Chapter 4

McCoy arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early and requested a booth by the windows. He ran his fingers through his sometimes-unruly salt-and-pepper hair as he waited. The wind was blowing outside, as if a storm were brewing. As he waited, the door opened as someone entered, accompanied by a strong gust of wind. He turned to see Morgan step inside, her long hair swirling as the door shut. She looked out of breath.

He gave her a smile. "You're right on time."

"I wasn't sure I was going to make it," she said, brushing strands of hair from her face. "Traffic was terrible. That and the lack of parking in this city makes me consider selling my car, every day."

"You and several million other people," he said, as the hostess returned to show them to the booth.

Morgan took her coat off and tossed it into the corner before sliding into her seat. Her black skirt and matching vest over a tucked, white shirt was neat and business-like. As McCoy sat down, she asked, "Ms. Carmichael isn't joining us?"

"She had other plans," he answered. The waiter appeared, taking their drink orders and leaving them menus. He returned quickly with their drinks and took their food orders.

After he had gone, Morgan sat forward, arms folded on the table in front of her. "So, what would you like to discuss about my case?"

He took a sip of his tea. Fine; business first. "What can you tell me about a contract your client backed out of with a company called Jacobson, Incorporated?"

She answered carefully, "Not much. I went over the contract and made a couple of minor changes about ten weeks ago. I was supposed to attend the signing of the final papers, but Peter called me the night before and said he wasn't going through with it. Why do you ask?"

"Do you have any idea why he backed out?"

She bit her lip thoughtfully. "No, not really."

"Did he seem upset?"

"Where exactly are all of these questions leading?" she asked, as she stirred a packet of sweetener into her tea.

"Is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?" he pressed.

"Neither," she said, shaking her head. "As with any other communication with my client, it's privileged." She regarded him for a moment. "You want to just lay your cards on the table, or are we going to keep playing twenty questions?"

McCoy bit back a smile at her straightforwardness. "According to our sources, Fairchild backed out of a contract Carpelli had already committed to that would have made them a lot of money with the excuse that their construction crew wouldn't be available at the time they were needed to start. And according to the people at Jacobson, Carpelli seemed pretty unhappy about it."

"Sounds like you've found a motive for Evan to kill Peter, not the other way around."

Ignoring the comment, he continued, "Carpelli told the people at Jacobson he had a million dollars in start-up capital."

"And have you come across the money?"

"No, we haven't, and there's no record that he ever had it in his possession. Do you know anything about it?"

She met his direct gaze unwaveringly. "You think Peter killed Evan for a million dollars?"

"People have been killed for a lot less," he pointed out. "Now will you answer my question? Did Carpelli actually have the money?"

"If that's your motive, I suggest you drop the charges now and save yourself the embarrassment of a trial. One financial statement will show that in my client's business, a million dollars is not a motive for murder." She sounded very sure of herself.

"Are you refusing to answer my question, Counselor?" He was beginning to feel annoyed.

"Whatever my answer, you'll use it to incriminate my client. I'm not going to be responsible for helping you convict him of a crime he didn't commit."

"If Carpelli never had the money in the first place or if Fairchild can account for it, that might actually help convince us he's innocent."

Morgan rolled her eyes. "Right. Nothing short of an ironclad alibi signed by the Pope is going to convince you my client is innocent. Your mind is already made up."

He leaned forward. "Then tell me something that will persuade me to change my mind."

She studied him for a moment. "I find it difficult to believe that your entire motive for murder hinges on money that you can't prove was ever in either partner's possession."

"I don't recall saying that money was his entire motive," McCoy said casually, sitting back.

His statement had the desired affect. Her eyebrows shot up.

"So there's something more?"

"With Carpelli out of the way, your client stands to collect the entire fee from the renovation project he's doing for the Mayor. I hear that adds another five million to the motive pot." He watched her reaction closely, but this time her face was carefully expressionless.

"You've been misinformed; that amount is gross profit. After the contractors have been paid and other operating costs covered, the net profit will be considerably less."

"Oh? Will that bring it down to four million or only three?" he asked, with only a little sarcasm.

"I'm Peter's attorney, not his accountant," she answered a bit sharply. After taking a sip of her tea, she continued more calmly. "Why would he kill Evan to avoid sharing profits that he wouldn't have had the potential to collect without Evan's help? Evan's job was to convince investors to give the firm their money. When Peter first started the company, the jobs were small and he could always scrape enough together to get by. But as his work received more recognition the jobs became bigger, needing larger amounts of capital just to get started. Peter took Evan on as a partner precisely because he realized he wasn't good at funding those projects. And now that Evan is gone, he has to find someone else to do what his partner was very good at. It isn't going to be easy to find someone he can trust with that responsibility."

"I can't tell you how sorry I am for your client," McCoy said. "But the fact remains that his partner is dead. As for why he killed him, why don't we ask Fairchild that question? If he disagrees with what we feel is a very good motive, maybe he will be willing to offer one of his own."

"What have you found out about the gun?"

