Cafe Underground Presents
River Of Lawyers
Book 1 -- Chapters 6
The Detective Andi Wicksham Series, by RL Bell
Copyright © 1997 RL BELL
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....author RL Bell
Andi Wicksham's INVESTIGATORY SERVICES
Chapter 6
Andi remembered to stop at the cash machine only a block after having passed it. She swung back for the chore before completing the drive down Hawthorne, crossing the bridge only a few minutes later than she'd planned.
Right below her the river was lined with cafes and chandleries, warehouses and workshops--myriad business perched over the river on pilings--working buildings; docks and wharfs with boats and the smells of fish, tar, sweat and lumber.
Portland was a river town, one whose life was the life of river people; of boat builders and gamblers, hustlers and longshoremen, silo workers, teamsters and the civilizing influences of industrial age women. Women swept west as cooks, clerks and secretaries, teachers and writers and wives in an era when clothing still was sewn from bolts of cloth, gas lights were an awesome modernity, and food was grown and canned by people instead of machines.
Now the western shore was a concrete and grass park skirting a high-rise downtown and the barren eastern bank an all but a deserted wasteland held, unused, by speculators maintaining it with weed-killer. Eccentric characters were marginal now, scattered bohemian artists, the troubled-homeless and a rock and roll underground. The character Portland worshiped was the character of Nike, Tektronix and Mitsubishi--indistinguishable from other cities; appealing to transient business types with dreams of forty grand cars instead of blue collar odd-balls.
The trend was a tidal forces as irredeemable as rain--the twentieth century was a cultural autumn. In the collision of values the character Portland once flaunted slipped irretrievably away.
Andi glanced at the last old brick buildings--those walls once knew an older way. It had been a romantic time. Now there was no need for willing hands and able backs, corporations ruled from a distance and executive towers only a few ever visited were the symbols of success.
She drove through the modern concrete and steel canyons, smiling up at the rising columns of glass. Portland did have great contemporary buildings. Too bad about the cost.
The hotels that once rented residence rooms had been razed and never replaced. Crowded blocks where young families once enlivened upstairs apartments with eager passion were now offices--deserted nights except for security guards.
She passed the bronze elk frozen mid-road behind the Portland Building, swung left on Broadway and pondered parking. A quick glance at her watch; still on time. The tasteless buildings of PSU loomed. Three blocks away, but she grabbed the first open spot.
The coffee shop was of the plain formica and well worn linoleum variety, dispensing the caffeine and sugar that generations of students fortified with before it was time for pizza. She'd spent hours here herself six years ago--and was glad the era was comfortably behind.
She surveyed the bored faces as she waited to be served. Half had the overwhelmed, preoccupied eyes and pallor of nervous tension from cramming or post-adolescent indulgence. The other half diligently killed time with papers and books, more traveler contemplating academia as a port of call than creature in the predatory dusk of competition. Student styles changed slowly--lack of money, the perennial limiting factor, kept dressing down in vogue and maintained eclectic as a ploy earning status points.
She waited in line for a tall single latte and chose a seat from which she could watch both doors. It was a people-watching place. She hung her coat on her chair and soaked up the florescent-fixtured atmosphere.
Chang-Turner came in as the place grew crowded with the ten o'clock academic change of tide. Her presence seemed more relaxed, her face more human in the natural lighting coming in from the shoulder-high windows. Andi half-rose politely as she approached--Chang-Turner slid into a chair across the table and looked into her eyes.
"Mr. Morse has decided that the material I gave you is bound by attorney-client privilege and won't go to the police." She wasted no time getting to the point, watching Andi's eyes, her own face a mask of neutral indifference.
Andi casually took a sip of coffee. "I was wondering if it would...what do you make of it?" Better to keep her talking than be drawn into rhetorical responses.
"Frankly, I think he could justify it either way. The firm would certainly lose those clients if it got out, but they were Mr. Bryant's and he's not around. This may be a felony case..." she shrugged. "...it's not my decision."
"You knew Mr. Bryant's writing. Do you think the papers are his?"
"You mean, do I think they're forged? Sure they could be, the style is `law school basic,' Mr. Bryant and half the lawyers in the country write that way.
