38
GETTING A hug from Leah Roth in a public place made Duncan nervous. They were at the Algonquin Hotel’s bar, just a couple blocks from his office, and he was skittish about their being spotted by someone from the firm.
They hadn’t seen each other since Duncan had spent the night at Leah’s apartment. Duncan didn’t particularly want to see her now: he felt numb and worn and nowhere near up to dealing with her. It was almost like the flu, the way that grief left him not just exhausted but with a dull ache in his body.
Duncan had gotten back to town a few days ago. His aunt was handling things with his mother’s house, for which Duncan was grateful. He’d been in a hurry to get out of Michigan, had found his whole stay there almost unbearable.
A Catholic priest had done the funeral service, though Duncan was virtually certain his mother hadn’t set foot inside a church since taking him to his first Communion. Despite his mother having worked the same job her entire professional life, only a couple of her coworkers had shown up. Duncan had come with his father’s family, although he felt sure they all resented the imposition. His mother, who had spent her life trying to help the helpless, had fewer than twenty people at her funeral.
Duncan had spoken after the priest, his grief mixed with bitterness. It was a mixture that he still felt, and he was nursing it by interacting with as few people as possible.
But when Leah e-mailed suggesting a drink, Duncan had felt like he couldn’t really say no. Part of it was the lack of a line between business and personal between them. There was also the fact that Jeremy Roth’s deposition was fast approaching in the wrongful-death case, and based on their prep session the day before, Duncan had serious concerns about how Jeremy would fare.
“I’m just so sorry about your mom,” Leah said as they sat down at a small table. “I lost my mother when I was still in my teens. She’d been the family glue. I don’t think any of us realized the extent of that until she was gone. Are you okay?”
Duncan shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. It was so completely out of the blue that it’s still just sinking in.”
A waiter came over; they ordered drinks. Duncan felt like he needed one. “But you’re back to work already?” Leah said, after the waiter had left. “I’m sure Steven would’ve given you more time.”
“What would I do? It’s not going to help just sitting around my apartment feeling tragic. I’d rather keep busy.”
“Mourning is healthy, you know. It may not feel like it, but it is.”
“I’m mourning, don’t worry,” Duncan said. “I just don’t want to do it twenty-four/seven.”
“Work can be a consolation, or at least a distraction, sure.”
Duncan wanted to change the subject. “But I hear I’m not going to have the libel suit to occupy my time any longer,” he said, nodding thanks as the waiter placed a Manhattan before him.
“I tried to keep Dad from ever filing that damn case,” Leah said, surprising Duncan by how bitterly she said it. “All it did was make that awful reporter even more obsessed with going after us. And Dad made his point, I think, about people telling tales about our business to reporters.”
Duncan wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but decided not to ask. He picked up his drink but didn’t sip from it. “She confronted me, actually,” he said instead. “The reporter.”
Worry passed across Leah’s face. “Candace Snow did?”
“She came up to me out of the blue on the street a couple of weeks ago. She had some crazy conspiracy theory about the Nazario case.”
Duncan had thought this a minor anecdote, but he could tell Leah was taking it far more seriously. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“She was suspicious that I was defending Nazario when you guys were doing the Riis project. She seemed to think I was part of some cover-up.”
“Cover-up of what?”
Duncan was surprised by how agitated Leah seemed. “She basically just thought it was suspicious that I’d be representing somebody who was a Jacob Riis tenant, because you’re doing the mixed-income thing. I explained to her how it wasn’t a conflict; how you guys had nothing to do with the eviction.”
“I don’t want you to ever speak to her again,” Leah said sharply. “She’s on a vendetta against us, and as you said, she’s conspiracy-minded. She was doing a story on the murder?”
“I think I was able to talk her down. She wasn’t really interested in the murder itself, just on whether she could somehow loop you guys into it.”
Leah leaned back, clearly trying to calm herself down. “I don’t mean to be melodramatic, but she really is digging into every single thing we do and everybody who we do business with, looking for something she can try to turn into a scandal.”
“I don’t like talking to reporters anyway,” Duncan said. “Though it wouldn’t shock me if somebody from her paper is at the Nazario hearing next week.”
“What’s the hearing?”
“I’m challenging the gunshot residue evidence.”
Leah cocked her head. “You really have a basis?”
“My expert seems to think so. We just got the lab notes from the police expert, and they’ve got my guy jumping up and down.”
“What would it mean for the case if you won on the residue?”
“It certainly wouldn’t be game-over,” Duncan said. “But it’d be big.”
Leah smiled thinly, but something still seemed to be troubling her. “How did it go with my brother the other day?”
Duncan hesitated, knowing he was on thin ice.
“Be honest,” Leah said.
“How honest?” Duncan replied.
“That bad?”
“It was more that he wasn’t interested than anything else,” Duncan said, deciding that was as close to the truth as he was comfortable getting. “I’m sure he’ll be more focused at the actual depo.”
“We’ve made a settlement offer, you know. Not us, but Pellettieri has. But enough—I didn’t mean for us to be talking about any of this tonight. I meant to be talking about you.”
“It’s better for me to think about work, honestly.”
“Did you spend time with your father while you were back?”
Duncan nodded, thinking that this was an opportunity to clue Leah in on his father. It was past time for him to mention his racial background to Leah, but he found himself hesitating. Normally he assumed it wouldn’t faze people, at least not cosmopolitan New Yorkers. But in this instance he didn’t have that feeling, though he couldn’t put his finger on why not. It came out of her wealth somehow, the idea that he didn’t belong in her world.
Perhaps he was just being paranoid. Leah was Jewish; her grandfather had immigrated from Eastern Europe: she was far from a conventional blue blood. They’d never spoken of religion either; Duncan had no idea if it mattered to her that he wasn’t a Jew. Duncan had navigated these things in other relationships; it’d never been that big a deal, and he had no basis for assuming that it would be here. He was being unfair to Leah. The world had changed enough that he was probably the one guilty of sustaining old prejudices. And yet he didn’t say it.