Sparring Partners(17)

“Got it. Can I buy you a drink after work?”

“One drink. I’m not much of a talker.”

They met two hours later in a downtown bar. They found a dark corner and ordered drinks. Buddy laid everything on the table and promised her he had nothing to hide. From time to time he worked for Mr. Sullivan, who, on behalf of Lisa’s family, had been hired to poke through Mack’s dirty laundry. They strongly suspected some money had been taken and kept away from the divorce and bankruptcy proceedings.

Freda was saddened to hear about Lisa’s health. The two had never been close but they had managed to get along, no small feat in Mack’s world.

She said, “Mack never had any money. There was nothing to steal.”

Buddy reached into a pocket, pulled out a sheet of paper, and handed it to her. It was a copy of a certified check for $50,000, drawn on a bank in Memphis, and made payable to Lisa. He said, “This was part of the divorce settlement, about the only thing of value she got.”

Freda shook her head and said, “Mack never had this kind of money. He kept about five thousand dollars in the law firm checking account, but even that ran low at times. He paid me thirty thousand a year, I never got a raise, and there were a couple of years when I made almost as much as he did.”

“Did he have an account with a Memphis bank?”

“Not to my knowledge. He banked in Clanton, though he hated to. Hated the fact that somebody at the bank knew how broke he really was.”

“So, where did the money come from?”

Freda had always resented the way Mack had simply vanished, the way he abandoned his wife and two daughters. After he disappeared, she, too, had been implicated by the local gossip. There were rumors that she was involved in his shenanigans and so on. That was one reason she left town. She owed him nothing. Hell, he’d fired her on the spot and watched as she cleaned out her desk.

She took a sip of her vodka soda and said, “I got his phone records, don’t ask me how. The day he fired me, he took a call from a New York law firm, came at twelve-ten when I was at lunch, and then he evidently left the office and had a few beers. When he returned around five p.m. we had our fight. He’d missed two appointments, something he never did because he needed the clients. I never saw him again, don’t want to see him now.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out her own sheet of paper. “This is a copy of his client ledger, all of his open cases. I’ve highlighted four of them, the chain saw cases. At the top you see the name of Marty Rosenberg, with his phone number. He’s the lawyer in New York, the one I assume who called when I wasn’t there. Whatever they talked about I don’t know, but it was enough to push Mack over the edge. I’m not sure, but I’m guessing Mr. Rosenberg knows the rest of the story.”





(17)


It was a slow news week in Clanton. When The Ford County Times hit the streets before dawn on Wednesday, there was a front-page story beneath the fold with the headline “Is Mack Stafford Back in Town?” With Dumas Lee reporting, the story said that several “unnamed sources” had confirmed that ex-lawyer Mack Stafford had reappeared. No one had actually seen him, or at least no one who would go on the record. The bulk of the story was Mack’s past: his seventeen years in private practice, his divorce and bankruptcy, and his mysterious disappearance. Sheriff Walls was quoted as saying, “I am not aware of any ongoing investigation.” When asked if it was true that a grand jury had investigated the bizarre case, Ozzie had no comment. There were two black-and-white photos, one of Mack in a coat and tie, taken from the bar directory. The other was of Jake Brigance, in a dark suit leaving the courthouse. Under Jake’s photo was the bold quote: “He is not a wanted man.”

Jake read it with his morning coffee and cursed himself for even speaking to Dumas. It was stupid to give the guy anything remotely quotable. The implication was clear: that Jake was involved and was probably Mack’s lawyer.

He did not look forward to the Coffee Shop. Skipping it, though, was not an option. As he had learned, skipping out only made the gossip worse.





(18)


Later Wednesday morning, Walter Sullivan called the New York office of Durban & Lang, a mega-firm with thousands of lawyers scattered around the world. He asked for Mr. Marty Rosenberg, and was informed by one of his secretaries that the great man was unavailable, which was exactly what Walter expected. He said that he would fax over a letter that explained his reason for calling and would appreciate a few minutes on the phone. After he hung up, he sent the letter. It read:

     Dear Mr. Rosenberg:

I am an attorney in Clanton, Mississippi, and I’m seeking information regarding a possible product liability settlement roughly three years ago. I believe your firm represents a Swiss company, Littleman AG, and that this company has a division known as Tinzo Group, out of the Philippines. Tinzo manufactured, among many other products, chain saws that were alleged to be defective. Several plaintiffs down here hired a local lawyer, J. McKinley Stafford, or simply Mack, as we know him, to pursue their claims for injuries. Mack closed his practice and left town not long after you spoke to him.

I need a few moments of your time. Please call at your convenience. Your secretary has my number.

Sincerely,

Walter Sullivan



Wednesday passed with no word from New York. At nine the following morning, Walter’s secretary buzzed his desk with the call. Marty began with a friendly “Good morning, Mr. Sullivan, how are things down south?”