Mistress of Justice

Linda’s grave.”
    Reece nodded.
    The nail of Taylor’s index finger touched the marble. “Oh, Mitchell, it’s so fucking clear now.” She looked at Burdick. “Don’t you see what he’s done?” She turned to faceReece, who leaned against the dark, dried-blood-red conference table, looking gaunt and pale. “You got one of your criminal clients from the pro bono program—what? A hit man, a killer, a mercenary soldier? You got him to break into your own file cabinet, steal the Hanover note and hide it in Wendall’s office. Then you had him bug your own office so you’d look as innocent as possible. You recorded some conversations then planted the tapes with the note. You had me track him down.”
    She thought for a moment. “Then, at Clayton’s party, I found the receipt from the security service: upstairs, where
you
sent me to search—after you planted it there.… Finally I found the note in Clayton’s office.” She laughed bitterly. “And after the Hanover trial your hit man killed him right away—because he couldn’t very well be accused of something he hadn’t done.”
    The lawyer made no effort to deny any of this.
    She continued, “And his suicide note … It was fake, wasn’t it? Who forged it? Another criminal client?”
    The associate lifted his eyebrow, conceding the accuracy of her deduction.
    She laughed bitterly, glancing at the partner.
    Men of most renowned virtue …
    Reece was gazing at her, impassive as a statue.
    Eyes still on Reece, locked on his, Taylor said, “And Donald was a big help, wasn’t he?” She turned to the partner. “Nothing personal, Donald, but you laid a pretty damn good smoke screen.” Her hands were shaking now. The tears started. “And as for me, well, you were keeping pretty close tabs on your pawn. All you had to do was look across the pillow.”
    A bit of emotion blossomed in his face at this—like the first cracks in spring ice. Reece took a Kleenex from his pocket and began rubbing the trigger guard and grip and frame of the gun. He nodded. “You won’t believe me if I tell you that what happened between us wasn’t part of the plan.”
    “Bullshit! You tried to kill me!”
    His eyes grew wide. “I didn’t want to hurt you! You should have stopped when you were supposed to!”
    Burdick said, “But Mitchell, how could you risk it? You love the law. You’d
risk
everything for this, for revenge?”
    He smiled with a look as bleak as a hunting field in December. “But there
was
no risk, Donald. Don’t you know me by now? I knew I’d get away with it. Every nuance was planned. Every action and reaction. Every move anticipated and guarded against. I planned this exactly the same way I plan my trials. There was no way it wouldn’t work.” He sighed and shook his head. “Except for you, of course, Taylor. You were the flaw.… Why didn’t you just let it go? I killed an evil man. I did the firm—hell, I did the
world
—a favor.”
    “You used me!”
    Donald Burdick sat heavily in a chair, his head dipping. “Oh, Mitchell, all you had to do was go to the police. Clayton would’ve been arrested for the girl’s death.”
    The young lawyer gave a harsh laugh. “You think so? And what would’ve happened, Donald? Nothing. Any half-assed criminal lawyer could’ve gotten him off. There was no witness, no physical evidence. Besides, you of all people ought to know how many favors Clayton could’ve called in. The case wouldn’t’ve even gotten to the grand jury.”
    His attention dipped for a moment to the gun. He flipped it open expertly and saw six cartridges in the cylinder. Then from his pocket he took the note that Taylor Lockwood had written to him, the note about going to confront a killer. He folded it into a tight square, stepped forward and stuffed it into her breast pocket.
    She whispered, nodding at it, “I wrote my own suicide note, didn’t I? I kill Donald and then myself. Oh, my God …”
    “It’s your fault,” he muttered. “You should’ve just moved on, Taylor. You should’ve let Clayton stay in hell and let the rest of us get on with our business.”
    “My fault?” She leaned forward. “What the hell happened to you? Has it all caught up? Finally? Pushing, pushing,pushing … years and years of it. Win the case, win the goddamn case—that’s all you see, all you care about! You don’t know what justice is anymore. You’ve turned it inside out.”
    “Don’t lecture me,” he said wearily.