“Did Hawkins ever marry?”
“No. You see him with women from time to time at fund-raisers or parties but the rumors are that Claire was the love of his life.”
“Sounds a little sad, don’t you think?”
“Don’t waste your time feeling sorry for Hawkins. He’s got no morals where the Farringtons are concerned. The guy’s got a screw loose if you ask me.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
“Good morning, Brad,” Susan Tuchman said.
“Good morning,” Brad answered nervously as he took a seat opposite his nemesis. The Dragon Lady was dressed in a black pants suit and black turtleneck and looked the way a supervillain in a comic book would look if her secret identity was a senior partner in a really big law firm.
“I’m getting very good reports about your work,” Tuchman told him with a smile that was intended to lull Brad into a false sense of security. “I hear you’re burning the midnight oil and producing high-quality research.”
“Thank you,” Brad answered as he waited for the other shoe to drop.
Tuchman leaned forward and smiled brightly. “I hope you don’t feel that we’re overworking you.”
“No. I expected to work hard when I was hired.” Brad forced a smile. “That’s what associates are supposed to do, isn’t it?”
“Yes indeed. That’s why you get the big bucks right out of school when you really don’t know anything about the practice of law. But it looks like you’re earning your pay. I hear that you’re working so hard that you caught up with your caseload.”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve caught up,” Brad said, terrified that Tuchman was about to assign him another huge project. “I’ve just made a dent in it.”
“Enough of a dent to spend Sunday in the countryside,” Tuchman said calmly. “My memory isn’t what it used to be, Brad. Remind me; didn’t I specifically order you to have no further involvement in the Clarence Little case?”
“Yes.”
Tuchman leaned back and examined Brad like a bug collector trying to figure out the best place to stick the next pin into a truly pathetic specimen.
“Have you heard of Kendall, Barrett and Van Kirk?”
“It’s a big firm in Washington, D.C., isn’t it?”
“Yes it is. I received a disturbing call from Morton Rickstein. He’s a senior partner at Kendall, Barrett and a good friend. We defended an antitrust suit several years back and got to know each other very well. Anyway, Mort called me this morning. It seems a client of the firm called him. A Marsha Erickson. Do you know who she is?”
“Yes,” Brad answered as his heart dropped into his shoe.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t she the mother of the young woman Clarence Little was convicted of killing?”
“Yes.”
“She was a witness in the case, wasn’t she?”
Brad was tired of being the victim in Tuchman’s game of cat and mouse, so he just nodded.
“According to Mort, Mrs. Erickson was very upset, Brad. No, let me be accurate here. Mort said she was very, very upset. It seems an associate from this law firm came to her house and harassed her Sunday afternoon.”
“I didn’t harass her. I just asked her a few questions. I didn’t know she’d get so excited.”
Tuchman looked confused. “Let me make sure I understand your position. You don’t think that dredging up the memory of a murdered child on a Sunday morning-just showing up unannounced, out of the blue, and reminding Mrs. Erickson that her lovely daughter was horribly tortured to death-you didn’t think that would upset her?”
“Well I knew it was possible, but I-”
Tuchman held up her hand. She wasn’t smiling now. “So you admit that you are the associate who caused Mrs. Erickson so much pain that she called her attorney in Washington, D.C., to complain?”
“I went out there, but-”
“Stop. I don’t need to know any more. You were under specific orders from me to cease and desist from any involvement in the Little case. By your own admission you questioned a witness in the case this Sunday. I am very disappointed in you, Brad, and, as much as it grieves me, I will be forced to discuss this matter at the next partners’ meeting.”
“Ms. Tuchman, you can fire me if you want to, but you should know why I’ve been pursuing the Little case even after you told me to stop. If you’re going to complain about me to the partners you should know all of the facts.”
Tuchman leaned back and made a steeple of her fingers. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Okay, well, this is going to sound crazy-well, not crazy but hard to believe-but I’m convinced there’s something to it.”
“You might want to get to the point, Mr. Miller. I’ve got a conference call in five minutes.”
“Okay, right. I don’t think Clarence Little killed Laurie Erickson. I think the killer used his MO to make everyone think Little murdered her. I also think the same murderer pulled the same stunt in Washington, D.C. There was a murder there recently. You probably know about it. It’s all over the news. Charlotte Walsh was having an affair with President Farrington and the police think the D.C. Ripper murdered her shortly after Miss Walsh had sex with-”
“Stop right there,” Tuchman said angrily. “You’re repeating unfounded rumors spread by a supermarket scandal sheet about someone who is a close personal friend.”
Brad figured he had nothing to lose so he took a deep breath and jumped in with both feet.
“I know he’s your friend, but President Farrington may be involved with two murders. I think he was having sex with Laurie Erickson, and Mrs. Erickson was paid off to keep quiet about it. I think someone working for President Farrington murdered Laurie Erickson and Charlotte Walsh and used the MOs of local serial killers to throw the police off the track.”
Tuchman didn’t look angry anymore. She looked dumbfounded.
“I know you’re insubordinate, Mr. Miller, but I never suspected that you were also…Well, you’ve left me speechless. I don’t really know how to categorize your bizarre behavior.”
“What about the independent counsel? The Congress thinks the president may have been involved in Walsh’s death.”
“Correction, Mr. Miller, one of the two parties in Congress is accusing our president of immoral conduct, and that party doesn’t believe that Chris is guilty of anything. It believes that this witch hunt will help Maureen Gaylord win the presidency.”
Tuchman’s face looked like a storm front had just crossed it. If she’d seen anything funny in Brad’s theories a moment ago she’d lost her sense of humor.
“Now get this straight,” she said, leaning forward and jabbing a finger in Brad’s direction. “Your time with this firm is probably over, but you are not to spend what’s left of it spreading gossip about a great man. This firm will not aid and abet Maureen Gaylord’s shameless ploy. Do you hear me?”
“I-”
“I’ve wasted enough time. I have work to do. Our meeting is over. I will be in touch with you soon concerning your future with Reed, Briggs.”
“What are you going to do?” Ginny asked.
Brad shrugged. He’d walked to Ginny’s office as soon as he left Tuchman, and they were sitting in it with the door closed.
“I’ve made some friends at other firms. Two of them helped me set up interviews, but I don’t know if anyone will hire me after they read the letters from Reed, Briggs about my job performance that Tuchman is going to write.”
“Your job performance is excellent. Your problem is Susan Tuchman. She’s a narrow-minded bully.”