Final Exam: A Legal Thriller (42 page)

Ben nodded.
 
“We all do,” he said.
 

“Look,”
Renfroe
said.
 
“I know you don’t want to spend the whole evening talking about the case, not that you can say much about it anyway.
 
So, let’s just hope that everything goes well and we get the right result.”
 
With that, he raised his glass as if to toast.

Ben joined him and said, “I’ll drink to that.
 
So, what do you do?
 
I hope for your sake you’re not a lawyer.”

“No, far from it,”
Renfroe
said with an easy laugh.
 
“I have a degree in architecture, if you can believe that.
 
But I’ve been in the restaurant business for years.
 
For about fifteen years, I’ve owned the
Mad Hatter
up in Lincoln Park.”

“Oh, that’s right.
 
Sally told me the other day that you owned a restaurant.
 
I’ve heard of it,” Ben said.
 
“It’s supposed to be a nice place.
 
It’s got kind of a Cajun theme, doesn’t it?”

Renfroe
tilted his head from side to side as if to contemplate his answer.
 
“I suppose you could say it’s Cajun-influenced.
 
You and your wife should come and visit us sometime.
 
We’ll show you a good time.”

“I’d like that,” Ben said.
 

The group spent the next half hour making small talk as the upstairs room filled with more and more of Ben’s former classmates and their significant others.
 
A few professors from the law school came for the festivities, including some, like Richard Seagram, who were happy to see Ben, and others like Samuel
Dorlund
, who
were
not.
 
Over the course of the past several months, Ben had run into each of them at one time or another during his long hours of investigation at the law school so that seeing
him
here did not provide the friendly reunion it would have under normal circumstances.
 

As Ben returned from the bathroom a little while later, he saw Angela Harper coming up the stairs with her husband, a white man several years younger than she and appearing equally unpleasant.
 
Having still not graced Ben with an audience, Professor Harper made a point of acting like she hadn’t seen him.
 
Ben watched her head toward the bar only to be greeted by a handful of former students and kicked himself for not having pursued her more aggressively.
 
She had been on his To Do List for some time, but he had never quite gotten around to forcing her hand like he had originally intended.
 
As he watched the Harpers head for the bar, a voice draped in sarcasm whispered in his ear, “Aye, if looks could kill, Counsel, if looks could kill.”

“That’s a thought,” Ben answered without looking away.
 
Then he turned and broke into a wide grin.
 
“Professor Seagram, my man.
  
How goes it?”
 

Seagram laughed heartily, slapping Ben on the back.
 
“Always good when I have a drink in my hand and so many pretty girls in the room.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Ben said.
  

Seagram waved his beer in the direction of the Harpers.
 
“She still giving you trouble?”

“Not so much trouble as nothing at all.
 
She won’t talk.
 
I may have to hit her with a subpoena.”
 

Seagram cocked his head, a twinkle in his eye.
 
“There could be some fun in that,” he said.
 
“You could always go over later and bury the hatchet.”
 

Ben raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Bury it where?” then said, “I don’t think so.”

“Well, my boy,” Seagram said throwing an arm around Ben’s shoulders, “things could always be worse.
 
You’ve managed to drag yourself away from all of this unwanted media attention and come out on this fine Saturday evening for a good time with your old classmates.”

“And professors,” Ben added.
 
Ben took a drink of his beer and let it settle.
 
Finally he said, “One of whom may have killed another one of my old professors.”
 

Seagram merely nodded.
 
The two men studied the Harpers for a long moment and then decided to hit the appetizers.
 
Although the selection was not terribly extensive, mostly typical fare, Ben enjoyed the marinated chicken breast on a stick, while Seagram gravitated toward the little spareribs and mini egg rolls.
 
“You know,” Seagram said stuffing an egg roll into his mouth and gesturing with his head toward the Harpers across the room, “you could always have a few more cocktails and start a fight.”
 
Seagram allegedly once punched a lawyer in a deposition.
 
Ben didn’t know if that was true or just another part of his legend.

Ben scoffed.
 
“Oh, that would work out just great, wouldn’t it?
 
I can see that in the paper right now.
 
Not only that, the guy is almost a foot taller than I am.
 
I’m sure you’d be right there to hold my jacket.”

Seagram looked serious.
 
“No, not a foot.
 
Five or six inches maybe,” he said.
 
“I still think you can take him.
 
You’re wiry, but you’re mean.”

Ben laughed a hearty laugh.
 
“And probably motivated as well.”

The evening passed by fairly quickly and Ben had to admit that he enjoyed getting together with so many of his old classmates, swapping lies and learning what the past ten years had brought each of them.
 
Keenly aware of Megan’s case, most offered their support and wished Ben the best of luck, while others hoped to get a little inside information, none of which Ben was providing.
 

The food turned out to be pretty good, even for a buffet, highlighted by tasty barbecued chicken and beef kabobs with onions, peppers, tomatoes and pineapples on metal skewers.
 
The beer, of course, had to be good.
 
There were lots of good choices, from light to dark and most of what you might want in between.
 
Ben settled on a Pilsner early and stuck with it, except for an amber-colored lager he sampled during dinner, which he found
more bitter
than he liked.
 
Given the amount Ben had to drink, Libby would most certainly drive home.

Later in the evening, sometime after eleven, Ben ran into Bowden standing at the urinal in the men’s room.
 
