The associate 2002, p.1
the Associate (2002), page 1
Also by Phillip Margolin
Heartstone
The Last Innocent Man
Gone, but Not Forgotten
After Dark
The Burning Man
The Undertaker's Widow
Wild Justice
The
Associate
Phillip Margolin
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
THE ASSOCIATE. Copyright (c) 2001 by Phillip Margolin. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of PerfectBoundTM.
PerfectBoundTM and the PerfectBoundTM logo are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers.
MS Reader edition v 1. August 2001 ISBN 0-06-001254-4
Print edition first published in 2001 by HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Daniel and Chris
My son and his new wife--two terrific people on the threshold of a terrific life together
Contents
PerfectBound Special Feature:The Origins of The Associate
Prologue An icy wind whipped down Mercer Street...
Part IMonkey Etiquette
Chapter 1 The headlight beams of Dr. Sergey Kaidanov's battered Saab bounced...
Chapter 2 "Ready to rock-and-roll?" Joe Molinari asked...
Chapter 3 The Insufort case had started with the Moffitts...
Chapter 4 Irene Kendall had let the john pick her up in the bar...
Part IIThe Smoking Gun
Chapter 5 The main entrance to Reed, Briggs, Stephens, Stottlemeyer and Compton...
Chapter 6 While Daniel read the letter in shocked silence, Susan Webster's fingers flew...
Chapter 7 Daniel spent the afternoon waiting for the ax to fall.
Chapter 8 It was a little after three when Daniel found Sergey Kaidanov's drab, gray bungalow...
Chapter 9 Daniel followed Kate Ross into the West Hills along winding roads.
Chapter 10 Twenty minutes later Daniel was driving in the country on a narrow road...
Chapter 11 A uniformed officer was taking Kate and Daniel's statements...
Chapter 12 The offices of the Oregon State Medical Examiner were on Knott Street
Chapter 13 After dropping Kate at her house, Daniel drove home and fell into bed.
Chapter 14 As soon as she left the medical examiner's office, Billie Brewster drove west...
Part IIIThe Cult
Chapter 15 After Daniel traded the hard drive from Kaidanov's computer for a cardboard box...
Chapter 16 Billie Brewster sneaked a peek at the clock over the guard's station...
Chapter 17 "Brock wanted you to know that everyone is in the conference room..."
Chapter 18 As soon as he got up, Daniel called Amanda Jaffe's office...
Chapter 19 Dr. Sergey Kaidanov huddled like a hunted animal in a copse of cottonwoods...
Chapter 20 I-84 runs along the Columbia Gorge and is one of the most scenic highways...
Chapter 21 Arthur Briggs was not the first murdered man Daniel had seen...
Chapter 22 "Ames, your attorney's here."
Chapter 23 At Daniel's arraignment, Amanda Jaffe asked for a bail hearing...
Chapter 24 Herb Cross, a slender African-American in his late thirties...
Chapter 25 Daniel barely slept Thursday evening worrying about what would happen the next day...
Chapter 26 Daniel was so stunned at the speed with which his bail hearing ended...
Chapter 27 Kate rented a car at the airport and drove to Desert Grove...
Chapter 28 The Alvarez ranch was several miles out of town.
Part IVDeath in the Desert
Chapter 29 It was morning in the desert. As Patty Alvarez rode Conquistador toward the red-rock canyons...
Part VDeep Cover
Chapter 30 "I don't know how much time passed before I regained consciousness..."
Chapter 31 Saturday morning, Daniel bolted out of sleep thinking that he was still in his cell.
Chapter 32 The next morning, the sun was hiding behind a lead sky...
Chapter 33 Daniel left for Rest of Angels at 9:30 without having heard from Kate.
Chapter 34 When Billie Brewster and Zeke Forbus drove up, the medics were treating Daniel's head wound...
Chapter 35 When Mike Greene and Amanda Jaffe returned, the ambulance was gone...
Chapter 36 The slender, dark-skinned man was waiting patiently for Claude Bernier...
Chapter 37 The aroma of coffee lured Daniel out of a fitful sleep the next morning.
Chapter 38 Paul Durban, a chubby, bespectacled man in a white shirt, gray slacks, and a gray sweater vest...
Chapter 39 When Kate walked into the Taco Bell, Billie Brewster was working on a burrito...
Chapter 40 Zeke Forbus was at his desk in the Justice Center writing a report...
Chapter 41 When Billie Brewster entered Aaron Flynn's suite of offices...
Chapter 42 One wall of Geller Pharmaceuticals' conference room was glass...
Chapter 43 Billie ran a check on Burt Randall after visiting Aaron Flynn's law office.
Chapter 44 Daniel was fixing dinner in Kate's kitchen when he heard her car pull up.
Chapter 45 Alice Cummings lived in a cheap garden apartment behind a strip mall...
Chapter 46 Susan Webster looked up when Kate Ross walked into her office...
Chapter 47 There was an urgent message from Amanda Jaffe for Daniel on the answering machine...
Chapter 48 The call from Susan Webster had confirmed Aaron Flynn's worst fears.
Chapter 49 Kate's doorbell rang at two in the morning.