"The last note wasn't that style...the one about Mr. Morse...." Andi let the statement dangle.
"Well, no matter..." Chang-Turner waved the inconsistency away. "I actually wanted to talk to you about Mr. Bryant." she looked around the room--no one sat close who wasn't out of the classic student mold. "I'm far more worried now than I was before." She glanced around again. "What have you found out?"
Andi sat up slowly and warmed her finger on the smooth sides of her glass. "Well, not a whole lot...loose ends, scraps, rumors...there's one that Mr. Bryant was not on cordial terms with some of his clients...is that true?"
"Business law is contentious, large amounts of money are at stake, people's feelings run high." she shrugged and smiled a condescending smile.
"Doesn't that get in the way of working together?" Andi tried to maintain a bored, routine expression.
"Lawyers are hired-guns chosen for skill and bad-attitude ...liking them is a secondary issue."
"Why didn't they like him?"
"Discussing that would be more than I could do..." Chang-Turner had withdrawn into her professional demeanor. Andi felt her heart stall--she'd lost her.
"But you feel worried now...personally worried?" Andi tried to sound like a compassionate friend. "Do you think Mr. Morse or you could be in danger?"
The question had been expected, Chang-Turner glanced away to gather herself, it came across like a standard heroine's bit from a 1040's B-movie. She swiveled back to stare, full force, into Andi's eyes.
"I'm not sure...it may be, but I'm not really sure why anyone would target me." She gave a little helpless shrug.
Andi felt the answer a little too pat and responded with an equally insincere smile.
Chang-Turner nodded. "I feel so in the dark about what's going on. With Mr. Bryant absent there's really little for me to do." Her eyes plead for assistance. "I was hoping you could tell me what you've learned." She glanced shyly down to her folded hands then gave Andi a open-eyed Little Orphan Annie look--pulled it off quite well, despite her tailored clothes.
Andi sipped her coffee and stared back into her tastefully brown eyes, she chewed her lower lip because she knew it made her look like she was pondering something weighty.
Chang-Turner was not her client and had no right to information; Morse was buying it outright and could chose to dispense or withhold it. Was this meeting really unknown to Morse, or was it yet another ruse? Was Chang-Turner concerned for her own vulnerability or the firm's?
"There's very little evidence." Andi offered. "The police seem as stymied as we are--there's precious little to go on. If these papers turn out not to be Bryant's, who could have planted them?"
"Not Mr. Bryant's?" she looked at Andi in alarm. "They were written by him...had his name on them..." She over did her surprise, staring wide eyed, her hands passively in her lap.
"They might have been assembled from things he'd done...then again they might be outright forgeries. It opens up a whole new problem." She leaned close and whispered. "Could they have been slipped there by Mr. Morse?"
Chang-Turner peeled off her last expression and smiled as if ready for the question. "Everyone had access to that area, everyone...all our associates and clerical help," she looked around as if grasping for possibilities. "...and janitors, even clients. That pending file was never kept secured, because it didn't hold contracts or confidential information."
"That a lot of people had access might mean something in court, but I care more about who had motivation." She looked down into her latte, then back up as if broaching a delicate issue. "Are you saying that because those particular papers had confidential information they couldn't have been left there."
"I found them myself." answered Chang-Turner haughtily.
Andi scratched her ear and asked pointedly. "Do you think the allegations about your clients are be true?"
"I really don't know...it's not my place to consider such things..."
"How about the one about Mr. Morse?"
"It's more than I feel qualified to comment on." Chang-Turner deflected the question. She seemed uncomfortable with the question--she might have even blanched a bit.
Andi started tentatively, "But by the nature of your role with Mr. Bryant a great deal of sensitive material must have passed through your hands...you must have some sense as to what was going on."
Chang-Turner didn't respond.
"You ran the research arm of the office...choosing what to look into, you must have had an idea what was significant."
Chang-Turner's lips thinned as she clamped her teeth together.
Andi decided to go for broke. "I know you're not telling me what you know, and know you have reason to be concerned for your own safety. I'm one of the few people you can come to for help in this matter...when you're ready, give me a call." Andi pushed her half-finished coffee away from her and began to rise.
