Due Diligence (14 page)

“Fucking intellectuals,” Flo said with disgust. “The professors I've dated have been among the nastiest, most self-centered men I've ever met. Second only to surgeons. You know what I want?”

“What?”

“A blue-collar worker. A guy who punches a time clock and makes an honest living with his hands. I'm beginning to think that my Mr. Right is a big strong steelworker.”

I laughed. “My secretary is a big strong former steelworker.”

“No kidding?”

“Problem is, he's in the process of becoming Miss Right.”

Flo rolled her eyes heavenward. “Terrific. See what I mean? Find a good one, and next thing you know he wants to put on lipstick and cut off his johnson.”

“All rise.”

I turned toward the unmistakable sound of Benny's voice just as he arrived at our booth, out of breath. “What a fucked-up day,” he said, panting. “Jesus, I feel like I ran a hundred feet. My heart is beating like a rabbit's.”

“Benny,” I said, gesturing toward Flo, “you finally get to meet my best friend from law school.”

Flo stood up and put out her hand. “Glad to meet you, Benny.”

As Benny reached for her hand I waited for the usual snappy rim shot. Instead, I heard a subdued, almost klutzy, “Me, too.”

I looked up in surprise at the two of them standing there. Benny seemed transported, and Flo was actually blushing. It lasted only a moment, and then they both took their seats, just a little awkwardly. Benny sat on my side of the booth, facing Flo.

“The beer's good,” she said, sounding more girlish than I had ever heard her sound in my life.

“Great,” Benny answered, just a tad too cheerfully.

It was almost a scene out of
Ozzie and Harriet
(Episode 42: “Ricky Falls In Love”), except that Benny was wearing a Beavis & Butt-head T-shirt under his sports jacket.

Another round of Singha beers helped break the spell, and before long the three of us were laughing and talking.

“So,” Benny asked, “did the great and mighty Armstrong announce his candidacy today?”

“No,” I answered. “Flo said that Sherman Ross decided it's better to hold off for another few weeks.”

“Once he announces,” Flo explained, “he goes under a media microscope. Every thing he says or does will get scrutinized. This way he can pick his moments in the spotlight and then scurry offstage for a while.”

Benny turned to me. “You have any luck with him?”

“Maybe tonight,” I said. “Flo told me to ask Mitch Kinsock after the speech. He's one of his aides. At first Kinsock was kind of rude.” I paused to wink at Flo. “But when I explained that I needed to speak with his boss about a possible link between his former company and at least one and possibly three recent homicides, Mitch suddenly became Mr. Congeniality. I have a private appointment with the senator at eight o'clock tonight down at Channel Two.”

“Why there?” Benny asked.

“He's doing a
Nightline
with Ted Koppel. I guess they're going to film him from there.” I checked my watch. “So let's order.” I looked over at Benny, trying to mask my smile. “Flo is staying down at the Marriott. If I'm running late, do you think you could possibly give her a ride down there?”

“No problem,” he said with genuine conviction.

Chapter Fourteen

Mitch Kinsock was waiting in the lobby of Channel Two. He ushered me back to an empty office. “The senator will be down in a few minutes, Rachel. Would you care for coffee or a soft drink?”

“I'm fine.”

Ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I said.

The door opened and Senator Douglas Armstrong entered, followed by Sherman Ross.

“Hello, Rachel,” Armstrong said. He took my hand in his right hand and covered it gently with his left as he leaned down. “How are you holding up?”

I smiled sadly, touched that he had remembered. “The nights are worse than the days.”

He nodded compassionately. “I know. I remember. The pain will diminish with time, but it never vanishes. Nearly twenty years later, and I still mourn for my Edie.”

There were tears in my eyes. I started to reach for my purse to get a tissue.

“Here,” he said, handing me his handkerchief.

I wiped my eyes and nose on the soft cotton, inhaling the masculine, comforting scent of his cologne.

After a moment Armstrong said, “Rachel, this is Sherman Ross. He's my chief of staff. More important, he's the man who keeps me in line.”

Sherman Ross had been in the background, leaning against the beige wall, almost invisible in his gray suit, white shirt, and gray patterned tie. He was short and lean, with a bald head, bushy black eyebrows, and dark probing eyes. At the mention of his name, he moved forward to shake my hand. “I am delighted to meet you, Rachel,” Ross said in the soothing, neutral tone of a virtuoso legal counselor. Although Armstrong towered over his attorney, Ross seemed to radiate authority almost equal to that of his client.

Just as Douglas Armstrong looked presidential, Sherman Ross looked perfectly cast for the role of special counsel to the president. It was easy to picture him at a meeting in the Oval Office—a motionless predator seated in a warm corner of the room, keeping a cool vigilant eye on his client. I knew some of his background. Ross had started off as a criminal defense attorney fresh out of law school at St. Louis University. He began handling white-collar cases during the heyday of the Antitrust Department's criminal prosecutions in the early 1970s. As a result, he found himself spending more and more time with the business elite of St. Louis, who were sufficiently impressed with their savage but savvy antitrust defender to begin seeking him out for advice in other areas of the law. Sherman Ross' influence within those circles expanded quickly. While the Fortune 500 companies that were headquartered in St. Louis might allow one of the staid downtown firms to handle the daily legal grist of the corporate mill, when the CEO needed the advice of a true counselor, more often than not you could find the corporate limo parked on a particular side street in Clayton, idling outside the small building that housed the offices of Sherman Ross & Associates.