Chapter 50 Aaron Flynn's partner pulled on a ski mask and cut across a yard...
Chapter 51 Kate tried to keep her face neutral when the police guard showed her...
Chapter 52 Anna Cordova escorted Kate Ross and Billie Brewster across the terrace...
Chapter 53 "Come in, Joe," J. B. Reed said as his secretary showed Joe Molinari into his corner office.
Chapter 54 Daniel woke up slowly to the sound of the surf.
About the Author
Credits
About the Publisher
Acknowledgements
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe a debt of gratitude to the many people who volunteered their time and ideas to help me write this book. Since science has never been my strong point, I am tremendously grateful to Dr. Lynn Loriaux, who invented the fictional drug Insufort for me and answered many other science questions. Dr. John Lundy and Dr. Karen Gunson, the Oregon State Medical Examiner, taught me how human remains are identified. Ed Pritchard was my computer guru.
I received invaluable information about the life of an associate at a major law firm from Alison Brody, an associate at Portland's Miller, Nash law firm, and Scott Crawford, Mike Jacobs, Melissa Robertson, Bryan Geon, Sharon Hill, Richard Vangelisti, Maria Gorecki, associates at the Stoel, Rives law firm in Portland. I also want to thank Stoel, Rives partners, Randy Foster and Barnes Ellis. I want to make sure that my readers understand that the Reed, Briggs firm in The Associate is an invention and that the partners and associates in it are not based on any real person.
Mike Williams and Jonathan Hoffman are exceptional attorneys who are regularly involved in the high-stakes civil litigation that forms the backdrop for this book. I am very grateful to them for walking me through the steps the plaintiffs' and defendants' attorneys take in a product liability case.
I also received invaluable technical assistance from Mike Shinn, Dan Bronson, Mark Anderson, Chip Horner, Steve Millen of Riverview Cemetery, Dr. Nathan Selden, Detective Sergeant Jon F. Rhodes of the Portland Police Bureau, Sergeant Mary Lindstrand of the Multnomah County Sheriff's Office, and my good friend Vince Kohler.
Thanks also to my fantastic children, Ami and Daniel; Johnathan Hoffman and Richard Vangelisti; as well as Joe, Eleonore, Jerry and Judy Margolin, and Norman and Helen Stamm for their valuable comments on my first draft.
I have to thank Dan Conaway, my intrepid editor for his insights. I am truly lucky to work with him. I am also very lucky to have Jean Naggar and everyone at her agency on my side.
People are always asking me where I get my ideas. In the case of The Associate there is an easy answer. Doreen, my incredible wife of more than thirty years, dreamed up the plot device that is at the heart of this book. I can't tell you what it is, because I don't want to ruin any surprises, but it's pretty clever, as is she.
PROLOGUE
An icy wind whipped down Mercer Street, rattling awnings, scattering paper scraps and raking Gene Arnold's cheeks raw. He turned up his coat collar and ducked his head to avoid the arctic chill. This wasn't the Arizona lawyer's first visit to New York City, but it was his first winter visit and he was unprepared for the biting cold.
Arnold was an unremarkable man, someone you could sit opposite for an hour and not remember five minutes later. He was of average height, tortoiseshell glasses magnified his brown eyes, and his small, bald head was partially ringed by a fringe of dull gray hair. Arnold's private life was as placid as his personality. He was unmarried, read a lot, and the most exciting thing he did was play golf. Nothing that had happened to him had even registered as a blip on the world's radar screen except for a tragedy he had endured seven years before.
Arnold's law practice was as tedious as his life, business transactions mostly. He was in New York to secure financing for Martin Alvarez, the king of the Arizona used car market, who wanted to expand into New Mexico. Arnold's successful meeting with a potential investor had ended sooner than expected, leaving him time to wander around SoHo in search of a painting he could add to his small collection of art.
Arnold's eyes teared and his nose started to run as he looked around desperately for shelter from the wind. An art gallery on the corner of Mercer and Spring streets was open and he ducked into it, sighing with relief when a blast of warm air greeted him. A thin young woman dressed in black was leaning on a counter near the front of the store. She looked up from the catalog she was reading.
"Can I help you?" she asked, flashing him a practiced smile.
"Just looking," Arnold answered self-consciously.
The art hanging on the white walls of the gallery did not fit into one category. Arnold glanced briefly at a series of collages with a feminist theme before stopping to admire some paintings that were more his style. Back home he owned several western scenes, brown and red mesas at sunset, cowboys on the trail, that sort of thing. These landscapes were of New England, seascapes really. Dories on a raging ocean, waves breaking on a deserted beach, a cottage scarred by the sea's salt spray. Very nice.
Arnold wandered over to a group of black-and-white photographs entitled Couples. The first grainy shot showed two teenagers holding hands in a park. They were viewed from behind, leaning into each other, their heads almost touching. The photographer had captured their intimate moment perfectly. The picture made Arnold sad. He would have given anything to be that boy with that girl. Being alone was the hardest thing.
The next photo showed a black couple sitting in a cafe. They were laughing, his head thrown back, mouth open, she smiling shyly, delighted that she was the source of such joy.
