Diehl, William - Show of Evil (4 page)

Yancey's invitation to be the keynote speaker was a sign that he was
recognized as one of the city's most valued movers and shakers. For
years, he had secretly yearned to be accepted into the supercillious
boys' club and he was revelling in the attention he was getting. Vail
followed him into the dining room, smiling tepidly in the wake of the
pandering DA as he glad-handed his way to the head table. This was
Yancey's day and Vail was happy for him, even though he regarded the
proceedings with disdain.

His seat was directly in front of the lecturn at a table with three
members of the state supreme court and the four most influential
members of the legislature, an elderly, dour, and boring lot, impressed
with their own importance and more interested in food and drink than
intelligent conversation. Vail suffered through the lunch.

Yancey got a big hand when he was introduced. And why not? Speaking
was his forte and he was renowned for spicing his speeches with
off-colour jokes and supplicating plaudits for the biggest of the big
shots. As he was being introduced, Yancey felt an annoying pain in the
back of his head. He rubbed it away. But as he stood up to speak, it
became a searing pain at the base of his skull. He shook his head
sharply and then it hit again like a needle jabbing into his head. The
room seemed to go out of focus; the applause became hollow. He reached
for the lectern to steady himself.

Vail saw Yancey falter and shakily steady himself by gripping the
lectern with one hand. With the other, he rubbed the base of his neck,
twisting his head as if an imaginary bee was attacking him. He smiled,
now grabbing the edge of the speaker's platform with both hands. From
below him, Vail could see his hands shaking.

Yancey took all the applause, taking deep breaths to calm himself
down.

'Before I begin, I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce, uh

Vail braced himself and pushed open the doors to the main salon,
knowing exactly what to expect. A tidal surge of noise and heat
assaulted him. He faced a thousand lawyers and their wives, all
babbling at once with a calypso band somewhere on the other side of the
room trying to compete with them, all enveloped in an enormous ballroom
with eight food tables, each with its own towering ice sculpture, a
dozen or more bars, nobody to talk to but lawyers, lobbyists, and
politicians - and no place to sit. The world's biggest cocktail party.
Vail, a man who despised cocktail parties, was about to take a stroll
through Hades.

Vail was the most feared man in the room, for he represented a
potential danger to every lawyer at the party: a loose-cannon
prosecutor, unpredictable, unbuyable, unbeatable, who had spent nine
years on their side of the fence before switching sides and becoming
their worst nightmare, a prosecutor who knew all the tricks and was
better at the game than they were. In ten years he had successfully
prosecuted two city councilmen, a vice mayor and a senator for
everything from bribery to malfeasance in office and had wasted a local
bank for money washing. They would treat him cordially but at a
distance as he worked his way through the room, subtly letting him know
that he was not one of them. It was the only part of the ordeal Vail
enjoyed, for he revelled in the role of the untouchable outsider.

Otherwise, he despised the annual ritual dance of the state's legal
power players and their fawning associates. The corporate partners used
these occasions to study the young sycophants and their wives and to
reaffirm their choices. How did they handle themselves in this social
bullring? Did they have the proper social graces? Did the women dress
properly? Did the young lawyers drink too much? Express unacceptable
political views? Hold their own in social debate with their peers? And
perhaps most important of all, did they discuss the business of the
company? Like pledges at a fraternity party, the young bootlickers
performed for their bosses, fully aware that their performances would
be discussed later and in harsh detail in the halls of the kings.
Divorce had even been suggested after these forays.

They drank too much and they bragged too much and it was business.
Big business. They talked about lobbying for this bill or that; which
PACS they contributed to because they 'got the job done'; which
congressmen and state legislators were 'spinners', those whose opinions
could be influenced with a free dinner at a four-star restaurant or a
hunting trip to some exclusive lodge in Wisconsin or Minnesota; which
were 'bottom feeders', cheap sellouts who could be bought for a bottle
of good, hearty Scotch and a box of cigars; and which were 'chicken
hawk' neophytes who could be lured into the fold with flattery and
attention. They scorned the 'UCs', uncooperatives whose votes were not
available at any price and subtly shunned them until they were
'seasoned' and learned the first rule of the game: compromise. These
conversations were not about the law, they were about business and
politics, enterprises that had little use for the law or ethics or
integrity.

