Final Exam: A Legal Thriller (36 page)

Ben nodded.
 
“What about the
Thompkins
woman … what was her name, Marjorie
Thompkins
?”

“Yeah, I was getting to her.
 
She’s worth looking into, I think.
 
She has a long history of making noise, complaining about being wronged, not getting her fair share, being discriminated against, that whole line of BS.
 
She filed complaints against a couple of other professors, either unfair grading or not treating her properly in class.
 
She really works the system.”

“Not treating her properly in class?” Casey said as he looked up from his newspaper.
 
“This is law school, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, “but we don’t want to hurt anybody’s self esteem.”
 

Disko
got up from his seat and went over and grabbed a mug off of a tray on the counter, filled it three-quarters full with coffee and then dropped in some
Coffeemate
powder.
 
He stirred it with a spoon found in the drawer and took a sip.
 

“Go ahead, Stan, make yourself at home,” Casey said.
 

“What?”

“I’m just blowing you shit.”
 

“What about Hahn?”
 
Ben asked, “Did you find out anything about him?”

“Yeah, I did.”
 
Disko
set his cup down on the counter.
 
“That Hahn is a real pistol.
 
He’s a smart kid and a pretty good student when he’s in the mood, but he’s a constant troublemaker.”

“What kind of stuff?” Ben asked.

“Temper-related stuff mostly.
 
A few fights in school, loud arguments, belligerent attitude - stuff like that.
 
He’s way too cocky for his own good.”

“Hmmm,” Ben said taking a sip of his Coke.
 
“I saw that yesterday myself.
 
I started pushing a few buttons on him and next thing you know, he completely blows his cool and storms out.”
 
Ben stood and scratched his head.
 
“Well, I’ve got an appointment with Hinkle and Wexler this afternoon.
 
They work together at some insurance defense shop downtown.
 
Thompkins
, on the other hand, won’t take my calls and has basically been blowing me off.
 
She works at Kenner & Black downtown.
 
I’m thinking of showing up down there this afternoon and squeezing her a little.
 
Try and make a point.”

“She’ll love that,” Casey said.
 
“Especially at a place like that.”

“That’s what I figure.”

“Okay then,”
Disko
said.
 
“I’ll keep digging.
 
Keep me posted.”

Ben met Kate Hinkle and Lucy Wexler for lunch at a pizza joint near their office in the Loop.
 
Kate Hinkle stood about five-feet-seven inches with a nice figure, a pretty smile and light brown
wind swept
hair.
 
She carried herself with the grace of an athlete and reminded Ben of a model in a chewing gum commercial.
 
He liked her instantly.
 
Lucy Wexler on the other hand, struck Ben as someone who would tell on you for cheating on an eye exam.
 
Although dark and arguably attractive, she possessed none of Hinkle’s charm and what good looks she had were marred by a surly, unpleasant disposition.
 

All he really got from the interview was a half-way decent personal pan pizza and the opportunity to wonder which lucky guy would wind up with Hinkle.
 
Ben couldn’t see either of them killing Professor Greenfield, however.
 
Hinkle, because she was too nice and obviously didn’t have it in her, and Wexler, because that would require too much effort and personal interaction that she undoubtedly found distasteful.
 
Maybe she would hire someone, but never carry out the deed herself unless Greenfield
were
threatening her trust fund or make-up kit.
 

Ben thanked them for their time and walked north down State Street past the Chicago Theater and across the Chicago River to the IBM building, the home of Kenner & Black.
 
Kenner & Black occupied roughly ten floors of the forty-seven story IBM building and even had its own bank of elevators.
 
Ben found Marjorie
Thompkins
’ name on the registry in the lobby and took the elevator up to the 44th floor.
 
Kenner & Black’s offices looked surprisingly stark and ill-suited for one of the top silk-stocking litigation firms in the United States.
   

Thompkins
wouldn’t see him at first, but when Ben told the receptionist to tell her that he was on his way to the
Chicago Tribune
, she changed her mind.
 
Thompkins
arrived a couple of minutes later and led Ben down a flight of stairs off of the reception area to the 43rd floor and a long conference room with a large wooden table that would seat twelve.
 
She followed Ben inside and closed the heavy wooden door behind her.
 
“Just who do you think you are?” she said.
 

Ben took a step toward her.
 
“Everyone keeps asking me that.
 
I know exactly who I am.
 
I’m a defense lawyer in a capital murder case.
 
I’ve tried to do the decent thing by contacting you on numerous occasions to set up an appointment at your convenience so we could sit and talk.
 
You haven’t even given me the courtesy of a return telephone call.”
 
He looked around.
 
“So,” he said, “here I am.”
 

They sparred for a while.
 
Ben suggested that in a firm like Kenner & Black, associates like her were a dime a dozen.
 
She stared back at him, her arms folded across her chest as she seethed with resentment.
 
Finally, when it became clear that Ben wouldn’t go away easily, she relented through clenched teeth.
 
“Look,” she said lowering her voice to make sure no one outside of the closed conference room could possibly hear her, “Daniel and I had a brief relationship, but that was it.
 
