Face Value by Michael A. Kahn Page A

folks get that baby out to the legal press— Above The Law , The Wall Street Journal Law Blog , The American Lawyer . Grab ourselves some national coverage with this bad boy. Unbelievable.”
    I forced a smile. “Nice.”
    I had to wonder about the actual recruiting value of the video. Especially if Sari’s death remained a suicide. What kind of message did that send? “Warner & Olsen—A Law Firm To Die For.” Or maybe “Warner & Olsen—Til Death Do Us Part”?
    In as deferential a voice as I could muster, I asked, “What do you recommend we do next, Dick?”
    Neeler leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. “Your timing is perfect. Better than perfect. The executive committee meets the day after tomorrow.”
    He leaned back and pointed his thumbs at this chest. “Yours truly is on the agenda. I’m scheduled to make a presentation on next year’s recruiting strategies. You’ve given me the featured item. I’ll work up a budget, present it at the meeting, and by next week I’m hoping we’ll have this sexy baby green-lighted. Oh, yeah.” He leaned forward, eyes wide. “Lights, camera, action, dawg!”

Chapter Eleven
    â€œDawg?” Benny said.
    I shrugged.
    â€œA total fucking douchebag,” he said.
    â€œBut he’s our douchebag,” I said. “If he can sell this project to the higher-ups, that’s a big step forward.”
    â€œBut just one step.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œStill, the guy is a piece of work. And the name? Dick Neeler? Are you kidding me? Dick, meet my friend Jack Meoff. Are you any relation to Pat Maweiny?”
    We entered the garage from the walkway—the same one Sari entered on her last night, the same one for which Tommy Flynn had generated the data for that night. This was mid-afternoon, though, and you didn’t need a cardkey to enter.
    At the garage exit down below, I handed the ticket to the attendant, who confirmed that it had been stamped by Warner & Olsen and raised the gate.
    â€œSo, Rabbi Gold, what’s next?”
    â€œLet’s first see if Neeler can deliver. Then we can figure out the best way to proceed.”
    Neither Sari’s father nor the dean of the law school knew the other reason behind the tribute video. As far as either man knew, the sole goal was to create a mini-documentary celebrating Sari’s life and featuring interviews with friends, family, and colleagues. What they didn’t know was that those colleagues would include the four lawyers from the firm who had entered the garage from the walkway after nine p.m. that night. Nor did they know that another goal of the tribute video was to capture those four lawyers on video answering certain specific questions prepared by Stanley Plotkin.
    â€œSo where do you stand?” Benny asked. “Are you a true believer?”
    â€œI’m still an agnostic. I’m looking for closure more than anything else.”
    â€œEven if it turns out to be exactly what the cops concluded?”
    â€œIf the doubts are resolved, I’m okay. I like the idea of getting those four lawyers on video for Stanley to study.”
    I shrugged. “But if at the end of the process, at the conclusion of whatever might qualify as our investigation, I’ll be happy if all we have is a beautiful tribute to Sari for her family and friends.”
    â€œYour video idea is brilliant,” Benny said. “To quote that douchebag, ‘better than perfect,’ dawg. But I’m hoping for your sake the result confirms suicide. You start turning up some suspicious shit, girl, and you could find yourself in some deep shit.”
    â€œTo quote you: ‘one step at a time.’”
    I turned onto the Forest Park Expressway.
    â€œSpeaking of pieces of work,” Benny said, “your buddy Stanley Plotkin is one helluva piece of work.”
    â€œTrue.”
    I smiled at the memory of