Damage Control Read online

  She looked out over the dark clothing and somber expressions, her gaze drifting from the collage of familiar and unfamiliar faces until it came to rest on a face in the second-to-last pew on her left. Detective Michael Logan.

  DANA WALKED TOWARD the kitchen, the destination giving her a look of purpose, though inside she felt adrift. Around her, the alcohol flowed and the food was served buffet-style, twice what was probably needed, though she hadn’t been about to argue with her mother. Every few steps, someone would step forward to offer condolences, to express sorrow, or to tell her how much everyone had enjoyed her eulogy. She smiled, thanked the people for coming, and continued on.

  The kitchen was her refuge, a place to catch her breath and compose herself. She took a minute, then walked out onto the patio. A line of guests snaked through the buffet line, filling china plates with cold cuts, steaming lasagna, poached salmon, salads, and bread rolls. The weather had cooperated. Patches of blue emerged from the gray cloud layer. Dana walked around the pool to where Grant stood talking to a partner at Dillon & Block, her father’s former firm. The limbs of the tree that still cradled her and James’s tree fort shaded Grant’s face but did not temper his voice. She heard him exhorting the facts of the Nelson case and the large dollar figure at issue. Grant never passed up an opportunity to brag. Molly sat on a folding chair next to Maria, her babysitter, looking like a porcelain doll, dressed in a dark blue dress with a white lace collar, Mary Jane shoes, and white ankle socks.

  Dana stepped to Grant’s side and heard the partner at Dillon & Block ask, “Wasn’t Bill Nelson indicted on a money-laundering charge?”

  Grant bristled. “The charges were dropped. The proponent of the charge—the one pushing the district attorney—was one of Nelson’s top competitors.”

  The attorney furrowed his brow. “I thought there was more to it than that; that there were allegations of insurance fraud.”

  Grant shook his head, defiant. “All fabricated. All baseless.”

  Dana had started to interrupt when she felt a hand on her arm. “Dana?” She turned. The look on her face must have betrayed her inability to pull the balding man’s name from the catalog in her brain. Before she could embarrass herself, however, he bailed her out. “It’s Brian. Brian Griffin, from down the street.”

  Her mind visualized hair on the top of his head, shaved the neatly trimmed beard, and removed the round wire-rimmed glasses. “Brian, of course,” she said, ashamed to have forgotten the name of someone she and James had played with nearly every day of their young lives.

  Griffin smiled and rubbed the top of his head. “I guess I’ve changed a bit since I was thirteen.”

  “N- no,” she faltered. “Well, yes, I guess we all have.”

  “Not you. You look the same.”

  “I don’t. I’m sorry, Brian.” She gave him a hug. “I just didn’t recognize you.” She touched his beard. “I like it. It looks good on you.”

  He smiled wanly, and his eyes watered. “I’m so sorry about James. I’m so damn sorry.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  “I’ll miss him. I felt like I just got him back. Everybody at the school is in a state of shock.”

  She stepped back and realized that Griffin stood with a group from Seattle University. “You’re a law professor?” she asked.

  “I teach tax,” he said.

  “It was you who convinced James to teach.”

  Griffin nodded. “It didn’t take much convincing.”

  “James mentioned a friend but not by name.”

  “James and I touched base at an estate planning seminar, and he sounded interested. When the opening for a trial advocacy teacher came up, I called him. James was a wonderful teacher, just a natural. The students loved him. It’s why so many of them wanted to be here. I hope it’s all right.”

  “Of course,” she said, looking at the young men and women standing nearby. “It’s wonderful you brought them.”

  “You can’t teach experience in the trenches, trying cases, but James was sure good at sharing it.” Griffin looked around at the pool, reminiscing. “God, I was in this backyard every day of the summer for so many years. I don’t think I’ve been here in twenty years. Where does the time go?” Again, his eyes watered. “Well… I don’t want to keep you. Today is not the day to catch up on old times. Perhaps we could get together?”

  “I’d like that,” Dana said. “Thank you for coming.”

