Irreparable Harm (9 page)

Then, he took out a second prepaid phone—even his partner didn’t have the number to this one—and called the private security firm he’d placed on retainer when the project had gotten underway.

At the time he’d hired them, he wasn’t sure what purpose the suit-wearing gang of thugs might serve. Now, he knew.

Chapter 13

The offices of Prescott & Talbott

6:30 p.m.

Sasha tore through her e-mail inbox, trying to respond to as many of the messages as she could by seven o’clock. At seven, she would take a break to go pick up some dinner. Naya had stopped by to let her know she was ordering pizza for the hard-at-work Hemisphere Air team, but Sasha planned to pick up sushi.

She would need the fresh air. It was going to be a long night.

After a break for dinner, she would turn to Joe and Kaitlyn’s memos. They would likely require heavy comments and she wanted to give them back early enough that the junior attorneys could work through the night and have them rewritten and waiting on Noah’s desk when he arrived in the morning.

Only then, would she think about tackling the stack of mail that Lettie had sorted and left on the corner of her desk.

Sasha knew she wasn’t working at peak efficiency. She was distracted.

There had been no word from Peterson. No news couldn’t possibly be good news in this case, she thought. Either he was still meeting with Viv and Metz, trying to convince them to go to the NTSB or the meeting was over and he hadn’t been able to persuade them. In which case, he was no doubt washing away the taste of failure with more scotch.

Her desk phone rang. Hoping to see Metz’s number, she glanced at the display before answering it. It was just the evening receptionist.

“Hi, Marie.”

“Sasha, I have a gentleman who says he’s been trying to reach Mr. Peterson all day. He’s left several urgent messages but Noah hasn’t responded. Now, he’s asking to talk to the second in command on the Hemisphere Air team. May I transfer him?”

Second in command sounded military. But, odds were, it was a reporter. If so, Sasha had no comment. Whoever it was, if the guy were important, Peterson would have returned his call.

“Do me a favor, Marie. Put him into my voicemail.”

“Sure thing, honey. Did you eat yet?” Lettie had deputized Marie as her stand-in mother hen after hours.

“I’m going to run out and pick something up,” Sasha said and then hung up before Marie could lecture her.

She turned back to her e-mails until the voicemail light blinked red on her phone. The caller who was so interested in talking to Peterson was not a reporter.

“Ms. McCandless, this is Special Agent Leo Connelly calling from the Federal Air Marshal’s Pittsburgh Field Office. I urgently need to speak to you or Mr. Peterson regarding the Hemisphere Air matter. When you get this message, please call me at 412-555-1600.”

Agent Connelly’s tone was measured and serious.

Sasha stared at the notes she’d scrawled while listening to the message, hoping they’d give her a clue as to what to do next. Where the hell was Peterson?

She was just about to call his home number, when Parker appeared in her doorway, swaying slightly.

“Do you have a minute?”

She tucked a strand of expensive honey-streaked hair behind her ear, revealing a diamond earring the size of Sasha’s thumb.

Sasha glanced at the time. She’d called in her sushi order nearly twenty minutes earlier. “Just one.”

She gestured toward the guest chair, but Parker leaned against the door frame.

“Okay, so, I was having drinks…”

“You went to happy hour? You’re on a trial team.”

“Uh, it was a preexisting commitment?” Parker’s cheeks flushed as she realized maybe she should have cancelled her plans.

Sasha scribbled a note to lay out her expectations more fully at the next day’s meeting.

She looked up from her notepad and watched Parker’s blush deepen. Finally, she said, “So, do you want to tell me about your date or not?”

Parker forced out a small laugh and twisted the ring on her right ring finger. It sported a stone that made the earrings look like chips in comparison. “It wasn’t really a date. I’ve hung out with this guy off and on since law school, and now he works for Mickey Collins. So, he had to get back to the office, too. It was just a couple quick drinks, Sasha.”

This was going from bad to worse. Aside from the surprise that Parker was slumming with a mere plaintiff’s attorney—which Sasha chalked up to rich girl rebellion—she was skirting a very thin line ethically.

“You do know that you cannot discuss the case with this guy, right? Tell me you didn’t discuss the case.”

If they had to remove Parker from the team, Peterson would be livid.

“Of course not!”  Parker had the good sense to sound scandalized. “We only talked about the newspaper reports, and, I guess the complaint, but that’s public record.”

Sasha narrowed her eyes. Not believable. Lawyers were notorious for honoring client confidentiality in the breach. If strictly observed, the confidentiality rules would put a real crimp in the age-old sport of trading war stories. Most attorneys do discuss their cases with outsiders, they just never identify the client involved by name. That compromise position clearly wouldn’t work for Parker and her friend. Everyone at Mickey’s shop was working on the crash. Had to be.

“So, I mentioned that I was surprised by their choice of class rep. Oh …” Parker trailed off and chewed on her bottom lip. “That’s okay, right? I mean, the complaint is public, and that article named that Caruso guy.”

“Calvaruso.” Sasha corrected her and ignored the question.

