The Partner (Page 63)

Sandy held a legal pad with his notes neatly arranged, his case organized for a dozen pages or so. He could’ve been in front of a jury. He sent greetings from his client, Patrick Lanigan, and said the burns were healing nicely. Then he recapped the charges pending against Patrick; capital murder levied by the state; theft, wire fraud, and flight charged by the United States. Capital murder could mean death. The others could tally up to thirty years.

"The federal charges are serious," he said gravely. "But they pale in comparison to capital murder. Frankly, and with all due respect, we’d like to get rid of the feds so we can concentrate on the murder charges."

"Do you have a plan to get rid of us?" Jaynes asked.

"We have an offer."

"Does it include the money?"

"It does indeed."

"We have no claim to the money. It wasn’t stolen from the federal government."

"That’s where you’re wrong."

Sprawling was itching to say something. "Do you really think you can buy your way out of this?" It was more of a challenge. His gruff voice was flat, his words efficient.

The jury was barking back at him, but Sandy was determined to follow his script. "Just wait," he said. "If you’ll allow me to present my case, then we’ll discuss the options. Now, I’m assuming that we’re all familiar with Mr. Aricia’s 1991 claim against his former employer under the False Claims Act. It was prepared and filed by the Bogan firm here in Biloxi, a firm which, at that time, included a new partner by the name of Patrick Lanigan. The claim was fraudulent. My client found out about it, and then learned that the firm planned to kick him out after the claim was approved by Justice but before the money arrived. Over the course of many months, my client covertly gathered evidence which proves, clearly and convincingly, that Mr. Aricia and his lawyers conspired to screw the government out of ninety million dollars. The evidence is in the form of documents and taped conversations."

"Where is this evidence?" asked Jaynes.

"It’s under the control of my client."

"We can get it, you know. We can get a search warrant and take the evidence anytime we want."

"And what if my client doesn’t honor your search warrant? What if he destroys the evidence, or simply hides it again? What will you do then? Lock him up? Indict him for something else? Frankly, he’s not afraid of you and your search warrants."

"And what about you?" asked Jaynes. "If it’s in your possession, we can get a search warrant for you."

"I won’t produce. Anything my client gives me is privileged and confidential, you know that. It’s called attorney’s work product. Don’t forget that Mr. Aricia has sued my client. All documents in my possession are privileged. I will not, under any circumstances, hand over the documents until my client tells me to."

"What if we get a court order?" asked Sprawling.

"I’ll ignore it, then I’ll appeal it. You can’t win on this one, gentlemen." And with that they seemed to accept their defeat. No one was surprised.

"How many people were involved?" asked Jaynes.

"The four partners at the firm and Mr. Aricia."

There was a heavy pause as they waited for Sandy to announce the name of the Senator, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked at his notes and continued. "The deal is quite simple. We’ll hand over the documents and tapes. Patrick will return the money, all of it. In exchange, the federal charges are dropped so we can concentrate on the state’s. The IRS agrees to leave him alone. His Brazilian attorney, Eva Miranda, is released immediately." He clicked off these terms flu-idly because they had been well rehearsed, and his jury absorbed every word. Sprawling took careful notes. Jaynes looked at the floor, neither smiling nor frowning. The rest were noncommittal, but each had many questions.

"And it has to be done today," Sandy added. "There is a sense of urgency."

"Why?" asked Jaynes.

"Because she’s locked up. Because you’re all here, and you have the authority to make the decision. Because my client has set a deadline of 5 P.M. today to strike the deal, or he’ll just keep the money, destroy the evidence, serve his time, and hope one day he gets out."

With Patrick, they doubted nothing. He had thus far managed to spend his incarceration in a rather cushy private room with a staff at his beck and call.

"Let’s talk about the Senator," Sprawling said.

"Great idea," Sandy said. He opened a door to the parlor and said something to a paralegal. A table with speakers and tape deck was rolled into the center of the room, and Sandy closed the door again. He looked at his notes, said, "The date was January 14, 1992, about three weeks before Patrick disappeared. The conversation took place in the law firm, on the first floor, in a room known as the Closet, sort of an all-purpose room sometimes used for very small meetings. The first voice you’ll hear is that of Charlie Bo-gan, then Benny Aricia, then Doug Vitrano. Aricia had arrived at the firm unannounced, and, as you’ll see, was not in a good mood."

Sandy stepped to the table and examined the various buttons. The tape deck was new and had two expensive speakers wired to it. They watched him carefully, most of them pushing forward just a little.

Sandy said, "Again, Bogan first, then Aricia, then

Vitrano." He pushed a button. There was a ten-second gap of complete silence, then voices came sharply from the speakers. Edgy voices.

BOGAN: We agreed on a fee of one third, that’s our standard fee. You signed the contract. You’ve known for a year and a half that our fee was a third.

AEICIA: You don’t deserve thirty million dollars.

VITRANO: And you don’t deserve sixty.

ARICIA: I want to know how the money will be split.

BOGAN: Two thirds, one third. Sixty, thirty.

ARICIA: No, no. The thirty million that comes in here. Who gets how much?

VITRANO: That’s none of your business.

ARICIA: The hell it’s not. It’s money I’m paying as a fee. I’m entitled to know who gets how much.

BOGAN: No you’re not.

ARICIA: How much does the Senator get?

BOGAN: None of your business.

ARICIA: (Shouting) It is my business. This guy’s spent the last year in Washington twisting arms, leaning on people at Navy and the Pentagon and Justice. Hell, he’s spent more time working on my file than he has working for his constituents.

VITRANO: Don’t yell, okay, Benny.

ARICIA: I want to know how much the slimy little crook’s getting. I have a right to know how much you’re shoveling under the table, because it’s my money.

VITRANO: It’s all under the table, Benny.

ARICIA: How much?

BOGAN: He’ll be taken care of, Benny, okay. Why are you so hung up on this? This is nothing new.

VITRANO: I think you picked this firm specifically because of our connections in Washington.

ARICIA: Five million, ten million? How expensive is he?

BOGAN: You’ll never know.

ARICIA: The hell I won’t. I’ll call the sonofabitch up and ask him myself.

BOGAN: Go ahead.

VITRANO: What’s with you, Benny? You’re about to get sixty million bucks, and now you’re getting greedy.

ARICIA: Don’t preach to me, especially about greed. When I came here you guys were working for two hundred bucks an hour. Now look at you, trying to justify a fee of thirty million bucks. Already redoing your offices. Already ordering new cars. Next it’ll be boats and airplanes and all the other toys of the seriously rich. And all with my money.

BOGAN: Your money? Aren’t we missing something here, Benny? Help me out. Your claim was as bogus as a three-dollar bill.