As Vail entered the room, he passed a group of five lawyers, all
performing for a tall, white-haired potentate with smooth pink skin who
was obviously enjoying the playlet.

'It'll be tacked on House Bill 2641,' said one. 'Furley will take
care of it, he's already spun. It'll glide right through.'

'How about Perdue and that new joker, what's his name, Eagle?'
suggested another.

'Harold Eggle,' another intoned. 'A chicken hawk, nobody pays any
attention to him.'

'And Perdue's a bottom feeder,' said still another. 'Send him a
bottle of Chivas and forget him.'

'It's a done deal. Nobody will buck Tim Furley except the usual UCs
and they'll be laughed out of the chamber,' the imperious senior
partner sneered, ending the conversation.

Vail sighed as he passed them, knowing he would drift aimlessly from
one group to the next, nodding hello, smiling, and moving around the
room until he was close enough to a side exit to slip out and flee the
event.

But tonight was different. As he walked into the room, he was
deluged with handshakes, smiles, pats on the back. He was overwhelmed
with goodwill. It took a few moments for it to sink in, for him to
realize what was happening.

Across the room, he was being observed as he made his way through
the swarms of people. Jane Venable watched with a smile. Tall, distant,
untouchable, classy, arrogant, self-confident, Venable had it all. From
the tip of her long, equine nose to her long, slender neck, she created
a mystique that was part of her haughty allure. She was almost six feet
tall and, on normal business days, disguised a stunning figure in bulky
sweaters and loose-fitting jackets. But in court, the perfect showcase
for her brains, beauty, and elan, she was truly in her element. There
she put it all to work at once, performing in outrageously expensive
tailormade suits designed to show off the perfection of her body. From
her broad shoulders to her tight buttocks, her hair pulled back into a
tight bun, her tinted contact lenses accentuating her flashing green
eyes, she was a tiger shark. Immaculately prepared, she was a predator
waiting to slam in for the kill: the ultimate jugular artist. There was
no margin for error when doing battle with her. Like Vail, she had one
rule: Take no prisoners. On this night Venable had thrown out the rule
book. She flaunted it all. Devastatingly packaged, she was encased in a
dark green strapless sheath accented with spangles that embellished
both her perfect figure and the flaming-red hair that cascaded down
around her shoulders. She was wearing green high heels that pushed her
to over six feet. In the otherwise stifling milieu of the room, she was
a beacon of sex, standing half a head taller than most of the men in
the room. There was no denying her; no way to ignore this brilliant
amazon. Jane Venable knew exactly what buttons to push to claim the
night and she was pushing them all.

The day before Venable had wrapped up one of the biggest corporate
buyouts in years. It was no longer a secret that Venable had spent six
months studying Japanese culture and learning the language before going
to Tokyo and masterminding Mitsushi's buyout of Midland Dynamics. Her
strategy had pulled the rug from under four other law firms, one of
them a Washington group that everyone had assumed had the inside track.
It had earned her a $250,000 bonus and moved her name to number three
on the corporate letterhead.

She had been watching Vail since he entered the big room, watching
the minglers part like water before him, congratulate him, pat him on
the back, then swirl back to continue their conversations in his wake.
And at the moment she was thinking, not about her latest legal coup,
she was remembering a day ten years earlier when she had suffered one
of the worst defeats in her career.

Although they occasionally traded glances from across a theatre
lobby or a restaurant, it had been ten years since Venable and Vail had
exchanged even a hello. It had been her last case as a prosecutor
before moving to a full partnership in one of the city's platinum law
firms - and it was one of the most sensational cases in the city's
history. A young Appalachian kid named Aaron Stampler had been accused
of viciously stabbing to death one of Chicago's most revered citizens,
Archbishop Richard Rushman. An open-and-shut case - except that Vail
had been the defence attorney.

