Losing Faith Part 12

"Welcome, gentlemen," Broden says. "Come in. Mr. Garkov is waiting."

Lacey has the feel of being at the circus, staring up at this giant approaching them. Garkov is also dressed to kill, although in his case that means a red velvet smoking jacket.

They all take seats in the living room. Lacey and Walker sit on the ends of a long sofa, while Broden and Garkov are side by side on the couch opposite them. The giant lion's-head fireplace breathes flame.

"Mr. Garkov, thank you for meeting with us," Lacey says. "As I'm sure your counsel has told you, we're investigating the murder of Judge Faith Nichols. We'd like to ask you some questions."

Garkov nods but doesn't give any other a.s.sent. Even so, it's enough for Lacey to continue.

"Look, there's no big state secret here, Mr. Garkov. You should be aware that we're looking hard at you on this one. Obviously, your reputation precedes you, but the timing of her murder-a day after Judge Nichols revokes your bail-also doesn't look too good for you. So before we get our feet stuck in the cement that you're our guy, we figured we'd give you the opportunity to tell us otherwise."

Garkov doesn't look the slightest bit intimidated. "Well, I guess you have me, it seems," he says in a slow voice. "You've figured it all out. I confess. I was so upset at being put in prison that on my second night there, I simply walked out the front gate, hailed a cab, and luckily for me, the driver did not think anything of picking up a seven-foot-tall man wearing an orange prison jumpsuit, nor did he mind that I didn't have any money to pay him, and he took me straight from the correctional facility to Central Park. I knew that Judge Nichols would be there, because . . . well, it should be obvious, she confided in me her every movement. Then I killed her, of course, because she revoked my bail. Afterward, I left the park. Now, as luck would have it, the same cabdriver was nice enough to wait for me. He took me back to prison, where I reentered through the front door. So . . . you got me! Good work, Agent Lacey."

Garkov bellows laughter, and Broden joins in.

Walker rolls his eyes at Lacey, making it clear that he views this as Garkov's idea of a joke, jerking the FBI around.

"You're going to have to do better than that, Nicolai," Walker says, the anger evident in his voice. "All it would take is for you to have someone on the outside who's following her. He watches her leave her home, follows her to the park, and cracks her skull."

Lacey chimes in. "Yeah. It's not the most intricate murder scheme of all time. And let's not kid ourselves: there's only one person who avoids life in prison if she's dead. And I'm looking right at him." Lacey's stare says the time for fun and games is now over. "So let's start again, with some feeling this time, shall we?"

"Hold on. My client is not going to say anything further at this meeting," Broden says.

"Then why did you make us haul our a.s.ses up here?" Walker asks.

"Because I have something to say on his behalf. And I think that you're going to want to hear it."

Lacey and Walker share another look of mutual frustration. But Lacey figures that since they're already there, he might as well hear why.

"We're all ears," Lacey says.

Garkov nods at Broden, which apparently is the go-ahead for him to proceed, because Broden says, "I understand why the initial focus of the investigation might be on my client. But he didn't commit this crime, and you'd be better served focusing your attention elsewhere."

"Okay, then," Walker says. "Thanks for clearing that up. Let's go, Kevin. This is a f.u.c.king waste of our time."

Lacey doesn't move, however. "Where should our attention be focused, Mr. Broden?"

"Not so fast," Broden says. "In return for the mother of all cooperation that Mr. Garkov would be providing, you're going to need to give him complete immunity. That means on the indictment already filed, everything related to the Red Square bombing, and anything else that you might choose to tack on. We're talking a complete and total one hundred percent get-out-of-jail-free card. If you have him on jaywalking charges, it's going to be covered."

Walker explodes. "No f.u.c.king way! Do you honestly think for a second that we're supposed to recommend a free pa.s.s to this guy?! Who everyone in America wants to take a shot at right now?!"

Broden turns to Lacey, asking him to confirm that Walker's outburst expressed the FBI's official position. Lacey knows a more measured response will be more productive.

"You've got to offer us something much more concrete than that before we think about making any type of deal here," he says. "But I know that you already knew that. So, why don't we cut through all the bulls.h.i.+t and you just tell us what you brought us here to say."

Broden straightens up and whispers in his client's ear. When he's done, Garkov says, "Your murderer, gentlemen, is my former attorney, Aaron Littman. Is that concrete enough for you?"

Walker actually laughs through his rage. "You know, honestly, that's pretty funny. What, are you trying to get out of paying his bill?"

Broden looks at Walker with a mix of pity and disgust, like he's never been in the company of such an idiot. "I'm sure that you'll figure this out soon enough, but Aaron Littman and Judge Nichols were having an affair."