"Ms. Wicksham..." Chang-Turner put out a hand to hold her. "People like our clients play very tough, there are very high stakes. Knowing things puts people at risk. Mr. Bryant was murdered because of what he knew. With that material from Mr. Bryant in your possession, even a person like you could be next in line..." She shot Andi an undisguised glare that repeated her threat, rose suddenly and swept away without glancing back.
Andi sank back into her chair, glanced at her watch and smiled...not bad. She'd shaken Chang-Turner's tree and had only to wait to see what might fall. She took a last sip her coffee and slipped on her coat. There was plenty of time to get food and zip up to the Japanese Gardens.
Was Chang-Turner now serving Morse as she'd served Bryant or was she acting on her own? The parting threat exposed her tension. If she was involved in Bryant's disappearance she might be afraid of being exposed--if involved in his blackmail she might be next on the killer's list. That would be reason for concern.
Had Morse really debated those paper's release, then given them to her, then decided not to release them further? It didn't seem quite his style. He hadn't commented on them when they talked, could they be Chang-Turner's alone? That would be taking an incredible risk. Andi discounted the possibility, Chang-Turner wasn't that distressed.
Whoever decided to give them to her played a desperate game. They were too obvious a forgery to be Morse's work from the outset, but he might opt to use them once they appeared on the playing field. She'd mention them just to see what reaction they brought.
She stopped at a light and wondered how big the underlying predicament was, was the blackmail all there was at stake? Besides whatever peccadillos Bryant's client's presented, was this only the tip of the proverbial iceberg?
Andi pulled into a `truck parking only' spot near Pioneer Courthouse Square and looked anxiously up the street for a meter reader cursing again that she hadn't sprung for the commercial plates that would let her legally snag those spaces. It wasn't the cost of the plates, her insurance was liable to have to go commercial and once she made the first step she'd be committed. Maybe next year--how many tickets and meter feeding would make up the difference in cost?
After a final look around she stepped from the car and rushed to the stand. She was in luck--no line. She ordered two Honkin' Huge's and grabbed napkins and plastic forks trying to remember if Ramone Bodega had volunteered the coffee.
She set the bag through the passenger door, waltzed around and slid into the driver's side with a grateful prayer to the Goddess of urban canyons--where half-known forces roam and the survivors are those who blend with the herd--thanks for help avoiding a ticket.
She flipped her turn signal, looked behind and merged smoothly into traffic.
Portland's Japanese Garden was elegant, expansive, walled and formal; a quietly special place. Bodega's choosing it lent their meeting a certain significance and style.
Andi pulled up and parked across from tennis courts where she could see the path up to the entrance. Eleven cars and a Parks Department van waited in the lot this side of the street. No one obviously waiting. Early--eleven minutes after, nothing to do but wait and watch.
She was unsure what to expect, Bodega's voice was all she remembered; round slow pronunciation. He was definite about not meeting in their offices. Why the security precaution--if that's what this was?
This could be an elaborate set-up, something rehearsed by Morse to simulate an independent source. Certainly Bodega had talked to him. She bridled at the thought. The air was damp from the morning's drizzle, but the sky in its usual shades of grey was already splitting to show clear blue behind. A cold wind blustered the tree tops and sent a few leaves dancing across the pavement. She'd leave her umbrella, one less thing to lug. If it rained they could retreat to a car and drive.
A car with two young men arrived, but the riders ambled over to the tennis courts--then another car carrying four women. The third car, this time with a single man, pulled in to park beside her, Andi watched in her mirror, prepared to greet him, but he grabbed a racquet and followed the others.
Andi left her elbow on the window and her hand on the steering wheel so she could monitor her watch; twelve twenty-seven. A dulled amber Toyota pulled in and took the route closest to the hill. A medium sized man with a cardboard tray with two coffees; a trim five-seven, mustache, thinning hair, levi's and a flannel shirt under a down jacket--the epitome of a Northwest progressive and dark enough to wield a name like Ramone Bodega.
She grabbed the bag of burritos, locked the door and stepped quickly across to him. "Mr. Bodega?"
The man nodded with a look that seemed to measure her. "Ramone...please." he made a palm-up gesture with his free hand and gestured that she should take a coffee, "Andi Wicksham?" The sun broke through the clouds and he shaded his eyes with the side of his hand.