Back in the early, hungry days of Armstrong Bioproducts, Ross' brilliant and bold maneuverings kept the fledgling company out of bankruptcy. Douglas Armstrong and Sherman Ross formed a lifetime bond. Indeed, rumors of Armstrong's presidential ambitions began to pick up when Ross left his firm last year and moved to Washington to become the senator's chief of staff.

Armstrong pulled up a chair and said, “Rachel, I understand you think there may be some skulduggery involving my old company?”

I nodded. “You're familiar with the SLP deal?”

“I am. As you may know, I sit on the Senate Commerce Committee, which is monitoring the transaction because of the foreign investment issue.”

“One of the chemical engineers hired by SLP to perform the due diligence on Chemitex's R and D files apparently found something in there that disturbed him enough to want to talk to a lawyer, namely me.”

“He found something in the R and D files?” Armstrong asked.

“I think so.”

“What did he tell you he found?”

“We never met. His name was Bruce Rosenthal. He was killed before we got to meet.”

Armstrong raised his eyebrows. “Killed?”

I nodded. “In a ghastly way. Someone dropped him nine stories down a trash chute and into a trash compactor, where he was crushed.”

Armstrong gasped. “Good God.” He turned toward Ross, who had silently withdrawn to the corner. “Did you hear that, Sherm?”

Ross was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. He gave a noncommittal nod.

Armstrong turned back to me. “Do you have any idea what the poor man found at my company?”

“Douglas,” Ross interjected in a soft but firm voice, “it's not your company anymore.”

Armstrong nodded without turning toward Ross. “You're right.” He gave me a rueful smile. “At Chemitex, I mean.”

I shrugged. “I'm not sure. I think it was something in the R and D files.”

Ross interjected. “Why do you say that?”

I looked toward him. “His apartment was searched after he was killed. Also, his secretary thinks his office may have been searched.” I explained my unsuccessful efforts to obtain a copy of the documents Bruce had photocopied from the R&D files.

“But how do you pinpoint the R and D files as the source of his concern?” Armstrong asked.

I explained my review of the files from Bruce's laptop computer.

It was obvious from Armstrong's expression that he didn't know enough about computers to understand what I was saying. Fortunately, Sherman Ross did. He asked, “How can you tell there were ever any R and D materials on the hard drive?”

“His secretary typed some dictation tapes on his R and D review. She gave them to him in disk format to load onto his computer. She still had copies of two of the documents she had typed for him.

“Where is this young lady?” Armstrong asked.

“Dead,” I said.

Armstrong sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “How?” he asked quietly.

“A one-car accident. The police think it was drunk driving. I have my doubts,” I explained them.

Armstrong shook his head. “This is terrible, Rachel. How can I help?”

“I need access to the R and D files. Specifically, the documents Bruce copied. I need to find out what got Bruce so upset. Let me give you an example. In the dictation tape his secretary typed, he was all worked up about something called Primax.”

“Primax?” Armstrong repeated with a frown. He turned to Ross. “Ring any bell, Sherm?”

Ross looked at Armstrong and then at me, his hooded eyes expressionless. “No,” he said.

Armstrong turned back to me. “What is it?”

“I have no idea. But Bruce must have, and something about it seemed to bother him. What was that something? I think the answer could be in those files. He also mentioned Guillain-Barré syndrome. He found something in those files having to do with that disease. Was someone doing research on it? If so, what about that research made Bruce so upset?” I paused to reach into my briefcase. “And here's another thing. Look at this document.” I handed Armstrong the Beth Shalom/Labadie Gardens list.

He leaned back in his chair and squinted at the list. Ross stepped forward and peered at it over Armstrong's shoulders. After a moment Ross looked at me. “Where did you get that?”

I explained the Bruce-to-David-to-me chain of custody.

Ross nodded. “Who are those names?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. Somehow, Bruce got hold of the original document. Not a copy. I have to believe that document is somehow connected to what Bruce was so upset about. That's why I need access to those files.”

Ross looked up from the list. “How do you know that document came from Chemitex's files?” he asked.

It was a fair question. I didn't have a good answer. “I don't,” I conceded. “But everything else points to Chemitex.”

Ross studied me with curiosity. “Why are you so obsessed with this?”

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Because David Marcus was special. I'm haunted by his death.”

Armstrong reached over and covered my hand with his. “I understand,” he said gently.

I shook my head. “It's more than just that. The cause of his death haunts me, too.”

Ross said, “It is my understanding that his murderers were killed by the police.”

