When The Devil Whistles (29 page)

“Thanks.”

“So, how does she want the proof done differently?”

“Well, that’s the awkward part. She wants me to serve an officer of Devil to Pay. She also wants me to file a declaration saying who that is, when I talked to them about withdrawing, and what I said.”

Tom shrugged. “Why is that awkward?”

“Because Allie is the only officer.”

“So?”

“That would mean outing Allie. Her whistleblowing career is probably over already, but if we connect her name to Devil to Pay, she’ll have much bigger problems. There are lots of people who would love to make life hard for whoever is behind Devil to Pay. She’ll have trouble ever getting a job again. She might even be in danger.”

Tom sighed. “Connor, your loyalty to your client is admirable, but it’s not mutual. Remember that. If Allie hadn’t betrayed you, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Besides, didn’t she already go into hiding on some Caribbean island? Let her stay there.”

Connor shifted in his seat and looked at his hands. “I still don’t like it.”

Tom uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Like it or not, we don’t have a choice. We’ve got an ethical duty to withdraw, and we’ve been ordered to put Allie’s name on the proof when we do—so that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

Connor’s phone rang.

Tom glanced at it. “Do you need to get that?”

Connor looked at the caller ID screen. “It’s reception. I think I’ve got someone waiting, but he’s early. I can leave him in the lobby while we finish talking.”

Tom got up. “We’re finished. By the way, I’d like to look over the new withdrawal papers before they’re filed. Could you shoot me a draft by the end of the week?”

So Tom was going to start reviewing his filings. Ouch. “No problem.”

He turned and picked up the phone as Tom walked out. “Hello.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Norman. There’s a Mr. Clayton here to see you.”

“On my way.”

Five minutes later, he and Julian were in one of the firm’s small conference rooms, chatting about football. This was a business meeting, but Connor found himself reluctant to move past small talk and socializing. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was for simple conversation with a friend he knew he could trust.

At last, Julian said, “We’ve already confirmed that Allie didn’t steal from you or your family. Was there anything else you wanted me to do?”

“There is. I’d like you to look into whether Allie and her boyfriend may have been involved in the death of a kid who overdosed from meth. I’m sorry I can’t give you more details, but—” Julian was nodding and his mouth was drawn tight. “What? You already know something about this?”

Julian sucked in a breath through his nostrils and let it out. “I do, and it’s been bothering me for a while.” He paused and looked at Connor for a long moment. “Can I ask your advice?”

“Sure. As a lawyer or a friend?”

“Both.”

Connor felt queasy about where this was headed. “Okay, go ahead.”

“I’ve always kept my investigations confidential, but I don’t think I can keep sitting on this. When you referred Allie to me, she asked me to investigate the death of a teenage boy named Jason Tompkins. He died of a meth overdose in Salina, Kansas, on May third. Allie’s boyfriend sold him the meth, and Allie was there when the meth sale happened.”

“She told me basically the same thing, but without the details. What happened next?”

“I asked her to go to the police. A young man was dead and her boyfriend was still dealing.”

“How did she respond?”

“She told me to mind my own business, and I told her I was going to give her a chance to do the right thing. The next thing I knew she’d run away to the Bahamas.”

Connor smiled bitterly. The prospect of blowing her cover bothered him less than it had a few minutes ago. “Sounds like our girl. So, is that what you want advice on? Are you thinking of going to the police yourself?”

Julian nodded.

Connor stared out the window. It was hard to believe just how badly he had misread her. A month ago she had been Qui Tam Girl, the undercover fraud-fighting hero—and he had been her partner, Lawyer Boy. His face grew hot, and he clenched his jaws.

He forced himself to focus on Julian’s question. “I don’t know much about the law governing private detectives, but I’d be surprised if there’s anything that forces you to keep your mouth shut if you come across evidence that could lead to the capture of a dangerous criminal.” He paused, unsure of whether to go on. But anger and humiliation won out over caution. “And if you’re uncomfortable telling the police yourself, I’ll do it the second I’m not her lawyer.”

The conference room phone rang before Julian could respond. It was reception again. Connor picked it up. “Hello, Connor Norman.”

“Hi, Connor. There’s a Ms. Allison Whitman here to see you.”

49

A
LLIE HAD BEEN IN THE
D
OYLE
& B
ROWN LOBBY AT LEAST HALF A DOZEN
times, but she had never before really looked at the portrait of Hamilton Doyle (whom she assumed was the firm’s founder) that hung on the wall behind the receptionist. It was a serious, almost funereal picture—an unsmiling Doyle stood in front of a dark wood bookcase filled with grim-looking legal tomes. He wore a conservative gray suit and a burgundy tie, and he was looking slightly down, so that Allie had the uncomfortable sense that he was staring at her. The only bright color in the painting was the disconcertingly vibrant blue of Doyle’s eyes, which looked a lot like Jason Tompkins’s.

