Page 8 of Under the Radar
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Mo exhaled a noisy sigh and crossed her arms. Three hours had passed. She was still sitting in the worn-out conference room at the West Baltimore precinct. Where was Bennett?
At least the cops were friendly and had offered her a soda. Officer Winters stopped by with a turkey sub that he’d picked up for her when he took his dinner break. He’d explained that the narcotics division was in charge of her case now and handed her his business card in case she ever needed to contact him. They shook hands, and he left to finish his shift.
At last, the door to the conference room opened. Mo’s lawyer strutted in wearing a tailored-for-him Giorgio Armani suit, sporting a two-hundred-dollar haircut, carrying a Pineider attaché, and wearing expensive cologne. Jason Hadley, Esquire, lead counsel for Reardon Industries. He looked like the cover model for a magazine named Smug.
Mo rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. Where in freaking hell was Bennett?
Hadley leaned against the doorjamb of the conference room and nailed her with a holier-than-thou, raised-eyebrow stare. “I was golfing with Bennett when Becky called. I told him I wanted to take care of your situation personally. I hope you don’t mind.”
The man was a snake. “And if I do mind?”
“Then, you can stay here overnight.” He shrugged. “I told you a while back, if you continued to work as a social worker in this section of town, some kind of trouble would eventually find you.” He dropped his briefcase on the table and eyed the metal chair with disgust. “Your father will be none-too-pleased to hear about this latest development in your life.” He brushed a crumb off the chair and sat down.
Mo leveled a narrow-eyed stare in his direction. “Thank you, Jason. A little concern and compassion would be appropriate right now, but I understand you lack those qualities.” She slid a check with a lot of zeros across the table. “My father is not to know about any of this. I am retaining you as my personal counsel forthwith, and I expect you to produce a non-disclosure agreement from that lovely briefcase before I say anything to you. I’m sure you understand the attorney-client privilege.” She folded her hands on top of the table and waited.
Hadley glanced at her and tapped a finger on the check. “I can’t accept this, Maureen. It’s a conflict of interest. Your father would be very upset if I withheld information from him, especially concerning your antics this evening.” He passed the check back to her.
Dealing with Jason was eerily similar to playing chess, and it was her move. “But are you willing to suffer my father’s ire when he finds out you weren’t willing to help me when I needed help?”
Check. Mate.
A millisecond of consternation crossed his face before he opened the briefcase and yanked out a file folder with the document she’d requested. He handed her the papers and a Mont Blanc pen. Mo bit the inside of her bottom lip to avoid breaking into a grin and slid the check close to him once more. He neatly placed it into a small leather billfold, reached for the papers she’d just signed, and began sliding them into a file.
“Nuh-uh-uh,” Mo warned, wagging her finger. “You need to sign the non-disclosure too. And, I’d like you to go out there and have a copy made for my files.”
Jason’s glare would’ve zapped a lesser person to dust as he signed the papers. “We can have the copy made at a later time, Maureen.” He glanced at his watch. “The evening is flying by. Let’s get the interview done before it’s too late, shall we?”
She leaned back in her squeaky chair and crossed her legs. “Let me make my position crystal clear, counsellor. No copy—no talkie.” She took a sip of her soda. “I’m sure your flavor-of-the-month is waiting for you at a fancy club, hoping you’ll return to her sooner rather than later.”
Hadley closed his eyes and loosened his tie. It took ten seconds, but he shoved his chair back and left to obtain the copy she requested.
Mo perused the blank walls in the conference room as she waited for him. Five minutes ticked by, then another ten. What is he doing out there? She flung open the door and peered into the hallway. Hadley was leaning against the wall, and by the looks of it, sweet talking a female officer.
Heated fury flooded Mo’s face. She grabbed her head and yelled, “Do you even care how much fun I’m not having in here? If it’s convenient for you, could we possibly start this interview soon? And I’d like a cup of coffee if it isn’t too much trouble.” She let the door drift shut, but on second thought, turned and opened it again. Hadley was gone.
“Excuse me, officer?”
The female cop turned around. “Are you speaking to me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mo took one step into the hallway and motioned for the woman to come a little closer and whispered loudly, “Run. Real fast. Don’t give him your phone number. You’ll thank me someday.” Mo gave the woman a thumbs up and retreated into the conference room.
Hadley entered the room a few minutes later with two detectives in tow, the copies Mo had requested, and a cup of coffee.
* * *
Sergeant Brewster, joined by a Detective Jones, motioned for everyone to take their seats at the conference table. The sound of their metal chairs scraping against the cement floor gave Mo the shivers. She rubbed her arms to warm them while Brewster recorded her name, the date, her address, her position at Baltimore City schools, and other basic details.
Brewster stuck a piece of gum in his mouth and braced his elbows on the table. “Where were you today between the hours of 8:00 am and 4:00 pm, Miss Reardon?”
She clasped her hands on the table in front of her. “I was working in my office at school, signing-off on required legal forms to close out my work for the school year.”
“Can anyone verify you were there?”
Mo thought for a minute. “Well, most everyone, except the school secretary, left after the kids were dismissed at noon. I was very intent on completing paperwork because I planned on being out of town for the next six weeks. The secretary greeted me when I arrived at school, and the one time I took a break to grab an iced tea, I didn’t see her at her desk.”
Brewster took a slug of his coffee. “So, no one can verify that you were in your office the whole time?”