to Desert Grove under a vast blue sky along a desolate highway surrounded by desert and red-rock mesas. She appreciated the stark beauty of the scenery, but for someone who had spent her life in the Pacific Northwest there was too much sun and too little green. Shortly before one, Kate parked in front of a flat, modern, one-story building on the outskirts of town arnold amp; kellogg, attorneys-at-law was stenciled in gold on a plate-glass window that fronted the street. Benjamin Kellogg, a big-boned Scandinavian in his early thirties with wheat-colored hair, ushered her down the hall to his office. “Thank you for meeting with me on a Saturday,” Kate said when they were seated. “Gene wasn’t just my law partner, Ms. Ross. I’d appreciate hearing anything you can tell me that will help me understand what happened.” “Quite frankly, no one-the police, my firm, no one-has any clue to why your partner died where he did. That’s why I’m here.” “I’ll help if I can,” Kellogg assured her. “My firm is defending Geller Pharmaceuticals in a lawsuit that questions the safety of Insufort, one of its products.

Information about a study allegedly conducted by our client surfaced during a deposition. The results of the study supported the plaintiff’s claim that the drug is harmful. Soon after the existence of the report was discovered, the lab where the study was conducted was destroyed in an arson fire. Your partner’s body was found in the ruins. Was Gene Arnold or your firm connected in any way with this litigation?” “No.” “Can you think of any reason for Mr. Arnold to come to Oregon?” Kellogg looked completely baffled. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ross, but I have no idea why Gene was in Oregon. We don’t have any cases there.” “Has Mr. Arnold ever mentioned friends or business acquaintances who live in Oregon?” “No, but Gene hired me six years ago, fresh out of law school. I only made partner last year. I don’t know much about things that happened here before I moved from Phoenix, except for the murders, of course. They were news statewide.” “What murders?” “Gene’s wife and the wife of our biggest client were kidnapped and murdered. It probably wasn’t a big deal out of state, but it was major news in Arizona.” Kellogg shook his head. “It was really horrible. First, Martin’s wife was killed, then Gene’s. Neither one of them ever really got over it.” Kate leaned forward. “This is the first I’ve heard about these murders. Can you fill me in?” “I don’t know much more than what I read. Like I said, this was before I moved to Desert Grove, about seven years ago. I didn’t know Gene then, or Martin Alvarez.” “Who is Martin Alvarez?” “He’s the wealthiest man in Laurel County. A year or so before I got here his wife was murdered during a bungled kidnapping attempt. Paul McCann, a local guy, was arrested. Then Gene’s wife was kidnapped and murdered. For a while Gene was a suspect in his wife’s murder, but they dropped the charges.

It was a horrible time for Gene. He was still a mess during the first year I worked here.” “Did they ever catch Mrs. Arnold’s killer?” “No.”

“Can you give me any more details?” “Not really. It was all over by the time I started working for Gene and he never talked about it.”

“Who would know more about the murders?” Kellogg hesitated. “There’s Martin, but I’m not certain he’ll see you.” “Why is that?” “Martin worshiped his wife. He was devastated by her death. From what I hear he was very gregarious before she was killed. Everyone says that he threw the best parties; he was very active in the community and a great contributor to local charities. That all changed after his wife died. He’s very reclusive now. He rarely leaves his hacienda, even to conduct business.”

The Alvarez ranch was several miles out of town. There was no marker on the highway and Kate would have missed the turn onto the dirt track that led to the hacienda if Benjamin Kellogg had not given her precise directions. Kate drove on through a swirl of dust, but there was no sign of civilization. On both sides of the road clumps of desert plants clung to the arid and rocky ground and giant cacti stretched their arms toward a blue sky marred only by occasional wisps of clean white cloud. Kate was beginning to wonder if she’d made the right turn when an expanse of brown adobe walls materialized in the distance. A guard inspected Kate’s identification before directing her to a parking area in front of a massive whitewashed Spanish-style house with a red tile roof. She noticed another armed guard as she walked up a flagstone path to a front door of carved oak, which opened before she could knock. “Miss Ross?” asked a slender, light-boned woman of middle age dressed in a plain dress and comfortable shoes.

“Yes, ma’am.” The woman smiled. “I’m Anna Cordova, Mr. Alvarez’s assistant. He’s out at the pool.” Cordova inquired politely about Kate’s plane trip as she led the investigator across a tiled entryway, down four wide hardwood steps, and across a sunken living room. A blanket with an intricate American Indian design decorated one wall and an oil painting of a cattle drive decorated another; a glass case in a corner displayed pre-Columbian art. Kate walked by a stone fireplace and a painting that looked like a Georgia O’Keeffe. Outside, into the heat again. But this time there was shade from a roof that overhung a wide patio of brownish-red Spanish tile. At the end of the patio was a pool wide enough for six lap lanes and deep enough at one end for a diving board. An armed guard stood in the shadows created by the high wall that surrounded the compound. His eyes followed Kate as she crossed the veranda, but Kate lost interest in him quickly. Her attention was drawn to a heavyset man in white cotton pants and a loose-fitting short-sleeve shirt who was seated under an umbrella at a circular glass table, staring toward the pool. Martin Alvarez stood when he heard the women approach. Kate guessed that he was six two. A black eye patch covered his right eye and a scar ran across his temple, reddish white against his dark, pockmarked skin. There were streaks of gray in his jet-black hair. A bushy mustache covered his upper lip. Alvarez’s shoulders were thick and his forearms were heavily muscled. The investigator’s immediate impression was that he was a hard, unforgiving man. “Martin, Miss Ross is here,” Anna Cordova said. Alvarez crossed the pool deck with a determined stride. “Gene is dead?” he asked without preliminaries. Kate nodded. “There is no mistake?” Alvarez asked. His face betrayed no emotions. “No.” “The details, please. And do not spare my feelings. I am hardened to violence. Nothing you tell me will be worse than what I’ve already experienced.” “Mr. Arnold was killed with a sharp instrument, probably a knife. He didn’t suffer. His death would have been quick.” “Why did it take you so long to identify him? Kellogg reported him missing weeks ago.” “His body was found in the ruins of a laboratory in the woods, several miles from downtown Portland. Mr. Arnold’s body had to be identified through dental records because the body burned with the building.” There was a quick intake of breath. “He was dead before the fire was set,” Kate added quickly to put Alvarez’s mind at ease. “Why don’t you continue your conversation by the pool.” Cordova pointed to the glass-topped table. “I’ll have Miguel bring you some refreshments.