“Funny finding you hanging out in here,” Ben said as he stepped to the next station.
 

“Yeah, that beer really runs through you.”

“Say,” Ben said, “what do you make of Sally
Brzycki
?”

“You mean Sally
Renfroe
.
 
She sure has mellowed out.
 
Back in school, she was like a bull in a china shop.
 
Now she seems almost laid back.”

“I don’t know about laid back, but certainly easier to take.
 
By the time we graduated, I couldn’t even stand the sight of her.”

“No, she wasn’t very popular, was she?”

Back in law school, Sally
Brzycki
possessed the awkward knack for saying the exact thing that could offend you the most.
 
She displayed an over-aggressiveness that was likely the by-product of insecurity, but that didn’t make it easier to take.
 
She was also more than a little impressed with
herself
.
 
Ben remembered a time in class when Sally was bragging about her performance in the moot court competition the previous evening.
 
As she droned on patting herself on the back, Ben concluded that some of the comments from the judges were backhanded compliments given Sally’s transparent personality flaws.
 

The two men finished their business and retreated to the sink to wash their hands.
 
“What’d you make of Sally’s husband?”
 
Ben asked.
 

“He seemed okay,” Bowden said.
 
“I hear that restaurant he owns is pretty good.
 
I’ve been meaning to go there, but just haven’t made it yet.”

“He doesn’t really seem her type though,” Ben said.
 
“It’s hard to imagine her married with a kid.”
 

Bowden reached around Ben and grabbed a paper towel.
 
“It’s hard to imagine you married with two kids,” he said.
 

“That’s probably true,” Ben agreed.
 

On their way out of the men’s room, Ben and Bowden ran smack into Professor Angela Harper.
 
“Excuse me,” Ben said without noticing who it was right away.
 
“Oh, it’s you,” he said, “the woman who’s been avoiding me at all costs.
 
Did you know that Bowden?
 
The esteemed Professor Harper here refuses to speak to me.
 
One wonders why that is.”

“You’re drunk,” she said.
 
“Excuse me.”

“No,” Ben said, “I’m not,” refusing to step aside so she could enter the ladies room.
 
“You’re going to have to talk to me eventually,” he continued.
 
“So far, I haven’t made your life as difficult as I could.”

“When are you going to get it through your head?” Harper said.
 
“I have nothing to say to you.
 
I don’t know anything that could possibly help you.”

“Well, why don’t you give me a little bit of your precious time and we’ll find that out for sure?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” she said.
 

As Ben started to say something else, a man came from his right and pushed him out of the way.
 
Ben stumbled back a few steps startled.
 

“Get the hell away from my wife,” Stephen Harper said.
 
“You stay away from her.”
 

Ben regained his bearings and focused on Stephen Harper.
 
Bowden stepped between them and separated the two men.
 
“Whoa, whoa,” he said. “There’s no need for any of that.”

“I take it you’re the husband?” Ben said in mock seriousness.

Stephen Harper wouldn’t be deterred.
 
“My wife doesn’t have to put up with this from you or anybody else.”

“Put up with what?” Ben asked.

“Put up with you.”
 

Ben saw that people in the room were beginning to notice the altercation.
 
He nodded several times.
 
“Okay,” he said holding up his hands.
 
“I’ll let it go for now.
 
But you won’t be able to avoid me forever.
 
I’d think your wife would welcome the opportunity to spend a few minutes and dispense with any questions or concerns that I might have, but apparently not.
 
It makes me wonder just what you folks have to hide.”
 
Ben smiled and raised his eyebrows at Bowden and walked away just as Libby and Fran arrived.
 

“Anything the matter?”
Libby asked taking her husband by the arm.
 

“No, of course not.
 
What could possibly be the matter?” Ben said.
 

As they walked away, he spotted Richard Seagram watching him from across the room.
 
As the two men made eye contact, Seagram raised his glass and bowed in mock salute to his former student.
 
Ben gave him a quick thumbs-ups behind Libby’s back in return.

Half an hour later, as Libby pushed the SUV up to seventy-five on the outbound Eisenhower Expressway, Ben watched the buildings fly by, lost in his own thoughts.
 
Was the killer there tonight?
 
Was one of his classmates really a murderer?
 
Or was it one of his former Professors?
 
He didn’t know and at that moment felt no closer to knowing than he had months before when he first read about Greenfield’s death in the newspaper.
 
Since then, they had gathered many more pieces to the puzzle that was the death of Daniel Greenfield, yet the pieces that he had didn’t seem to fit.
 

37

Preparing for a trial, especially a big trial, always takes longer than you think, usually at least twice as long.
 
That was a good rule of thumb, especially if you wanted to do it right.
 
It was now late June and the trial was set for September 4th, the Wednesday after Labor Day.
 
Ben felt confident that absent some unforeseen circumstances, the trial would actually start on that date.
 
That left Ben with just over two months to prepare, through the heart of summer when everyone’s attention span and motivation invariably waned, either because of the weather, summer vacations or simply LOI - lack of interest.
 
They were behind schedule and Ben knew it.
 
He had to kick it into gear or they would be in trouble come trial.
 
He looked at his watch, got up from the conference table in the garage and walked back through the office to the kitchen, where he grabbed a cold Rolling Rock out of the refrigerator.