I sighed. “Probably. But even the homicide detective on the case has doubts. His initial reaction was that David had been killed by professionals.”

“Professionals?” Armstrong looked surprised. “Who would have a motive to kill him?”

“That's what I'm trying to find out.” I paused, momentarily overwhelmed by frustration. I looked at Ross and then Armstrong. “I know I'm getting consumed by this, Senator. But I have to run it down.” I looked into his eyes. “You know why your wife died. I don't know why David died. Maybe it
was
just a hate crime, but I have doubts. Those doubts are like a hole in the middle of my heart. If I don't do everything I can to put the doubts to rest, I'll never be able to get on with my life.” I shrugged helplessly. “That's why.”

Armstrong nodded. “I understand.” He turned to Ross. “We've got to be able to do something here, Sherm.”

Ross studied me. “How late will you be up tonight?”

“Probably until midnight.”

He nodded pensively. “I'll look into it.”

There was a knock at the door. Diane Raney, Armstrong's press secretary, poked her head in. “They need you in makeup right now,” she said to Armstrong. “And then Ted Koppel wants to go over the program schedule.”

Armstrong nodded. “Fine,” he said wearily as he stood up.

I stood up. “Thank you, Senator. Good luck tonight.”

He chuckled. “I'm sure old Ted and I will be chewing on each other before we're five minutes into the show.” His expression got serious. “We'll do what we can, Rachel.”

Sherman Ross let Armstrong go first. Ross paused at the door and turned to me. “Midnight?”

I nodded.

“I'll contact you before then.”

***

I took a detour by my office, took care of some paperwork, and got home around ten o'clock. For the first time in at least a week I was feeling a glimmer of optimism. I tried Benny, but got his answering machine.

I waited for the beep. “So how'd you like Flo? Isn't she great? Give me a buzz when you get back. I had a great meeting with Armstrong. I think he's going to help me out.”

I made a cup of tea and read through the mail. Afterwards, I took Ozzie for a long walk. I checked the message light on my answering machine when we got back. No message. I smiled at the thought of Benny and Flo together. They really seemed to hit it off at dinner. I dialed his number again and waited for the beep.

“Benny,” I said in mock alarm, “it's almost eleven o'clock. Are you still with Flo? Before you two start getting serious, I better remind you: she's old enough to be your wife. Worse yet, she's probably smarter than you. I thought you liked your women fresh out of high school and unburdened by the distractions of intellect. Call me, dahling.”

I curled up on the couch and read two more chapters of Edith Wharton's
The House of Mirth
. Just as I closed the book and stood to get undressed, the phone rang.

I answered on the second ring. “Welcome home, lover boy,” I said mischievously.

“Uh, Rachel? This is Sherman Ross.”

“Oh,” I said, flustered and embarrassed. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Is this a good time for us to talk?” Sure.

“I am calling from the car. We are in your driveway. Perhaps you could join me out here.”

Surprised, I peered out the living room window. Sure enough, there was a stretch limo with the lights on idling in my driveway. “I'll be right out.”

A few minutes later I was seated across from Sherman Ross in the back of the limo.

“The senator is in an awkward position on this matter,” Boss started off, his tone solemn. “Far more awkward than he himself realizes or wishes to admit. There are many people out there, including a significant number of Republicans and Democrats, who view Douglas Armstrong as a threat to the status quo and, not surprisingly, as a dangerous candidate for the presidency. The media spotlight is becoming increasingly intense, and will continue to intensify. As a result, every act or omission by the senator is magnified. It is within the context, and with an awareness of those risks, that I am attempting to fulfill his request that we help you.”

“Spoken like a true lawyer,” I said, only half in jest.

He ignored the comment. “Do you know Harold Henderson?”

I shook my head.

“Harold is the St. Louis Chief of Police. I spoke with him an hour ago. As I suspected, he knows nothing about the Rosenthal homicide. I suggested that it might be prudent for him to take a more active interest in the case to insure that the investigation remained vigorous. I also spoke with a member of the legal team representing the parent corporation of Chemitex Bioproducts. As you know, the parent is in a bankruptcy proceeding. I suggested to them that before the hearing on the sale of Chemitex Bioproducts occurred, it would be prudent to have someone review the R and D documents that are now in the hands of SLP's attorneys in Chicago.”

He paused to take a sip of mineral water. “It will no doubt take at least a week or so before we begin to see any results from the suggestions I've given to these people. You will need to be patient, Rachel.”

“Okay,” I said, a little disappointed.

Ross gazed at me, his eyes cold. “I will not allow Douglas Armstrong to become more involved in this matter. The stakes are high, especially given the ease with which the media can be manipulated. This is a turning point in Douglas Armstrong's political career. He cannot risk being portrayed as meddling in an ongoing local police investigation, especially given his opponents' efforts to paint him as soft on crime. Similarly, any effort by the senator to interject himself into the affairs of his former company could be used by his opponents—unfairly, of course—as evidence that he is still financially involved with that company while holding public office.” He paused again to set his glass back into the rack.