Phillip Margolin: The Associate

Forbus pulled three folded sheets of paper out of his inside jacket pocket and pushed them across the table. Renee looked at the report nervously but did not reach for it. “Read it,” Forbus ordered. Renee hesitated, then started turning the pages. When she finished she looked at the detective expectantly. “Anything missing?” he asked.

“Missing?” “Yeah. Is there anything that you should have told me that’s not in there?” Renee looked confused. “What do you mean?” “I got a call from someone who thinks you’re concealing information in this investigation.” Renee’s shoulders hunched a little and she looked down at the table. “Ms. Gilchrist, how did you and Daniel Ames get along?” “Okay. Fine.” “Care to elaborate.” “He… We worked together.” “Do you like him?” The question seemed to startle Renee.

“Like him?” she repeated. “Well, I mean, he’s a nice guy, sure.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Ms. Gilchrist. You two ever date?”

“No! He did a lot of work with Mr. Briggs. I just saw him in the office.” “So you’d have no reason to cover for him, to conceal evidence that would prove he killed your boss?” “Certainly not,” she answered, but there was a tremor in her voice. Forbus smiled. He leaned back and studied Renee. She shifted on her chair. “Then I suppose you have a good reason for not telling me about the phone call you got from Ames on the day your boss was killed?” Renee hesitated.

“Did he call you, Renee?” Forbus demanded, putting emphasis on the secretary’s first name. “Do you understand that it’s a felony to obstruct a police investigation?” Renee’s eyes dropped and she fidgeted in her seat. “I’m gonna ask you once more: Did you get a call from Daniel Ames on the day Arthur Briggs was killed?” “Yes,” Renee answered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Good, Renee. You just took the first step toward staying out of jail. Step two is to tell me what Ames said.”

When Billie Brewster entered Aaron Flynn’s suite of offices, she was as impressed by the lobby as Daniel had been, but Brewster had no trouble separating her admiration for the things someone owned from her opinion of the person who owned them. Flynn’s office was as impressive as the lobby. It was paneled in mahogany and decorated with fine art and tributes to Flynn’s courtroom triumphs. When Flynn’s secretary brought the detective to meet him, he rounded his polished oak desk and crossed the Persian rug that covered his hardwood floors.

“Sit down, Detective Brewster,” he said, flashing a warm smile and giving Billie’s hand a firm shake. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” Billie answered as she settled onto a comfortable couch that sat against one wall. Flynn sat opposite her, completely at ease. “How can I help you?” he asked. “Have you heard about the shooting at Rest of Angels Cemetery last night?” The lawyer’s smile disappeared. “It was in the morning paper.” Flynn shook his head sadly. “Dr. Kaidanov’s death was a tragic loss.” “You knew him?” “No, but I was hoping that he would be the key witness for several clients of mine who have given birth to babies with defects we believe were caused by Insufort, a Geller Pharmaceutical product. Dr. Kaidanov authored a study that showed that the product was harmful. He disappeared before I could question him about his work.” “Did you try to find Dr. Kaidanov?” “I’ve had my investigators trying to locate him since I learned about the study.” “Is Burt Randall one of the people you were using?” “Yes. Why?” “Did you instruct Mr. Randall to put a tap on Daniel Ames’s phone?” “A tap! Of course not.” “Mr. Flynn, I’ve received information that your investigator did exactly that, which we both know is quite illegal.” “Of course I know that. That’s why I would never do such a thing.” Flynn paused. “Ames. Isn’t he the young man charged with killing Arthur Briggs?” Billie nodded. “I’m completely lost, Detective. What makes you think that Burt would do something like that? If you’re going to make serious accusations against one of my employees, I have a right to know the basis for them.” “I’m sorry, but this comes from a confidential source. You understand confidentiality, being a lawyer and all,” Brewster said, feigning a friendly smile. “Well, I don’t know what to say. This is very unsettling.” “Is Mr. Randall here? I’d like to speak to him.” “I don’t believe he came in today.” “Can you give me his home address and phone number?” “I’d have to ask Mr. Randall for his permission, first.

Why don’t I arrange to have you meet him here, tomorrow?” “I appreciate the offer, but I need to see him today.” “Then I can’t help you.” “Or won’t,” Brewster answered, her smile gone. “Mr. Flynn, does the name Gene Arnold mean anything to you?” The question seemed to take Flynn by surprise. “I knew a lawyer named Gene Arnold years ago when I was practicing in Arizona.” “That’s the Gene Arnold I’m interested in. He was stabbed, then set on fire at the primate lab where the Kaidanov study was conducted.” Billie watched Flynn’s reaction carefully. Flynn seemed confused. “Gene was the dead man at that lab?” She nodded. “My God. What was he doing there?” “I thought you might be able to tell me.” “I have no idea. I haven’t seen Gene in years.” “What was your relationship to Mr. Arnold when you did know him?” Flynn shrugged. “ ‘Relationship’ would be too strong a word. We were acquaintances. Both of us practiced law in Desert Grove, which is a fairly small town. There weren’t many attorneys in Desert Grove, so we socialized at Bar Association meetings, things of that sort. We were adversaries on occasion, legally speaking, though this was some years ago. I don’t remember any specific cases offhand.” “Do you know of any connection between Mr. Arnold and the Insufort litigation?”

“None.” “So he didn’t mention the lab or the Insufort case when he called you?” “Why would he call me?” “I don’t know, but the phone records from the Benson Hotel show a call from Mr. Arnold’s room to your office that lasted fifteen minutes.” “I never spoke to him. I told you, I haven’t seen him or spoken to him since I left Desert Grove.” “If you didn’t talk to him when he called, who did?” Flynn spread his hands and shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea, Detective.” Billie told Flynn the date and time of the call. “Were you in the office when he phoned?” she asked. “I can’t say for certain.”

“Fifteen minutes is a long time, Mr. Flynn. Mr. Arnold must have been talking to somebody.” “Maybe I was on another line and he held for a while, then hung up. I frequently have phone conferences that last an hour or more. I’m involved in cases all over the country. I’m even representing some of the families from that air crash in India.”

“Would your staff be able to help? Maybe they remember the call.”

“I’ll ask, but I’m assuming this would have been several weeks ago, right?” “Your billing records would show what you were doing when Mr.

Arnold called, wouldn’t they?” “They might.” “Will you ask your secretary to make a copy of them for me?” “I’m afraid I can’t do that.

It would violate client confidentiality.” Flynn smiled. “There’s that word again.” Brewster studied Flynn. He seemed to be getting a second wind. “Can you think of any reason why Gene Arnold would be in Portland?” “No.” “You represented Paul McCann, didn’t you, the man accused of killing Patty Alvarez?” “Yes.” “And you know about the murder of Mr. Arnold’s wife.” “I wasn’t involved in that case,” Flynn answered, shifting uneasily in his chair. “Could Mr. Arnold’s visit have had anything to do with the death of his wife and Martin Alvarez’s wife?” Billie asked. Flynn looked very uncomfortable. “I can’t think of how it could.” Billie waited a moment, watching Flynn closely. “Well,” she said as she stood up, “I guess that does it.