Death Benefits (18 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Nancy Winslow handed me a thick computer printout when I returned. “Tyrone Henderson up in Chicago printed this out for you,” she said.

I took it in my office, closed the door, and settled down behind my desk. The first page showed the start of his search through the St. Louis files:

INQUIRY MODE :   NAME SEARCH

KEY WORD(S) :        PARALEX

OFFICE :                   STL

DATE RANGE :        3 YEARS TO PRESENT

SEARCHING…

RESULTS: PARALEX SUPPORT SYSTEMS, INC.
               THE NAME PARALEX APPEARS IN
               FOLLOWING FILES:

               1. VENDOR FILE
                              OFFICE: STL

               2. TRUSTS & ESTATES PAYEE FILE
                              OFFICE: STL

So the first search had yielded the news that the name ParaLex appeared in the vendor file and the trusts and estates payee file of the St. Louis office of Abbott & Windsor. The following page described the next search.

NEW SEARCH?

YES…

INQUIRY MODE : VENDOR RUN

KEY WORD(S) : PARALEX

OFFICE : STL

DATE RANGE : 3 YEARS TO PRESENT

SEARCHING…

This was a search through the vendor files, which were the files for the companies that sent invoices to the St. Louis office of A & W. The vendor files would include everything from A & W bills (for law books, desks, paper, electricity, periodicals, typewriter ribbons, coffee filters, etc.) to client expenses that A & W paid and then charged back to the client (such as court filing fees, court reporter fees, travel expenses, licensing fees, etc.). I flipped the page to see what the computer found:

RESULTS:

     VENDOR: PARALEX SUPPORT SYSTEMS, INC.
                          PO BOX 23127
                          ST. LOUIS, MO 63125

TOTAL CHECKS: 602

TOTAL AMOUNT: $108,450

FOR DETAIL, SEE TABLE BELOW

I was surprised. Over the last three years, A & W had cut 602 checks to ParaLex for a total amount of $108,450.00 The chart detailing those payments ran on for twenty-two pages and looked like this:

The next page of the printout described the final search:

NEW SEARCH?

YES…

INQUIRY MODE : TRUSTS & ESTATES PAYEE FILE

KEY WORD(S) : PARALEX

OFFICE : STL

DATE RANGE : 3 YEARS TO PRESENT

SEARCHING…

RESULTS:

               PAYEE: PARALEX SUPPORT SYSTEMS, INC.
                             PO BOX 23127
                             ST. LOUIS, MO 63125

TOTAL CHECKS: 196

TOTAL AMOUNT: $35,220

FOR DETAIL, SEE TABLE BELOW

Set out below was a chart, similar but not identical to the vendor chart. This one covered seven pages and showed all payments to ParaLex out of trust funds administered by Abbott & Windsor:

Unlike the vendor chart, which included the Abbott & Windsor check number for each payment, this payee chart didn't have that information. Presumably, that was because each trust fund had its own checking account and thus paid its bills directly.

The two charts showed a similar pattern: hundreds of payments to ParaLex, each in the $175 to $200 range. By looking for matches in the client matter column, I was able to determine that a typical estate or trust fund was making an average of four ParaLex payments per year, spaced at regular intervals of three months, each payment in the $175 to $200 range.

The printouts showed a St. Louis address for ParaLex. I reached for the white pages and flipped to the business section. No listing for ParaLex. I picked up the phone and dialed 411. They had no listing either. That was strange.

I buzzed Nancy Winslow on the intercom line. “Hey, Nance, could you check with the Missouri and Illinois Secretaries of State to see if they have a listing for a company called ParaLex?”

“Sure.”

I stared at the address for ParaLex in the computer printouts:

PARALEX SUPPORT SYSTEMS, INC.
PO BOX 23127
ST. LOUIS, MO 63125

I remembered the bill that Stoddard Anderson had received for rental of a post office box. I found it in the desk. Nope. Different box number, different zip code.

I sat back in my chair and frowned. This made no sense.

I leaned forward and dialed the Chicago number of Abbott & Windsor. I asked for Tyrone Henderson.

“Thanks, Ty.”

“My pleasure, Rachel.”

“Can I ask one more favor?”

“At your service, girl.”

“You know the client/matter column on those two charts? Can you find out who the originating partner for each of those clients is?” Under the Abbott & Windsor system, the originating partner is the partner who brought the client into the firm.

“Hang on. Let me retrieve one of the charts.” As I waited I could hear him humming an old Temptations song. “Okay,” he said. “It's coming up on my screen.”

“What's it show?”

“A lot of names. There must be twenty different lawyers on the list.”

“Really? Any names more than others?”

“Well, got four, five, six, seven, eight—got a bunch here for Stoddard Anderson. Let's see. Got a bunch for Reed St. Germain. Five, six, seven—got a bunch for Prentice Ellebrecht, got some for Taylor Randall. Those four dudes have the most clients on the chart, but there's still lots of other lawyers with one or two clients on there.”

“How about the responsible partner?” I asked. The responsible partner is the one in charge of handling the matter once it is brought into the firm.

“Hang on. Let's see.”

“I bet it's Reed St. Germain for every last one of them,” I said.

“Damn, girl. You're right. How'd you know that?”

“He's head of the department here. Ty, you came through for me again. I owe you a dinner when I get back to Chicago.”

“It's a deal, Rachel. Take care of yourself down there.”

***

“Portia's in Mr. St. Germain's office,” her secretary told me.