Allie was nearly as buttoned down as the picture. She wore her most professional outfit (navy suit with a cream blouse), her hair was freshly styled and dyed back to its original brown, and she had applied her makeup with careful minimalism. She needed to convince Connor and Doyle & Brown to take another chance on her. That meant convincing them that she wasn’t—well, that she wasn’t really the selfish, unreliable flake that she’d been acting like. So she did everything she could to look trustworthy and responsible. She would act it too. When Connor walked up, she would rise gracefully, smile, look him in the eye, and say—

“Hello, Allie,” said Connor’s voice behind her.

She stood quickly and turned to him—or tried to anyway. She caught a quick glimpse of his face, unsmiling and cold-eyed. Then her heel caught on the carpet and she fell. Flat on her face. She landed in push-up position as the contents of her purse scattered across the lobby floor. Of course her emergency tampon flew out even though it had been tucked away in a pocket. And of course it now lay exactly in the middle of the floor.

“Are you okay?” Connor asked as he helped her up.

“Yeah, fine.” She lunged for the tampon, jammed it back into her purse and then started collecting the rest of her belongings. Her newly-styled hair now hung in her face. She tucked it behind her ears. “At least I still know how to make an entrance, huh?”

He smiled. “That you do. Sorry I startled you.”

“At least if I’d broken my neck, I wouldn’t have had trouble finding a lawyer.” She forced a laugh and he chuckled politely. “So anyway, I’d like to talk to you.”

“So I gathered. I’m actually in the middle of a meeting, but if you don’t mind waiting for a few minutes, we can talk when I’m done.”

“Sure, no problem.”

As soon as he was gone, she went to the bathroom to do repair work on her face and hair. She noticed that her knee hurt and looked down to see a rug burn framed by two massive runs in her nylons. Oh, great. She did what she could and headed back to the lobby—nearly running into a man as she walked out of the bathroom door.

“Excuse me,” she said automatically. A split second later, she recognized him. “Julian! What a surprise. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I just finished a meeting about a couple of cases I’m investigating. I need to get back to my office now. See you later.”

He stepped around her and strode quickly toward the elevator bank. As he walked away, she realized that he hadn’t asked her why she was there. He also hadn’t seemed surprised to see her. Her chest tightened as she realized that must mean that Julian and Connor had been meeting just now and they’d been talking about her.

Before she could start wondering about what they’d been saying, Connor materialized out of a side corridor. “Ah, there you are. Come with me.”

She followed him into a small conference room with a round table topped with black granite and a matching credenza. An original oil painting of a French street hung on the wall. Connor already had a notepad and a mug at a spot opposite the door. She’d been in this room several times before and usually sat next to him so they could look at documents or a laptop screen together, but today she chose a chair facing him.

“I’ve got a few things to discuss with you,” he said after they were both seated, “but why don’t you go first since you’ve obviously got something to say to me.”

“Yes, I do.” Allie took a deep breath and began a speech she’d rehearsed at least ten times in the hotel mirror. “First of all, I’m sorry for showing up unannounced like this. I was afraid that you wouldn’t be willing to see me if I tried to make an appointment.” She watched him for a reaction, but he sat watching her impassively, his hands folded on the table in front of him.

“Second, I want to repeat what I said in the Bahamas. I’m very sorry for the mistakes I made and I take full responsibility for them. I screwed up and I admit it. I’ve put you and Doyle & Brown in a very bad position even though I owe you a lot. And I’ve done more than that. I’ve unintentionally helped cover up whatever is going on at Deep Seven. I also haven’t done everything I could to help the Kansas police investigate the death of Jason Tompkins.”

She paused and glanced at him. Still no reaction. He was as expressionless as a pro poker player.

“But I know being sorry isn’t enough. It doesn’t change anything. I’ve got to do what I can to make up for it. I’ve got to at least try to fix things. I’ve got some ideas on how to do that, but I’ll need your help.”

A tiny skeptical line appeared between his eyebrows. “What exactly are you planning on doing?”

Okay, he hadn’t immediately forgiven her and agreed to help, but she hadn’t expected that. She moved to her to-do list, leading with the item that should interest him most. “For starters, I’ll help you sort out whatever trouble I’ve caused for you and the firm. I’ll tell whoever wants to listen that you didn’t know anything about the invoices at Deep Seven. That was all me. I’ll also talk to the Kansas police.”

His cool professional mask cracked and his eyebrows went up. “Good. That’s… that will certainly help. Hold on just a minute and I’ll get a videographer in here so we can get this on tape before you leave.” He turned toward the phone on the credenza.

“Um, I can’t do it right away. Or at least not if you’re going to use it anytime soon.”

He turned back to her, his face hardened by skepticism. “Why not?”

“Because there’s something I need to do first. I’m going back to Deep Seven. I’m going to find out what they’re hiding if it kills me.”

He stared at her. “It just might kill you. Remember what happened to Sam Stimson.”

The respect in his eyes and voice was like a fresh spring breeze cutting through the foul Smell that hung around her. She smiled. “Only if they catch me. Don’t you have any faith in me anymore?” Oops, dumb question. “I mean—”

But he was already frowning and shaking his head. “No, that won’t work.”