Phillip Margolin: The Associate

Randall?” she said loudly. There was no answer. “I do not fucking like this,” Billie mumbled to herself as she stepped onto the landing. As soon as her vision adjusted Billie made out Burt Randall in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. There were two bloodstained holes in the T-shirt and a third in the center of Randall’s forehead.

Daniel was fixing dinner in Kate’s kitchen when he heard her car pull up. She was holding a roll of film when she walked in the door.

“What’s that?” “Photos of a secret meeting between Aaron Flynn and Susan Webster. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to have a talk with that little bitch. If she’ll admit she’s been working with Flynn to fix Insufort, we may be able to nail him.” “That’s terrific,” Daniel said.

The phone rang and Kate answered it. She listened intently for a moment, then swore. “What’s wrong?” Daniel asked. “It’s Billie,” Kate told him. “Randall is dead, murdered.” Kate listened while Brewster described the crime scene. “No sign of a struggle?” Kate asked.

“None,” Billie told her. “When was Randall killed?” “Medical examiner’s rough guess puts the death around the time Kaidanov got it, give or take an hour either way.” “It sounds like someone is tying up loose ends,” Kate said. “Did you talk to Flynn?” “Yeah, but I didn’t get a thing. He was very nervous when I asked him about the call from the Benson. He denied talking to Arnold, even though the call lasted fifteen minutes. And he refused to let me see his time sheets so I could find out who was with him when the call came in. I’m sure he’s hiding something.” “With Randall dead, we won’t be able to prove that Flynn ordered him to bug Daniel’s apartment.” “With Randall dead, we can’t prove a thing against Flynn.” Billie sighed. “I phoned Claude Bernier. He’s still having trouble finding the negative. If we ever get a print of the photograph, and Flynn’s in it, I might be able to get a search warrant for Flynn’s time sheets.” “Go get some sleep,”

Kate said. “You sound all in.” “Good advice.” Kate hung up. “That was Billie Brewster. Burt Randall’s been murdered.” “Then we’re fucked.

The cops are not going to go after someone like Aaron Flynn without proof.” “Maybe I can crack Susan with the photos when I-” Kate froze.

Then she smiled. “What?” Daniel asked. She started toward the door to her basement workshop. “Come on. We’re going to take a trip in cyberspace.” Daniel followed Kate downstairs. She flipped on the light and headed to one of her computers. “One of the reasons Reed, Briggs hired me was to advise them on computer security. If you want to know how to protect files, you have to know how to invade them. I’m going to hack into Flynn’s computer.” Kate checked her watch. “Flynn’s employees should be home by now, so we’re good to go.” “What are you looking for?” Daniel asked as Kate started pounding her keyboard. “If he operates like most lawyers, Flynn posts his time sheets to his law office server,” she answered while focusing her attention on her monitor. “They stay there until his secretary uploads them to her workstation when she does his billing. I should be able to access the time sheet for the fifteen minutes when Gene Arnold called Flynn’s office. If someone was with Flynn when Arnold’s call came in, we’ll soon know.” “How are you going to get in?” “That’s simple. I’ll access the files at Reed, Briggs and get Flynn’s E-mail address. That’ll give me his Internet Protocol address. Once I log onto Flynn’s server, I’ll use the software that found Kaidanov’s password to get the password for Flynn’s law office server. When I’m in, I can go to any file in the server and download any information in the file to my computer.”

“It can’t be that easy. What if Flynn has security?” “He might have installed a firewall to block unauthorized intruders, but I doubt it’s one I can’t circumvent. The best defensive software has weaknesses.

Even Microsoft has been hacked. I doubt Flynn put a lot of money into his security system. Most law firms don’t.” “Can this be traced back to you?” Kate laughed. “I’m going to give Flynn’s server a frontal lobotomy when I’m through. I’ll erase the transaction. It’ll look like someone randomly logged on by mistake and was kicked off.” “You’re sure about this?” “Relax. This is what I do. In three to four hours we’ll know the name of the person Flynn was with when Gene Arnold called.”

Alice Cummings lived in a cheap garden apartment behind a strip mall and a car wash a few blocks from Portland’s worst commercial avenue. Daniel remembered how tired she had looked wheeling Patrick’s stroller into Aaron Flynn’s lobby on the day he delivered the boxes containing the discovery documents. She looked worse today. When Cummings visited Flynn she’d been wearing makeup and a dress. When she opened the door, she was in soiled jeans and a stained sweatshirt and there was no mascara or pancake makeup to hide the lines that the pressure of raising a handicapped baby had etched in her face. “Hi,”

Daniel said, flashing a pleasant smile. “You probably don’t remember me, but Aaron Flynn introduced us about a month ago.” Alice examined Daniel’s face. Her eyes lingered on the bandage that covered his head wound, but only for a moment. He hoped that she did not recognize him from one of the television news programs that had filmed him at the courthouse. “We met in the lobby of Mr. Flynn’s office. I was just leaving as you came in for your appointment.” Alice brightened. “Oh, yes. Now I remember. Did Mr. Flynn send you?” “Can I come in?” Daniel answered, finessing the question. Alice stepped aside and let Daniel into a small front room. “How’s Patrick?” he asked. “He had a bad night, but he’s sleeping now.” Daniel heard the resignation and exhaustion in Cummings’s voice. Kate had looked up Alice in the records at the courthouse. Daniel knew that her husband had filed for divorce soon after Patrick’s birth, which meant that she was raising her son alone. “When he has a bad night yours must be rough, too,” he said. “My nights are never as bad as my baby’s. Sometimes I wonder how he goes on, but he’s never known anything else.” Alice rubbed her hands on her jeans and surveyed her front room. There was laundry on the sofa. She took a toy off an armchair and motioned Daniel toward it. “Please, sit down. Can I get you some coffee?” “I’m fine,” Daniel said, waiting for Alice to push some of the laundry aside and take a seat before he sat down. “Has Mr. Flynn heard anything?” she asked anxiously. “We’re really counting on him.” “I’m not here about your case.” Alice looked confused and Daniel felt horrible about deceiving her. “It’s something Mr. Flynn wanted me to ask you about. Do you remember visiting his office in early March?” She nodded. “That was my first time. I… I read about the Moffitts. I wanted to see if he could help me, too.” “So you remember the consultation?” “Of course.”

“Because a matter came up in another case I need your help with. It has to do with a phone call that Mr. Flynn insists that he received while you were with him. Another lawyer is claiming that the call never took place. Mr. Flynn’s time sheets indicate that he was meeting with you when the call came in. Do you remember a call interrupting your meeting? Or the receptionist talking to Mr. Flynn over the intercom while you were with him?” Alice thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I do. There was a call. Mr. Flynn apologized when his receptionist interrupted the meeting. And… Of course! Now I remember. Mr. Flynn was upset when his secretary buzzed him. He told her that he didn’t want our meeting interrupted. She was speaking on an intercom and I heard her. She said the man was calling about a murder and was very insistent. That’s one of the reasons I remember the call. I don’t hear people discussing a murder very often.” “That’s the call I need to know about,” Daniel said, trying to sound businesslike. “Do you happen to remember the caller’s name? That would be very helpful.” “His last name was Arnold,” she said with a laugh.