Page 52 of The List
DAY NINETEEN
S . L OU G REENE NAVIGATED HIS CHERRY-RED J AGUAR THROUGH THE weekend traffic.
He flashed a left blinker, then turned off the busy boulevard into the subdivision.
His car was not out of place—Cadillacs, Lincolns, Mercedes, BMWs, and at least one Rolls-Royce adorned the drives in front of the mansions lining the curbed street.
The development carried the prestigious name of Peachtree Estates.
He assumed the applicable restrictive covenants mandated at least a two-acre-minimum lot size and ten thousand square feet under roof.
No guard gate protected the entrance, probably because the residents deemed it more economical to dedicate the streets to the city and let the taxpayers pay for upkeep, reserving their money for decorative fences, private security services, and guard dogs, as much status symbols as practical.
The houses varied from one to four stories in height.
Most were brick and stucco with columned facades and steep gabled roofs, yards meticulously planted with an assortment of trees, shrubs, ferns, and summer flowers.
Not a bare spot or weed in sight. He was accustomed to such luxury.
His own house was every bit as nice, the only difference being that his four thousand square feet with a pool did not sit on astronomically high-priced real estate in the hills of north Atlanta.
Surprisingly, he’d learned the address from the internet, which contained a listing for Lee, Hamilton J.
He found Peachtree Estates from Google maps.
The house he thought belonged to Lee dominated the far end of a cul-de-sac.
A rough granite wall surrounded it, broken only by two iron gates accommodating a semi-circular drive.
The architecture leaned toward Greek Revival—a full two stories with matching symmetrical wings, white brick, its front graced with a pedimented gable portico supported by fluted columns.
The gate was open so he drove in and parked next to a late-model silver Mercedes coupe.
He climbed out of the Jaguar and took a moment to admire the scene.
The drive was lined with trimmed shrubs and colorful flowers, the front yard a carpet of close-cut Bermuda grass.
He half expected to see flagsticks periodically since it reminded him of a practice putting green.
He shook his head and smiled. Hamilton Lee certainly knew how to live.
He’d dressed casually. Khaki shorts, a pullover polo shirt, and Top-Siders, no socks. Under the circumstances, he didn’t deem formalities necessary.
He climbed the portico and rang the bell.
A solemn-faced butler answered.
“Is this the residence of Hamilton Lee of Southern Republic Pulp and Paper?”
“It is.”
“My name is S. Lou Greene. I’m here to see Mr. Lee.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“No.”
“Then it would be out the question to disturb Mr. Lee on Saturday.”
He nonchalantly reached into his shorts pocket and removed the folded copy of the list. “Show him this. I believe he’ll see me.”
He tried not to smile.
The butler took the offering, but did not unfold the paper.
“I’ll be a moment.”
The door closed. Three minutes later it reopened.
“Mr. Lee will see you.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Greene muttered.
“Follow me, please.”
He was led through a marble foyer that carried the look and feel of a Roman temple. A wide carpeted hall stretched to the rear of the house, ending at a set of stained double doors. The butler opened them and invited him inside.
“Wait here, please.”
He stood alone in a library. Bookshelves lined two walls, mostly novels and nonfiction, though two shelves displayed an impressive collection of National Geographic s in leather binders.
Oil paintings in gilded frames dotted another wall, each tastefully illuminated by a tiny brass fixture.
In the center sat an ensemble of a leather sofa and three upholstered wingback chairs.
Sunlight poured through towering leaded-glass windows.
Framed photographs angled off a side table.
Lee obviously had two daughters, most of the pictures were of them and his grandchildren.
He was intently studying the faces when the doors suddenly opened.
The man who entered was in his fifties with brownish-gray hair, a matching mustache, and a rich tan. He too was dressed casually, in a pair of dark-blue trousers and a cream-colored Robert Graham shirt. He carried the copy of the list, unfolded, in his left hand.
“I received your message,” Lee said, closing the doors behind him.
“Lou Greene. I’m a lawyer from Savannah.”
He extended his hand to shake.
Lee did not return the gesture. “As I understand it, Mr. Greene, you derive the vast majority of your income from Concord, Springfield, Sylvania, and a number of other small towns. Not Savannah.”
“It’s just easier to say Savannah.”
“And perhaps more prestigious than, say, Rincon?”
“Perhaps.”
Lee held up the list. “Where did you get this?”
“Could we sit down?”
“If you like.”
