Pride Comes Before... Who: Roman/NPC Doherty (Written By Jess) What: Informal Questioning Where: Las Vegas, Law Office When: Present Ratings/Warnings: Mention of death
When Doherty pulled up to the tower of glass and steel that was home to Porter and Skye, a construction company was changing the sign on the building’s edifice. They must have found a replacement for Schram, he thought, handing the keys to his Kia Forte over to the valet. He held up his ticket. “I can get this validated, right?” The attendant shrugged his jacketed shoulders and slid behind the wheel, immediately adjusting the seat which made the cop sigh in annoyance. He had it just right, and he would have to fix it again.
He entered the building, taking note of marble floors, the gilded elevator that swept him up to the law firm’s dedicated floor. Doherty rolled his eyes, allowing his frustration and dislike of Roman Skye to percolate on the condition that once the elevator doors parted, he would push it all aside and act like a professional. He already had a game plan in mind.
“I’m here for a meeting with Roman Skye,” he told the sleekly dressed woman at the receptionist’s desk. He displayed his badge. “Officer Robert Doherty.” He could hear murmurs and curious looks thrown his way by employees within earshot.
”Mr. Skye, there’s an Officer Doherty here to see you.”
Roman frowned at the intercom. A hefty sigh; he had a few more important things to do that did not include entertaining a member of law enforcement outside of the courtroom. But then he had suspected they would come nosing around eventually. “Of course, please let him in.”
”Yes, Mister Skye.”
The posh, pristine leather chair squeaked a bit as the lawyer rose. Polished Italian shoes barely made a sound. Fingers glided along the sharp edge of the solid wooden desk.
A few steps to the doorway and Roman eased the heavy paneled door open. About eye level was the glimmering plaque that announced to which person this office belonged, who’s den one may be creeping into at their own risk. But Officer Doherty would be met with his most confident and promising smile.
“Ah, Officer Doherty, what a pleasure. Come inside, make yourself comfortable.”
The lawyer was taller than him, impeccably dressed. His demeanor and appearance were carefully curated. Doherty had looked into Roman Skye’s background as deep as he could. The man was wealthy enough to never work, if he so chose. There must have been something about law that attracted him, besides the fact that his mother was a well-known litigator. Maybe it was the authority. Maybe he liked to argue.
“I’m sure the pleasure is all mine,” Doherty stated, giving the man an ‘aw shucks’ smile. Once inside the office, he let out a low whistle. “Nice place you’ve got here,” he said. “You’ve got your name on several places, Mr. Skye. Must feel good.”
A wave of a hand dismissively. Roman motioned to one of the chic, empty chairs perched before the desk. “I do what I can,” the lawyer replied easily. “Public servant and all, you understand don’t you?” He didn’t bring up the income bracket difference.
Around the desk, Roman eased into the chair and leaned backward a touch to keep things casual.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Surely you have better things to do than waste your time on me.”
Doherty smiled blandly. “Oh, sure. We’re two peas in a pod.” He sat down slowly in one of the chairs. “Nice,” he commented. “Corbusier? I had a shrink that had one of them.” His smile widened. “Makes me want to tell you all of my secrets.” He barked out a laugh, fiddled with some of the classy knick-knacks on Roman’s desk. Made sure to leave a smudge or two.
“This is just a formality,” Doherty assured the lawyer, mirroring the dismissive hand wave. “There are some questions the bureaucrats wanted me to ask you.” He rolled his eyes congenially.
An eyebrow arch but he played along, nodding, “Of course, of course! Those bureaucrats, always throwing their weight around, hm? Putting all of their needs on the honest, hard working people like you. Let me indulge you a bit then, and get you back to solving the problems of the people.”
Roman sat up a bit straighter as if to offer Dogherty his undivided attention.
Whatever the two-bit buddy cop had in mind he was curious to uncover.
Rob tried not to laugh as Roman put on his attentive student routine. “Yeah, I knew you’d get it.” He leaned back in the chair, the leather molding itself around his form. He resisted the urge to prop his feet up on the other man’s desk.
“You didn’t notice that you had possession of Caleb Henry’s phone for over twenty-four hours. Is that correct?” He pulled out a small, yellow legal pad, flipping through some of the pages and making a show of nodding to himself.
“Would you like it?” Roman inquired. “It ended up in my pocket even though he nor myself ever put it there. You’ll fingerprint it, of course, and you’ll also find my prints on it as anyone who picks something out of their pocket would transfer.”
All of this was calm and collected. A key would be produced, Roman stood from the chair and wandered over to a framed piece of art. A shift to the side and a small safe would be revealed.
A few button presses and a key twist later and the bagged mobile lay on the desk in front of Doherty. “Please, I insist that you have it.” Roman sat down, gently, patient. “Honestly I figured I would’ve seen you sooner for this if it was so important.”
