Rage of Angels

“Mr. Bailey, I—I’m afraid I’m going to have to be leaving. I’ll send you the rent money I owe you as soon as I’m able to.”

Ken Bailey leaned back in his chair and studied her. His look made Je

“Will that be all right?” she asked.

“Going back to Washington?”

Je

Ken Bailey said, “Before you leave, would you do me a little favor? A lawyer friend’s been bugging me to serve some subpoenas for him, and I haven’t got time. He pays twelve-fifty for each subpoena plus mileage. Would you help me out?”

One hour later Je

“Here. Be sure to keep a record of your mileage. You do have a car, don’t you?”

“No, I’m afraid I—”

“Well, if you use the subway, keep track of the fares.”

“Right.”

Je

Je

Je

The doorbell rang again. Reluctantly, Je

“Who is it?”

A masculine voice on the other side of the door said, “Miss Je

“Yes.”

“My name is Adam Warner. I’m an attorney.”

Puzzled, Je

“May I come in?” he asked.

Muggers did not wear tailored suits, Gucci shoes and silk ties. Nor did they have long, sensitive hands with carefully manicured nails.

“Just a moment.”

Je

“What can I do for you, Mr. Warner?”

Even as she spoke, Je

Adam Warner said, “I’m a member of the Disciplinary Committee of the New York Bar Association, Miss Parker. District Attorney Robert Di Silva and Judge Lawrence Waldman have requested the Appellate Division to begin disbarment proceedings against you.”

4

The law offices of Needham, Finch, Pierce and Warner were located at 30 Wall Street, occupying the entire top floor of the building. There were a hundred and twenty-five lawyers in the firm. The offices smelled of old money and were done in the quiet elegance befitting an organization that represented some of the biggest names in industry.

Adam Warner and Stewart Needham were having their ritual morning tea. Stewart Needham was a dapper, trim man in his late sixties. He had a neat Vandyke beard and wore a tweed suit and vest. He looked as though he belonged to an older era, but as hundreds of opponents had learned to their sorrow through the years, Stewart Needham’s mind belonged very much to the twentieth century. He was a titan, but his name was known only in the circles where it mattered. He preferred to remain in the background and use his considerable influence to affect the outcome of legislation, high government appointments and national politics. He was a New Englander, born and reared taciturn.

Adam Warner was married to Needham’s niece Mary Beth, and was Needham’s protégé. Adam’s father had been a respected senator. Adam himself was a brilliant lawyer. When he had been graduated magna cum laude from Harvard Law School, he had had offers from prestigious law firms all over the country. He chose Needham, Finch and Pierce, and seven years later became a partner. Adam was physically attractive and charming, and his intelligence seemed to add an extra dimension to him. He had an easy sureness about himself that women found challenging. Adam had long since developed a system for dissuading overamorous female clients. He had been married to Mary Beth for fourteen years and did not approve of extramarital affairs.

“More tea, Adam?” Stewart Needham asked.

“No, thanks.” Adam Warner hated tea, and he had been drinking it every morning for the last eight years only because he did not want to hurt his partner’s feelings. It was a brew that Needham concocted himself and it was dreadful.

Stewart Needham had two things on his mind and, typically, he began with the pleasant news. “I had a meeting with a few friends last night,” Needham said. A few friends would be a group of the top power brokers in the country. “They’re considering asking you to run for United States senator, Adam.”

Adam felt a sense of elation. Knowing Stewart Needham’s cautious nature, Adam was certain that the conversation had been more than casual or Needham would not have brought it up now.

“The big question, of course, is whether you’re interested. It would mean a lot of changes in your life.”

Adam Warner was aware of that. If he won the election, it would mean moving to Washington, D.C., giving up his law practice, starting a whole new life. He was sure that Mary Beth would enjoy it; Adam was not so sure about himself. And yet, he had been reared to assume responsibility. Also, he had to admit to himself that there was a pleasure in power.

“I’d be very interested, Stewart.”

Stewart Needham nodded with satisfaction. “Good. They’ll be pleased.” He poured himself another cup of the dreadful brew and casually broached the other subject that was on his mind. “There’s a little job the Disciplinary Committee of the Bar Association would like you to handle, Adam. Shouldn’t take you more than an hour or two.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the Michael Moretti trial. Apparently, someone got to one of Bobby Di Silva’s young assistants and paid her off.”

“I read about it. The canary.”

“Right. Judge Waldman and Bobby would like her name removed from the roster of our honorable profession. So would I. It reeks.”

“What do they want me to do?”

“Just make a quick check, verify that this Parker girl behaved illegally or unethically, and then recommend disbarment proceedings. She’ll be served with a notice to show cause and they’ll handle the rest of it. It’s just routine.”