Andi nodded and burrowed in the bag for his burrito before accepting a coffee. Bodega angled to the stone steps leading up from parking like it was a familiar path. Side by side they crossed the road, passed through the antique gate and began the looping trail up to the bus-park and garden entrance.
Beyond the gate they were swallowed by quietude, but halfway up the hillside Bodega turned and looked behind him, "I expected someone older..." he smiled a charming smile.
Andi chaffed.
He noticed. "Mr. Morse spoke of your competence..." he explained with a nonchalant shrug.
Andi force herself to respond with a smile.
He paused, then turned to her, "You're asking about local industries. "Any particular focus...?"
Andi looked across, from her place up hill a few steps their eyes were level--surely he'd asked the same of Morse. "Vulnerability to extortion...reasons for tension with Robert Bryant."
Bodega frowned. "I knew Mr. Bryant socially...met him at parties. What I know of Templeton, Morse and Bryant is pretty much limited to Lionel Morse...we've worked together quite a bit."
Andi downgraded him from a seven to a three on her credibility meter. "I want to hear whatever you can tell me Mr. Bodega...I don't know a lot about environmental politics or industry."
"Ramone, please." he asked again with Latin charm.
Andi pursed her lips, but nodded. "Ramone..." she said. Bodega was good, she had to admit.
"Let's see...as you undoubtedly know, Templeton, Morse and Bryant are a major environmental firm involved in many of the issues I work on. They do extremely important work."
"Would you lie for them, Ramone?" Andi asked bluntly.
Bodega paused a step, pursed his lips as he considered the question, nodded his head and looked her squarely in the eyes. "I suppose so, at least little lies...if it were important and not illegal...but I have no reason to. All I can do is tell you how I see things...but you have to understand, most is anecdotal...only rumor...so you have to take it as opinion."
They made the first hair-pin turn and continued along the rising grade. "Business is a human endeavor so a great many poor decisions get made by businesses..." he began generally. "...partly due to dysfunctional corporate culture, myopic focus on profit...maybe a little stupidity." he chuckled, "Anyway, bad decisions get made and it's understandable that people try to sweep them under the rug...it goes on all the time."
Andi paused to look down at the gate they come through, then back over her shoulder to meet his eyes.
Bodega continued, "For them it's economics...managers of dams don't admit they kill fish and put fishermen out of work and paper mills deny the significance of PCB's because they'd have to change their business..."
This little cleft in the hillside was a vibrant brown and green world of its own--a few leftover yellow and orange splashes of leaves beside evergreens, dark empty branches arched against a pale, clearing sky. Andi looked overhead, smiling at the crisp dampness, then turned back to Bodega.
They stepped off again together and he continued seamlessly. "Luckily most problems aren't economically vital and, if it's not too expensive, it's in industry's interest to be a good neighbor. Non-profit's like Northwest Bio pile up data and prod things along." Bodega looked across to see if Andi was following. "We try to get the issues into public forums." Their eyes met in understanding and he continued.
"Here in the Pacific Northwest environmental advocates and industries actually work together a lot. We agree to disagree on big problems until dukeing them out before a judge. That's where Morse fits in--he knows both sides, sometimes builds bridges sometimes files suits." He glanced across again. "...just because both sides talk doesn't mean we don't sometimes have to sue."
Andi glanced and caught his eye, "So Morse works for you?" she questioned.
"No, no..." Bodega chuckled, "Templeton et al are usually not the named attorneys...remember the game is piling up evidence and Morse's got the biggest files and the most experience. I'm only an observer when the big fish feed...and the best complainants are native tribes and other land owners. I'm just a eco-system biologist..." He seemed a bit embarrassed by it.
"Morse's files are used to blackmail industry?" It was an interesting admission.
Bodega shyly kicked a bit of gravel with his toe. The sun had come out and the sky was clearing. He continued, "That's overstated. Part of the leverage we have is what we know about industry's mistakes and problems...you've got to realize that the threat of using that sort of information is usually greater than its actual weight. If they act quickly to correct a problem so we don't call a press conference--is that blackmail?"
"You tell me..."
He grimaced. "I don't see it that way. Mr. Morse unofficially negotiates some agreements, I see his work as ethical."
