16. Anderson
16
ANDERSON
I didn’t tell June about Dad knowing yet. I could have told her we needed to go for a walk last night so we could talk, but fuck, she shouldn’t have to have this on her. She already takes on too much as it is—I cannot let her know Dad knows about Neil. It’ll stress her out even more to know I have to speak to the police.
So, I’ll keep it to myself.
Besides, Dad got me Otto Pym. With him in our corner, this is as good as over. I’ll let him handle things, and when it’s settled down, I’ll tell her all about it.
Still, I’m pissed that Dad knows anything about this. That means there’s a leak among me, June, and Moss, and I know for fucking certain it was not June, which means I cannot trust Moss as much as I thought I could. Admittedly, that stings. Maybe I am na?ve, but I didn’t doubt Moss before. He had my back. Or, so I thought.
On the drive to Otto’s, my mind races faster than my car. Even with Otto there, I’m not invincible. This could go sideways in a million different directions, and any of them could end up with me in the slammer. That’s why we have to meet up first, so we can discuss strategy.
Even innocent people need a strategy when speaking to the police. The job of the police is to make the public feel safer. Sometimes, that means catching the bad guy. Sometimes, that means finding someone to blame, no matter the cost. Innocent people go to prison all the time.
And since I’m not innocent, I need one hell of a strategy.
Otto’s office is nothing like what I expected. It’s a stump of a building near the outskirts of town. I double-checked the address, but I’ve got it right. The building looks more industrial than office. It’s small, white, and has just a few windows. Nothing high-end about it. This man bills millions of dollars annually. I cannot figure it out.
But I park in front and walk in to find myself in the petite lobby of his office. There’s an office manager at her sparse desk. There is not even a filing cabinet in sight. Just two chairs and her. “Mr. West?”
“Yes.”
She gestures to one of two doors in the place. “He’s expecting you.”
I walk in to find a grizzled veteran of the law world behind his desk. The legend, Otto Pym. Gray-haired and grumpy. His voice is gravel in a blender. “Sit. Close the door. Let’s talk.”
I follow his instructions and find his guest chairs are only slightly more comfortable than Dad’s. The office is white and brown, and none of it is designed to match. His desk looks like a discount number from a big box store. How is this Otto Pym?
“Elliot’s kid, right?”
I nod. “Otto Pym?” I just need to hear him say it because I’m skeptical.
“That’s me. I understand you’ve gotten yourself into some trouble.”
“Forgive me, but you have a reputation for handling some of the highest-profile cases in Boston and New York, and this is your office?”
He laughs, his belly bouncing beneath his shirt. He presses his intercom button. “Gladys, I owe you a steak dinner. You were right. This one is under five minutes.”
“Told you.”
“The hell?” I ask.
He releases the button. “You’re a West. Do you even know how to park your own car, or has a world of valet drivers made that impossible?”
“I’m not here to be belittled for my wealth. I’m here to?—"
“Save your ass. Yeah, I know.” He pulls an orange out of his drawer and starts peeling it. “And now, you’re wondering how I have my rep if this is how I work, right? I’ll tell you. It’s because I don’t take shit from no one. I require absolute transparency from my clients because that is how I save you. I don’t bullshit you. You don’t bullshit me. We bullshit anyone outside of us, and we do it together.”
That’s more like it. But still, this office? Those clothes? I know he makes more money than this. But that’s none of my business really. If he gets me out of trouble, what do I care what he does with his money?
“Alright then. How do we get started?”
“What happened with you and the dead guy?”
“How do I know there aren’t recording devices in?—"
“Get out.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Clearly, you don’t care about saving your own skin, and you don’t trust your father to provide the lawyer you need. So, we’re done here.” He eats a section of orange like he didn’t just fire a client. This is just a regular day for him.
“Do you handle all your clients like this?”
“You’re not my client. Your father is. Stop wasting my time. You talk, or you leave. But this doesn’t work if you don’t trust that I am the man of my reputation.”
“We fought. He died.”
“Details, sonny boy.”
I blow out an irritated breath. “He attacked the woman I love. I didn’t lay a hand on him until he put one on her.”
“So, let me fill in the blanks for you,” he says, devouring another section. “You saw the two of them on a date. You didn’t like it. You stalked them, saw him getting friendly, and you attacked him. That about sum it up?”
I slam my hands on the desk. “We’re done here.”
“Quite a temper on you, kid. Sit down.”
“Fuck you! I’m out!” I turn for the door.
“See, that’s the difference between me and the cops. When I question you like they probably will, you can leave. When it’s them, you can’t. So I suggest you get your pampered ass comfortable with being handled like an adult for once in your life.”
My jaw grits as the wheels turn in my head. I turn around and snarl, “That was a fucking test?”
“Yeah. You failed. Lucky for you, I grade on a curve.” He stands up, setting his orange down on a napkin. Instead of the trousers to match the top half of his suit, he’s in boxers from the waist down. “It’s not all sunshine and roses in a police station, Mr. West. They’re not gonna blow smoke up your skirt. It’ll be rude and brutal because they think you’re a murderer, and they wanna catch someone for that. Since you happen to actually be the guy who did the job, they’re gonna be extra rough on you because they don’t have any other leads, according to my sources.”
“You have sources in the BPD?”
He looks at me like I sprouted a fourth head. “In every department. This isn’t amateur hour.”
He’s annoyingly right about everything, and I’m not sure if I’m more bothered by that or by the fact that I feel like I’ve been verbally sparred into a corner. I take a breath to simmer down. “Fine. I apologize for being rude. If you’ll still have me as a client, I would be grateful for your help.”
His caterpillar brows shoot up his forehead. “All that West money bought you some nice manners. Sit. Catch.” He tosses me an orange. “They’re fresh from my sister’s grove in Florida. You’ll like it.”
What the hell? So, I peel my orange, too. “Okay. What do I do?”
“After you killed Neil?—"
“In self-defense.”
“What did you do then?”
I sigh, staring at my orange. “I called my father’s associate who helps with … other business. He has experience in what I needed, and he helped me get rid of the body.”
“Full service, that guy. Would this be Moss?”
I nearly drop the orange. “Yeah, how?—"
“We go back. So, you called Moss, and what happened?”
“He came, and after he rolled the body in a tarp and took it to his van, he had June spray the hallway down while we cleaned things up and put some potted plants around the area to cover up the damage. Then drove out to the docks and went to his boat. He weighted the body down, and we dumped it.”
He nods, chewing on his fruit and thinking. “Sounds like Moss’ work. Except this time, he fucked up somehow.”
“Maybe. Or maybe the body got tangled in a fishing net or something. I don’t know.”
“Alright, here’s what I’m going to do. I will reach out to the detectives on the case and ask for a meeting with them directly. We’ll feign cooperation. They love that. You will make a list of anyone who can corroborate your alibi?—"
“I don’t have one.”
“Get creative. Then?—"
“What about June? They’ve already tracked her down as a person of interest.”
He takes a breath, hesitating. That is never a good sign. “I am your lawyer. Not hers.”
“We keep her safe. This doesn’t work otherwise.”
“Your father paid for your freedom, Anderson. Only yours.”
Of course, he fucking did. But if given what she told the cops, and if I create a good enough alibi, then we’re both in the clear. I nod and bite into my orange. He was right about it. Best I’ve ever had. Hopefully, the same is true of him.
We wrap up the meeting, and as I leave the odd man’s office, I feel better and worse. Better because I have the best on my team. Worse because the legal shitstorm is only just beginning.