In a bruising trial presided over by the city's most conservative
and bigoted judge, Harry Shoat - Hangin' Harry, as he was known in the
profession - Vail and Venable had provided plenty of fireworks for the
media. Then Vail had ambushed her. Stampler suffered from a split
personality, a fact Vail had not introduced into evidence and had kept
from the public. He had tricked Venable into bringing out Stampler's
alter ego on the stand, and instead of the chair, Venable had had to
settle for far less. Stampler was sent to the state mental institution
'until deemed cured' and she had left office a loser, at least in her
own eyes.

But the case had preyed heavily on Vail's mind. After winning his
points in court, Vail had had second thoughts. The outcome had troubled
him, and in an ironic twist, Vail, the state's deadliest defence
lawyer, had replaced Venable as chief prosecutor. Even as a prosecutor
he did not get along any better with Judge Shoat. They had continued to
clash in the courtroom until Hangin' Harry had been appointed to the
state supreme court.

Forgiveness came hard for Venable, but she had held a grudge long
enough. Vail had always attracted her, although it was years before she
had admitted it to herself. Like her, he was a predator with an
instinct for the jugular. In court, he was mercurial, changing moods
and tactics on the whim of the moment, dazzling juries and confounding
his opponents. And she was also drawn to his dark Irish good looks and
those grey eyes that seemed to look right through her. Now he was not
only the most dangerous prosecutor in the state, he was also
the
district attorney, and proper respect was being paid.
Impetuously, she decided to end the feud.

She moved resolutely through the crowd, charting a collision course
with him but staying slightly behind him so that he would not see her.
Then an arm protruded through the mass of people. Massive fingers
locked on Vail's elbow, steering him towards the perimeter of the
ballroom and a small anteroom.

Shaughnessey, the old-timer who had carved a career from city
councilman to DA to attorney general to state senator, losing only one
political race in thirty years, was claiming Vail for the moment. Two
years ago he had made his bid for the governor's seat only to be turned
away in the primary. But it had not damaged his power.

Shaughnessey was the state's high priest who with a nod could bring
disaster down on the shoulders of anyone who challenged the political
powers of the state house.

Compared to him, most of the other state politicos were gandy
dancers. The burly man, his bulk wrapped in a fifteen-hundred-dollar
silk tuxedo with a trademark splash of coloured silk in its breast
pocket, his fleshy face deeply tanned under a thick white mane, his
thick lips curled almost contemptuously in what the unsuspecting might
have mistaken for a smile, was obviously wooing the new DA.

Her curiosity piqued, she decided to wait. Inside a small, barren
room, Shaughnessey fixed his keen and deadly hooded eyes on Vail and
smacked him on the arm.

'How do you like being DA?' he asked.

'I told you ten years ago,
Roy, I don't want to be DA. I wanted to be chief prosecutor then and
that's what I am now.'

'Not any more, my friend. You are the acting DA, you need to start
acting like one.'

Vail had a sudden surge of
deja vu
. Ten years ago. A snowy
afternoon in the backseat of Shaughnessey's limo, sipping
thirty-year-old brandy. The moment it had all started.

'You're the best lawyer in the state.
Nobody wants to go up
against you.'

'Is this some kind of an offer?'

'Let's just say it's part of your
continuing education. You've
got to slick up a little.'

Vail laughed. 'You mean go legit?'

'Exactly, go legit. Get a haircut,
get your pants pressed, stop
kickin' everybody's ass.'

'Why bother? I'm having a good time.'

'Because you want to move to the
other side of town. You want
what everybody wants, bow and scrape, tip their hat, call you mister
and mean it. You don't want to cop pleas for gunsels the rest of your
life. Yancey needs you, son. Venable's left him. He's lost all his
gunslingers. His balls're hanging out. Hell, he never did have the
stones for that job. He's a politician in a job that calls for an
iceman. What he wants is to make judge - eight, nine years down the
line - and live off the sleeve for the rest of his time. To do that, he
needs to rebuild his reputation because you've been makin' him look
like Little Orphan Annie. Twice in one year on headline cases - and you
burned up his two best prosecutors to boot. Silverman's still in a coma
from the Pinero case and Venable's on her way to Platinum City. He
needs you, son.'