Sasha McCandless 02 - Inadvertent Disclosure Page 14

  He inclined his head toward the judge’s chambers. “Can you spare a few moments?”

  She stifled a sigh. “I was just heading out for a quick walk. Why don’t you join me? We can walk and talk.”

  She strode toward the stairwell without waiting for an answer, leaving him no choice but to join her if he wanted her ear.

  He scissored his long legs to match her brisk pace.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked over her shoulder, pushing open the fire door. “As I understood your message, you just wanted to make sure I don’t have any questions about the materials. I don’t.”

  He cleared his throat twice before answering. “I’m sure the VitaMight matter is on your back burner now, what with the investigation, but there’s a small matter regarding my client’s document production.”

  She turned toward him. “Which is?”

  He coughed out another throat-clearing grunt.

  Then, in a rush, the words tumbled out. “We’ve made an inadvertent disclosure. I’d like you to return the e-mail and attachment Bates labeled KP 00476 through 00477.”

  Inadvertent disclosure. She allowed herself a small smile. That was a lawyer’s way of saying “I screwed up. Badly.”

  Then she frowned. Inadvertent disclosure meant Showalter had accidentally turned over privileged documents—usually, it was a communication between the client and the attorney or a memo the attorney had created in preparation for trial. But, she had a near-photographic recall and was certain she hadn’t reviewed any privileged materials on the disk he’d sent.

  “You’re claiming privilege?”

  She stopped on the landing and looked him square in the face.

  “Not exactly.”

  He cranked his neck to the side and grimaced.

  “Well, what exactly are you claiming?”

  It was easy enough to think the polite thing to do would be to give back whatever Showalter had given her in error, but the reality was, she was obligated to do whatever was in her client’s best interest. The Disciplinary Board didn’t award points for proper etiquette. And, as she understood it, Pennsylvania law required her to return privileged material produced in error and nothing more.

  She couldn’t even imagine what other ground he’d have. This wasn’t a case that involved trade secret or proprietary information, unlike a lot of her business litigation matters. In those cases, the parties would sign a confidentiality agreement, promising not to use each other’s client lists or pricing matrices or whatever. But, she and Showalter hadn’t entered into such an agreement because they had a straightforward breach of lease case.

  Showalter took his time forming an answer.

  “The documents in question are not relevant to the issues in the case and, as such, aren’t responsive to your document requests. They were produced in error. Let’s not make a federal case of it, eh?” He shot her a too-wide grin.

  Relevance? Responsiveness? Was he kidding? Nobody, literally nobody, would try to get back documents because they were irrelevant. In fact, most of the attorneys she knew deliberately padded their document productions with irrelevant, useless documents to bulk them up and waste opposing counsel’s time.

  She pushed open the door to the lobby and shook her head.

  “I’ll take a look at the documents and talk to my client, but my inclination is no, Drew. What’s the big deal, anyway?”

  He trailed behind her as she pushed through the ornately carved doors leading to the courthouse steps.

  “Sasha, please. I need them back.”

  He squinted at her in the sunlight.

  “I said I’ll talk to my client.”

  She was more confused than irritated. After reviewing his electronic files, she hadn’t understood why he’d fought the document request in the first place, now he was making an extraordinary request that only piqued her interest in the documents.

  He leaned over her, blinking rapidly.

  “A refusal is not the act of a friend,” he said in a soft voice. Then he popped an antacid out of a foil roll and stuck it in his mouth.

  Sasha looked at him for several seconds, but she couldn’t think of anything to say in response. So she turned and walked down the wide white steps to the sidewalk.

  Had she turned around, she would have been surprised to see a satisfied smile spread across his face.

  CHAPTER 23

  “A refusal is not the act of a friend.”

  Connelly and Russell were still poring over some papers spread out on the late judge’s desk; they jerked their heads up when she yanked open the door to chambers and spat out the sentence. She’d turned the phrase over in her mind while she’d walked through town and still didn’t know what to make of it.

  “The Godfather,” they said in unison.

  Another reference to The Godfather. Men and their movies, she thought with no small amount of exasperation.

  “Figures.” She craned her neck to get a look at the papers, “Is that the coroner’s report?”

  “Nope. Better.” Russell’s eyes gleamed with excitement. Over his shoulder, Connelly shot her a skeptical look.

  “Really? What?”

  “On a hunch, Stinky paid Danny Trees a visit. He wanted to know if Jay had been back. Everyone in the house said they hadn’t seen him, but the sheriff asked Danny for permission to search the room Jay had used. The duffel bag was still in there and these were right on top.” He picked up the papers and waved them at her.

  Sasha took the crumpled papers. The top was a printed sheet on generic white printer paper. It read “Lunch at Bob’s every day. Then he stands at the window and dictates.” Underneath was a printed list of sporting goods stores in a fifty-mile radius. It had come from a website called The Huntsman and was dated two days earlier.

  Connelly spoke up, “We’ve called several of the stores on the list. They all sell ammunition; no one admitted to selling the 120-grain Nosler Partition to anyone fitting Jay’s description.”

