"I'll help in any way I can."
The roofs of buildings could be seen on the horizon. "Is that the front of the prison?" Adam asked.
"Yes."
"I'd like to leave now."
The Memphis office of Kravitz & Bane occupied two floors of a building called Brinkley Plaza, a 1920s edifice on the corner of Main and Monroe in downtown. Main Street was also known as the Mid-America Mall. Cars and trucks had been banished when the city attempted to revitalize its downtown and converted asphalt into tiles, fountains, and decorative trees. Only pedestrian traffic was permitted on the Mall.
The building itself had been revitalized and renewed tastefully. Its main lobby was marble and bronze. The K & B offices were large and richly decorated with antiques and oak-paneled walls and Persian rugs.
Adam was escorted by an attractive young secretary to the corner office of Baker Cooley, the managing partner. They introduced themselves, shook hands, and admired the secretary as she left the room and closed the door. Cooley leered a bit too long and seemed to hold his breath until the door was completely closed and the glimpse was over.
"Welcome south," Cooley said, finally exhaling and. sitting in his posh burgundy leather swivel
chair. .'
"Thanks. I guess you've talked to Garner Goodman."
"Yesterday. Twice. He gave me the score. We've got a nice little conference room at the end of this hall with a phone, computer, plenty of room. It's yours for the, uh, duration."
Adam nodded and glanced around the office. Cooley was in his early fifties, a neat man with an organized desk and a clean room. His words and hands were quick, and he bore the gray hair and dark circles of a frazzled accountant. "What kind of work goes on here?" Adam asked.
"Not much litigation, and certainly no criminal work," he answered quickly as if criminals were not allowed to set their dirty feet on the thick carpeting and fancy rugs of this establishment. Adam remembered Goodman's description of the Memphis branch - a boutique firm of twelve good lawyers whose acquisition years earlier by Kravitz & Bane was now a mystery. But the additional address looked nice on the letterhead.
"Mostly corporate stuff," Cooley continued. "We represent some old banks, and we do a lot of bond work for local governmental units."
Exhilarating work, Adam thought.
"The firm itself dates back a hundred and forty years, the oldest in Memphis, by the way. Been around since the Civil War. It split up and spun off a few times, then merged with the big boys in Chicago."
Cooley delivered this brief chronicle with pride, as if the pedigree had a damned thing to do with practicing law in 1990.
"How many lawyers?" Adam asked, trying to fill in the gaps of a conversation that had started slow and was going nowhere.
"A dozen. Eleven paralegals. Nine clerks. Seventeen secretaries. Miscellaneous support staff of ten. Not a bad operation for this part of the country. Nothing like Chicago, though."
You're right about that, Adam thought. "I'm looking forward to visiting here. I hope I won't be in the way."
"Not at all. I'm afraid we won't be much help, though. We're the corporate types, you know, office practitioners, lots of paperwork and all. I haven't seen a courtroom in twenty years."
"I'll be fine. Mr. Goodman and those guys up there will help me."
Cooley jumped to his feet and rubbed his hands as if he wasn't sure what else to do with them. "Well, uh, Darlene will be your secretary. She's actually in a pool, but I've sort of assigned her to you. She'll give you a key, give you the scoop on parking, security, phones, copiers, the works. All state of the art. Really good stuff. If you need a paralegal, just let me know. We'll steal one from one of the other guys, and - "
"No, that won't be necessary. Thanks."
"Well, then, let's go look at your office."
Adam followed Cooley down the quiet and empty hallway, and smiled to himself as he thought of the offices in Chicago. There the halls were always filled with harried lawyers and busy secretaries. Phones rang incessantly, and copiers and faxes and intercoms beeped and buzzed and gave the place the atmosphere of an arcade. It was a madhouse for ten hours a day. Solitude was found only in the alcoves of the libraries, or maybe in the corners of the building where the partners worked.
This place was as quiet as a funeral parlor. Cooley pushed open a door and flipped on a switch. "How's this?" he asked, waving his arm in a broad circle. The room was more than adequate, a long narrow office with a beautiful polished table in the center and five chairs on each side. At one end, a makeshift workplace with a phone, computer, and executive's chair had been arranged. Adam walked along the table, glancing at the bookshelves filled with neat but unused law books. He peeked through the curtains of the window. "Nice view," he said, looking three floors below at the pigeons and people on the Mall.
"Hope it's adequate," Cooley said.
"It's very nice. It'll work just fine. I'll keep to myself and stay out of your way."
"Nonsense. If you need anything, just give me a call." Cooley was walking slowly toward Adam. "There is one thing, though," he said with his eyebrows suddenly serious.
Adam faced him. "What is it?"
"Got a call a couple of hours ago from a reporter here in Memphis. Don't know the guy, but he said he's been following the Cayhall case for years. Wanted to know if our firm was still handling the case, you know. I suggested he contact the boys in Chicago. We, of course, have nothing to do with it." He pulled a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Adam. It had a name and a phone number.
"I'll take care of it," Adam said.
Cooley took a step closer and crossed his arms on his chest. "Look, Adam, we're not trial lawyers, you know. We do the corporate work. Money's great. We're very low key, and we avoid publicity, you know."
Adam nodded slowly but said nothing.
"We've never touched a criminal case, certainly nothing as huge as this."
"You don't want any of the dirt to rub off on you, right?"
"I didn't say that. Not at all. No. It's just that things are different down here. This is not Chicago. Our biggest clients happen to be some rather staid and proper old bankers, been with us for years, and, well, we're just concerned about our image. You know what I mean?"
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No.
"Sure you do. We don't deal with criminals, and, well, we're very sensitive about the image we project here in Memphis."
"You don't deal with criminals?"
"Never."
"But you represent big banks?"
"Come on, Adam. You know where I'm coming from. This area of our practice is changing rapidly. Deregulation, mergers, failures, a real dynamic sector of the law. Competition is fierce among the big law firms, and we don't want to lose clients. Hell, everybody wants banks."
"And you don't want your clients tainted by mine?"
"Look, Adam, you're from Chicago. Let's keep this matter where it belongs, okay? It's a Chicago case, handled by you guys up there. Memphis has nothing to do with it, okay?"
"This office is part of Kravitz & Bane."
"Yeah, and this office has nothing to gain by being connected to scum like Sam Cayhall."