Broden's disclosure is met with the silence that such a bombsh.e.l.l deserves. How could a law-and-order judge like Faith Nichols and a lion of the bar such as Aaron Littman engage in such flagrantly unethical conduct?

Broden rises. "Thank you both so much for paying us this visit," he says. "You now know what we want, and you know how to reach us, and so I look forward to hearing from you."

OUTSIDE TRUMP TOWER, WALKER still hasn't calmed down. The vein in his neck is actually pulsating.

"You know we're not doing this, Kevin."

"I know," Lacey says. "We're not giving Nicolai Garkov immunity for two dozen murders. But that wasn't the purpose of what just went on back there."

"Sounded like it to me."

"No . . . that was cover. They wanted to put Aaron Littman on our radar. That's what that was about. The question is, why him? Garkov could have said anybody killed her, right? I mean, the judge's husband, a random mugger . . . anyone. But he specifically said Aaron Littman. There's got to be a reason for that."

"Maybe it's just like I said. He doesn't want to pay his legal bill."

Lacey smiles weakly, but he's already a step ahead. "No. Seriously, I'll bet you this: Garkov's telling us the truth about an affair between Littman and Nichols. Broden's smart enough to know we'd never offer Garkov immunity. This entire get-together was solely to make sure we were put on the right track. And if Garkov knew Littman was banging the judge . . . wow, that explains why he hired Littman in the first place." Lacey pauses, putting the pieces together in his mind first, and then says: "That motherf.u.c.ker was blackmailing his own lawyer to turn around and blackmail the judge. He can't admit it to us without incriminating himself . . . and so he needed a way for us to figure it out on our own."

Walker looks hard at his colleague. Lacey may be a j.a.c.k.-.o.f.f. of the first order, but right now, d.a.m.n, he's onto something.

26.

The term is shadow counsel. At least that's what Stuart thinks it is. He heard Faith use it when she was in private practice. All he really knows about it is that the representation is to stay secret and that Faith hated it.

He didn't use the words shadow counsel when setting up this meeting with Jennifer Bennett. But after the security guard in the lobby knew immediately who he was, he wished he had. The last thing he wants is for people to know that Faith Nichols's widower visited a high-powered law firm.

"Stuart," Jennifer says when she enters the conference room where he's been for the last ten minutes. "I'm so sorry to make you wait. I was on a conference call and just couldn't get off." She says this with a smile but then catches herself, and with a much more somber tone, says, "So, how are you?"

"Somewhat in shock, actually."

"I wanted to say something to you yesterday at the memorial service, but there were just so many people around that I thought I'd give you some s.p.a.ce. But I've been thinking about Faith . . . all the time, actually. I just can't believe that she's gone. I owe Faith so much. I mean, if it weren't for her, I know I wouldn't be here right now."

As she speaks, Stuart begins to catalog all the ways Faith undoubtedly saw herself in Jennifer. The most obvious, of course, is that they're both beautiful, in a way that defies the odds, unless you're on a movie set. Sometimes when he and Faith were watching some police procedural on television, The Mentalist or Bones, Stuart would say, Is there any workplace on earth in which three-quarters of the people in any given room look like models? You'd think that someone as observant as Patrick Jane or as smart as Temperance Brennan might note that the odds of such an occurrence are statistically impossible. Faith's comeback line was always, What about when Jennifer and I worked together?

Stuart called Jennifer the moment he left Agent Lacey after the memorial service. He knew he should have told her why he wanted to meet, and why it had to be as soon as possible, but for some reason, he just couldn't get the words out. Even now he wants to be cajoled into telling her, so he can continue to cling to the idea that retaining a lawyer isn't actually necessary, even though he's given up that idea by reaching out to Jennifer in the first place.

"So, what can I help you with, Stuart?" Jennifer finally says.

"I know this sounds crazy," he begins, saying the words as if they've just come to him even though he's run them through his mind a half dozen times, "but this FBI agent came up to me after the service yesterday and asked me some questions. He said it was all standard operating procedure, but I'd already told everything to the police, and this FBI guy . . . he seemed to have more of an agenda, if you know what I mean. Anyway, Faith always said that being involved in the justice system without a lawyer was as stupid as taking out your own appendix, and so . . ."

He was hoping that Jennifer would relieve his anxiety with a wave of her hand and say, Why on earth are you concerned? No one in a million years would think that you killed Faith. But what he gets is the opposite: a troubled look confirming his worst suspicions.

"You were absolutely right to come see me," she says. "Spouses are always the primary suspects. The sad truth is that some of them do end up in jail, and it would be naive to think that sometimes they're not in there by mistake."

