Chapter 3

"The lab recovered enough of the filed-off serial number for us to match it to a gun that was reported stolen nine months ago," Briscoe was saying over the phone, as Carmichael took a bite of her sandwich. "According to the computer, it doesn't match any weapon used in a crime before Carpelli was killed with it, and we haven't been able to link it to Fairchild in any other way. No one saw him with it or heard him talk about it. It just killed Carpelli and magically appeared in with his socks. We're going to run down a couple more leads, but so far we've come up empty."

Carmichael sighed. "Let me know if you get anything more."

After finishing her sandwich, she found McCoy at his desk and told him what Briscoe had reported.

"I did find something interesting in the files we brought over from Fairchild's office," she said, sitting in the chair next to his desk and handing him some papers. "It seems that a little more than two months ago, a company called Jacobson, Incorporated approached his firm about a huge renovation project that would have netted them over two million dollars upon completion. I called Jacobson and talked to the vice president, a Mr. Fred Curry. He said he made the deal with Carpelli, who assured him that he had the one million dollar working capital on hand to begin the project, and that their crew would be ready to go by the start-up date. But when it came time to sign the final contract, Fairchild backed out, saying the crew was tied up and would be unavailable for a while. Curry said it was obvious Carpelli disagreed about the matter, and there seemed to be a great deal of tension between the two partners." She indicated the papers in McCoy's hand. "The date on the unsigned contract is three days before Carpelli was killed."

"What about the one million dollars Carpelli said he had? Where did it come from and where is it now?" McCoy asked, as he flipped through the contract.

"I haven't been able to find out. No one at the firm knows anything about it and no one has come looking for it. There's no record that the money was ever in the bank. If Carpelli had it, he didn't deposit it in the corporate account, his personal account, or Fairchild's. According to the office manager, Fairchild was the talent of the company and usually chose the projects. Carpelli was the moneyman. He was responsible for lining up investors to fund the projects and, by all accounts, he was very good at it."

McCoy had reached the final page of the contract. "Maybe their contract attorney would know something about it." He handed the papers back to Carmichael, folded so that the last page was on top.

"An addendum to the contract?" she asked, puzzled. Then noting the name at the top of the page, she nodded, "Calea Morgan. You think she knows anything about the money?"

"I don't know," he answered, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. "How were the profits divided between Fairchild and Carpelli?"

"After everyone else was paid and a percentage set aside for working capital, what was left was split 50/50."

"And if something happened to one of the partners?"

"According to the partnership agreement, the surviving partner would then have sole ownership of the firm. Half of all profits from projects in the works at the time would go to the spouse or children of the deceased. After that, everything would go to the remaining partner. Carpelli wasn't married and didn’t have any children."

"How much will the firm make on the city renovation deal?" McCoy asked.

"I'm not sure. I would suspect it would be quite a bit, considering the size of the job. You think Fairchild killed Carpelli because he didn't want to split the profit? Since Carpelli was in charge of funding, wouldn't that be like killing the goose that laid the golden eggs?"

McCoy shook his head. "I'm not saying it was necessarily premeditated. Maybe it was something that happened in the heat of the moment. But as long as Fairchild refuses to talk, we can use the fact that he's now in line to collect the full profit from the Mayor's project to prove he had a motive to kill Carpelli."

Carmichael nodded. "Maybe that will convince him to talk. Do you want me to call Morgan?"

"No, I'll take care of that," he said. "But I would like to know the price tag on this motive before I talk with her."

"I'll see what I can find out," she assured him as she got up.

***After thumbing through his Rolodex, McCoy found the card he was searching for. He picked up the phone and dialed.

After several rings, a slightly out-of-breath voice answered, "Law office."

"May I speak to Calea Morgan?" he asked.

"She's in a meeting," the woman said, "but I expect her out any minute. Can I take a message or would you care to hold?"

"I'll hold."

He had waited for only a few seconds when her voice came on. "This is Calea. May I help you?"

"Calea," he said, "Jack McCoy."

There was a pause on the other end. "Mr. McCoy. My receptionist didn't tell me you were holding. I hope you didn't have to wait long."

"I didn't. And I told her I'd wait."

"What can I do for you?"

"For a start, you can call me Jack. Then I'd like to set up a meeting to discuss the Fairchild case with you."

"All right," she answered slowly. "When would you like to meet?"

"How about sometime tomorrow?"

"Let me check my schedule. I know I have several meetings, but I'll see if I have some time free." There was a brief pause, then she continued, "I have a 9 AM contract signing that should be over at about 10:30. But due to the paranoia of the client, I have to hand-deliver the documents to the county clerk's office to be recorded. My next appointment is in my office at 3:00 and I have another here at 4:30. And it looks like another at 5:30," she sighed. "I could be at your office at 1:00. That would give us an hour or so."

"Instead of coming all the way over here, why don't I meet you somewhere for lunch?" he suggested.

"Lunch?" She didn't sound thrilled.

"I know a great place between my office and the county clerk's." He glanced at the address on her business card. "And it's closer to your office than my office is. It would save us both some time. We could meet around noon."

There was a brief pause before she asked, "Where is this great place?" After he gave her the address, she said, "All right. I'll meet you at 12:00."

"Good. I'm looking forward to it," he smiled.

"See you tomorrow, Mr. McCoy."

He shook his head as he replaced the receiver. He really was looking forward to seeing her. It had been several days since he had researched her past cases and he was anxious to let her know he had done his homework. He was still smiling when he returned to his work.