When The Devil Whistles (4 page)

“Go downstairs and find out,” said the DAG. “I hope you brought your toothbrushes.”

Alvarez’s face turned the same shade of crimson as Max’s, but he reached into his briefcase, pulled out the documents, and slammed them down on the conference room table. “You are nothing but a schoolyard bully,” he said through clenched teeth.

“No, I am the state of California,” Max thundered, “and I hit a lot harder than any bully you ever met! And I promise you that I will absolutely DESTROY you and your client unless I start getting REAL cooperation REAL fast!”

Alvarez opened his mouth, but Johnston spoke first. “Look, let’s all take a deep breath and try this again. You’ve got questions about Hamilton Construction’s billing practices and we want to answer them. If there’s a problem with the documents, just send us a letter and we’ll look into it. You mentioned the Oakland DMV project—were there any other contracts you’d like us to, um, take a second look at?”

“ALL of them!” The DAG turned his glower to the company’s general counsel.

“Okay. All right. We’ll do that,” replied Johnston in the placating let’s-fix-this tone Connor had come to expect from GCs caught in a fraud investigation. “Did you have any more questions for Mr. Hamilton? He is the company CEO and doesn’t spend much time with the accounting paperwork, so I don’t think he’ll be able to help you much on this point. Was there anything else you’d like to ask him about?”

“Yes,” said the DAG in a calmer tone, “but let’s wait until this document problem has been solved. I also strongly suggest that you talk to your client about the importance of being completely candid in his dealings with DOJ. I wasn’t kidding about the criminal referral.”

“I understand.” Johnston nodded as he spoke. “Hopefully once we’ve got this document issue nailed down, there won’t be any need to discuss referrals.”

Hiram Hamilton and his lawyers packed up and left a few minutes later. Hamilton had begun to recover his composure and had forced his habitual smile back onto his face. But large rings of sweat adorned each armpit of his suit coat and he wiped his palms on his pants at least once a minute.

Once they were alone, Max stretched, sat down, and turned to Connor. “So, what did you think?”

“I was watching Hamilton, and he didn’t look angry or surprised when you brought up orange jumpsuits. He just turned pale. And when you put that stack of invoices in front of him, I got the impression that he was shocked to see them but not shocked by your description of what was in them.”

Max nodded. “He was in on it. I went into this thinking we might be looking at some low-level guy trying to boost his revenue numbers by ripping off the government on one or two contracts. But if the CEO is in the loop, it goes way beyond that.”

Connor nodded. “And they’re desperate to know what we know. First, Alvarez tried to walk out of here with your documents. Then Johnston tried to get you to give him a list of the projects you’re looking at.”

Max leaned back in his chair and stroked his jowls. “Good point. That’s another reason to think this isn’t limited to the Oakland DMV building. Plus, this guy Hamilton really ticks me off—sitting there grinning and making noises about how cooperative he’s being, and the whole time he’s lying through his teeth. I love hammering guys like that.”

Connor smiled. “And we’re happy to help in any way we can, Max. Any way at all.”

2

A
LLIE
W
HITMAN COASTED HER SNOWBOARD TO THE END OF THE
G
UNBARREL
run at the Heavenly resort in Tahoe. She rode the board until it came to a dead stop. She sighed and popped it off. The last run of the day was always a little bittersweet.

But by the time she was on the bus she had stopped missing the snow and started looking forward to the casino. She wasn’t much of a gambler, but the casino had a great nightclub and cheap drinks. Plus, Erik would be there waiting for her. She smiled and leaned back into her seat as the bus pulled out of the parking lot.

Twenty minutes later, she walked into her room and was greeted by the sight of Erik dressed for a night out—though that was more or less how he always dressed in the evening. After all, he was the lead singer in a band that was “on the edge of a big breakthrough” (and had been for five years) and needed to keep up appearances.

His handsome, angular face broke into his trademark brilliant smile. “Hey, babe, how were the slopes?” he asked as she stowed her gear in the closet.

“Sweet—best boarding of the season.” She eyed the outfits hanging in the closet. Erik had on black pinstripe pants with sharp creases, a white shirt, and a black silk vest, so she needed to be a little more dressed-up than she had anticipated. The best she had was a gold minidress. She held it up. “What do you think?”

“Perfect. I managed to get us a VIP booth at Vex, so you’ll want to wear something with a little flash and hot sauce.”

She paused for a heartbeat. A VIP booth at Vex was not going to be cheap. “Wow, are we celebrating something?”

His smile broadened. “Just that Alex called to say that he’s added more gigs to the tour. We’re going to be playing two more dates in Kansas. One is at Kansas State and another one’s at a town near there—Salinas or something like that.”

“Hey, that’s great! Let me get ready and then let’s grab something to eat and hit Vex.”

She showered, redid her hair and makeup, put on the dress, and evaluated the results. Not bad. She’d picked up a little color on the slopes, and it worked well with her shoulder-length blond hair and the shimmery gold fabric. She also liked the way her black cat tattoo peaked out over the neckline of the dress. Just the right look—what had Erik said? A little flash and hot sauce.

