Conduct in Question

Chapter 25

Cheney, Arpin was shell-shocked. Jonathan Conroy was bilious. Snatching a handful of antacids in his private washroom, he swallowed them down with a glass of water. All three morning papers were spread across his desk. Deirdre Jamieson and Linda Lee Hong had been strangled and stabbed with unimaginable brutality. Rumors were rampant that the murderer was connected to his firm. Was the mad artist, the Florist, in their midst? Jonathan Conroy, senior partner and Treasurer of the Law Society, had to chair the emergency meeting of the executive committee.

Such a catastrophe could poison the very lifeblood of the firm.

The two women were not much older than his daughter. For several months, Deirdre had worked with him on a number of real-estate deals—most recently, the Zaimir and Chin transactions. So pretty and capable. Now she was dead.

His hands shook as he gathered the newspapers and carried them into the small boardroom next to his office. Seated in the leather high-backed chair at the far end of the table, he waited for his partners.

Peter Niels entered first. White-faced and grim, he slammed his case onto the mahogany surface so hard that it skidded almost to the other side.

“This mess,” Niels began, gesturing in the direction of the newspapers, “could not have happened at a worse time.” As he helped himself to coffee, his cup rattled in its saucer. “Look at the papers, especially the Sun.” Niels pulled out a chair and set down his cup. Shaking his head, he continued, “You realize, Jonathan, they’re saying someone in the firm was involved.” Niels shook his head. “You have to squelch this shit right away, or else the firm will lose big time.”

Jonathan stared at Niels in profound shock. “Did you know the girls at all, Peter?”

Niels seemed surprised at the question. “No, can’t say I did. Why?”

“Peter, we usually display some sense of loss and sadness.”

Niels grimaced and waved Jonathan off. “Sure, sure. I know, but we can’t have the cops all over the firm.”

“We have to cooperate with the police investigation, Peter.” Jonathan said quietly. “I realize they might cause some inconvenience, but we have nothing to hide.”

Arnie Rosenberg marched in, followed by Bill Cawthorne. “Jesus, Jonathan!” Arnie was red-faced and breathing heavily. His glasses had slipped to the end of his nose. “The cops are going to be crawling all over us. We have to limit their investigation, or else the firm will be brought to a standstill.”

The corners of Conroy’s mouth tightened downward. “Your only concern is inconvenience, Arnie? What about these poor girls?”

Arnie waved him off. “Fine! Of course it’s awful, but I, for one, am not putting up with idiot cops asking all kinds of stupid questions. We have to set some rules.”

Cawthorne took a seat on the far side of the table and laced his fingers together. He was a quiet man, given to lengthy silences before expressing an opinion on so much as the weather.

Niels continued testily, “I’m only thinking of the firm’s reputation, Jonathan. We can’t afford to be associated with this kind of mess!” He looked about the room for support.

Conroy was shaken by his partners’ callous indifference. “Gentlemen.” Slowly he shifted his gaze from one man to the next. “The first order of procedure is to express formally our sincerest condolences to the families of these poor girls.”

Rosenberg shook his head impatiently. “Sure, sure, Jonathan. My secretary can organize all that kind of stuff. Send flowers from the firm for the funeral.” He leaned forward in his chair and jabbed his finger at Conroy. “But we’ve got to get in touch with whoever’s investigating and reach an understanding. The police can’t go rummaging through all the files and taking up time with questions.”