I've been away, enjoying the heck out of myself! But now I'm back, and back to work! And so is John, back in his office, where there's been a little surprise...

Chapter 7

Back at the office, October, election year, 21^st Century

The door should not have been unlocked.  John opened the door to his office carefully.  He looked around.  Keeping close to the door, he peered in, feeling his pulse throb in his throat.  He saw no one.  But what he did see was an unholy mess.

There were papers everywhere, and the drawers had been left overturned on the floor.  His computer was on, the screen saver fish swimming placidly back and forth, showing that less than twenty minutes had elapsed since someone had been on the machine.  But the computer was still there, and so was his silver whiskey flask from his brother’s wedding, and the pictures of the two kids, and the statue of Justicia, blind and holding the balance.

Nothing seemed to be missing.  He gazed at the room, rooted to the spot for a moment.  Then he bent to pick up some of the papers, and stopped.  He probably shouldn’t touch anything, in case the police could find prints.  But could there be fingerprints on a piece of paper?  He doubted it, but in an abundance of caution, he squelched his instinct to put everything back where it belonged.  Finally, he took out his cell phone and called the cops. 

They weren’t long in coming, there not being a lot of crime in Sanville beyond the weekly bank robberies in town.  Two uniformed officers arrived, looking solemn, prepared to serve the community.  The older of the two took out a notepad, and turned to John.  “So, the door was unlocked when you got back?”

John recapped the story.  He had been gone for almost two hours, at a hearing, and when he had returned, not only was the door unlocked but this was the mess he had found.  Nothing seemed missing, but he had not yet gone through the papers.

“Any dangerous clients, or angry ones?”

John started to say no, but stopped.  The cop looked up at him from his form, pen poised above the sheet.  John felt himself blush, and cursed his fair skin, but his mind had flashed on the strange tale of Vanessa, and her heated cleavage.  The policeman waited with professional patience.  “I don’t know,” John finally said, and sat down heavily in one of the chairs. 

The cop was silent.  John loosened his tie, and stared at the floor.  “I had a rather odd client come in today, someone new.  I don’t know if this has anything to do with this break in, in fact I can’t see how it would, but I did have a most unusual encounter.”

“What’s the name and address of the client?”

John paused.  “I think that would be confidential.  Especially in her case.”  Again, he felt himself burn with embarrassment at his own thoughts, and knew the cop was thinking all the wrong things.  Or the right things, for all the wrong reasons.  Either way, John was mortified. 

“Well, sir, why don’t you just take a good look through your papers and such, and if you find anything missing, let us know, okay?”  In this small, wealthy community, the citizens ruled.  Unless the cops had good reason to act otherwise, like the time that lady killed her husband out by their pool house and put his body in the recycling bin for Monday morning pickup, they left the extent of law enforcement more or less up to the residents.

Once the officers of the law were gone, John quickly picked up all the papers.  He had made a single page of notes from his interview of Vanessa, and sure enough, that notepad was gone.  He felt a little sick.  She had told him so little, and she had been so afraid. The break-in was obviously connected with her. 

He reached for the phone, to call the police back, ready to tell them all, but stopped.  What could he tell them?  That her boss wanted her to have a baby with him?  That she was afraid he would rape her to have his way?  That if she didn’t conceive, he would, what?  She had not specified what the consequences of that would be.  John scratched his head.  None of this made sense.  Why would Mike want a baby?  And why would he want one with Vanessa?  If she didn’t want a baby, she could use the pill.  If she didn’t want to have sex with Mike, she could leave the casino. 

Her plea to him had, in retrospect, been so vague, so odd.  She had begged him to protect her, to hide her.  When he had suggested a restraining order, she had been horrified.  Go to court?  Tell the world about her plight?  Never! 

He had asked her to come back around four, when he would be back from court, and it was a little after four now.  He would put it straight to her.  He could help legally, with a restraining order, or send her to a shelter for battered women, but beyond that, she needed to go to the police.  He looked around his invaded office.  And he would have to get to the bottom of this break-in.  Vanessa would know who would want to know that she had talked to him.  If it was Mike, then he would have to have a stern talk with his old client.  Breaking into lawyers’ offices was illegal.  And if Vanessa’s story wasn’t fleshed out a little more, if she was lying, John would let the police know as much as he could without violating the attorney-client privilege, and be done with her.  The one thing John could not stand was a liar.