  As she turned toward Grant, she noticed several of the young female students. Pending crow’s-feet remained laugh lines around their eyes; their hips were narrow and firm, without the stubborn pregnancy pounds. “Brian?” she called. Griffin stepped back from the group. “There is something.”

  “Sure, Dana, anything. Anything at all.”

  “It’s just that James seemed to have a whole new life.” Her voice sounded forced even to her. “Do you know if James was seeing anyone?”

  “I don’t know for certain. Your brother kept some things close to the vest, and that was one of them. Every so often he would slip and intimate that he was dating someone, but it was never anything concrete, and I didn’t think it was my business to pry. I figured he’d tell me when he told me, you know?”

  Would there be anyone who might know?”

  Griffin touched her arm. “Dana. Your brother loved you more than anyone in the world, with the possible exception of that little girl sitting in that chair over there. If you didn’t know, I am fairly certain no one does.”

  She nodded: That was true. “What about any problems? Did James mention if he was having any sort of problem recently?”

  Griffin shook his head. “I can’t think of anything. He helped me a tremendous amount when I went through my divorce; I’m afraid I unburdened myself on him more than I should have, but… no. I can’t ever recall him saying he had a problem.”

  “Thanks again, Brian. I’ll call you to have lunch,” Dana said.

  When she turned, Grant had finished off his Scotch and soda and was wiping his mouth with a napkin. The partner from Dillon & Block had left. He nodded toward Griffin. “Who’s that?”

  “A friend. We grew up together.”

  “Needs a new sport coat.” He handed her the glass and an empty dish. “I have to get to the airport. My flight leaves in two hours. I’ll be staying at the Marriott in downtown Chicago. The telephone number is on the refrigerator, if you need to call, but I’ll be in court most of the time, so I’ll have my phone turned off. Leave me messages at the front desk. I’ll pick them up at the end of the day. I’m sorry about the timing. Wish me luck?”

  “Good luck,” she said.

  He pecked her on the lips. “I’ll call when I can. You’re sure you’re going to be okay?”

  She nodded. He squeezed her shoulders. Then he walked out the lattice gate at the back of the yard, and she watched it swing closed behind him.

  DANA WIPED DOWN the kitchen counter and rinsed the sponge under the tap. The counter and the kitchen stove were spotless. The caterers and the rental company had removed the furniture and food. After four days of turmoil, there was suddenly nothing more to do. She put the sponge in the sink and remembered the same moment following her father’s reception. The friends and family had gone back to their everyday lives, leaving her and James and their mother to cope with their loss. Their lives had been changed forever.

  She turned off the lights and made her way up the stairs, hearing the faint melody of her mother’s voice, an Irish ballad, she supposed.

  Little girl, little girl, don’t cry, little girl.

  ‘Cause I’m coming in the morning to get you.

  And you’ll smile and we’ll play and together start a day,

  And we’ll all be happy in the morning.

  At the top step, Dana peered through the gap between the door and the wall of what had been her bedroom. The pink lamp shade cast a rose-colored glow across the canopied bed, where her mother sat against the headboard, Molly in her lap, a
book open on the flowered sheets. Molly’s head drooped, and her eyes fluttered with each soft stroke of the bristled brush pulled through her hair. Her mother had remodeled every room in the house except Dana’s and James’s. Children’s books filled a bookcase. Stuffed animals overflowed an antique steamer trunk. It remained a perfect room for a little girl, though growing up, Dana had resisted the pink lace around the canopy. She had wanted to hang out with James and his friends. It had been much more fun to play their games. When she’d graduated from college and told her father she, too, wanted to attend law school, he’d looked at her as if she had been struck insane.

  “Why would you want to do that?” he demanded.

  “To be a lawyer,” she replied sarcastically.

  “The law is a jealous mistress,” he warned, though it apparently had not been enough to satisfy him.