  She turned to Russell, “So, he’s been back? The printout’s only two days old.”

  “Looks like. The thing is—and this is credible—Danny doesn’t keep tabs on the weirdos living in his house. People come and go. He never locks the side door. So, this Jay character could have easily slipped back in and then out.”

  “The sheriff thinks Jay’s the shooter?” she asked.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Did you ask him about the judge’s keys?”

  Russell frowned. “No. He flew in here very excited and left in a hurry. He’s arranging a press conference.”

  “Press conference? Don’t you think he’s jumping the gun?”

  Russell shook his head. “This wasn’t all that was in Jay’s bag. He had the missing tapes.”

  That changed things.

  "All of them?"

  Another shake of the head. "All but number 2, the one from the dictaphone. We figure he must have it on him. Listen, Stinky’s all hopped up now. He wants to talk to you before the press conference. He said to come see him as soon as you get back, okay?"

  Russell looked miserable. His adrenaline was pumping, flooding him with excitement about having a suspect. But, the suspicion that Stickley was up to something picked at him under the surface. Sasha could read it on his face.

  Seeing no reason to compound his discomfort, she just nodded and turned to go find Stickley. Connelly followed her out. In the hallway, he pulled her into the stairwell.

  Even now, after all these months, her heartbeat ticked up when he touched her. He kept his hand on her arm and leaned close, searching her face.

  "Jay's not your guy. You know that right?"

  His warm brown eyes, flecked with gold, clouded with concern.

  "I don't know anything, Connelly. And neither does Stickley. I'm going to tell him his media blitz is premature, but the only evidence we have certainly does suggest Jay is the killer."

  Connelly gave her a sharp look. "What about the attempted break in? You think
some random hippie waltzed in to the sheriff’s office and took the keys from the evidence locker?"

  She shrugged. He had a point.

  "No, I still think that was Stickley, trying to cover up his slipshod job of securing the scene. But, it could have been Russell. Or the receptionist. You're right, there's something else at play here, but we do need to find Jay. And fast. Even if it's to clear him so we can move on."

  "You're not going to find Jay. And making a lot of noise about looking for him is going to have consequences."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Connelly, if you have something to say, say it. I don't have time for the intrigue and innuendo."

  His jaw tightened. Then he let out a long, slow breath and said, "I've said all I can say, Sasha. You need to get Stickley to back off Jay."

  He took her by both shoulders. "Trust me, okay?"

  She removed his hands. "I do. You, however, obviously don't trust me. If you did, you'd just come out and say whatever it is you're driving at."

  She dropped his hands and stalked off in search of the malodorous sheriff.

  CHAPTER 24

  Carl sat with his feet propped up on his scratched wooden desk, the phone receiver jammed between his shoulder and ear, and glared at the phone’s base as if Griggs could see him.

  “It’s done. We have a press conference in a half hour. Your pretty little prosecutor and I will announce there’s a suspect in the murder of Judge Paulson and ask for the public’s help in finding him and bringing him to justice.”

  He paused to pick at his front teeth. There was nothing between them. But, the habit had developed when he switched from cigarettes to hard candy. He was always finding slivers of peppermint or butterscotch stuck on his teeth. Still, he was glad he’d finally kicked the habit.

  Of course, everyone said his food would taste better after he quit. Turned out that wasn’t the case, since he’d lost his sense of smell entirely thanks to the damned cigarettes. With no sense of smell, everything just tasted bland. He took a second to think about the injustice of it all before continuing.

  “You just better hope nobody finds the damned hippie, Bob.”

  The attorney general brushed off his warning and said, “You’ll jump off that bridge when we come to it, Sheriff.

  He gave a loud guffaw at his own stupid joke.

  Carl made a jerking off motion with his hand and really wished the asshole could see him.

  “Did you find a judge who will play ball?”

  Griggs said, “Jesus, Stickley, not over the phone. We’ll talk about it when I come to get the tapes tonight. You better find that last tape in the meantime.”

  The sheriff bristled. He considered giving the man a piece of his mind but swallowed it. They had to work together long enough to make the commissioner happy and get paid. Maybe, after his bank account was swollen with cash, he’d let Griggs know just how much he hated his puke guts.

  A rap at his door jarred him out of the fantasy of telling off the attorney general.

  “I have to go,” Stickley said. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Sasha was raising her hand to knock again on the sheriff’s door, when he called out, “Come in.”

  She took a long breath of the hallway air before pushing through the door and into an enclosed space with the sheriff. He swung his legs off his desk and made a halfhearted movement, as if he were going to stand to greet her, but instead just slumped back into his chair.

  “Do you have a few minutes to talk about our investigation, Sheriff?” she asked, hanging back near the door.

  He flashed a toothy grin. “Did you come to congratulate me? I had a feeling about that hippie bastard who attacked you.”

  He waved her toward a guest chair.

  She walked over and took a seat while she tried to formulate a way to back him off Jay as his only suspect without insulting his police work.

  She settled in the rickety chair before she said, “Well, I understand from Deputy Russell that the Sheriff’s Office is convinced this Jay guy shot the judge?”