He sat back with a sigh. Compton had been right. Her ignoring his questions and changing the subject was annoying. After a few seconds he answered, "It was reported stolen nine months ago. There's been nothing on it from that time until it was used to kill Carpelli."

"Have you been able to trace it to Peter?"

"Not yet," he shook his head. "But we're working on it."

"Doesn't it seem strange to you that you can't find any connection between Peter and the gun, and even though it was found in a place he would access every day, it didn't have his prints on it?"

"Just because we haven't found the connection yet, doesn't mean one doesn't exist," he stressed. "And prints can be easily wiped off. Neither of those two things proves your client's innocence."

"But the lack of those two factors certainly doesn't help you prove his guilt," she stated with conviction. They stared at each other for a moment, neither backing off from their chosen positions.

The waiter appeared and Morgan thanked him as he set her food in front of her.

Since he didn't feel he was getting anywhere with his questions about the case, McCoy decided to change the subject himself, abruptly.

"Is it true that you once brought an entire jury to tears?" he asked casually.

She paused in mid-bite, caught completely off guard. For a moment, all she could do was stare into his twinkling eyes. Then dropping her gaze to her salad, she recovered quickly. When they met his again, her eyes were filled with amusement. "That is an exaggeration." She picked up a bite of salad again. "There were two men that I never saw a tear from."

"And the others?"

She shrugged as she finished chewing. "It was a sad case." McCoy chuckled as she smiled. "So, you did some homework."

"I did a little research," he admitted. "And I found out some interesting things."

"Oh?" Her voice was casual but she watched him carefully as she sipped her tea. "For instance?"

"For instance, I found out that you graduated at the top of your law class and went to work for one of Chicago's most prestigious firms. You married one of the partners and became one yourself in a relatively short time."

Morgan’s expression changed and she focused on her plate for a moment, picking at her food. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "Actually, you have that part reversed. I accepted a partnership before I married."

He studied her briefly before continuing. "I read some of your case histories. You had quite a career while you were there. Doesn't seem like you shied away from the tough cases."

"One of the perks that come from working for a prestigious firm is that you get a shot at some of the tough cases. I was fortunate to have that opportunity. And I was fortunate to have learned from some of the best attorneys in the city how to handle those cases."

"In my experience, getting the breaks isn't as important as what you do with them," he said. "I doubt a firm like that would have given you the opportunity if someone hadn't seen some potential. And a partnership isn’t easy to come by."

She smiled. "I suppose the fact that I love my work could've had something to do with it. But I know the main reason I was made a partner in such a short time had a good deal to do with my gender." At his look of surprise, she admitted, "I was okay with that. I got what I wanted; they got what they wanted; everybody was happy. Sometimes they just got a little more than they bargained for," she added with a gleam in her eyes.

"How so?"

"Well for one thing, the term 'pro bono' was not in their vocabulary. But I had worked my way through law school as a clerk in the police department and developed some great contacts there. When I became a lawyer, I used those contacts to find out about and get some rather controversial cases. And although it got all our names in the paper, sometimes the other partners questioned my methods."

"You worked your way through law school in the police department? Most would-be attorneys want to work in a law office."

"I tried that. But since every other law student had the same idea, those jobs were hard to find. So I did what I thought was the next best thing. It was one of the best career moves I ever made."

"So when you asked Detective Green if you could 'possibly' have a look at the search warrant, it wasn't because you weren't aware of procedure?" McCoy asked innocently.

"Haven't you ever heard the expression, 'You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar'?"

"Not in New York; must be a Southern expression. I did hear you're from the South."

She studied him for a moment. "And did you learn anything else?"

"I heard you don't like to lose cases."

"I hear we have that in common, Mr. McCoy."

He shook his head slowly. "When are you going to stop calling me 'Mr. McCoy', and start calling me 'Jack'?"

Morgan shrugged. "I guess when I know you well enough to feel comfortable doing so."

He leaned forward. "I thought your source already told you everything there was to know about me."

"There's a big difference in learning facts about someone and really knowing them," she answered evenly.

He stared into her eyes for a minute, then sat back. "So why don't you tell me your source and I'll tell you mine."

Shaking her head, she said, "I believe my source wishes to remain anonymous."

"Sooner or later, you'll tell me what I want to know," he assured her. "I've yet to meet a woman who can keep a secret."

She sat back and crossed her arms. "Then you have obviously met the wrong women. And I think I can figure out your source on my own."

"Really?" He did his best to make the word sound like a challenge.

Taking the bait, she leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "Well, let's see. I can't imagine you would bother Judge Rivera or Judge Callahan with such trivial matters. And I know you haven't spoken with my client, although you could've figured out I was from Chicago from my long association with him. It sounds like you found my case histories in the Chicago databank. Since I tried most of my cases while I was married, and since I left my ex-husband's name with him when I came to New York, you had to talk with someone who knew me before I came here." She paused thoughtfully. "If I were a D.A. and wanted to find out information on an attorney from another city, I would call a D.A. there. Of the four I worked with the most in Chicago, one left to open a private practice, and another is dead. Since you're still speaking to me, I would also have to rule out Robert Abbott." She ignored his questioning look. "Given that and the information you received, that leaves only one person." She sipped her tea and asked with a confident smile, "So what else did Drew Compton have to say?"

