The Pain Scale Read Free Page B

her we’d probably need to talk to her again. Gave her a business card in case she thought of anything in the meantime.
    We were back in the den before either of us said it out loud.
    I said, “Looks like the kids are dead...”
    “...because,” Jen continued, “they had a cold.”

    We had the run of the house for another half an hour. Then the weather changed and a cold front blew in. Brad’s lawyers showed up.
    The alpha had short, well-tended hair glistening with some sort of product and a gunmetal-gray suit that looked like it cost more than my car.
    Ruiz led him and a quarter dozen of his minions out onto the back patio, where Jen and I were tossing out some preliminary ideas. He introduced us as the leads on the investigation.
    “I’m Julian Campos,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m the Bentons’ attorney.” His handshake felt like he’d been working on it with a personal trainer. “These are my associates from Sternow and Byrne. We’re here to help in whatever way we can.”
    “Is Mr. Benton with you?” I asked.
    “Presently, he’s understandably distraught. He’s seeking assistance from the family’s physician.”
    “We’ll need to talk to him as soon as possible.”
    “Of course. In the meantime, is there any way we can be of assistance?” The pergola overhead cast zebra-striped shadows across him.
    “You can stay out of the way.”
    “Of course.”
    The gaggle of lawyers melted into the background. But as soon as Campos closed his mouth, they spread out through the house and started taking photos and writing down everything they saw.
    Jen and I split up and walked the house one more time to make sure we’d caught everything there was to catch. Although they were smart enough to stay away from the rooms in which the murders took place, it seemed like I couldn’t turn around without seeing another attorney.
    After we had covered the entire scene again, we met up with Ruiz in the foyer.
    “Well?” he said.
    “I think we’re covered,” I said. “But I don’t like all the lawyers.”
    “Why?” He looked at me. “You got something to hide?”

    While I’d been on leave, I’d read an article in
Los Angeles
magazine about a new trend among high-end Southern California legal practices that the author referred to as “megafirms.” These weretop-of-the-line, spare-no-expense organizations that had battled the economic downturn by offering their clients a full array of luxury legal services. They also provided private security, investigative services, and just about anything else imaginable within the realm of on-demand law and order.
    Sternow and Byrne was one of these firms. If you signed up with S&B, they’d not only handle all your business’s legal needs, but they’d also do a background check on your potential trophy wife, draft a bulletproof prenup, follow her when she started cheating on you, provide stellar representation during the divorce, and probably even offer up someone to intimidate her when she violated the restraining order. And they’d do your taxes. Not bad if you could afford it.
    We leaned against the hood of Jen’s 4Runner as I ran down what I remembered from the article. It seemed to ring a bell for her.
    “Sternow and Byrne,” she said. “They’re the ones who got all the press for buying that private military firm that was operating in Afghanistan, right?”
    “Yep. They reorganized it and turned it into their new security and investigation division.”
    “Nice. Benton’s lawyers have actual mercenaries on the payroll.”

    We left the scene and decided to rendezvous back at the squad. None of us had eaten, and by the time we got back it would be close to quitting time. Jen and I would be working through dinner. The overtime had already been approved. I volunteered to take a detour on the way back and stop by Enrique’s for takeout.
    “The usual?” I asked as she climbed into her 4Runner.
    “You still remember?”
    “I’m crushed you even