  Dana closed her eyes and recalled sitting on the bed, staring at the pictures of Snow White, counting every bed, every pickax, every bowl on the table to ensure there were seven, one for each dwarf. She felt the soft bristles touch her scalp and glide through her hair, the strokes in rhythm with her mother’s cadence, until she had heard the sound of the car in the driveway. She recalled her father’s footsteps ascending the staircase. In her mind, she raised her eyes and saw him standing on the top stair, looking into the room, though not crossing the threshold.

  Her mother would continue to brush. “Do you want me to make you something to eat?” she would ask, not looking at him.

  “I ate at the office.”

  “Did you get everything finished?”

  “Not everything.”

  “James waited up for you.”

  “I’ll tuck him in,” he’d say, and his footsteps would soften down the hall.

  Then her mother would place the brush on the nightstand, close the book, and cover Dana with blankets, tucking them under her chin and bending to kiss her on each cheek, the nose, the forehead, and finally, the lips.

  “Why are you crying?” Dana would ask, feeling the moisture on her mother’s cheeks.

  “Because I love you so very much,” her mother would whisper.

  “Why are you crying, Mom?”

  Dana opened her eyes. Molly stared at her from the bed. Dana wiped her cheeks as she entered the room. Her mother continued to stroke the little girl’s hair. Dana bent down and kissed Molly on each cheek, the nose, the forehead, and finally, the lips. “Because I love you so very much,” she whispered.

  14

  THE FLOOR OUTSIDE her office vibrated. Dana reached for the phone on her desk and placed it to her ear, but the door did not burst open. She hung up, wondering how long it would be before Marvin Crocket regained his nerve. Her first day back at work, their paths had crossed that morning in the hallway, and Crocket had considered her warily, likely recalling that the last time they crossed paths, she had hurled a standard-size office desk at him. According to Linda, Crocket had burst from the office that day like a bull running the streets of Pamplona and didn’t stop until he reached the office of Gary Thurmond, ranting and raving for fifteen minutes, an expletive-filled diatribe on Dana’s mental instability and lack of professional conduct. Crocket had concluded with a request for Dana’s head on a platter. Barring that, he sought her immediate expulsion. Thurmond, a sixty-five-year-old warhorse who had known and respected James Hill, Sr., in the courtroom and on the golf course, didn’t agree. The morning of her return, her nameplate remained affixed to the wall outside her office door, and a bouquet of flowers had been arranged on her desk.

  The floor shook again. Dana snatched up the telephone a split second before Crocket burst in. “We have to get the proposal to Corrugated Indus—”

  She looked up at him with feigned indignity, then returned to her imaginary conversation, leaving him to fidget. When he did not immediately leave, she rested the phone on her shoulder and held her hands as wide apart as she could to indicate her conversation would be lengthy. Frowning, Crocket mimed in response that he wanted an immediate call. He left without closing her door. Dana waited a beat before hanging up. Linda peered in from the hallway. “Is there anything you need?”

  Dana shook her head. “No, thank you, Linda. I’m fine. Could you shut my door?”

  Linda stepped in and closed the door behind her. In her twenties, she had fire-red hair, multiple earrings in her right earlobe, a nose ring, and a tattoo on her back. She didn’t exactly project the corporate-law-firm image that Strong & Thurmond sought to foster in Washington’s competitive market for elite corporate clients, but Linda had been discreet. She had interviewed in a conservative blue suit with her hair pulled back in a tight bun and had retained the vestiges of that appearance throughout her ninety-day trial period. When she emerged some of the shareholders wanted to fire her, but she had proved an excellent secretary. Any ostensible reason for her termination would have been a thinly veiled excuse subject to a wrongful-termination lawsuit. Instead, they sent her from lawyer to lawyer, each papering her employment file with some inane complaint. Eventually, she came to rest in the cubicle just outside Dana’s office, and over the past two years, they had developed a kinship as outlaws.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” Linda said.

  “I’m glad to have you here, too.”

  “Crocket has been asking to review your files and your time sheets. He’s looking for things. I saw a memorandum regarding the practice group presentation. He hit you pretty hard.”

