The only good Lawyer

was covering the switchboard here that day. The voice mail was down again, so I wrote out Ms. Barber’s message, leaving the pink copy for Ms. Ling in her slot.” Burbage motioned to the plastic holder on the reception desk. “When Ms. Ling came out from her office to go to a closing, she picked it up. After reading the message, however, she scribbled a note on it, saying I should give it to Mr. Gant personally.”
    Now I pointed to the message holder. “As opposed to just leaving that pink copy in his own slot.”
    “Exactly. But I thought Ms. Ling just meant he needed to see it quickly.”
    “Not that no one else was to see it at all.”
    Another nod. “So, when I was relieved by a temp here at the board, I carried Ms. Barber’s message back to my desk in order to give it to Mr. Gant as soon as I saw him.”
    “Only Frank Neely came out of his office first.”
    “Yes. He was asking me about a file, and I had what he wanted on the floor beside my desk. When I looked back up, Mr. Neely had the pink copy in his hand, glaring at it like he was going to tear it up. Then he set the message very carefully on my desk, and asked me to have Mr. Gant see him as soon as he got back.” Burbage grew quieter. “I could tell Mr. Neely was seething, so I made a photocopy of the message, in case he wanted one later for some reason. But I couldn’t see why Mr. Neely was so upset. I mean, I didn’t recognize the name ‘Barber,’ but he obviously did.”
    “No, he didn’t.”
    Burbage shook her head. “What?”
    “Your boss didn’t recognize the name.” I pointed to the line underneath on the photocopy, the one that read 513-1944. “He recognized the number.”
    “I’m afraid you’re right, John,” said Frank Neely’s voice, the business end of his Colt forty-five preceding the sleeve of a chamois shirt and the leg of some khaki slacks around the corner of the corridor.

    After frisking me for a weapon I wasn’t carrying, he marched us very slowly toward his office, Burbage in front, me in the middle, him bringing up the rear. Once inside, Neely waved his secretary toward the interior door.
    “Open it, Imogene, and climb the stairs. One at a time.”
    When she was three deliberate steps up, at the first curve of the spiral case, Neely said, “Stop,” and then, “Now you, John.”
    Reaching the base of the stairs, I paused until he told both of us to start moving again. Burbage climbed stiffly in front of me, her hand shaking the metal bannister every time I touched the railing. Neely came on but kept at least one turn of the staircase between us at all times, giving me no chance to do anything while preserving a nearly clear field of fire for his gun. Something about the spiral nature of the climb made things harder on my ribs, and I was breaking a sweat by the time we reached the top.
    “Step out into the garden,” said Neely.
    Burbage and I did. As the staircase door closed behind us, I looked over my shoulder, Neely using a key from his ring to lock up.
    He said, “The contractor who did the renovations for me planned to put only a dead bolt on here, but I wanted a little more security.” Neely made a ritual out of returning the ring to his pants pocket. “Glad now that I did. Okay, follow the path.”
    Burbage and I moved through the foliage to the marble cocktail table and wrought-iron chairs. When we turned around, my right hand inadvertently brushed the left side of her skirt at the waist. She surprised me by reaching for and holding that hand, her elbow digging into my rib cage just enough to make me flinch.
    Neely noticed it. “I heard you got a little banged up dealing with that loan shark and his pal. Broken rib along with the eye?”
    “I’ll live.”
    Neely just smiled with a sense of something approaching accomplishment.
    I said, “Uta Radachowski told me you weren’t in your office.”
    “She was right. I’d come upstairs to do a little gardening, so I changed clothes.” With his free hand, Neely tapped the chamois shirt and khaki slacks. “Then I remembered a phone call I hadn’t returned, so I went back down to look for the message on my desk. I’d just found the number when I heard your voice, John, talking to Imogene in the reception area.”
    “About a number you didn’t need to find.”
    Neely smiled, but this time without the air of accomplishment. “You picked up on it, too.”
    Burbage said, “Picked up on what?”
    I glanced at her. “Woodrow Gant and