It was his idea, it was inappropriate and it was wrong.
 
I shouldn’t have done it, but I did.
 
But we only slept together a few times and that was it.
 
I haven’t seen or talked to him in at least a couple of years.”
 

They spoke for a few more minutes and
Thompkins
implored him to keep her indiscretion to himself.
 
Ben made no promises, but came away from their meeting convinced of one thing - Marjorie
Thompkins
hadn’t told him the entire truth.

31

Several days later, Ben sat in the garage reviewing some evidence summaries Mark had prepared for him when he heard the heavy footsteps of the man himself stomping down the steps.
 
Mark came through the door loaded down with a box of documents, his briefcase over one shoulder and a large Federal Express envelope tucked under the other arm.
 
He dropped the box on the conference room table with a thud and set the briefcase on a chair, then tossed the Federal Express envelope across the table in Ben’s direction.
 
“Here,” he said, “this just came for you.”
 

Ben pulled it in to get a better look at the label.
 
“It’s from Fahey,” he said.
 
“I wonder what she wants
now?
”
 
He ripped the package open and pulled out a stack of documents about half an inch thick.
  
Ben looked quickly at the top document.
 
“Fuck,” he said aloud.
 
“Fahey has an emergency motion set for tomorrow morning.
 
Filed under seal.”
 
Ben read a little further.
 
After a few seconds, he stood, still holding the documents.
 
“Fuck,” he said again, this time in a slow, mournful tone.

“What?” Mark asked.
 
Ben ignored him and kept reading.
 
Then he looked at the next document and sighed.
 
“What?
 
What is it?”
 
Mark asked again.
 
Ben ignored him and kept reading.
 
He looked to the end of the motion to find the prayer for relief, then scanned the attached exhibits.
 
“Are you going to tell me what it is?”
 
Mark asked, exasperated.
 

Ben paged through a brief and cases attached to the motion before tossing the whole pile back on the table.
 
He looked up at Mark.
 
His face was a chalky white.
 
Mark had never seen him like this before.
 
“What is it?” Mark asked again in a low voice.
 

Ben paused and took a deep breath before saying, “A paternity test.
 
Bridget Fahey wants a paternity test.”
 
Ben’s words sucked all the oxygen from the room and Mark flopped down in a chair still staring at Ben, but saying nothing.
 
Ben returned Mark’s gaze and looked for the answers to the many questions spinning through his brain at that moment, yet he could find only more questions.
 
“She wants to do paternity and DNA tests,” Ben said after a long pause, “on both Megan and Anthony.”

Mark whistled.
 
“That certainly puts a new spin on things, doesn’t it?
  

“Yeah,” Ben replied, “it sure does.”

“Do you really think he could be Greenfield’s kid?” Mark asked.
 

Ben shrugged.
 
“I hope not.”

“To tell you the truth,” Mark said, “the thought of them sleeping together had occurred to me.
 
I mean, that seemed to be Greenfield’s
m.o
.
 
Admit it, you’d thought of it too.”

 
Ben shook his head.
 
“No, not really.
 
Sure, it may have crossed my mind briefly, but I never really took that as a serious possibility.
 
I know the people involved.
 
I mean, I was around at the time.
 
I would have picked up on it.
 
It’s really kind of hard to imagine.”
 
He paused.
 
“Maybe I didn’t want to imagine it.”

“You know Fahey just didn’t make this up out of nothing,” Mark said.
 
“She knows as well as we do that if she dropped this bomb and didn’t have anything to back it up that Wilson would go nuts.”
 

Ben nodded.
 
“Yeah, he would.”
 
Ben thought for a minute.
 
“I’ve
gotta
get her out here and get to the bottom of this right away.”

“Good idea,” Mark said.
 

Ben grabbed the phone and dialed Meg’s number.
 
On the fifth ring, he said to Mark, “She’s not picking up.
 
Where the fuck could she
be
?
 
She’s under house arrest for
Chrissakes
.
 
She’s wearing an ankle monitor.”

“Maybe she’s just in the shower or something,” Mark said.

“Fuck,” Ben said.
 
“She better be.”
 
He slammed the phone down holding on to the receiver.
 
He picked it up again and dialed Fran’s number.
 
“Fran, I need you to tell me the truth, no bullshit,” he said when she came on.

“Okay,” she answered tentatively.
 

“I want to know whether Megan slept with Daniel Greenfield.”
 
A long pause answered his question.
 
“Fuck,” he said again.
 

“Ben, I’m not really comfortable talking about this,” Fran said.
 
“You need to talk to
Meg
about it.”

“Talk to
Meg
about it?” he said.
 
“I shouldn’t be finding this out in a Court document.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.
 

“They want to do a fucking paternity test and a DNA test.
 
On both Meg and A.J.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh no is right.
 
And I’ve got a client who won’t even tell me the truth.
 
Tell you what Fran, I don’t want to put you on the spot, but this is how it’s going to be.
 
I’m going to give her one last chance to come clean and then you’re going to tell me everything you know.”

“But Ben …”

“But Ben nothing.
 
Do you want to see her in the penitentiary for the next thirty years?”

“No, of course not.”