  “Damned straight,” Stickley agreed, punctuating with a vigorous head bob.

  She gave him a cool look. “Why don’t you go ahead and run your theory and the evidence that supports it by me?”

  He raised his eyebrows but didn’t speak.

  “I’m the special prosecutor, remember? Seems like I have a say in this.”

  “Well, now, I don’t know about that,” he said. “Seems to me, you were appointed to make sure one of our fine barristers wasn’t mixed up in this, in light of the threats Judge Paulson had been getting. But, some lefty wacko environut, who’s shown a propensity for violence? Nah, wouldn’t say that’s in your purview.”

  Anger flared in her chest. She focused on keeping her pulse low and steady and her breathing slow and even. As a rule, showing anger put a person at a disadvantage in a negotiation. She tried hard to only let her temper show when doing so would throw her adversary off his footing or otherwise benefit her cause.

  When she was sure she could speak calmly, she said, “Why don’t you just run it by me anyway? Call it a dress rehearsal for your upcoming press conference?”

  He stared at her trying to decide and then shrugged.

  “Sure, okay. Jay Last Name Unknown has been on the sheriff office’s radar ever since he viciously attacked an unarmed female attorney in the municipal parking lot. He appeared to believe she was involved in the hydrofracking industry, based on comments made before the attack. That led us to tie him to the local environmental protesters known as PORE. Led by one Daniel McAllister. Although the suspect is currently a fugitive, he left a bag of clothing and other possessions at the residence of Mr. McAllister, who gave this office permission to search it.”

  He paused here and scratched his neck, digging under his yellowing collar with dirty fingernails.

  “The bag contained, among other items, a document that set forth Judge Paulson’s afternoon routine, and a list of sporting goods stores, which may have been where the suspect acquired the hunting rifle used in the attack, the ammunition, or both. We are following up on that now. Also in the bag were four mini-cassette tapes that appear to have been stolen from the judge’s chambers.”

  Sasha cut him off.

  “What’s your theory on how Jay gained access to chambers? It was an active crime scene. Russell was posted at the door during business hours and you took the keys into evidence.”

  She didn’t plan to mention tape number two. She’d see what, if anything, Stickley said about it.

  Stickley appraised her with a measured look. Then he leaned forward and spoke in a soft voice.

  “I’ll tell you my theory but it is not for public consumption. Are we clear?”

  “Yes.”

  He yanked open his top desk drawer and took out a manila tag with a number printed on it.

  “I haven’t shared this piece of evidence with anyone yet, but the duffel bag also contained the evidence tag from the judge’s set of keys, which were removed from the evidence locker by person or persons unknown at some point yesterday evening. The keys themselves remain missing.”

  He held up the tag toward her for a minute and then returned it to his drawer.

  “I believe Jay is working with someone in this office—quite possibly Deputy Russell, as much as it pains me to say it. Russell cannot know the evidence tag was in the duffel bag. Understand?”

  Not Russell. Stickley was just trying to misdirect her. Stickley took the keys; so, of course, he’d have the tag. It didn’t implicate Russell.

  She stopped herself. She didn’t know Russell from Adam. Or Stickley or Gloria, for that matter. She didn’t know any of these people. She was making snap judgments based on the fact that Russell made good coffee, Stickley stunk to high heaven, and Gloria seemed nice.

  That was foolish. And dangerous. Daniel, her Krav Maga instructor, had a mantra: Niceness isn’t a character trait. It’s a tool.

  Peopl
e are nice in an effort to gain something. A person could be pure evil to the core and make the decision to be nice to get his way. Her job was not to be taken in by a display of niceness.

  She considered the sheriff.

  “Do you really believe it’s Russell?”

  He shook his head, “I don’t know what to believe. But the sooner I flush out this Jay bast—, er, character, the sooner I’ll know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for our press conference.”

  He pushed his chair back and moved toward the door.

  She stood up to follow him. “Wait. Our press conference?”

  He jerked the door open and gave her another big smile.

  “Why, yes, ma’am. You’re going to thank this office for its diligent work and announce that your investigation is closed. Go on, now, I’m sure you’ll want to check your makeup or what have you.”

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Sasha stormed back to her temporary workspace and sped by Gloria without saying anything. She shut herself up in the office and tried to decide what to do next.

  Connelly really didn’t want Jay to be named as the suspect, and she didn’t know why. Stickley was hell-bent on tying up the investigation with a big red bow and sending her on her way. She had serious reservations about his investigation. And about Gloria’s truthfulness. And maybe about Russell, too.

  A band of sharp pain radiated from above her left eye out around her ear and toward the back of her head. Tension headache.

  She walked over to the window with its cardboard square marking the bullet hole and stood, looking out over the square. Trying to cut through the noise in her brain and formulate a plan.

  Her ringing phone interrupted her efforts. She picked it up from Judge Paulson’s desk and checked the display. Unknown Caller.

  “Sasha McCandless.”

  “Sasha, it’s Bob Griggs.”

  “Sir.”

  “Just calling to congratulate you on your fine, fine result. I understand we have a lead suspect.” The attorney general’s voice was upbeat, almost jolly.