Arnold studied the photo. It wasn't the type of art that he usually purchased, but there was something about the photograph that drew him to it. He checked the information on the small, white rectangle next to the photo and learned that the photographer was Claude Bernier and the price was within his means.
Arnold moved to the third photograph in the series. It showed a man and a woman dressed for the rain striding across a square in the center of some city. They were angry, faces tight. The woman's eyes blazed, the man's mouth was a grim line.
"Oh, my God," Arnold said. He fell forward, bracing himself against the wall.
"Sir?" The young woman was staring at him, alarmed by his ashen pallor and his inability to stand upright. Arnold stared back, panicky, light-headed.
"Are you okay?"
Arnold nodded, but the woman was unconvinced. She hurried forward and slipped a hand under his elbow.
"Is there someplace I can sit down?" he asked weakly.
The woman led him up front to a chair behind the counter. Arnold sagged onto it and put his hand to his forehead.
"Can I get you some water?" she asked anxiously.
Arnold saw that she was trying to hold it together. He imagined that she was thinking "heart attack" and wondering what it would be like to sit with a corpse while she waited for the police.
"Water would be good. I'm okay, really. Nothing to worry about," he said, trying to reassure her. "I'm just a little dizzy."
By the time the woman returned with the water Arnold had regained his composure. He took two sips and breathed deeply. When he looked up the woman was watching him and worrying her hands.
"I'm much better." He gave her a weak smile. "I'm just not used to this cold."
"Please, sit here as long as you want."
"Thanks." He paused, then pointed toward the exhibit. "The photographer, Bernier, does he live near here?"
"Claude? Sure. He's got a walk-up in Chelsea."
"I want to buy one of his pictures."
Arnold stood up slowly, steadier now, and led the woman to the photograph of the angry couple. As he crossed the room doubts assailed him, but they melted away as he drew closer to the scene that Bernier had captured.
"Do you think he'd see me today?" Arnold asked as he produced a credit card without moving his eyes from the photo.
The woman looked worried. "Do you feel up to it?"
Arnold nodded. She seemed on the verge of trying to change his mind. Then she carried the photograph to the front to ring up the purchase. As she waited for clearance from the credit-card company she used the phone. Arnold sat down again. His initial shock had abated and had been replaced by a sense of urgency and purpose.
"Claude can see you anytime," the woman told him as she handed Arnold his purchase and stationery from the gallery bearing the photographer's address and phone number. He memorized the address and placed the paper in his jacket pocket.
"Thank you. You've been very kind," he told the salesclerk before stepping into the street. A frigid wind greeted him, but Gene Arnold was too distracted to notice.
ONE
The headlight beams of Dr. Sergey Kaidanov's battered SAAB bounced off a stand of Douglas firs then came to rest on the unpainted wall of a one-story, cinderblock building buried in the woods several miles from downtown Portland. As soon as Kaidanov unlocked the front door of the building the rhesus monkeys started making that half-cooing, half-barking sound that set his nerves on edge. The volume of noise increased when Kaidanov flipped on the lights.
Most of the monkeys were housed in two rooms at the back of the building. Kaidanov walked down a narrow hall and stood in front of a thick metal door that sealed off one of the rooms. He slid back a metal sheet and studied the animals through the window it concealed. There were sixteen rhesus monkeys in each room. Each monkey was in its own steel mesh cage. The cages were stacked two high and two across on a flatcar with rollers. Kaidanov hated everything about the monkeys--their sour, unwashed smell, the noises they made, the unnerving way they followed his every move.
As soon as Kaidanov's face was framed in the window, the monkey two from the door in the top cage leaped toward him and stared him down. Its fur was brownish gray and it gripped the mesh with hands containing opposable thumbs on both arms and legs. This was the dominant monkey in the room and it had established its dominance within three weeks even though there was no way it could get at the others.
Rhesus monkeys were very aggressive, very nervous, and always alert. It was bad etiquette to look one in the eye, but Kaidanov did it just to show the little bastard who was the boss. The monkey didn't blink. It stretched its doglike muzzle through the mesh as far as it could, baring a set of vicious canines. At two feet tall and forty pounds, the monkey didn't look like it could do much damage to a one-hundred-and-ninety-pound, five-foot-eight male human, but it was much stronger than it looked.
Kaidanov checked his watch. It was three in the morning. He couldn't imagine what was so important that he had to meet here at this hour, but the person whose call had dragged him from a deep sleep paid Kaidanov to do as he was told, no questions asked.
Kaidanov needed caffeine. He was about to go to his office to brew a pot of coffee when he noticed that the padlock on the dominant monkey's cage was open. He must have forgotten to close it after the last feeding. The scientist started to open the door but stopped when he remembered that the key to the monkey rooms was in his office.
Kaidanov returned to the front of the building. His office was twelve by fifteen and stuffed with lab equipment. A small desk on casters stood just inside the door. It was covered by a phone book, articles from research journals, and printouts of contractions that the monkeys experienced during pregnancy. Behind the table was a cheap office chair. Along the walls were metal filing cabinets, a sink, and a paper towel dispenser.