Reed St. Germain's door was closed. His secretary wasn't at her desk. I knocked on St. Germain's door.

“Come in,” he said.

As I pushed open the door, the first person I saw was Reed St. Germain, seated behind his desk. Then I saw a stunning woman in a white dress. She was on the couch along the side wall, facing St. Germain, her legs crossed, lots of leg showing. She had a pen in her hand and a yellow legal pad on her lap. Presumably, Portia McKenzie.

And then I saw Remy Panzer, seated in the chair across from St. Germain's desk. He turned toward the doorway and our eyes met. He nodded and smiled.

“Hello, Rachel,” Reed St. Germain said, adjusting his managing partner mask. “I think you already know Mr. Panzer.”

“I do.”

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I was looking for Portia McKenzie,” I said. “I didn't realize you had a client in here as well.”

“No problem. Portia's almost done, aren't you?”

She nodded stiffly, slightly miffed, perhaps at the fact that St. Germain had overlooked her in the introductions.

“I'll send her down in a couple minutes, Rachel. Okay?”

“Fine.”

Back in my office there was a message that Rafael Salazar had returned my call. The number he left was the main number for Customs. I called. He was out. I left my name and phone number with the secretary.

I got through to two more people on my Stoddard Anderson telephone list—neither any help—and was dialing a third when Portia McKenzie appeared at my doorway. I put the phone down.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Come in,” I said, gesturing toward the sole guest chair in the little office.

Portia had shoulder-length black hair parted on the side. She had a striking face, almost Eurasian, with a little pug nose. Lots of make-up, but expertly applied. She was wearing a simple white silk dress that highlighted her tan and hugged her high, round breasts. The dress was hemmed at mid-thigh, accentuating dancer's legs. Her full lips were just this side of swollen. The total effect was somewhere between
Vogue
model and
Penthouse
Pet.

“I understand you have some questions about Stoddard,” she asked.

“Stoddard?” In my experience, paralegals referred to senior partners, especially dead ones, by last name. “Did you call him that when you were around him?”

Portia gave me a cool, up-yours gaze. Nancy Winslow was right. I knew the type, and I didn't like it.

“Maybe,” she said. “I don't remember.”

“Are you the ‘live' paralegal?”

“I'm live this month, probably dead the rest of the year.”

“They call the living clients undeads down here, right?”

She nodded. Her almond-shaped eyes were a chilly green.

“Was Mr. Anderson designated executor by any of the undeads?”

She unfolded a sheet of paper. “April told me you needed that information. I checked yesterday. He isn't sole executor for anyone. He's co-executor on four wills.”

“Whose?”

She glanced at the sheet of paper. “His wife's. His daughter's. A man named M. Salvatore Donalli. And a man named Albert A. Weidemeir.”

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

“What about Remy Panzer?”

She didn't flinch. “What about him?”

“Was Mr. Anderson named executor in his will?”

“I don't believe so. I had the computer sort through the undead files for those where Stoddard was designated executor. It turned up the four names I mentioned. No one else. If Mr. Panzer had us do his will, he must have designated a different executor.”

“What's Remy Panzer doing here today?”

Again the poker face. “I'm afraid I can't answer that.”

“Why not?”

“One of the rules Abbott & Windsor tells its paralegals their first day is that we're never allowed to discuss attorney-client matters with
anyone
who isn't a member of the firm. Violation of the rule is grounds for termination.”

“It's a good rule,” I said. “If I had a gold star, I'd give you one.”

“Thank you.” She gave me a Miss Manners smile as she stood up. Pausing at the door, she turned to me. “I wasn't fucking Stoddard,” she said.

“Ever?”

“Never.”

I studied her. “Would you have told me if you had been?”

She studied me. “Probably not. Who I
don't
fuck might be your business. Who I do fuck isn't. Probably not all that different from your own rules.” She turned to leave. “I'm here if you have any other questions,” she called over her shoulder as she strolled away.

***

Five minutes later Remy Panzer was at my office doorway. He was wearing black slacks and a black turtleneck. I had assumed he would show up eventually, whenever his meeting with Reed St. Germain ended.

“Good afternoon, Rachel.”

“What brings you down to the firm, Remy?”

“What keeps you away so much?”

I shrugged. “Yours is not the only matter I'm handling.”

“Likewise, Rachel.”

We had a Mexican stand-off, in more ways than one.

“Well, am I looking at my attorney?” he asked.

“You are not,” I said. I had rehearsed variations of this conversation several times since my meeting this morning with Rafael Salazar. “I view this as more of a salvage operation than a legal matter, Remy. To the extent that your pursuit of Montezuma's Executor might someday require legal services, you are definitely
not
looking at your attorney.”

“Understood. Am I looking at my salvager, then?”

“I'm still not convinced that someone hasn't committed a crime here. Nor am I sure about my own culpability. Obviously, none of us knows how this could all play out—assuming, that is, that I do find it. So, here's how it's going to have to be, Remy. You are
not
looking at your attorney and you are
not
looking at your salvager. But you are looking at someone who's going to be trying to find Montezuma's Executor. If I should find it, I understand that you have offered my client, Dorothy Anderson, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the object. My client has been in a coma since before you made that offer. Should I find the Executor before she recovers from that coma, then I will have to do what I think is in her best interest. A quarter of a million dollars would seem to be in her best interest. Accordingly, I do not plan to shop your offer.”