Lesh shook his head. He had worked both the civil and criminal sides
of the bar, but even he was incredulous at this particular civil
litigator's priorities. "How far have you gotten, Dennis?"
Coakley pursed his lips and thought a second. "Probably eighty
percent."
"And was there anything in that eighty percent that you needed to
redact?"
"No, there wasn't."
"Of course not," Lesh said. "OK, here's what we're doing, kids.
Dennis, get the files that you've completed ready for Ms. Kincaid to
review at City Hall. Where should she go?"
Coakley clearly thought about arguing, but hedged his bets that things
could get worse and relented. "Clarissa's office would probably be
best."
"Good. While she reviews those, you're free to continue working on the
remaining twenty percent. But if she gets done before you do, too bad.
The two of you can race to the finish."
We both said thank you and started to leave. Before I walked out, Lesh
called me back. "Samantha, do you have a minute?"
"Of course, your honor."
Once the door was closed, he asked me to sit down. "What was that all
about?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"I certainly hope that's not the case, or you're going to have a very
rough career ahead of you. Did you really need me for that?"
"We were at an impasse, your honor. I thought you'd help us reach a
compromise, and you did."
"It's my job, Kincaid, and I haven't turned into one of those lazy
sacks who's complaining about more work yet," he said, knocking on his
wood desk. "But you didn't even talk to Coakley about this before
coming to me, did you?"
"Not since yesterday," I said.
"Before Clarissa's body was found," he said, shaking his head. "The
guy was eighty percent done, so he meant it when he said he'd been
working on it. The fact is, you could have come to the same solution
with a phone call. But he probably gave you a hard time yesterday, so
you decided you'd teach him a lesson. And don't think for a minute
that I'm not aware why you handpicked me as your weapon."
I didn't say anything.
"It's not my business, but just some friendly advice. I know Coakley,
and I'd bet money that word of this will get back to Griffith." That
would be terrific, given the meeting we'd just had. "Don't forget,
I've worked for that office too. You've got to stop butting heads, or
you're in for a world of hurt."
People feel perfectly free to lecture me about butting heads, but who
scolds the butt heads Maybe Lesh could bend the will of jerks like
Coakley through charm and personality, but I've found those kind of
people will run me over if I don't stand up for myself. I still loved
Lesh, but until he walked a mile in my Ferragamos, he didn't have a
clue as to what my job was like.
I thanked him again for his help and headed back to my office.
Five.
While I was packing up what I needed for the file review, I heard a tap
on my open door and turned to find Russ Frist wheeling my long-lost
leather chair into the office.
"Lucy," I said in my best Desi impersonation, "you got some 'splaining
to do."
He flicked a manila envelope onto my desk in front of me.
"Good shot." I looked at the envelope but didn't open it.
"What can I say? Too much ultimate Frisbee in the Corps."
"I wouldn't have guessed that about you, Frist. When I was in college,
the ultimate Frisbee guys were big dope smokers."
"Right, but they probably never inhaled. Let's just agree that you
probably shouldn't extrapolate too much from your Harvard experience,
Kincaid."
"Nor you from the Marine Corps."
"Touche."
"Now shut up, soldier, and tell me why you have my beloved chair."
"Open the envelope," he said.
Inside, I found two Polaroids of my chair and a series of ransom notes
written with letters cut from magazines.
"A couple of the guys heard about your unhealthy relationship with the
office furniture and thought it would be a funny way to welcome you to
the Unit. I put the kibosh on it after Duncan called you out on the
Easterbrook case. Seemed like it would be in poor taste."
"Gee. You think?"
"Just take the chair, Kincaid. You have been spared the usual rites of
passage."
"Spared, or is this simply a reprieve?"
"You're a smart woman."
"Great. I'll keep my back up."
"Like you wouldn't anyway?"
As he turned to leave, I said, "Don't you want to know about the
Easterbrook case?"
"Of course I do. I was just waiting to see if you'd tell me on your
own."
I was starting to like this guy. I filled him in on what I'd learned
so far from the investigation. "I was just about to head over to
review the victim's files." I left out the part where I hauled the
City Attorney into court to speed access. "You want to come with?"
"The joys of document review. No thanks. If I liked scouring through
boxes of files on the off chance of finding a little nugget, I'd be
over at Dunn Simon making a shitload of money."
It's helpful as a prosecutor to remind yourself occasionally of the
things (other than lots of money) that go along with civil practice at
the big prestigious firms. I was a summer associate at Dunn Simon
after my first year in law school. I got paid twice what I make in my
current position for what amounted to a two-month job interview. But I
knew I'd never want to work there after a young partner explained to me
why he loved the peculiar formatting that the firm insisted on for each
and every document: "It's just the Dunn Simon way." Yuck.
"I don't know, Russ. Might have to pull a Little Red Hen on your
ass."
"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your literary reference. I tend to
read material for adults."
"Yeah, right. The kind with pictures that fold out in the middle. I
mean that you don't eat the bread unless you help plant the grain. I'm
picturing myself in the first and only chair in State v. Yet to Be
Determined for the murder of Clarissa Easterbrook."
"You keep dreaming, Kincaid, because it's not gonna happen. Besides,
I've got a good excuse, not that I need to give you one. Judge Maurer
sent a case out for trial this afternoon that I was sure would settle,
so I need to get ready. Have fun with those administrative law files,
though. Sounds like a blast."