Due Diligence by Michael A. Kahn Read Free Book Online Page A

remember. The names in the Labadie Gardens columns were not inconsistent with that location: Brown, Carter, Washington, Wells.
    I closed the Yellow Pages and stared down at the list. Wherever and whatever Beth Shalom and Labadie Gardens were, I was completely stymied. The same was true for the headings above each column—“P/S” and “P/A.” I couldn’t even begin to guess what they meant, although I noted that Beth Shalom and Labadie Gardens each had a “P/S” column and a “P/A” column, and all four columns had the same number of names: twelve.
    Twelve ?
    Mystified, I lifted the sheet of paper. It was heavy bond paper—an original document, not a photocopy.
    Twelve ?
    The number meant nothing to me. The headings above the columns—“P/S” and “P/A”—meant nothing to me. The names Beth Shalom and Labadie Gardens meant nothing to me.
    And yet this was the one document that Bruce Rosenthal had given to David Marcus. It obviously meant something to Bruce. Maybe David understood what it meant.
    And even if he didn’t, I admitted to myself, it was a good enough excuse to call him. I dialed his number at the synagogue and his secretary answered.
    â€œThis is Rachel, Liz. Is he in?”
    â€œHe hasn’t come in yet, Rachel. Should I have him call you?”
    â€œSure. When do you expect him?”
    â€œI don’t know. I didn’t see him yesterday and he hasn’t called here this morning.”
    â€œIs he at home?”
    â€œYou might try him there. I’m just not sure. He could be doing a hospital visitation. One of our members had a bypass at St. Luke’s last Friday, another one is getting chemotherapy at St. John’s, poor thing. He could be seeing one of them. Or he might be at St. Louis U’s library. He’s been doing a lot of research there for a paper he’s writing. When he calls in, I’ll give him your message.”
    I tried David’s home number and got his answering machine. I waited for the beep. “Hi, David. This is Rachel. I’m calling because I need the services of your impressive mental apparatus.” I lowered my voice. “Come to think of it, I could use the services of another impressive apparatus. So give me a call, you sexy rebbe.”
    As soon as I hung up, the phone started ringing. I answered hopefully, but it was only my opponent in a securities fraud case, calling to complain about my response to his interrogatories.
    â€œYou call those answers, Rachel? Hell, I could get more information out of the Iraqi secret police.”
    â€œWell, then, serve a set of interrogatories on them.”
    â€œCome on, Rachel. Quit jerking me around.”
    â€œWhat?” I said angrily, suddenly back full-throttle in the practice of my learned profession. “Me jerking you around? How ’bout a reality check here, Jerry?”

Chapter Four
    It was close to 9:00 p.m. and we were sitting in the car outside my sister’s house. I placed my hand on his shoulder. “You were wonderful tonight.”
    â€œYou sound surprised.”
    I shrugged. “To be honest, Benny, I had my concerns.” I turned to watch my niece, Jennifer, who had reached the front porch and was ringing the doorbell. We’d given her a ride home. “However,” I continued, “you were positively—well—”
    â€œJudicial?”
    â€œMore than just judicial.” I paused to wave good-bye to Jennifer as my sister opened the front door. I turned back to Benny and smiled. “Toward the end there I was ready to nominate you for the next opening on the Supremes.”
    Benny beamed.
    He had been wonderful, too.
    Thank God.
    I’d had doubts from the moment he volunteered during the Passover seder dinner last month. We were all at my sister Ann’s house: Richie and Ann, their two children, my mother, my Aunt Becky, Benny, and me. During dinner my niece Jennifer