Mistress of Justice

loan. If they don’t, the bank could go under. And that results in a couple of problems: First, Amsterdam is Donald Burdick’s plum client. If the bank goes under he will not be a happy person, nor will the firm, because they pay us close to six million a year in fees. The other problem is that New Amsterdam happens to be a bank with a soul. They have the largest minority-business lending program in the country. Now, I’m not a flaming liberal, but you may have heard that one of my pet projects here—”
    “The criminal pro bono program.”
    “Right. And I’ve seen firsthand that the one thing that helps improve shitty neighborhoods is to keep businesses in them. So I have a philosophical stake in the outcome of this … situation.”
    “And what exactly
is
the situation, Mitchell?”
    “Earlier in the fall we filed suit against Hanover for the two hundred fifty million plus interest. Now if we can get a judgment fast we can levy against the assets of the companybefore the other creditors know what hit them. But if there’s a delay in enforcing that judgment the company’ll go into bankruptcy, the assets’ll disappear and New Amsterdam might just go into receivership.”
    Taylor tapped the pen on her knee. She didn’t mean to be projecting the impatience she felt though she knew maybe she was. “And the burglary part?”
    He replied, “I’m getting to that. To loan the money the bank made Hanover sign a promissory note—you know, a negotiable instrument that says Hanover promises to pay the money back. It’s like your savings bond.”
    Not like one of
mine
, Taylor reflected, considering what
theirs
was worth.
    “Now the trial was set for yesterday. I had the case all prepared. There was no way we’d lose.” Reece sighed. “Except … When you’re going to sue to recover money on a note you have to produce the note in court. On Saturday the bank couriered the note to me. I put it in the safe there.” He nodded at a big filing cabinet bolted to the floor. There were two heavy key locks on the front.
    Shocked, Taylor said,
“That’s
what was stolen? The note?”
    Reece said in a low voice, “Somebody took it right out of my fucking safe. Just walked right in and walked out with it.”
    “You need the original? Can’t you use a copy?”
    “We could still win the case but not having the note’ll delay the trial for months. I managed to finagle a postponement till next week but the judge won’t grant any more extensions.”
    She nodded at the file cabinet. “But when … how was it stolen?”
    “I was here until about three on Sunday morning. I went home to get some sleep and was back here by nine-thirty that morning. I almost thought of camping out.” He gestured toward a sleeping bag in the corner. “I should have.”
    “What’d the police say?”
    He laughed. “No, no. No police. Burdick’d find out that the note’s missing, the client too. The newspapers …” He held her eyes. “So I guess you know why I asked you here.”
    “You want me to find out who took it?”
    “Actually, I’d like you to find the note itself. I don’t really care who did it.”
    She laughed. The whole idea was ridiculous. “But why me?”
    “I can’t do it by myself.” Reece leaned back in his chair; the singing metal rang again. He looked at ease, as if she had already accepted his offer—a bit of haughtiness that irritated her some. “Whoever took it’ll know I can’t go to the cops and he’ll be anticipating me. I need somebody else to help me. I need you.”
    “I just—”
    “I know about your ski trip. I’m sorry. You’d have to postpone it.”
    Well, so much for the negotiations, Ms. Strickland.…
    “Mitchell, I don’t know. I’m flattered you called me but I don’t have a clue how to go about it.”
    “Well, let me just say one thing. We work with a lot of, you know, private eyes—”
    “Sam Spade, sure.”
    “Actually, no,
not
Sam Spade at all. This’s what I’m saying: The best detectives’re women. They listen better than men. They’re more empathic. They observe more carefully. You’re smart, popular at the firm and—if we can mix our gender metaphor for a minute—the grapevine here says you’ve got balls.”
    “Does it now?” Taylor asked, frowning and feeling immensely pleased.
    “And if you want another reason: I trust you.”
    Trust me? she wondered. He doesn’t even know me. He—But then she understood. She smiled. “And you know I