Something on the top of the toilet tank caught her eye. She walked over for a closer look. It was a glass pipe half-hidden by a towel. She picked it up and sniffed. The scent of fresh meth smoke assaulted her nose. She frowned and tapped the bowl of the pipe against her palm. Erik knew how she felt about meth, and he had promised not to get high while they were on vacation. She wanted to smash the pipe on the counter or walk out and throw it at him.

But she didn’t. What would it accomplish? Nothing, except to ruin what was looking like a great night out. Why focus on the negative? That only caused problems.

She put the pipe in the glass that held his toothbrush. Maybe he’d get—and take—the hint.

He was lying on one of the beds and watching TV when she came out of the bathroom. “Okay, let’s go,” she said, hearing a cold tone in her voice.

“Cool.” He got up and was walking toward the door when her cell phone started playing “Sympathy for the Devil.”

“Hey, it’s my lawyer,” she exclaimed as she grabbed the phone out of her purse. Sure enough, Connor’s slender face smiled back at her from the cell phone screen. She liked this picture of him: he had the same intelligent, confident expression that had made her trust him almost immediately at their first meeting. It was something about his brown eyes and the way he always seemed to know exactly what he was supposed to do or say. “I was wondering when he’d call.”

Erik frowned. “Just let it go into voicemail. I’m starved.”

She ignored him and answered the phone. “Hi, Connor. So, how did it go? Did we have a good day?”

“A very good day. I tried calling you earlier, but you must have still been up at Heavenly. What did you think of Killebrew Canyon?”

“Loved it—perfect snow and it scared me half to death, just like you promised.” She imagined being on those slopes with him, but then pushed the thought away. It could never happen, so why think about it?

“I’m glad to hear it. And glad you made it back off the mountain. When I couldn’t reach you earlier, I was a little worried that you might have done some involuntary tree hugging at sixty miles an hour.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I did come close to splattering myself a couple of times, but that’s all part of the fun.” Erik caught her eye. He pointed at his watch and glared. She realized she was getting too friendly and pulled back to safer ground. “But give me the skinny on what happened. Is DOJ going to intervene?”

Connor paused before going on in a slightly cooler tone. “They haven’t made a decision yet. All that happened today was that Max Volusca and I interviewed the CEO of Hamilton Construction. He had some credibility issues that both Max and I noticed, and that seemed to irritate Max. The CEO also didn’t have an immediate explanation for the discrepancy between the invoices you found and the ones they sent to the state. Also, by the end of the interview Max and I both thought that there might be more to this case than the Oakland DMV building contract. It’s still early in the investigation, but overall today was certainly positive.”

“Connor, is that all hypercautious lawyer-speak for ‘yeah, they’re probably going to intervene and it looks like there’s serious money here, but I don’t want to get your hopes up?’ ”

He gave a low chuckle. “Something like that.”

“Excellent! Hey, I’ve got to go, but thanks for the call.”

“Hot date with your pet rock star?”

She laughed, but felt a twinge deep inside. “Something like that. Talk to you.”

She hung up, turned to Erik and kissed him hard, trying to convince herself that she really did want to be with him tonight. “Okay, now I’m ready to celebrate!”

3

C
ONNOR SAT BACK IN A CREAKY OLD WOOD AND LEATHER CHAIR AND
looked out over the view from the back porch of what his family called “the California beach cabin.” In fact, it was a 3,100-square-foot structure that had a part-time maid and was bigger than most nearby homes. It was only a cabin in comparison to “the California house” east of San Francisco, which was about twice as large.

Waves crashed on the stony shore, and a cool Pacific breeze riffled the sea grass and whispered over his head in the majestic redwoods dotting the lawn surrounding the “cabin.” Two pelicans rode the breeze and watched the water just offshore for anchovies.

Connor’s Blackberry buzzed intermittently on the table beside him, sounding like a dyspeptic bumblebee. He reached over and switched it to silent. He’d check his voicemail and e-mail when he felt like it, and he didn’t feel like it right now.

The firm wouldn’t mind his absence—the clique of senior partners who ran Doyle & Brown cared a lot more about seeing his contribution to the bottom line than about seeing his face in the office. Last year he’d brought in more money than any other partner under 40 and he was on track to do it again, so he could safely play hooky for a couple of days if he wanted. It was the prerogative of profitability.

Plus, he had an excuse for ignoring the outside world. There was a mediation scheduled for next week in the Hamilton Construction case, and he was here to get ready for it. That meant no distractions.

He leaned over and rummaged through his trial bag—a boxy, wheeled briefcase designed for carting large volumes of paper between office and courtroom. He pulled out Hamilton Construction’s opening mediation brief and started to read.

Two months of intense scrutiny from Max Volusca and his team of auditors would be painful for any executive. And if the executive in question happened to run a company as corrupt as Hamilton Construction, his suffering would be severe. So Connor was not surprised when Hiram Hamilton and his lawyers requested mediation.

Even so, Connor was a little surprised by how weak the company’s brief was. It did not include even a token protestation of innocence. It conceded up front that “a certain amount of accidental overbilling may have occurred” and then launched into a string of complaints about the methodology that the government’s forensic accountants used to calculate the amount of the overbilling.

Connor finished the brief, smiled, and dropped it back into his bag. Any day his opponent’s main argument was “well, we didn’t steal that much” was a good day. Even though he was fifty yards from the ocean, he could smell the blood in the water.