As if that weren't enough to suggest Stuart should be engaged in a full-fledged panic, Jennifer starts talking about things like conflict checks and opening a matter and retainer agreements and bringing on an a.s.sociate.

"Hold on, Jennifer . . . I really thought that we'd just talk for fifteen minutes and then you'd be like . . . shadow counsel. Is that the term?"

Jennifer smiles, and for a moment Stuart thinks that perhaps the world is not ending. But then she says, "I'm so sorry, Stuart. I forgot for a second that you're not a lawyer. If Faith were here, she'd understand all of this without a second thought. I can't even begin to imagine what you're going through. First, there's the horror of Faith's murder and then the FBI-people you think you can trust to catch her killer-are suggesting that you're the one who might have done this. It's surreal, right?"

"I was going to say Kafkaesque," Stuart says.

"Okay, so let me try to put you at ease a little bit. This is a process. It's a scary one, I know. But it's still a process. I've always found that the more you're prepared for what's going to happen, the less frightening it is, so why don't I give you a step-by-step of what to expect. Okay?"

"That'd be great," Stuart says.

"First thing is that I know that Faith would want me to take extra-good care of you, which is what I'm going to do. But I can't do that until the representation is official. That means you sign a retainer agreement, and we have to charge you a retainer. Now, normally it's a hundred thousand dollars in a matter like this, but because . . . because Faith's family here, we'll only ask you for fifty. I charge seven fifty an hour, and I'll be working with an a.s.sociate, who, depending how senior he or she is, will charge anywhere between three fifty and the high fours. If we don't use the retainer, we'll refund the difference, and if we exhaust the retainer, we'll ask you to replenish it. Sound fair?"

Fair is not the first word that pops into Stuart's mind. He wants to ask how many people ever receive a refund, but he's pretty sure he already knows the answer.

"Okay," Stuart says instead.

"Good. Now the next step is for us to do a very thorough debriefing so that I understand everything you told law enforcement and the types of questions that they were asking you. This will allow me to a.s.sess whether we can go in to see them again."

"Again?" Stuart says, hearing the panic in his voice.

"Yes. Our goal is to have a meeting with the prosecutor in charge of the case-not the FBI agent, but the person really calling the shots-and convince him or her that you're not the person who did this."

"Okay. When would we do that?"

"In the first instance it's not so much when as it is if. The only way that you can go in is if the story you tell them is going to be believed. And I won't know the answer to that until I hear the facts from you."

She doesn't let any time elapse for Stuart to proclaim his innocence before saying, "And there's no reason to put that debriefing off, and lots of reasons to get out ahead of this, so why don't we get right down to it? I trust you to wire the retainer tomorrow."

Jennifer reaches for a legal pad and for the next two hours she asks Stuart questions, most of which concern the thirty or so minutes between the time Stuart came home from work on the last night of Faith's life and when she told him that she was going to the gym. By and large, she approaches the facts from the vantage point of asking what the police and the FBI asked and how Stuart responded, rather than inquiring about the facts themselves.

When the Q-and-A ends, Jennifer rocks back in her chair, twirling her pen. Stuart knows better than to interrupt, as he has the feeling of a patient awaiting his test results.

"Stuart, I don't want to add to your worries," Jennifer says, "but you wouldn't be here if you didn't already know that you're at some risk. And what you need from me is not friends.h.i.+p or false a.s.surances, but hard-nosed legal advice. So, here it is: you have every reason in the world to be concerned."

"I didn't kill my wife, Jennifer," Stuart says. "You have to believe me."

The moment the words come out, he feels the full weight of how serious this has become. He's actually denying being a murderer.

"I know you didn't," Jennifer says, but to Stuart it seems too pat, like something Jennifer is saying to be polite. The legal equivalent of So nice to meet you.

That would be bad enough, but Jennifer's not finished. "I do get the feeling you're not telling me the whole story, however. And if I'm getting that feeling, you'd better believe that the FBI has it too. Those guys never think anybody's being straight with them, and that might be the reason you got the impression that the agent . . . what was the term you used? Had an agenda? So, this is the part where I explain to you that whatever you say to me is subject to attorney-client privilege, and that means I'm duty-bound never to disclose it without your permission. Faith and I were close, and so I understand that there may be reluctance on your part to tell me certain things about your relations.h.i.+p with her, or even about her . . . but-and this is critically important-if that's the case, then you should get another lawyer. Someone who didn't know her. And you should do that right now, because you can't keep information from me and expect that I'm going to be able to do my best by you."

"Can I ask you a hypothetical question?" Stuart says.