Doherty raised an eyebrow. He still had the phone? He made a mental note to chew out whatever rookie had handled evidence collection. “Well, I did want a massage chair for my birthday, but this is just as good,” he joked. “And next time you have a piece of evidence in your possession, we wouldn’t entirely hate it if you turned it over voluntarily.” That statement was followed up with a smile.
“From what I understand, Henry was a highly religious type. He and his family kept mostly to themselves. Can you tell me what you were assisting him with? Even vaguely, so we have some idea.” He leaned forward, the leather creaking quietly beneath him. “Honestly, we don’t want to have to subpoena you.”
“Of course, let me clear my schedule for you next time,” Roman replied, his smile widening a touch.
Roman also leaned forward, as if he were about to divulge a large secret. “Considering that Mr. Henry has become recently dearly departed, I must say that lessens the constraints of attorney/client privilege, wouldn’t you think?” An eyebrow lifted. “He came to us at the firm for assistance in settling a few things with family — you are aware he has a sister, yes? Of course you do, silly me. You’re the police. I’m sure you have all of your ducks in a row by now.”
He leaned backward in his seat, that winning smile still offered. “Surely you didn’t come all the way over here to look at my agenda for the day, Officer. You could track his whereabouts well enough with your ample resources. Or are we calling this meeting a hunch?”
Cutting to the chase seemed worth the time aptly billed to the Las Vegas Police Department.
“I have to say, I’m impressed with how much you care about our time and budget, Mr. Skye,” Doherty replied, his patience worn down to a thin veneer, but he held onto it, anyway. “Perhaps you should look into donating. We can name a cell after you.” He threw that smile right back.
“I was just curious about your thought process. I know you were one of the first people notified about Henry’s death, yet you still chose to hang onto his phone. And witnesses described a tense meeting between you, Henry, and the sister at a local hotel. Add to that the curious circumstances around John Schram’s death at this very office, and well…” Doherty swept his hands apart. “It looks odd to a outside observer.”
Roman laughed a bit. “Who do you think holds that precinct up, Officer? The taxpayers?” A snort. He waved a hand.
His shoulders relaxed a bit. Hands spread open, “I have seen a lot of officers in my time, Doherty,” Roman began. “I know from experience that outside observation like yours without much more than circumstances tend to turn good officers into babbling idiots. Putting on blinders is not a good look for someone like you. You’re newer here, aren’t you? I can see it, don’t tell me.”
“If you have evidence that I had anything to do with either circumstance then please, entertain me. Let’s hear it. If not, then I suggest you find where you parked your vehicle. Next time I see your chief out on the golf course I’m going to ask him about you,” Roman mused, pointing a finger at Doherty. “I like you. You have spirit. Don't lose that.”
“I get it. Time is money.” Doherty picked up a crystal paperweight. Waterford. It was delicate yet weighty. “If we quantified it, what would our little meeting be worth? Half a pair of bespoke cufflinks? What about murder for hire? Life in prison would be worth a new yacht, or maybe a private jet.” He set the expensive piece of decor down.
“I don’t think you had anything to do with Henry’s death, honestly. But John Schram’s? It doesn’t look great. You had him scrambling on his knees in public, cleaning up after your mess.” Doherty stood up from the designer chair. “And don’t bother looking for my chief on the links. Billiards is more his game.”
Roman only smiled. “If you have evidence or anything substantial at all, Officer, let’s see it, otherwise there’s the door. I had nothing to do with my colleagues' demise and what we did in our casual time is between us.”
He also stood, casually, “Please, let me see you to the door at least.”
Not waiting for an answer, Roman wandered around the desk and eased open the door to the office, waiting for Doherty to leave.
“Why don’t you go be a hero on someone else’s time, hm? Save the world, something like that. Vegas is not a nice place you know, it needs more than speculation.”
“I’m sure you care very deeply about saving the world, what with all your charity galas and other self-congratulatory photo ops,” Doherty replied as he slid past the smug lawyer. “Not to mention the fact that your generational wealth comes from oil. You’re a regular Clarence Darrow.” He resisted the urge, however strong that it was, to lash out at Roman. Everything needed to be above board.
“Here’s hoping no more of your clients or partners die.” With that, he exited the posh, stifling office.
Did the newest partner count in those descriptions considering she was, in fact, close to the living dead. The less Doherty knew the easier things would be. He wasn’t rattled; it took more than a bit of speculation from someone like Doherty to shake him.
The door would close firmly behind the officer once the man was out, and the room itself fell into a serene silence.
Once more in his chair, Roman settled, pulled a folder close to himself and got back to work. Time was money, after all.