“Meet me at the office at four o’clock. The company jet is already en route to bring you back. Get your associates here however you need to. But not on the plane.”
“May I ask the nature of the matter?”
“Retribution.”
4:46P.M.
JON LISTENED INTENTLY ASLEE EXPLAINED WHAT HAPPENED WITHthe lawyer, S. Lou Greene. They were sitting in the boardroom on the thirtieth floor of the Blue Tower. He’d been driven straight here from the airport after landing in Atlanta.
“That pompous bastard actually thinks he can blackmail me,” Lee said. “What do you know about him?”
He shrugged. “Greedy. Arrogant. Cocky. But successful. He’s been doing workers’ comp claims for years. Has a reputation as one of the best in the state. He came to Concord nine years ago. He’s the most difficult of all the workers’ compensation lawyers that industrial relations deals with. Steadfastly refuses to compromise for anything less than what he demands. He backs that up by a close relationship with the local administrative law judge. They play golf and tennis together. We learned that Greene’s paid for several stays at a Jamaican resort for the old man. That’s certainly an ethical violation and would make for excellent extortion. I’ve kept a file updated in case the board’s patience ran out.”
“What about personal stuff?”
“He’s nicknamed Cue Stick by the lawyers in the area. For obvious reasons. Drinks a six-pack a day of imported beer. Thinks of himself as a gourmet. Doesn’t bat an eye at spending $500 on dinner. He’s forty-one. Married. But that doesn’t stop him from keeping a girlfriend on the side. There are three little Greenes. A boy and two girls. They live on twenty acres in northwest ChathamCounty. His wife’s a registered nurse, but doesn’t work much anymore. She mainly oversees the maid and gardener and keeps Greene happy.”
“How do you remember all that?”
“I prepared the file myself.”
Lee shook his head. “Bozin has placed us in a totally untenable position.”
“But I’d bet Mr. Bozin didn’t figure on Greene’s involvement.”
“I agree. This is, what did you say? Cue Stick’s doing. Unknown to Reed or Walker too. Has there been any contact between Greene and Walker?”
“Yesterday, Walker went to Greene’s office. My man reported that Walker left the mill around 1:30 and casually made his way there. He carried files and left word that he was going to try and settle some claims.”
“That’s obviously where Greene found out what he did. Otherwise, we’d have heard from him earlier. What about Reed?”
“I had to pull my man off Reed to stay with Bozin’s body. As you recall, I’m shorthanded with only two associates. I tracked Reed myself till noon. My associate was not able to return and pick him back up till late afternoon. By then he was home. There was a three-hour stretch I couldn’t monitor.”
“So he could have been at Greene’s office too?”
“Possible. He hangs out there quite a bit.”
“Obviously there’s been communication among all three. Greene knew all about Bozin. He even played a damn recording, which was news to me.”
“Greene’s most likely acting alone. He sees an opportunity and is trying to make the best of it apart from Walker and Reed.”
“How fortunate for us,” Lee said. “We need to take advantage of this opportunity, Jon. I want Greene dead. Tonight. Something out of the ordinary. More public. I want to send a message that our two friends in Concord will understand. Can you do that?”
“Greene said he was staying at the Regency Arms?”
Lee nodded.
“Afterward, what are my instructions?”
“Return to Concord and get ready for Reed and Walker. I’m not sure exactly what our course of action will be as yet. Needless to say, we certainly need to retrieve Bozin’s confession and that tape before we tie up the loose ends. A memorial service is planned for Bozin in Concord on Monday. Mr. Hughes and I have to attend. If we don’t have all the originals by then, I’m going to talk with Walker myself and up the ante.”
He checked his watch. 4:57P.M.“My associates are due here by 6:00. Greene will be processed by 8:00 and we’ll be back in Concord by midnight.”
“Excellent,” Lee said.
7:03P.M.
JON STARED OUT THE WINDSHIELD AND THOUGHT ABOUTBURTWyler. The man owned three auto transmission stores spaced triangularly around I-285, the eight-laned perimeter interstate encircling metropolitan Atlanta. In the beginning, when there was only one store, Wyler had managed it himself, spending most of each day working under cars. But now he employed a manager at each location and spent the majority of his time commuting among the three stores. It was a prosperous business, one that made him a solid six-figure income, and he was already telling people store number four was in the works.