Their eyes caught each other as they came up on a parking lot and idling tourist bus. "Small environmental groups like mine have little status." He made a dismissive gesture with his hands. "All we can do is keep our eyes open and do clean science."
They came up to the entrance and fell silent. Andi expected to pay, after all it was her questions and client and he was working for a non-profit. Bodega took her empty paper bag and gracefully stepped aside to toss their trash as she handed a twenty through the window and collected her change, brochure and receipt.
Bodega seemed to know the route he wanted--to the left against a trickling flow of visitors. A gaggle of tourists led by a self-conscious guide passed as he veered off on small trail down the hillside to the left.
They paused at a wide spot on the narrow ledge of a trail. "Let's see...you asked about companies. Most Northwest businesses see defending toxic waste as a losing proposition." He made a cutting gestures and pushed those firms to one side. "On the other hand, toxic spewing companies like All American, skirt the edges of regulations and fight anything that points to them. They put PCB's in the river because they don't want to sell cheaper, off-white paper."
"Houston Light..." Bodega looked over.
Andi shrugged.
He went on. "...the owner's style and her daddy's before her is confrontational, fighting every tiny point...and she lies with out shame. Their reputation doesn't matter because the paper market is wholesale...and being contentious, they're used to getting negative flack--off the top I'd guess that makes them an unlikely target for blackmail."
"Makes sense..." Andi took another bite and looked up with a smile.
Bodega talked freely in secluded corners, but kept moving, ambling up stone steps and down paths, always away from other people. They emerged near the viewpoint overlooking the city.
The garden's grounds were quiet, aiding the illusion that the world was far away--now just below them Portland pulsed and ground like a race-car.
They paused a minute. Andi was mesmerized by the contrast between city and garden. They turned back to the silence, gazing down the hill at a rock garden before turning onto a narrow stone stair, drawn on by the sound of splashing water.
"Sandra Ibbe from Noris-SDI is a hard woman." Bodega continued quietly. Strictly MBA attorney...no concerns but bottom line. Knows the drain of disputes and the cost of bad press, but doesn't have a compassionate or reasonable bone in her body." Bodega smiled, "A psychologist friend of mine said she was `abstracted from the social world.'" He gave a scornful laugh. "I once heard her argue for less regulation at a hearing about a fatally injured worker...she didn't have a clue that it might be inappropriate."
They paused to look down into a pond and up to the moss ennobled rocks behind. "She might be vulnerable to scandal, personal or corporate, but it's hard to imagine her with a scandalous life...she's seriously under control." Bodega gave her a significant look and stepped aside to let an old couple totter slowly across the wooden bridge. "Personally, I think she may be capable of anything if cornered..."
Andi paused, momentarily distracted by the line of Bodega's Aztec nose.
Bodega looked back, and then turned to walk on.
"Murder?" asked Andi. Blunt candor was her strong point. She hoped Bodega wouldn't be put off.
"Murder...?" He rolled the word in his mouth while favoring Andi with a stare. He looked away and continued in a slow, deliberate pace. "...maybe so..." he glanced at her again--then away. "It's not my field...she's wound so tight I can't read her."
Andi waited silently, waiting for him to continue.
When he looked back, his eyes glinted. "I distrust her...other than that..." He shrugged.
They walked through the natural garden and around the strolling pond, looking down on eighteen-inch koi. When another group of tourists came, they returned to the smaller trails.
"Brian-Core's Drexler is a different sort of hard case...an east coast man with east coast ways. He's believes business is battle and it's a matter of honor to never give an inch." Bodega gave her a pained look and rolled his eyes. "It doesn't fit Northwest culture...it makes him an outsider among businesses and that he doesn't understand."
Bodega fell silent and ambled elbow to elbow with Andi as a couple maneuvering a baby carriage moved past--he with a mustache and thinning hair, she with tasteful Middle Eastern ethnic garb--neither glanced up as they passed.
"..rumor has it that he has Chicago underworld connections...takes order from some mafia type and sends boys to lean on suppliers and labor people..."
"What?" Andi glanced up and shook her head in disbelief.
Bryant held up his hands, "...God's truth that's the rumor--I'm just passing it on. Even if it's poppycock the rumor persists, especially about leaning on suppliers...I've heard it more than once." He shrugged, but his eye caught hers with a steady gaze.
