Mistress of Justice

He voiced some concern for a young man or woman, a lawyer at his firm, who was suffering from doubts. Wendall wanted to inspire this protégé to be the best lawyer they might be.

Hundreds of people. Most of the partners from Hubbard, White & Willis, many associates, many friends had attended.

just as I in my own way deal with spiritual doubt in our young people.

Quite a church, Reece recalled Huge, pointy, Gothic, solid. All the joists and beams met in perfect unison – high in the air. It was a fitting place for an aristocratic man to be eulogized.

Then he thought back to another death at the firm – Linda Davidoff's. Her funeral, Reece decided, had been much better. The church was tamer, the minister more upset. It seemed to Reece preferable to get more tears and fewer words from men of the cloth at times of mourning.

Clayton's Upper East Side minister had been correct about one thing, though he and Clayton had indeed been cut from the same bolt – noblemen and medieval clergy. In tarot cards pentacles would be their suit. Choose this sign for dark men of power and money.

Aggressive men.

The minister was seizing an opportunity to preach, just as Clayton had seized a chance of his own – and had died as a consequence of his reach.

The sudden grind and windy slam of the plane's wheels coming down interrupted Reece's thoughts. And as he glanced out the window, Reece decided it was ironic that he saw below him the huge cluster of dense graveyards in Queens – a whole city of a graveyard. He watched until it vanished under the wing and they landed.

As he walked down the ramp toward the terminal, Reece saw his last name on a card being held up by a limo driver.

"Is that for Mitchell Reece?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. You have luggage?"

"Just this."

The man took his bags.

Reece gave him the address of the firm.

"We're supposed to stop someplace else, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid there's some kind of problem."

Reece climbed into the back of the Lincoln. "What kind of problem?"

"An emergency of some kind."

Forty minutes later the driver pulled up in front of yellow-painted doors at an a

Inside, Reece stopped at a reception desk and was directed down a long, dim corridor.

He found the basement room he sought and pushed open the door.

Gray-faced and red-eyed, Taylor Lockwood blinked in surprise at his entrance and shut off the soap opera she was watching.

She smiled. "Mitchell, it's you! Kiss me – it's not contagious – then see if you can scarf up some food. I'm starving to death."

"Suck on ice," Reece said when he returned a few minutes later.

Taylor frowned.

"I asked them what you could have to eat. They said you should suck on ice."

She nodded at the IV. "Glucose. It's pure carbohydrates. I'm dying for a hamburger."

Reece gave her a Life Saver. "You look, well, awful."

"'Awful' is a compliment, considering how I did look. The nurse tells me I've recovered incredibly well."

"What happened?"

Taylor nodded. "I was stupid. I'm sure my phone was bugged too, either at my apartment or cubicle. I should've thought about that. Anyway, we got busted – somebody overhead us. And then at lunch yesterday this guy sits down next to me. He drops a book – I mean, pretends to drop a book – and when I bent down to pick it up for him, I think he squirted botulism culture into my soup."

"Jesus, botulism? The most dangerous food poisoning there is."

She nodded. "I think he got it from Ge

"Our client?"

"Yep."

"I was talking to a pathologist here. He told me Ge

"So, whoever killed Clayton stole some culture – or told the killer about Ge

She nodded.

"I was feeling a lot better last night but I called Donald and told him I was almost dead, in a coma."

"You what?"

"I wanted word to get around the firm that I was almost dead. I was afraid the killer would try again. I called and pretended I was my doctor." She gave a faint laugh. "I called my parents and told them that whatever they heard I was fine – although I have to say I was inclined to let my father stew a bit more. Carrie Mason's the only one who knows I'm okay."

Reece stroked her cheek. "Botulism… that could've killed you."

"The doctor told me that, 'luckily, ' I ingested too much of the culture. I got sick immediately and, well, the word they used was, quote, evacuated most of the bacteria. Man, it was unpleasant. I'm talking Mount Saint Helens."

He hugged her hard. "We're not going to have to worry about anything like this happening again. I talked to Sam, my friend at the U. S. attorney's office, yesterday afternoon. He's coming down tomorrow with a special prosecutor from Washington. We're going to meet with him at the federal building at three – if you feel up to it."

"I'll feel up to it. Whoever's behind this… we're going to stop them…" Her voice faded. "What's wrong, Mitchell?"

"Wrong?" His eyes were hollow and troubled. "You almost got killed… I'm so sorry. If I'd known -"

She leaned forward and kissed him. "Hey, I lost those five pounds I gained at Thanksgiving and then some. Call it an early Christmas present. Now, go on, get out of here. Next time you see me I promise I won't look like Marley's ghost."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The girl walked sheepishly into the hospital room, hiding behind a bouquet of exotic flowers that she'd probably hand-selected from an Upper East Side florist.

"Whoa," Taylor told Carrie Mason, laughing at the massive arrangement. "Anything left in the rain forest?"

The chubby girl set the vase on the bedside table and sat in the functional gray chair near Taylor's bed, studying her carefully.

"You're looking a thousand times better, Taylor," Carrie said. "Everybody's like, ohmagod, she's dying I wanted to tell them but I didn't. Not a soul – like you said."

Taylor gave her a rundown on her condition and thanked the girl for staying with her just after she'd been admitted.

"It's, like, no problem, Taylor. You looked You were pretty sick."

Attempted murder does that to you.

"Well, I'll be getting out soon. May not eat for a week or so but it'll be good to get vertical again."

The girl avoided Taylor's eyes. She stood and arranged the flowers and it was this compulsive activity that told Taylor that she was troubled by something.

"What is it, Carrie?"

The girl paused, her back to Taylor, then sat down again. Tears were ru

"Go ahead Tell me. What's the matter?"

"I think I know why Mr. Clayton killed himself. I think it was my fault."

"Your fault?" Taylor said. "What do you mean?"

"Well, okay. You know Sean."

One of the firm's busier spies Taylor nodded.

"Well, what it was see, last week Sean asked me out. I went over to his place. And I thought he wanted to go out with me and I was really, really excited about it. 'Cause I've had this crush on him for, like, a while. But it turned out I mean, the thing was he just wanted to go through my purse."

"Why?"

"To get my log-on pass code for the firm computers. One of the operators told me he went on the system with my user name."

Taylor remembered the gum-snapping computer operator and the blank screen that should have had information about taxis and computer tune and phone records. This was interesting. She nodded for the girl to continue and listened carefully.