He took a seat on the sofa, Lee across from him in one of the chairs.
“I’ll ask again. Where did you get this list?”
“A mutual friend gave it to me.”
“Who might that be?”
“Hank Reed.”
“And its significance?”
He chuckled. “You’re good.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, I understand you’re being cautious. Who could blame you? You don’t know me at all. You’re probably wondering if I’m wired or something.” He stood and rolled up his shirt. “See, no wires. If you want, I’ll be glad to drop my pants or you can just pat me down, whichever’ll make you happy.”
“That won’t be necessary. I get the point.”
He replaced his shirt and sat.
“Why are you here?” Lee asked.
“You have a serious problem that I can help with.”
“And what might that be?”
His tone hardened. Time to play the hole card. “The problem your dear departed ex-partner created with Brent Walker. So let’s cut through the crap, Hamilton. You don’t mind me calling you that, do you?”
Lee said nothing.
“Frankly, I don’t care whether you mind or not. I read that confession Bozin left Walker. Pretty revealing. You’re not a nice man. And by the way, it explains things clearly, including that list in your hand.”
“And how can you help?”
He got comfortable, spreading his arms across the back of the sofa. Now he was getting somewhere. “It’s lucky for you they came to me. So far, nobody knows anything but me, Reed, and Walker.”
“And you have what Bozin gave Walker?”
“Yep,” he lied.
“What is that?”
“A couple of handwritten notes, a flash drive, and a tape recording.”
“Tape recording?”
“You didn’t know about that? Seems Bozin taped a conversation among the three of you.
Happened Thursday, I believe, in your house at Hickory Row.
” He shook his head in mock disgust, then reached back and removed the recorder Brent Walker had surrendered to him from his pocket.
He pushed PLAY and allowed it to run a couple of minutes.
He’d already selected one of the more salacious points of the conversation.
He stopped it. “Really incriminating stuff. You should watch what you say.”
“What are you proposing?”
“A partnership.”
“Involving what?”
“Bozin left a list of some of your more recent Priorities. It really irritated the hell out of me that one of the guys you whacked was a client. That untimely death cost me $100,000 in hard-earned fees.”
“And what do you want? Payment?”
“I’m a reasonable guy, Hamilton. The way I look at it, the past is the past. What I care about is the future. Seems to me the two of us could work well together.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“To keep me from doing what I told Reed and Walker I would do.”
“Which is?”
“Go to the press and the appropriate prosecuting authorities with what I have.”
“And what’s to stop me from simply—” Lee paused. “Eliminating the problem?”
He smiled. “You don’t know what I’ve done or where I’ve put everything. And even if you did Prioritize me, you’d still have the problem of Reed and Walker. Dealing with me comes with the benefit that I’ll handle them for you.”
“And how will you do that?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll deal with them. And without all the risky killing you like to use. They won’t be a problem.”
“What if I don’t need your help?”
“I’m betting you can use all you can get.”
“Assuming for the sake of discussion that I may be interested in such an arrangement, what do you want in return?”
He grinned, pleased with the progress. “All I want are some generous settlements on the workers’ comp claims I’ll have against the company.
Your people have an irritating habit of fighting hard.
That’s fine as long as I’m assured you’ll settle in the end…
on my terms. And don’t worry, I’ll be fair with you.
I won’t take advantage. Just some reasonable dollars that not only fatten my pockets—”
“But help establish a reputation for you at the same time.”
“Exactly. While you continue with your Prioritizing. Which, by the way, will not include any of my claimants. Kill off the other comp lawyers’ cases, but leave my guys alone. Also, you’re right, I want the money Pabon’s death cost me… in cash.”
“You’ve obviously given things a great deal of thought.”
“I try to be thorough, Hamilton. Especially when it comes to my law practice.”
“I have to think about all this.”
“I understand. Really, I do.” He rose. “I’ll be in Atlanta till Tuesday. I’m staying at the Regency Arms, downtown. Take your time. But if I don’t hear from you by Tuesday noon, I’ll assume you’re ready to read all about yourself in the Atlanta Constitution on Wednesday.”
Lee stood. “I assure you, Mr. Greene, you’ll be hearing from me long before then.”
1:20 P.M.
L EE WAITED FORTY-FIVE MINUTES FOR D E F LORIO TO RETURN his call. He picked up the receiver in the library. “Jon, I want you and your associates back in Atlanta immediately.”
“Is there a problem?”
“We have a matter that needs immediate attention.”