Once he made his resolve, John felt better.  He poured himself a little scotch from the flask, got a couple of ice cubes from the mini-fridge, and swirled them around.  Even if Vanessa came in when he was having a drink, it could be explained.  His office had been burglarized.  Anyone would want a drink after that.

By four thirty, John decided that Vanessa had been out to scam him somehow, and was never coming back.  He pondered what to tell Mike, if anything, about the lying employee he had.  Ultimately, he would tell him nothing, he decided.  The privilege was stronger than the need to alert his client to the possibility of a scam.  He would simply tell Mike that he needed to be sure to vet his employees carefully, and to let John know if any of them seemed suspicious.

As a matter of fact, he thought, he should call Mike anyway, just to make sure everything was okay at the casino.  There had been a lot less work, lately, from all sources, and Mike, in particular.  The downturn in the economy was sure to be coming around, but this slow time was not fortuitous, given that Aelisse and he now had two kids in college.  It was a bad time for work to be slow.  A little client development would be a good thing.

John picked up the phone to dial, and heard the beep-beep of messages.  Damn.  For the first time in years, probably from all the excitement, he had not checked his phone.  Maybe Vanessa had called to tell him that she would be late, or canceling, or that somehow she had worked out the problem with Mike.  Then he remembered that he hadn’t because he had thought the cops would dust for prints.  Maybe he could call them back out to do so.  He picked up the phone with a Kleenex. 

The only message was from Aelisse.  She had a meeting with a client come up suddenly, for this evening at six, and dinner would be late.  Aelisse’s work as a loan broker sometimes required unusual hours.  With the real estate market not yet turned around she still had less work than usual, so though he disliked eating late, he couldn’t really complain this time.  He glanced at his watch.  That was fine.  He could wait a little longer in case Vanessa came back.

John placed a call to Mike at the casino, but rang into voicemail. Usually Mike was at his desk well into the evening.  He must have been in the men’s room, or in a meeting.  He was prompt in returning John’s calls, especially since unlike other lawyers Mike had had, John didn’t bill for calls unless they were over five minutes and substantive.  John hung up, and went back to straightening out his office.  Then he picked up the phone again, to check if anyone had left a message while he had been calling Mike.  Dismayed at the lack of beeping, he hung up again and went back to his clean-up. 

Close to six, still with no word from Vanessa, he poured himself another scotch.  Leaving the drink on his desk, he carefully locked his door, using the upper lock, as the lower one had been jimmied into uselessness, and went down the hall to the men’s room.  As he passed by the women’s room he noticed a scrap of black on the floor, wedged next to the door. 

He looked around carefully.  He didn’t want to be seen picking up items from the floor in front of the women’s bathroom.  There were very few women on the third floor, but it would be awkward if one of them came out of the rest room while he was crouched in front of the door.  Gingerly he untangled the snag on the cloth, and pulled forth a lacy, black thong.  He held it between thumb and forefinger, unsure of what to do with it.  It certainly could not belong to any of the three gals who worked on this floor.  It would fit over only half of any of their back-sides. 

The turning of a knob behind him startled him, and he shoved the bit of lace into his pocket.  Four doors down, at the end of the hall, a tall, stooped man emerged.  Another solo, Bill Ferry was an accountant who kept very, very regular hours.  It must be exactly six o’clock.  “Evening, Bill,” John said.

“Working hard, or hardly working?” Bill said, as he did every time he saw John.

John smiled tightly.  He should tell Bill about the break-in, tell him to make sure he locked his door.  But Bill was already turning towards the stairs.  He would tell him tomorrow.  Bill would be in at exactly nine thirty.  No need to rush.  And besides, John knew that the break-in had been personal.  Personal and professional.  Fingering the lingerie in his pocket, he felt a strange emotion rising in his chest as he made his way to the men’s room. John was getting angry.  Angry, and a little excited as well.