Not willing to admit he was impressed with her logic, he replied, "He said that had he known you were wasting your time and talent with something as boring as contract law, he would have come here in person and dragged you into a courtroom."

"That sounds like a direct quote."

"It is," he assured her.

"You spoke to him personally?" she asked, seeming pleased.

"Yes, I did. He also said he misses working with you."

She looked at the table for a second before replying quietly, "The feeling is mutual. Drew's a good guy. He taught me a lot."

"He seems like a nice guy," McCoy agreed. "But given the mutual admiration between the two of you, I'm wondering if I should give this other D.A. a call. Sounds like he might have a different story."

"I have no doubt."

"Was there a problem?"

Morgan thought a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Let's just say that, no matter what side of the courtroom they sit on, I don't care for lawyers who are so consumed with winning a case that they feel they can break the rules in order to achieve their goals."

"Do you have proof this D.A. broke the rules?" he asked, as the waiter came and refilled their drinks.

After he had left, she leaned forward. "He knows he did, I know he did, and after a little off-the-record chat, he knows exactly how I feel about that fact." She sat back. "Our mutual lack of respect for one another was well-known."

"I'll have to remember to play by the rules," he said in mock fear.

She looked at him thoughtfully as she took a sip of tea. "Is that a problem for you?"

Something about the look in her eyes made him feel that, despite her casual tone, she was very interested in his answer.

"I've been known to bend the rules on occasion," he admitted. "But I don't feel that I've actually broken any." He shrugged. "There are probably those who would disagree with my assessment."

After regarding him a moment longer, she said, "Well, given the obvious innocence of my client, I doubt that will be a problem with this case." The gleam was back in her eyes.

"A grand jury thought we had sufficient evidence to indict your client. And the more we investigate, the more evidence we find suggesting your client's guilt," he countered convincingly.

"You don't have a monopoly on gathering evidence, Mr. McCoy. And what I've found since the indictment does more than just suggest my client is innocent. I think it proves it. And I think a jury will be convinced as well."

"So you really want to take this to trial?"

"No. But unless you're willing to drop the charges, you leave me little choice."

He shook his head, smiling at her. "Then I guess in about two and a half weeks we'll be seeing a lot of each other across Judge Rivera's courtroom."

"Guess so."

When they had finished their meal, the waiter came to clear their plates. After thanking him, she turned back to McCoy. "Thank you for lunch. I can see why you like this place. The food is great."

"It was my pleasure. And I hope we can do this again sometime soon."

"Should the occasion arise, I have a rule," she said. "Next time, I pay."

"Deal!" he answered enthusiastically.

While they waited for the waiter to return with a receipt, McCoy leaned forward on the table. "I do have one more question."

"What is it?"

"You spent sixteen years building a successful career in Chicago. Why did you leave to start all over, not only in another city, but in another state?"

Her expression became guarded. "Personal reasons."

He remembered what Compton had said about her privacy but he was unwilling to let it drop. "And did those personal reasons have something to do with your divorce?"

After pausing for a few seconds, she replied, "I have another rule: I don't discuss my personal life at business meetings." The look in her eyes left no question in his mind that the subject was closed.

The waiter had returned and McCoy took the receipt from him, putting it in his wallet. He noticed Morgan was staring at her tea, turning the glass around in her hands absently, as if she were a thousand miles away.

He felt somewhat responsible for her change of mood. "I didn't mean to pry into your personal life," he lied.

Seemingly caught off guard, she looked up in surprise. But after a moment, the smile returned to her eyes. "Of course you did. A habit that goes with your job, no doubt. And a fact that I will have to remember."

As she glanced at her watch, he wondered again if those blue eyes could read his mind.

"I really enjoyed lunch, Counselor," he said sincerely.

She nodded. "So did I."

Catching the note in her voice, he said, "You don't have to sound so surprised."

She flashed him a bright smile and reached for her coat. "With all the things I had heard about you, I was prepared for anything. That I might actually enjoy lunch wasn't one of them."

He coughed out a little breath as she stood up. "Gee, thanks," he said, trying to look and sound wounded as he picked up his coat.

"You could take that as a compliment," she said unconvincingly. She quickly put on her coat and waited while he did the same.

"When I finally succeed in discovering who your source is, I hope I'm standing in a dark alley with the person," he said as they started to the door.

She looked up at him. "I don't think that person needs to worry a bit."

When they reached the door, he pulled it open and a blast of cold wind hit them. As Morgan stepped out ahead of him, she quickly buttoned her coat.

"Feels like winter," he said stopping beside her on the sidewalk. "Where's your car? I'll walk you to it."

"That's okay. It's quite a hike."

"If you ever come here again, this restaurant has its own parking on the next block."

"Thanks, I'll have to remember that," she nodded. "Well, I'd better be going. Thanks again for lunch, Mr. McCoy."

His voice was warm as he said, "You're welcome, Counselor."

As she walked away, he stood where he was until she turned the corner.