Witness Chase (Nick Teffinger Thriller) (2 page)

She told them that she grew up in Chagrin Falls, Ohio, at that time a slow-moving, country town south of Cleveland, given to rolling hills and maple trees and nothing really very bad, unless you counted gossip or chicken pox. Her father, now retired, was a judge, her mother a physician, she had two older brothers, one younger sister, all very successful but otherwise Leave it to Beaver. After high school she attended Case Western Reserve University, with a major in biology and minor in chemistry. She then stayed on at Case to get her law degree, took a three-year clerkship with a federal judge in Cleveland, and moved to Denver four years ago to accept an associate position with Holland, Roberts & Northway, LLC. She’d be up for partnership vote in four years or so and spent her life working her ass off.

In other words, she had no obvious connection to either D’endra Vaughn or anyone strange.

WHEN THEY FINALLY LEFT,
and the elevator opened on their floor, there was no one inside, just a big old empty space.

“Just the way you like it,” Heatherwood said, stepping in.

He grunted. No way it would last.

As the big metal box took them down, floor-by-floor without stopping, Heatherwood looked amused and said, “That woman is hot for you, Teffinger, you dog.”

He tilted his head.

“Cut the bullshit, that’s Baxter’s turf.”

“I’m serious, I can tell by the way she was looking at me. She was trying to figure out if we were doing it.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Were we?”

She laughed, a little too loud, if the truth be told.

“In your dreams, maybe.”

IT TOOK THE TWO DETECTIVES FOREVER TO LEAVE
and when they finally did, Kelly immediately walked over to the winding oak staircase and climbed it to the top floor of the firm where the rainmakers lived.

She felt dirty and scared.

She felt dirty for lying to Teffinger.

He had a certain edge to him, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but something totally different from the lawyers and quasi-men who paraded in and out of her life. There was something about him pulling her in for a closer look. He had a toned body that had no doubt been downright hard once upon a time, an incredible face, thick brown hair given to flopping down, the kind you’d more likely find on a sailboat than in a boardroom, and eyes that pulled you in and made you stare at them until you figured out that one was blue and one was green. She liked his size, also, which she guessed to be in the neighborhood of six-two.

She felt scared because she didn’t know what was going on but did know it was serious.

She had to talk to senior partner Michael Northway, Esq., right away, this very minute. Whatever was going on was somehow connected to the little stunt they pulled last May.

That much was clear.

Chapter Two

Day One - April 16

Monday Morning

____________

THE THING THAT IMPRESSED KELLY
the most about Holland, Roberts & Northway, LLC, when they flew her out from Cleveland to interview four years ago, wasn’t the grandeur of the offices, or the ivy-league credentials of the attorneys, or the sheer size of the firm, or the list of clients that read like a Who’s Who of the big and relevant. Most established firms had that tapestry in one weave or another. The thing that made the deepest, most lasting impression was that Michael Northway himself picked her up at the airport. Now here's a man whose legal commentary you could catch with increasing regularity on CNN, personally driving to the airport, parking the car, making the trek inside, and then waiting for her with the masses, like she was somebody and he didn’t have a single other thing in the world to do.

She reached the top floor of the firm.

There the staircase entered the Jungle, a one-of-a-kind space designed by Alan Willbanks out of New York, built for no other reason than to impress the hell out of clients. Brown cobblestone paths wandered through dense jungle foliage and water features. At the top of the stairs she walked around the Piranha display, then to the left past six suites, where the path eventually ended at the desk of Lori Chambers, Northway’s executive assistant.

“Lori, hi,” she said. “Tell me Michael’s in or I’m going to scream.”

Lori, a Marilyn Monroe type, the third in fact of that particular genre to sit at that desk, looked sympathetic. “He is, but barely. I’m dragging him out of there at nine-fifteen for the airport. And even that’s pressing it.”

Kelly looked at her watch, seven after, meaning an eight-minute window. “Where’s he going?”

“The D.C. office.”

“How long?”

“Until Friday.”

“Damn it. Okay, I’m going to have to interrupt him,” she said, heading for the door that, at the moment, was closed.

INSIDE, SHE FOUND NORTHWAY
sitting behind his desk, feet propped up, talking on the phone with someone he appeared to enjoy very much judging from the look on his face. She sensed a woman. He waved her in and looked glad to see her. She closed the door, took a chair, crossed her legs, pulled her skirt up just a touch and waited.

The wall behind him was covered with photographs, mostly Michael with people of recognition—politicians, athletes, actors, businessmen—and not just standing together for some quick snapshot at some public relations function but really doing things; deep sea fishing, sailing off Bermuda, climbing fourteeners in the San Juan mountains, biking in Aspen . . .

One picture in particular always captivated her—namely Michael sitting on the bench of the United States District Court for the District of Colorado, wearing a black robe with a thoughtful, pensive expression. That picture above all else defined him. Who else could have left the firm to take an appointment as a federal judge, only to then resign the position of power and lifetime tenure three years later to return to private practice? As far as she knew he’d been the only person in history to do that, at least that quick and that young.

“All the fights have other people in them,” he said. “You’re just the referee. Where’s the fun in that?”