He knows from Faith's war stories that hypotheticals are the loophole to the attorney ethical code. A client suggests that-hypothetically-he committed a crime, and the lawyer explains the hypothetical advice that would be given in such a case. The dubious theory on which the exercise rests is that because it's hypothetical, there's no perjury problem if the client later tells a completely different story on the witness stand.

"Sure," Jennifer says, not seeming put off by this transition.

"If I suspected, or let's say even more than suspected, that Faith was involved with someone else . . . would that be good or bad for me?"

Stuart wonders if Jennifer already knew about Faith's affair. Would she tell him if she did? Probably not, he concludes. Best friend privilege being right up there with that of attorney-client. Perhaps that's even the reason that Jennifer so quickly saw through the story of marital bliss that Stuart recounted to law enforcement. Maybe Faith previously told Jennifer all about their problems.

"So the hypothetical you're positing is one where a husband knows his wife has been unfaithful, and then the wife is murdered?" Jennifer asks. "Do I have the hypothetical facts right?"

Stuart nods. He's already forgotten this is supposed to be speculative.

Jennifer considers the fact pattern for a moment and then says, "Okay. So my view, under this hypothetical set of facts, is that the husband should stay quiet about the affair. One reason is that you already denied it, and I'd just as soon not hand the FBI proof that you've lied to them. But more importantly, the issue only comes up if the FBI concludes the murder is some type of crime of pa.s.sion. Faith's personal life doesn't matter if the attack is a random mugging or the killer is someone out for revenge for a judicial ruling. If the focus of the investigation turns to people with whom she had a romantic attachment, however, then the fact she was having an affair is highly relevant. But in that case her lover also becomes a suspect. The reason I say that you should keep quiet about it is because I'm a.s.suming the FBI will discover the affair without your help. I take it that the FBI agent didn't share any of that with you during your meeting, did he?"

"No," Stuart says, fully recognizing that Jennifer has now abandoned the pretext of this being a hypothetical. "But he asked me if she was having an affair, and I said she wasn't."

"Okay . . . Well, maybe they haven't discovered proof of the affair, or maybe the agent just didn't want to tip his hand. But at some point, they'll come back to you with that evidence." Jennifer rubs her face, deep in concentration. "The danger for you now is that if you know about Faith's infidelity, then you have even more of a motive: on top of the financial angle that they're already onto, there's also jealousy to consider. Are you with me here?"

Stuart nods. He understands all too well. Things do not look good for him.

As if she senses that he's desperate for good news, Jennifer smiles. "But . . . if she was having an affair and you didn't know about it, then the affair is irrelevant to you. You're not a jealous husband. You're not fearful of a divorce and its financial implications. For all you know, you're the happiest married couple on earth."

For the first time since he's arrived, Stuart can feel himself relax. "Oh, got it. Thanks, that's what I thought too," he says.

"That's not the end of it, though." Stuart thinks that Jennifer is going to call him on this being a hypothetical, but that's not the way she plays it at all. "I'd have a different response if I thought the FBI was going to find evidence that you knew about the affair and then lied to them about it. People don't lie to the FBI to protect their wives' reputations. They lie to protect themselves. So-hypothetically speaking, of course-if the husband is going to keep the affair to himself, he'd better be d.a.m.n sure the FBI doesn't find evidence that says he knew about it before the murder."

27.

Rachel cleared out most of her work over the coming weeks so she could devote her full attention to the Garkov case. As a result, she now finds herself in the very rare situation of having downtime. She knows her type-A personality, as well as the partner billing committee, won't permit this state of affairs to persist very long, but that doesn't mean she can't bask in it for a few hours.

As is so often the case, her thoughts immediately turn to Aaron. Although she knows her glee over the possibility that Aaron may be on the road to a divorce is unseemly, she can't deny that's precisely how she feels. And while their "date" didn't lead back to his hotel room, she's now convinced it's only a matter of time.

And there is no better time to take that next step than after the prom.

Her mind flashes on the image of Aaron in formal wear, looking like James Bond, right down to holding a martini, shaken, not stirred. When she conjures herself standing beside him, she realizes that something new is called for, a dress that is going to blow Aaron Littman's mind.

She types into her search engine Dolce & Gabbana. She could walk up Madison and actually shop in the company's showroom, or better yet, travel the even shorter distance to Bergdorf's or Barneys, but she's still not ready to make that extra commitment to decadence-shopping in public during a workday.

A few screens in, she comes upon a silk chiffon in platinum, with two jeweled straps. It makes the model in the picture look like she has a chest, and Rachel figures she's a cup size bigger, if not two, so the effect on her will be that much greater.

She has just completed inputting her credit card information when the phone rings. The caller ID says "Restricted Number."