Buying Time (3 page)

Angela perused the complaint. “She had brain cancer. The hospital where she died found no evidence of foul play.”

“It wouldn’t be in the hospital’s interest to find any,” Salina said.

Zack’s face blazed with interest. “That would certainly be a clever racket,” he mused. “Invest in the policy, then kill the policyholder. The police wouldn’t waste much time looking into the death of somebody who was already dying. Are we investigating that angle, too?”

Zack the Hack, as everyone called him behind his back, was always on the hunt for a high-profile case that might evolve into a highly paid talking-head job. He actually told people he was going to be the next Anderson Cooper.

“Murder is the D.A.’s jurisdiction, not ours,” Angela said. “Besides, the police don’t buy the daughter’s theory and there’s been no evidence of anything like that going on in the other states.”

“It might not hurt to talk to the woman,” Zack pushed. “We may find some information that could strengthen our case.”

Angela pursed her lips in frustration. Maybe appeasing Zack on this would make him more cooperative down the line.

“Salina, why don’t you talk to the woman over the phone? See if you think there’s anything to her allegations. If there is, I’d like you and Jon to interview her in person.” Angela slid a folder across the table. “Her name is Veronika Myers. Here’s a copy of her complaint.”

“I’m on it,” Salina said.

Angela handed out a three-page document to the team. “We have a lot of work to do over the next few weeks. This memo lays out everyone’s role. We received the go-ahead to stage a sting operation.”

“How’s the sting going to work?” Salina asked. “Is somebody going to go undercover as a terminally ill patient and see if they get the screws put to ’em?”

“That’s exactly how it’s going to work,” Angela said.

Jon smiled. “Sounds like fun.”

“Glad you feel that way because I think you’d be the perfect undercover patient.”

“Hold on.” Zack turned to Rob, the case agent sitting to his left. “I think Rob could also do a pretty good job.”

A smile masked Angela’s true feelings. The ultimate designation of their undercover patient would be made by the Postal Inspection Service.  Still, Angela planned to lobby hard for Jon. Rob was way too passive for a case like this. He hadn’t even opened his mouth during the entire meeting. On top of that, he was basically Zack’s puppet. With Rob as the undercover plant, Zack would effectively control the investigation.

“Jon has more experience doing undercover work than anybody else in this room,” Angela said. “He just helped snag two big-time drug dealers.”

“Rob’s had his share of undercover cases, too.” Zack gave him a fatherly pat on the back.

Rob, in turn, looked admiringly at Jon. “Not nearly as many as Jon.”

Zack’s face reddened and he glared at Rob.

“Then it’s settled,” Angela replied with glee. “Jon’s our choice. Now we need a name for our task force. Any ideas?”

“I’m way ahead of you.” Jon paused for dramatic effect. “Operation Death Scam.”

They all groaned in unison.

“Too depressing,” Angela said.

“It should be depressing,” Jon protested. “It’s a depressing business.”

“How about Operation Buying Time?” Tyler offered. “That’s really what these people are trying to do. Many of them use the money for experimental medical treatments in hopes of extending their lives.”

They all paused to mull over the suggestion.

“Too bland,” Zack said. “We need something with some real punch to it.”

“I like it,” Angela said, overruling him. “Operation Buying Time it is.”

Zack muttered something under his breath as Angela dismissed the team.

“Who wants to join my pool?” Zack asked, as everyone headed out. “I’m taking bets on who the President’s going to name as our new boss.”

Six weeks ago, U.S. Attorney General Stanley Harrison was caught leaving a penthouse suite on the Vegas strip with a high-priced call girl. If he hadn’t paid for the room with his government credit card, he might still have a job.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you propose illegal betting in the workplace,” Angela chided him.

“Aw, lighten up,” Zack replied. “You can be such a killjoy sometimes.”

Angela gathered the rest of her papers and headed back to her office. While Zack’s bravado often got on her nerves, she otherwise liked working with him. He was smart, tenacious and had good instincts. But as the lead attorney, she’d probably have to spend as much time containing Zack’s ego as she did managing the case.