He’s an attractive man, with an ability to turn on a waterfall of charisma at will, who now spends most of his waking hours trading favors, doing them and getting them at levels that most people don’t even know exist. Technically he’s the manager of the law firm’s Employment Law Department, a group of more than sixty lawyers. Un-technically he’s the firm’s principal rainmaker, not to mention a bare-knuckles, much-feared trial lawyer.

The minute he hung up she spoke.

“Michael, two people from homicide showed up at my office this morning, out of the blue. Do you remember D’endra Vaughn?”

His face wrinkled as if recalling a name he’d rather not. “Of course.”

“Well, she’s dead,” she said. With that, she told him everything she knew so far, including the fact that someone telephoned her on Sunday using D’endra Vaughn’s cell phone, which Teffinger interpreted as a possible warning that she was next. She studied his expression as she told the story and couldn’t help but notice the furrow slowly growing between his eyes.

“The only thing in my life that connects me to D’endra Vaughn is last May,” she said. “Whatever it is that’s going on is somehow tied to that.”

SHE WAS REFERRING TO THE EVENT
that took place almost a year ago. Senior partner Michael Northway walked into her lowly little associate office one day, closed the door, fumbled around, and said, “Kelly, I need your help. The firm needs it, to be precise.”

She knew from the tone of his voice that he had something serious on his mind.

She took off her reading glasses, set them on the desk and looked at him.

“How so?”

He hesitated, as if caught in indecision.

“This is going to seem a little out of the ordinary. I’m going to propose something, but before I do, I want you to know up-front that you don’t have to do it. I want to be absolutely one hundred percent clear about that. Do you understand?”

“You sound like you want me to kill someone.”

“Hardly, but it is something serious. And I guess, technically speaking, maybe a little illegal.”

“Michael . . .”

“Think of it as client development,” he said, “if you really want to get to the heart of it. Client development at its most basic, primitive, ugly level. All I ask is that if you feel this is beyond you, this conversation never happened. I mean you mention it to no one, ever.” He paused, then added, “I need that assurance before I can continue.”

“Are you serious?”

“Your name came up because we felt you could be trusted.”

“We?”

“Some people here in the firm,” he said. “I can’t tell you any more than that right now. So, have I totally freaked you out? I can leave, just say the word . . .”

She didn’t hesitate. “There’s no way in hell you’re going to get out of here alive without telling me what in the world you’re up to.”

“You’re sure? There’s absolutely no repercussions if you . . .”

“God, Michael. You’re like a vibrator on slow speed.”

He laughed and seemed to picture it.

“Okay, but remember, after I outline this, you can say no. Agreed?”

“Fine.”

“All right,” he said. “Let me give you a little background first. This is a firm that’s always helped people. Most of the time, ninety-nine percent of the time, that simply means providing first-class legal services or trading a little politics or making a special phone call. But sometimes, once in a great while, it means something more than that. On rare occasions, and only for very special friends of the firm, it means getting something done for them.”

He looked at her as if waiting for a reaction.

“Talk about vague . . .”

“Okay,” he said. “On unique occasions, when it comes to our attention that a client has a bona fide need, there’s a small group of people here in the firm that gets together to discuss it. I happen to be one of the people in that group. I also serve as the spokesperson of that group for meetings like the one you and I are having right now.”

“So who all’s in this group?”

“That’s not relevant right now. And to be honest, never will be. That’s why we only have one visible spokesman.”

“Can you at least tell me how many . . .”

“Even that . . . no . . . it varies.” He looked at her, sympathetic. “I know this is unfair, but it has to work this way. You look hesitant.”

“Not hesitant, surprised. I had no idea that anything like this was going on.”

“Few do. Even most of the partners around here don’t know, which is why, no matter what else happens, you have to keep this quiet.”

She nodded.

She would do that.

“But getting back to the point, we recently came across a situation that required the group’s attention. I can’t give you all the details, but here’s the gist of it. Someone very relevant to the firm is interested in helping a young woman by the name of Alicia Elmblade.”

“Alicia Elmblade?”

“Right,” he said.

“Why?”

“Why does he want to help her?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a good question. But it’s a piece of information that he hasn’t volunteered,” Northway said. “We do know, however, that it’s very important to him to help her and he’s let us know that in no uncertain terms. That makes it important to us.”

“Is she a mistress or something?”

“I don’t know.” A pause. “To be honest, she could be. She’s a stripper.”

“A stripper?”

He nodded.

Kelly cocked her head.

“Don’t tell me. He’s married and she’s pregnant.”

“No,” Northway said. “It’s not that. It’s something else.”

“Meaning . . .”

“Meaning she wants to disappear off the face of the earth,” he said. “She wants something to happen to make it look like she’s dead. She wants to fake her own death.”

“Why?”

“Another good question.”

“Jesus, Michael,” Kelly said. “This sounds strange. Are the cops after her or something? How do you know you’re not participating in a scheme to hide a fugitive?”

“No,” he said, chuckling. “It’s nothing like that.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do,” he said. “Trust me.”

“This is so convoluted. I mean, we’re lawyers, aren’t we?”

He looked at her and she could feel him sizing her up.

She exhaled, weighed and balanced it for a split-second, then looked in his eyes.

“Okay, the client wants to help this woman, who in turn wants to disappear.”

“Right, disappear in such a way that no one would ever try to find her, because she’s dead. We’ve already come up with a plan. Let me tell you how you fit in, if you agree to help.”