Lisa Scottoline - Moment Of Truth

'Thanks.' Davis introduced himself, then sat down across from Videon's desk, which was cluttered with papers, cases, and scribbled notes. The Pennsylvania guidelines for alimony rested on the keyboard of a thick grey laptop,

and Davis pulled out his legal pad. Next to him sat Art Field, the tape recorder with a law degree. Whittier had excused himself for this meeting, and Davis assumed he'd gone on to gouge the Fortune 500 in six-minute increments. 'I appreciate your agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.'

'What "agreeing"? I'm under subpoena, n'est-ce pas?' Videon's neat head swiveled to Art Field, who was clearly annoyed at being acknowledged.

'Yes,' Field answered. 'There is a document subpoena as well.'

Videon smiled. 'Oh, goody. I like it rough.' He ran a manicured hand through his thinning hair, which was nevertheless black as night. In fact, Davis figured that BLACK AS NIGHT was the name on the box. Videon had to be sixty, if he was a day. 'I knew you'd come to talk to me sooner or later. Let's start with what a shame it is about Honor Newlin.'

'It is a shame,' Davis said, seriously. He wasn't so sure he liked The Necessary Evil, which would make sense. Evil shouldn't have a lot of running buddies.

'Yes, of course, a shame. A terrible shame. A terrible tragedy. Have I said "terrible" enough yet to convince you of my sincerity? Put otherwise, are you buying this shit?' Videon paused as if expecting an answer, but Davis didn't give him one. 'Yes, well, to the facts. Honor Newlin was in to see me on Monday. The day she was murdered. She wanted to divorce Jack.'

'Begin at the beginning.' Davis took out his pen and pad. 'What time did you see her?'

'First thing in the morning, I think. Hold on.' Videon moved the alimony guidelines aside, adjusted the laptop, and hit a few keys. Davis couldn't read the screen because of the angle. 'Honor came in at 9:30. She was late and she'd already had a drink.'

Davis made a note, hiding his surprise. He didn't dare look over at Field. 'How do you know?'

'I knew her. Besides, I offered her one, and she turned me down. She said she'd already had one. Other than that, pure guesswork.'

'What did you offer her?'

'She drank Scotch.' Videon paused, then smiled. 'You disapprove.'

'Frankly, yes.'

'Have you ever been divorced, Mr Clean?'

'Yes.'

'Good for you. Was it nasty at least?'

'Amicable.'

'Lord, what a waste.' Videon sighed. 'Sorry you disapprove of my methods. I'm a divorce lawyer, son. I keep Kleenexes for the wives and Scotch for the husbands. Sometimes, there's a crossover, for women with more bucks than estrogen.' He waved in the direction of a dark cabinet under a window that over-looked a rooftop parking lot. 'You want a snoot?'

'I don't drink.'

'I knew that,' Videon said, and laughed. 'What do you do for laughs?'

'I do justice.' Davis smiled.

'Hah! I knew we had nothing in common.' Videon shifted forward in his high-backed chair. 'You try to change the world, right?'

'Perhaps,' Davis answered, though he had never thought of it that way.

'Well, I try to keep it the same. The rich retain power and money. The poor try to get it and lose. You even up the odds, and I keep them out of whack, the way my clients want them.' Videon eased back in his chair, his dark eyes scrutinizing Davis. 'You aren't comfortable with my honesty.'

'I'm comfortable with what pertains to the Newlin case,' Davis answered, impatient.

'Oh, but it does. Honor Newlin walked in with all the money and she wanted to walk out with it.' Videon turned

to his laptop and hit a key to scroll down. 'This year I saw Honor Newlin twice, including the day she was killed. I'll give you a copy of what I'm looking at, it's my time records. Besides the day she was murdered, I met with her on January fourth, the first business day after the New Year. She said her New Year's resolution was shedding Jack.'

Davis made a note. 'Back up a minute. She called you, for the first appointment?'

'Yes, naturally.'

'Tell me about it.'

'The first time, she told me she wanted a divorce.'

'Did she say why?'

'She felt her marriage was moribund. Things hadn't turned out the way she hoped. She had Vennui, la malaise, and other French things. She was a victim of empty mansion syndrome and expected Jack to fill the void, to ascend the ranks to managing partnerdom. But he wasn't, even with the Buxton dough. Why?' Videon glanced at Field, seeking neither permission nor approval. They used to say Jack was too much of a nice guy. That he didn't have the killer instinct. Hah! Perceptive, non?'

Field cleared his throat. That's quite enough, Marc.'

'I heard that Jack confessed to the police,' Videon said to Davis. 'Did he?'

'I can't comment.'

'Of course. What a perfect answer. How do they make people like you? So upright. You're the good guy. I always wanted to meet a good guy, but I'm a divorce lawyer. Did I mention that?' Videon smiled at a joke only he knew. 'As I was saying, Honor wanted the divorce, and she asked me, in our first meeting, to review her prenuptial agreement.' *

'She had a prenup?'

'Do I look stupid?'

'You drafted it?'

'I'm more than just a pretty face.'

'What did it provide?'

'What else? That if they divorce, Jack gets rien. Nothing. Squat.'

Davis made a note. 'Isn't that a conflict? I mean, you worked with Jack, so why would she come to you for a prenup?'

'Jack asked me to draft the damn thing, and it was completely against him. Go figure. The Foundation has since become one of our most valued clients, heh hen.'

'What's funny about that?' Davis asked, cranky, and Field looked miffed as well.

'Well, the Foundation is a private charity, as opposed to a public charity, like the Red Cross. That means there's virtually no oversight of the billings at all. It's even better than a corporate client because they watch the bills. The Buxton Foundation was a license to rape and plunder.'

Field gasped. 'Marc! Show some judgment!'

Videon scoffed. 'As if it weren't common knowledge.'

'It isn't,' Field said. 'Please excuse my partner -'

'- he knows not what he does/ Videon supplied, but Field was visibly agitated.

'That's quite enough, Marc. Please. Mr Davis, leave this subject or I end the interview.'

'Fine.' Davis nodded, though it confirmed his suspicions about the Foundation's value to Jack. 'You were saying, about the prenup.'

Videon sighed theatrically. 'Anyway, the prenup was sound and I told Honor so. She asked me to prepare the divorce papers and came in to review them with me the day she was murdered.'

'Did she get them that day?'

'Actually, no. There were two typos, both inconsequential, but she wouldn't wait for them to be corrected. I said we'd redo the papers and FedEx them to the house, but I got called into a meeting. I did have her sign the signature page for convenience.' Videon searched his desk, rifling through yellow slips that littered his desk like autumn

leaves. He produced a piece of white paper and handed it across the desk. 'Here.'

Davis skimmed the page. A standard verification, and at the bottom Honor's signature. Honor Buxton Newlin. Her handwriting was feminine, and Davis stared at it for a minute with sympathy. It was as if she had signed her own death warrant. He pondered its significance. 'If Honor had lived to divorce Jack, would he have stayed at the firm?'

Videon fingered his stiff goatee. 'Probably not.'

'Even though he was head of the estates department?'

'Big fucking deal.'

'Would he have been fired?'

'No, but he would have left on his own, public emasculation being an excellent incentive.'

'How so?'

'Honor told me she didn't want to deal with Jack on a day-to-day basis, on matters for the Foundation. The management and billings of the array of Buxton matters would have shifted to somebody else in the firm, probably Big Bill Whittier, because we'd be damned if we'd lose it. Jack would have been shit out of luck.'