The only good Lawyer

cumulative. And the facts that ex-gang-member Trinh was tied to the decedent as prosecutor and to the decedent’s current law firm through you add up pretty persuasively.”
    “Mr. Cuddy, please? It would be crazy for Nugey to kill Woodrow like a gang execution just minutes after Woodrow left a building Nugey owns.”
    Trinh himself had made that argument to me. And it was a good one, unless Chan’s landlord really was nuts.
    An imploring look in her eyes. “At least think about it for a while before ruining me?”
    I was tempted to tell Deborah Ling that was exactly what she should have done when Nguyen Trinh first made his “off the books” suggestion, but I couldn’t see how it would do her any good now.

    Precisely creasing correspondence toward insertion into envelopes, Imogene Burbage looked up at me from behind her desk outside Frank Neely’s office. “You were talking to Ms. Radachowski for quite a while.”
    “Only part of the time since I left you. The rest was with Deborah Ling.”
    Burbage went back to her letters. “Well, I hope that you’ve now found out everything you need.”
    “Not quite.”
    When I didn’t continue, she looked back up at me, a sheaf of unfolded papers spread before her like a giant game of solitaire. “Meaning what?”
    “Meaning I still don’t know the name of the woman having dinner with Woodrow Gant the night he was killed.”
    “We already discussed that.”
    I took a chance. “It’s possible she was wearing sort of a disguise.”
    “Disguise?”
    “Big blond wig, sunglasses.”
    Burbage made no reply.
    I said, “Probably something that would be completely out of character for the woman, to throw people off on identifying her.”
    “Mr. Cuddy,” said Burbage very slowly, “I have no idea who your ‘mystery date’ could be.”
    Five seconds went by, neither of us looking away. | leaned forward just a little, placing my palms on her desktop. “Could she have been you?”
    Burbage obviously didn’t like me invading her space. “You’re being rude, as well as redundant. I’ve told you I wasn’t that woman.” Then a softening I didn’t expect. “From the way I behaved the last time you were here, I’m sure you can tell that I cared for Mr. Gant. Cared for him very much. But I didn’t go out with him socially.”
    “Never?”
    “Never. I don’t behave like that.”
    “Always in control, Ms. Burbage?”
    “Always,” said a deep voice behind me.
    I turned to see Frank Neely standing squarely. I hadn’t heard him approaching down the hall from the reception area.
    He said, “Weren’t we helpful enough yesterday?”
    “A few more things have come up.”
    Neely seemed to consider that. “Imogene, any fires that need putting out?”
    “They can wait till morning.”
    He turned back to me. “John, I just left a bar reception because it was boring me to tears. As long as you promise not to do the same, we can talk in my office.”

    “So, what are the ‘few more things’?”
    Neely was seated behind his desk, me in front of it-No offer of drinks or view from upstairs this visit.
    I said, “Let’s start with the public record part When Woodrow Gant was with the D.A.’s office, he prosecuted a young hood named Nguyen Trinh.”
    “Nguyen... Is that Vietnamese?”
    “Amerasian, but he spent his formative years over here, learning extortion and home invasion before turning to loan-sharking.”
    The rumbling sound from Neely’s chest. “Sounds like a prince. But Woodrow left that job over three years ago.”
    “Right. Only Trinh stayed interested in him.”
    Neely frowned with every feature on his face. “How do you mean?”
    “Trinh owns the building that houses Viet Mam.” A widening of the eyes. “The restaurant where Woodrow ate that night?”
    “Yes.”
    “Sweet Jesus.” Either Frank Neely was one hell of an actor, or the news really shocked him. Which probably meant he truly had no idea that Deborah Ling represented Trinh on the deal.
    Neely’s look became analytical. “So you think that this Nguyen Trinh set Woodrow up to be shot?”
    “I’m not sure of that part.”
    “What?”
    “It’s possible that Trinh killed Mr. Gant, or even had him killed. But I’ve met Trinh, and he doesn’t seem to me stupid enough to create a clear connection between a business he’s part of and a murder he committed or ordered.”
    Neely shook his head. “Then I don’t take your point.”
    “My point,” I explained for the second