Considering the fragile state of her personal life, she didn’t need the added hassle of any headaches from Zack Hargrove.

Y
es, Mr. President. Of course, Mr. President. Thank you, Mr. President.”

Lawrence Erickson squeezed the telephone receiver and struggled to keep his emotions in check. A tall, athletic man in his late fifties, Erickson’s light blue eyes accented sandy hair badly thinning near the crown.

As he stood behind his desk, talking to the President—the President of the friggin’ United States of America—he grinned down at his law partner Roland Becker, seated in front of him. President Richard Bancroft had just informed Erickson that he was among the final candidates being considered to fill the recently vacated job of U.S. Attorney General. Was he interested?

Hell yes,
Erickson had wanted to say. After a few more
thank yous
, he hung up the phone.

“You knew I was getting that call!” Erickson sputtered, grinning down at his friend. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“And miss that shit-eating grin on your face. No way.” Becker stood and gave his friend and mentor a hug. “Anyway, I was sworn to secrecy. If I told you, I would’ve had to kill you.”

Becker and President Bancroft’s Chief of Staff had shared an apartment in law school. That long-time friendship occasionally gave Becker access to inside information.

Shortly after the debacle that led to Attorney General Stanley Harrison’s resignation, a White House staffer notified Erickson that he was being considered for the job. Erickson had assumed, however, that his selection was a long shot.

A former assistant U.S. attorney in the Southern District of New York, Erickson had gained a name for himself by prosecuting high-stakes corporate fraud cases. After joining Jankowski, Parkins, Gregorio & Hall, one of the most powerful law firms in the country, Erickson limited his practice to complex contract disputes. His multimillion-dollar verdicts were a testament to his excellent litigation skills. Few knew, however, that this hugely successful lawyer harbored deep personal insecurities.

“According to the President, I’m on the short list.” Erickson was literally beaming.

“Screw the short list,” Becker said. “I know for a fact that you’re their number one candidate. The job is yours. So we have to start thinking ahead.” Becker returned to his seat. He excelled at expecting the unexpected and preparing accordingly, skills he perfected as a Navy SEAL. Though he had only twenty years of legal practice under his belt compared to Erickson’s thirty, Becker was clearly the more strategic of the two.

“What about your situation?” Becker said. “Once the vetting process gets underway, they’ll be digging deep. Has anything changed?”

Becker’s question cast a somber cloud over their celebration. Erickson slumped into the leather chair behind his desk and studied the ceiling for several seconds. His
situation
was his wife, Claire Erickson. His confidante turned enemy who was dying of pancreatic cancer.

A fiercely private man, Erickson had shared only limited details of his failing marriage with his best friend. Claire had been threatening to file for divorce and to make the split as public as possible. But there was more, a lot more, that neither Becker nor anyone else needed to know. That’s how people screwed up. They talked too much to too many.

Erickson rocked back in his chair. “Claire’s pretty unpredictable these days. I’m just trying to play the dutiful husband in hopes of keeping things under wraps.”

“Is it the cancer?” Becker asked. His hard looks—pockmarked skin, sunken cheeks, and dark wavy hair—matched his aggressive litigator’s demeanor. “Is that what turned her into such a bitch?”

Erickson flinched. While the description fit, he did not like hearing his wife disparaged by somebody else. Even someone as close as Becker.

Erickson massaged the back of his neck. He wished he could blame everything on the cancer, but Claire’s actions could not be attributed to her physical condition. Though she was not of sound body, her mind was another matter.

“Our marriage was strained long before her diagnosis,” Erickson said wearily.

Becker shrugged. “These days, divorce isn’t the end of the world.”

“True,” Erickson said. “But like I said, this won’t be a quiet split. If Claire decided to call the
L.A. Times
and spread the lies she’s been threatening me with, Stanley Harrison and his hooker girlfriend would be reduced to a one-inch story on page twenty in comparison.”

Becker’s eyes expanded in surprise.

“Hey, hold on a minute.” Erickson moved quickly to correct any misconceptions. “I’m not screwing around. The only mistress I have is my career and that’s the one Claire wants to destroy.”