“Sorry, Calvaruso. My friend, Chase, said Collins called everyone into the office last night after the crash and offered a $5,000 bonus to whoever found him a class rep. Chase has a cousin who works for a corporate travel service, so he called her to see if she could find any reservations for the flight. She found Mr. Calvaruso’s reservation, booked through Patriotech by a Mr. Irwin, and told Chase that Calvaruso had flown from Pittsburgh to D.C., had a layover, and then was booked from D.C. to Dallas.”

She paused.

Sasha got the sense the younger woman was waiting for praise, so she said nothing.

Parker went on, a bit deflated, “So, anyway, Chase found Collins right away and told him about Mr. Calvaruso. He said Collins was really excited until he mentioned Mr. Irwin’s name. Then, Collins immediately said no way, Calvaruso wouldn’t work. But he didn’t say why, and Chase said he got sort of angry when Chase tried to press him about it. A couple minutes later, another associate came up with the Grants, and Collins went with them.”

Sasha stood and gathered up her office id badge, wallet, and cell phone. Parker’s story was interesting, but it was time to pick up her takeout. “Thanks for bringing this to me, Parker.”

They walked down the hall together. Sasha stopped in front of Parker’s office.

“If you want to stay on this trial team, work on your assignment. Act like a grownup making six figures, not a princess. No more happy hours. If you can’t do that, you go back to document review. Is that clear?”

Parker flushed. Anger flashed in her eyes, followed by shame. She said, “Crystal.”

“Good,” Sasha said and left to go get her dinner.

* * * * * * * * * *

Back in the office, Sasha checked in with the team. She noted Parker had joined them in the work room.

Finally, she sat at her desk and wolfed down her sushi. She quieted her mind and drank a glass of water, then she closed her office blinds against the dark. The view from her window, although not as stunning as that from the Frick, was pretty—especially at night, when the lights on the surrounding office buildings glittered in the Monongahela River below. She closed the blinds even though she enjoyed the view, because she did not like the way she felt sitting in her brightly lit office at night: like she was on display in an illuminated box.

Before turning to the memos, she tried Peterson’s cell phone again. Once again, the call went straight to voicemail. She was just about to call his home number when she noticed the message light on her phone was blinking.

Hoping it was Peterson and not the air marshal, Sasha tapped in her voicemail code and waited. The call had come in at 7:22 p.m., while she’d been walking over to Sushi & Rolls. She didn’t recognize the number, but the 202 area code was D.C.

Um, hi, Ms. McCandless. I wanted to let you know … oh, uh, this is Tim. Tim Warner from Patriotech. I wanted to let you know that I put that package in the mail this evening and, also, I plan to be in Pittsburgh to attend Mr. Calvaruso’s funeral, whenever that is. I was thinking maybe it would be helpful to meet … You know, in case you have any questions about the files or just to have a cup of …

Sasha could hear faint knocking in the background.

Okay, there’s someone at my door. Anyway, this is my cell phone number, 202-555-0808. Call any time. Coming!

The knocking grew louder, then Warner was opening the door, but he hadn’t ended the call.

Yes? Can I help …. Hey! What do you think … You guys can’t just barge in here!

Another voice, rough and deep, broke in. Sasha could make out muffled words.

You Warner? You stole something of Mr. Irwin’s and he wants it back.

Then Warner again.

Irwin? I
work
for Mr. Irwin. You must be confused.

You can give us those files or we can take them. Your choice.

Files? What, wait … I’m,… I’m the Human Resources Director.

A sound like a door slamming shut filled Sasha’s office through her phone’s speaker box. Then, Warner’s quavering voice gave way to shouting that she could not decipher. She strained to listen, but what followed was a cacophony: grunts, moaning, and a whimper. The cell phone clattered like it had hit the floor and picked up some banging noises. The noise continued until the message reached the voicemail system’s time limit.

Sasha’s mouth was dry. She picked up the handset and replayed the message, hoping to hear something different this time. She did not.

She pressed 9 to save the message and tried to slow her heartbeat before dialing Warner’s cell phone number. It rang and rang. Warner didn’t pick up. Neither did his voicemail.

She called Peterson’s home number. No answer. She left a message, apologizing for bothering him at home and saying it was urgent that she speak to him.

Sasha put the receiver back in its cradle. She stood and started pacing in front of her window. She opened the blinds to look out at the night skyline, but did not see it.

She closed her office door and thought hard.

She could fairly assume that something bad was happening or had happened to Warner because he copied Calvaruso’s files for her. The situation he was in was her responsibility.

Her current marching orders from Hemisphere Air were not to divulge the existence of the RAGS program. Because she hadn’t heard from Peterson, she had to assume that position has not changed.

She couldn’t call the police or the feds. There was no way to involve the authorities without breaching her obligation to maintain the attorney-client privilege and protect Hemisphere Air’s confidential information.

Ethically, she could do nothing that would lead to the discovery of the RAGS program. Morally, she had to do something to help Warner.

That left only one course of action.

Chapter 14