William Bernhardt - Primary Justice

“Yes,” Ben answered. “I placed it on your desk this morning—”

“I’ve already read that draft,” Derek interrupted. “And I’ve made changes. It’s in your in box.”

“I’ll see that Word Processing makes the changes, sir.”

“What about my opening statement? Have you written that?”

“N-no. I didn’t realize you wanted—”

“What did you think I was going to do tomorrow morning? Stand at the podium and twiddle my lower lip?” He struck a match against the side of the box and lit a cigarette. “You see, Kincaid? This is exactly what I’ve been talking about. You’re behind in your work, you’re really only making an effort on one case, and you’re not accomplishing anything on it !”

He took a deep, calming draw on his cigarette, then used the cigarette as a pointer. “A good associate doesn’t have to be told to do something. A good associate sees that it needs to be done and does it. Period. I know you’ve just started, but frankly, your work to date has not been up to the usual Raven standards. And if your work isn’t up to snuff, Kincaid, nothing can save your butt from the shredder. Not your mother, your minister, a shareholder— or his wife.” Derek’s eyes flashed.

Ben didn’t know how to respond. No secrets at R T & T.

“So get humping, Kincaid. The trade dress hearing tomorrow is before Old Stone Face, Judge Schmidt. He’s a would-be author of a few unimportant legal articles and fancies himself a celebrated literary figure. So pepper the opening statement with obscure quotations and polysyllabic prose. You should be good at that.” He took a final drag from his cigarette. “And forget about this asinine accountant crap!”

Ben left the office without saying a word. As he walked down the corridor, every secretarial eye was fixed upon him. Ben realized just how loud Derek’s shouting had really been. Was it just Ben or was Derek still on the skids with his wife? That would explain volumes. It seemed as if Derek opposed his investigation of this case at every step.

Ben ducked into the elevator lobby and pushed the DOWN button. Tom Melton and Alvin Hager joined him just as the doors opened. The three of them stepped into the elevator.

“So, Mr. Harvard gave you a bad time, eh?” Alvin asked in a boisterous voice. The elevator descended. “Do you lurk outside of keyholes or what?”

“Not necessary when Derek’s doing the shouting,” Tom said. “What a prima donna. I did think that jab about shareholders’ wives was unfair, though. I mean, it’s not as though it was your idea, after all.” Tom and Alvin looked at each other solemnly, then broke into broad grins.

Tom regained his solemn expression. “Seriously, Ben, try not to worry about him too much. Everyone knows what a prick he is.”

“That’s an understatement,” Alvin added. “Do you realize no associate assigned to Derek has lasted over three years with the firm? Ever. In the twelve years since Derek came here from Philadelphia.”

“That’s pathetic,” Ben mumbled. “Someone needs to do something about him.”

The bell rang, and the doors opened on the ground floor. Alvin and Tom headed toward the fast-food restaurants and ice-skating rink in the mall adjoining the office tower.

“Before we run off, Ben,” Tom said, “are you coming to the recruiting function tonight?”

“Recruiting function? I’ve already been recruited.”

“For next year’s class, Ben. Now that you’re an associate, you have an obligation to pull your weight in recruiting. I’m in charge of the recruiting program, and I’m organizing a little soiree tonight. The firm likes to have new associates in attendance—to tell the new recruits how wonderful life is at R T & T. They’re more likely to listen to someone closer to their own age.”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t think I’d be the ideal pitchman for R T & T.”

“I wouldn’t say no if I were you, Ben,” Alvin remarked. “Just speaking as a friend. The firm higher-ups want tonight’s guest in a bad way. He’s 3L Yale, decent grades, law review. If we can be part of the team that reels him in, it’ll be a feather in our caps. Given your current standing in the firm, you can’t afford to pass up a chance to impress shareholders.”

Ben sighed. “I’ll think about it and get back to you guys. Okay?”

They nodded.

“Is Marianne coming?”

Tom and Alvin exchanged a naughty look. “I don’t think so, Ben,” Tom said. “That wouldn’t be quite appropriate.” They looked at each other again and burst into laughter. Tom swatted Alvin on the shoulder, and the two of them walked off toward the fast-food zone.

Ben watched Heckle and Jeckle recede into the distance. Great, he thought. What next?

After they were gone, he walked until he reached the shopping mall area. He stood at the banister on the third level, looking down on the ice-skating rink below. There was only one person on the ice, a girl, probably in her early teens. She had dark hair and was wearing a skimpy, sequined outfit. She was skating to a classical piece—one of Chopin’s preludes, Ben thought. She raised her arms and executed a nice aerial double spin. She was trying to maintain balance, to remain smooth and graceful, and yet there was something imperfect, something slightly awkward about her execution. Perhaps she was new at this, Ben thought, or was performing a new routine, and was still working out the bugs, still perfecting her art.

Ben stared down at her until the itching in his eyes grew too strong. He turned and, holding his head down so that he could not be seen, raced to the nearest men’s room. He entered one of the stalls, closed the door behind him, sat down on the toilet, and began to cry.

17

WHEN BEN FINALLY RETURNED to his office, Christina was waiting for him.

“What ho!” she said, saluting. “It’s Benjamin Kincaid, Man of Adventure!”

Ben slammed the door shut. “Don’t say that!” he whispered harshly. “Someone might figure it out. Sanguine’s bound to report a break-in. After all, we left the window wide open.”

Christina plopped into one of the orange corduroy chairs. “Sorry, boss. Didn’t mean to get you riled up. Any luck on the accountant?”

“Are you kidding?” He threw himself into the other chair. “Derek is determined to do this case for next to nothing and doesn’t care if we lose it in the process.”

“Really?” Christina said. “That seems odd.” She meditated for a moment.

Ben dialed the combination on his briefcase and withdrew the manila envelope he had found beneath Adams’s desk drawer. He pulled out ten pages of paper, stapled in the upper left corner. Each page contained five vertical columns; the first contained letters, apparently in code, while the other four all contained numbers. At the top left of the first page someone had scribbled in pencil Comp Sang Summ . Some of the figures had been underlined in red.

“Have you figured out what it is?” Christina asked.

“No,” Ben replied. “I got into law so I wouldn’t have to deal with addition and subtraction and other forms of higher mathematics.” He threw the document back into his briefcase. “How about you? Weren’t you an accountant in a previous life?”

She smiled thinly. “Well, I was going to offer my invaluable assistance, but now I’m not so sure.”

Ben laughed. “C’mon,” he said. “Give me a second chance.”

“Well …” She brushed back her long strawberry hair. “I do have a friend in Bookkeeping here at Raven. Sally might consider taking a look at this on the QT, but you’ll have to make it worth her while.”

“That’s awfully suggestive. Remember, I’m just a naive waif from the suburbs.”