“As we’ve discussed before, there
are
ways to keep her quiet.” Becker fired a sinister look across the desk. “Permanently.”

The room fell strangely silent.

During a recent dinner consisting of more drinking than eating, Erickson had spoken in jest of wanting to
dispose of
his wife.
Was Becker serious?
“What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

“You know exactly what I mean.” Becker’s face showed no emotion as the silence in the room rose to flood level.

Erickson swiveled his chair and gazed out of his office window. His friend’s words did not shock him. Becker had never liked Claire. Disloyalty among wives, Becker had said more than once, constituted grounds for the death penalty. Becker still bore battle scars from a bitter divorce in his late twenties.

Erickson tried to laugh off what his law partner seemed to be suggesting. “You know all about my fantasies, but—”

Becker’s phone vibrated. He eased it from the inside pocket of his jacket, glanced down and smiled. “Katy’s getting pretty good at texting. She just sent me a riddle.”

Erickson watched as Becker’s large fingers awkwardly maneuvered over the tiny buttons. It confounded Erickson that a hardcore litigator like Becker could turn so spineless when it came to his family. Who in the world had five kids under the age of ten in this day and age? Becker needed a vasectomy and his wife needed her tubes tied, then ripped out as an added safety precaution.

“Sorry about that.” Becker slipped the phone back into his pocket. “I get such a kick out of my kids.”

Too bad I don’t
, Erickson thought. Becker had named him godfather of his oldest daughter, a title Erickson despised as much as the demands of the job.

“Look,” Becker continued, “we just can’t sit back and let Claire destroy this once in a lifetime opportunity.”

We
. Erickson liked Becker’s word choice. The man was fiercely loyal. But Erickson needed time to fully evaluate Becker’s proposal.

“If I get the nomination,” Erickson said, changing the subject, “I guess you know what that means for you?”

Becker gripped the arms of his chair and a big grin splashed across his face. “Wow. You don’t think it’s too soon?”

Erickson was perplexed. “
Too soon
? Too soon for what?”

“I assumed you were talking about my replacing you as chairman of the firm.”

Erickson laughed off the idea. “Yes, it’s way too early for that,” he said dismissively. “I was talking about your coming to Washington with me. If I’m nominated, I want you to be my Deputy Attorney General.”

Becker’s face flat-lined and it took a few seconds for him to respond. “I’m flattered,” he said finally. “But, honestly, I’m not sure I could afford the pay cut. Do you know what it costs to send five kids to private school?”

“It’s only a short-term job. Think about all the national exposure.”

Becker hunched his shoulders. “For you, maybe. Name me five Deputy AGs.”

“C’mon,” Erickson pushed. “We can both take a leave of absence. Your chances of succeeding me once we return will be a lot better after all the connections you’ll make in Washington.”

Becker ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ll give it some thought. When the time is right, I’ll need to discuss it with Staci. She may not want to uproot the kids.”

“I understand,” Erickson said, though he didn’t.

In Erickson’s world, a wife’s sole responsibility was to serve in whatever capacity requested by the breadwinner. Children had no role, which was why he’d never fathered any. Claire’s disaster of a daughter had proven that decision to be a sound one. If they hadn’t shipped her off to boarding school at the age of twelve, their marriage never would have survived as long as it had.

After Becker left his office, Erickson’s thoughts drifted back to his marital problems. He didn’t just want this job, he deserved it. There was no way he was going to let some vindictive little bitch stand in his way.

Even if she happened to be his dying wife.

Waverly lumbered into the State Bar Court on Hill Street, his heart thudding with apprehension.

He’d received a call from Kitty Mancuso’s assistant an hour earlier. Mancuso was handling a suspension hearing and wanted to meet with him during a break. Waverly figured the court’s decision had arrived and Mancuso preferred to deliver the bad news in person. Or maybe, he prayed, the news was good and Mancuso wanted to see the ecstatic smile on his face when she told him he’d received the luckiest break of his life.

His BlackBerry vibrated as he waited for an elevator. Waverly winced when he saw his brother’s number. He only picked up to prevent Quincy from leaving a long, rambling message on his voicemail.