Andi responded with a shrug, she'd asked for rumors--she'd take them with a grain of salt. She was enjoying Bodega's graciousness and pushed suspicion to the background.
"Murder...?" he continued, "There's some limit beyond which even people who'd beat somebody up don't go...things have to be worth lots of money or be personal to push them that far. Maybe it was something more than business. Ibbe's wedded to Noris-SDI so it's more than money to her." His brow wrinkled, disturbed at the thought. "I don't know, murder is a serious thing...."
They walked on, Bodega just carrying his burrito, Andi following and listening as she downed half of hers between gulps of coffee. Suddenly she looked at her watch. "Oh, shit..." she cursed. "Got to run...another appointment."
Bodega looked across in surprise.
"I'm really sorry...I should have blocked more time..." she was already backing toward the garden entrance. "I'll call in the morning to touch bases...sorry..."
Bodega waved a bit dejectedly.
Andi turned and dashed out the gate and jogged down the path--they'd have to meet again, it was just starting to get interesting. Now, if she rushed like the wind and the track was fast she might get to Waterfront park just in time for Lively.
She parked four blocks west of the river, but figured to cut her losses and take the first spot she found. The skateboarders were out in numbers. Andi pulled her coat a bit closer and slowed to an amble as she cut through the funny stage-like structure, watching the boarders cut, catch air, and slide their boards along the edge of the steps. A gangly youth in goatee and grunge layers tried leaning backwards into a handstand while threading his way along the stairs, but miscalculated and ended up sprawled upside down with his board spinning out to Andi while his friends laughed and slapped their thighs.
Andi stopped the board with her foot, kicked it back in his direction, then continued to the edge of the concrete embankment where she could lean against the rail.
Lively was five minutes late and didn't offer an excuse. He came up, leaned both hands on the railing and looked out over the river. As if dressed for low budget movie, he wore a wrinkled trench coat, dark glasses and old fedora.
"I've come up with some stuff you want..." he began. "Did you bring money?"
Andi nodded, trying to maintain a serious, neutral demeanor.
"Back when I worked for Bryant and the Dragon Lady I laid away copies I thought interesting...stashed 'em at a friend's in Tigard..." He smiled openly. "...interesting stuff..."
Andi didn't like his smile and decided to set him straight. "I'm not investigating environmental problems...and don't' want financial statements or anything general." Andi needed to set limits. He might only have annual reports and was sleazy enough to try to pass them as research.
"Ten dollars a page..." Lively said firmly. He looked into her face. His eyes were clear and he was clean shaven--nothing of the rummy alcoholic he was before. He spoke in a sotto whisper, "You can take them or not, I don't care."
"How do I know they're any use to me?"
There was a pause as Lively thought it over. "I'm going over there to pick out a page...you can look at it for five. After that it's ten dollars a page...one page at a time if you like."
"They come from Morse's office...?" Andi asked.
"Weren't you listening?" Lively countered disagreeably. "...now wait..." He turned away, walked to a bench and pulled a folder from inside his coat.
Andi watched the mid-day joggers and thought it over. Morse might want all the documents Lively could come up with if only to ascertain what had leaked. Then again, she didn't like either Lively or Morse and the idea of just shining this on and going home held definite appeal.
Lively came back with a couple of pages in his hand.
"Let's talk about the other stuff first..." Andi pushed, wanting to keep him a bit off balance.
Lively's face fell, but he recovered. "Suits me...sixty dollars and five more for this..." he held up the sheet of paper, "and ten more for a copy of this memo..." Andi could see the first paper held a paragraph or two of text and a column of something else. Lively flourished the second quickly, then folded the two together and slid them into his pocket.
Andi took out seventy dollars and added another five...she counted out thirty of that and handed it over.
"Yes?.." She let the question dangle in the air between them.
"Noris-SDI was set up by Bryant. There was a securities fraud venture they backed out of...Bryant had some memos and a witness who would spill the beans to the SEC. Ibbe packages other people's software--mostly obscure stuff. She was offering shares in a company developing software she didn't have for a military contract she also didn't have. The attorney drawing up the papers was Bryant--he double crossed her."
