David Baldacci - True Blue

Mace Perry lay in the backseat of the car.

Thirty-five minutes later she was walking through the cavernous Union Station. She got her ticket from the self-serve machine and boarded the Acela train a few minutes before it was to leave. She snagged a window seat and for the next two hours or so watched the scenery of the Northeast go by as she thought about her upcoming encounter with the law firm of Hamilton, Petrocelli & Sprissler. She grabbed a cab at the station and walked into the law firm’s suite in a twenty-story building in downtown Newark fifteen minutes later.

The place was all polished wood and marble with tasteful paintings on the wall. It looked very old money, yet Roy had looked up the law firm on an online legal directory for her and told her that it had only been in existence for fifteen years. The firm specialized in divorce and other civil litigation, and had three female partners, Julie Hamilton, Mandy Petrocelli, and Kelly Sprissler. They were all from New Jersey, had graduated from the same law school in the same year, and had returned to their roots to open the firm. From what Roy had been able to find, the practice had been a success from nearly day one and each of the name partners had stellar reputations in the Newark legal community. The firm currently employed a total of fourteen attorneys, and they were known in the area as a go-to legal shop for high-profile divorces, many of which came from nearby Manhattan.

The receptionist, a polished-looking woman in her early thirties, made a face when Mace told her who she was and why she was there.

“They don’t want to talk to you,” she said bluntly.

“I know. That’s why I came all this way. It’s really very important. Can you at least let them know I’m here?”

She made the call, spoke briefly with someone, and then put the receiver down.

“That was Ms. Hamilton.”

“And?” said Mace hopefully.

“She wishes you a safe trip back home.”

“Can I talk to her on the phone?’

“That would not be possible.”

“I can wait here until they come out.”

“Ms. Hamilton anticipated you might say that, so she told me to tell you that the building has excellent security and that spending several months in jail for trespass was probably not a good use of your time.”

“Wow, I haven’t even met this woman and already I like her. Okay, I’ll just have to turn it over to the FBI. I know some of the agents in the field office up here. They’re good people, and very thorough. Since this is a murder investigation with possible national security implications, I hope the firm can do without its computers for a while.”

“What do you mean?” the receptionist said in a stunned tone.

“Well, it’s standard operating procedure for the Feds to confiscate all computers during an investigation like this.”

“You said national security?”

“Jamie Meldon was a U.S. attorney. His murder may be tied to a terrorist organization.”

“Oh my God. We don’t know anything about that.”

“Well, the FBI likes to find that out for itself.” Mace pulled out her phone, hit a speed dial button, and said, “FBI Special Agent Morelli, please. It’s Mace Perry.”

“Wait a minute!”

Mace eyed the woman standing in the doorway. She was about forty, Mace’s height, a little heavier, and dressed in a jacket and skirt with black hose and heels. Her brown hair was cut short and precisely traced the outline of her head. Mace clicked off the phone. She’d only dialed 411 after all. “Are you Julie Hamilton? I recognize your voice from the phone call.”

“I can give you five minutes.”

“Great.”

She walked down the hall with Mace scurrying after her. On the way Hamilton leaned into two other offices and gave the people inside a nod of the head. When Mace and Hamilton entered a small conference room, two other women joined them.

Hamilton indicated with her hand, “My partners, Mandy Petrocelli and Kelly Sprissler.”

Petrocelli was tall and big-boned with dyed blond hair, while Sprissler was short and wiry and her reddish hair was clipped back in a tight braid. All three women looked tough, professional, and were probably excellent at their work, Mace assumed. If she ever did manage to marry someone and things turned ugly, she’d probably call one of these women to rep her.

“I’m Mace Perry, a private investigator from Washington.”

“Get to the point,” interjected Sprissler in a harsh tone.

“The point is Diane Tolliver was brutally murdered at her law office on Friday of last week and her body stuffed in a fridge. A few days later Jamie Meldon was found inside a Dumpster. On the night Diane was killed, she and Meldon had dinner together. We think she knew of some illegal activity and might have been trying to get Meldon’s help. What we don’t know is why she picked him. From what we’ve been able to determine so far, they never had any connection.”

The three lawyers glanced at one another. Hamilton said, “You mentioned out in the lobby that this case had national security implications?”

Mace nodded. “Terrorism potential.”

Petrocelli said in a booming voice, “If so, why are you here and not the FBI?”

“I wish I had a good answer to that, but I don’t. All I want to know is how Meldon and Tolliver knew each other.”

“How did you even find out about us?” Sprissler interjected.

“Joe Cushman. Diane’s ex. He spoke highly of your firm.”

“That’s because we took him to the cleaners during the divorce,” said Petrocelli.

“Now we’re on retainer to his company,” added Sprissler. “That’s the mark of good legal work, turning adversaries into clients.”

“But getting back to why you’re here,” said Hamilton.

“Right. How did Meldon and Tolliver know each other?”

“I guess it’s all right to tell you. It’s public record anyway. Before we were retained to represent her, Jamie was Diane’s counsel of record in her divorce proceedings from Joe.”

“While he was in private practice in New York?”

“That’s right.”

“But I was told he was primarily a mob lawyer.”

Hamilton said sternly, “Jamie represented many companies and individuals that were involved in myriad civil and criminal matters. I would not describe him as a mob lawyer.”

“Okay, but did he also handle divorce cases in New Jersey?”

“Diane lived in New Jersey, although she practiced law in Manhattan,” said Sprissler.

“A very common occurrence,” added Petrocelli.

“But did Meldon handle divorce cases as a ‘very common occurrence’?”

Hamilton cleared her throat. “No, he didn’t.”

“Is that why he passed the baton to you?”

“We’d worked with Jamie before. He knew we specialized in marital law cases.”

“So why not just get you on board from the get-go?”

“There was a matter of timing,” explained Hamilton.

“Timing? I know divorce cases can last years. What was the hurry?”

“Jamie got a restraining order against Joe Cushman. He was making threats apparently against Diane. The order had to be obtained quickly for obvious reasons, although having gotten to know Joe over the years I don’t believe he meant any of it.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why Meldon was involved in the first place. How did he know Tolliver?”

“I’m not sure that is relevant to anything,” barked Sprissler, who looked like she wanted to leap over the table and take a bite out of Mace’s leg.

“Well, I think it’s relevant. And I damn sure know the FBI would think it was.”

“They were friends,” said Hamilton after a few tense moments of silence.

Mace arched her eyebrows.