  At the moment it all seemed unimportant. “Thanks for looking out for me, but don’t get yourself in any trouble, Linda. Just give him what he wants. I’m not worried about Crocket. He can attack me, but he can’t attack my work. That’s what pisses him off.” She winked. “But I don’t think I need to tell you that.”

  Linda laughed. “Maybe you should get a nose ring.”

  “I’d like to give him a nose ring. Would you hold my calls? I’m going to be taking care of some personal matters.”

  Dana opened the box on the floor that contained James’s personal papers. Over the next hour, she sorted through his credit card and bank records. The estate was not inconsequential, but because he had sold most of his possessions, it was not complicated. He had $183,000 in a retirement fund and another $78,000 in stocks. His Green Lake home had an assessed value of $425,000. He had an additional $62,000 in cash from the sale of his Capitol Hill home invested in mutual funds. He also had a $1 million life insurance policy with Molly his beneficiary. Dana had contacted the insurance company; who advised her that they would be conducting an investigation, apparently to determine whether her brother could have beaten himself to death, suicide not being a covered event. Brian Griffin had told her that he’d drafted a will and a trust for James, but Dana did not find copies of either. She had made an appointment to see Griffin later in the week.

  James had done most of his banking online. His password was written on the inside of his file, M-O-L-L-Y. Dana accessed the website for his credit card and scrolled through the entries. A careful review did not reveal what she was looking for. She then logged on to his banking site and reviewed his statements for the previous nine months but again did not find any large withdrawals or checks. About to log off, she noticed a check entry to a company called Montgomery Real Estate for $695 and considered it of interest since, to her knowledge, her brother did not own any real estate besides his home. Scrolling back through the records, she noted the same entry the previous month and the four months prior to that as well. She wrote the name of the company on a legal pad as her direct line rang, indicating an in-firm call. She checked the extension before answering.

  “I know you didn’t want to be bothered,” Linda said, “but a Dr. Bridgett Neal is on the telephone for you. She said it was important.”

  15

  ROBERT MEYERS EMERGED from beneath the apple-red wing of the Meyers International floatplane and stepped down onto the deck before turning and offering his hand to his wife. Elizabeth Meyers stepped out, resplendent in a
royal blue St. John’s pantsuit. Meyers smoothed his tie and adjusted his blazer as the couple strode up the wooden pier hand in hand. His father, the former two-term governor of the state of Washington, had taught him that life was about making entrances and exits.

  “Nobody remembers what happens in between,” he would say.

  It was the reason Meyers had opted for the floatplane. Today he intended to make an entrance. The weather had certainly cooperated, providing a glorious sky, and sunshine reflected in the windows of Seattle’s downtown skyscrapers to the immediate south. Days like these had earned Seattle its nickname, the Emerald City.

  As the couple reached the end of the dock, the group standing across Fairview Avenue in the courtyard of Seattle’s Fred Hutchison Cancer Research Center raised their hands to shade their eyes from the glare off Lake Union. Behind them stood a magnificent seven-story glass and brick structure, a red ribbon and bow draped across the front entrance. Fast becoming one of the best cancer centers in the world, the medical complex had sprung up along the shores of Lake Union along with a host of medical and biotech companies fueled by pioneers of the dot-com craze in the 1990s, particularly Microsoft billionaire Paul Allen. Glimmering brick and glass buildings were fast replacing the one-story industrial buildings that had surrounded Lake Union for fifty years.

  When Meyers and his wife approached, water sprouted from the rock fountain centerpiece in the courtyard, and the crowd broke into spontaneous applause. Meyers dropped his head like an embarrassed schoolboy bringing his girlfriend home to meet his parents. Everyone knew the ostensible purpose for the event—Meyers had come to dedicate the addition that would bear his father’s name, Robert Samuel Meyers III. But by appearing in the sparkling sunshine with his beach-boy-blond hair blowing in a gentle breeze, Meyers had still managed to give the event a spontaneous feel, another skill his father had taught.