Andi waited a moment, listening to a tug pushing a barge up the river. "Tell me about Ibbe."
Lively stared stiffly out over the river then turned back. "Her business ties up potential stuff from brilliant, but naive little programmers via a variety of schemes--mostly vulture capitalism--offering money against ownership on terms the shmucks can never meet. She's a hustler taking advantage of inventive nerds."
Andi nodded to show she was listening.
"Her contracts have pages of fine print with limitations and conditions upon conditions no one could live up to, so her fish default...inevitably leaving her with as much ownership or unlimited use she had guts to stick them for...without her having to put out all the money. I got two of the contracts if you want examples--they're interesting reading. Bryant...contracts were his specialty, her's is real estate and trusts." He glanced up.
Andi shrugged her shoulders noncommittally.
Lively reached in his pocket and carefully pulled out one of the pages. "This came from Bryant's files..."
The page listed developer's names, phone numbers and addresses and software descriptions with a few had written notations as to quality and usefulness. The bit that caught her attention however was the hand-written comment on the bottom
Robert:
Best not to contact any of the above____.
S. Ibbe.
Andi smiled at Lively and waved the paper casually in her hand. She'd have to check the signature, but she bet a buck it was Ibbe's. " This is the one I bought?"
Lively nodded.
"You have more like this...?"
"A few I'm sure of...I've got to dig through to see what fits your needs...it takes considerable time."
"I can imagine..." Andi let it go at that. What sort of archive had Lively assembled in his three years at Templeton, Morse and Bryant? "And the other papers you wanted me to see..?"
"This is your sample to view...you haven't bought it." His voice was matter of fact and businesslike. "I have a considerable amount of this sort of material should your client have interest..."
Andi took the page and leaned against the railing. It was an abstract and overview of a report on All American, Inc. A single-spaced abstract and the first two paragraphs of an overview. It apparently listed a variety of environmental accidents--mishandlings of solvents and wastes and blowing out tanks; ranked and indexed chronologically.
"From Morse's files I imagine..?" Andi tapped the page with a finger.
"I have the full report with me if you're interested...sixty seven pages...six hundred, seventy dollars." He said it matter of factly as if offering a flat of strawberries.
"I don't have that kind of money. My client might be interested in a considerable quantity...but ten dollars a page is ridiculous..." She tried to remember how much money she had on her. "I want to look at sixteen more pages...it's what I can afford...I'll buy if they're good." She reached into her pocket and pulled out the forty-five she already owed him. "This is yours..."
Lively grunted, stuffed the money in an inner pocket and retreated to the bench. Andi pulled her cash from her bag and counted out one hundred sixty dollars.
When Lively returned he handed her the papers. "Sixteen plus the one you bought rights to view...I'll throw that other one in for nothin'." He looked pleased with himself and casually cleaned his fingernails as she looked through the papers. The pages were consecutively numbered, the table of contents following the overview took nearly two pages.
Andi handed him the money. "What will it take to get more?" she asked quietly.
"...phone if you're interested...a few days...and the price won't drop much...ten dollars is cheap, even in quantity." He snickered, snidely. "Cheap..."
"I'll call..." volunteered Andi, "but it'll be a few days."
"Next week then...I'll be waiting." With that, Lively sauntered slowly off towards town.
Andi returned to her car and drove slowly to her office. It had been a fruitful day already. She would keep the page signed by Sandra Ibbe deep in her files until she decided how to handle it, but give the report on All American to Morse.
He would take a dim view of someone copying his files, but he probably wouldn't go to the police. It would be interesting to see how he played it. Andi was sure Lively couldn't be trusted and it was extremely unlikely he would give up his only copies--next week might prove to be an interesting span of time.
With his copied files Lively could be dabbling in some blackmail himself. He didn't seem to suffer from moral scruples. It wouldn't take much effort to approach the businesses with dirty laundry.
Maybe Bryant's death was part of a plan that blew-up in Lively's face. It could have been him in the boat house--Bryant laughing in his face and calling him an amateur. It would explain his over-eagerness to implicate Chang-Turner and Bryant. It made more sense than simple anger at being fired from his job. But would he go as far a murder for satisfaction or revenge?
Go on to Chapter 7
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