Tina said, “I gave the papers for his other cases to Chris.”

Palmieri had evidently been Pearsall's lieutenant on other cases, not just Vaxtek. The young partner had been in the workroom talking with one of the paralegals when Tina and Seeley came through, and he seemed annoyed at the interruption when Tina stopped to introduce Seeley.

“What about his correspondence file?”

“I have it, but it's only letters.”

“Briefs?”

“Mr. Pearsall didn't write them. Usually one of the associates did, or sometimes Chris. Mr. Pearsall marked them up, crossed things out and wrote comments on them. Sometimes he rewrote them. But someone in the pool typed them.”

“Was anything else removed from his office?”

“I filled some boxes with personal things-you know, diplomas, family pictures.” She remembered something and gave Seeley a small, tentative smile. “There were the steno pads he used to draw in. Sometimes, late in the afternoon, I'd come in and he'd be looking out the window with a stenographer's pad open, drawing.”

Boats on the bay, Seeley imagined.

“I put them in the boxes along with the other stuff and had them delivered to Mrs. Pearsall.”

Papers and belongings dispersed, Seeley thought, how long would it take Pearsall's partners to forget him completely? He was thinking about his own former partners in New York, some of whom, he was sure, were still working hard to forget him.

“Could you leave me her telephone number and address? And tell Chris I'd like to see him.”

“She'll appreciate that,”Tina said.

“What's that?”

“Mrs. Pearsall. Your visiting her. Paying your respects.”

After Tina left, Seeley continued working down the list of witnesses, preparing for each a brief summary of his or her testimony, the first draft of his order of proof.

Other than the travel-poster view, the conference room was virtually identical to the dozens in which Seeley had spent a good part of his professional life, plotting strategy with his trial team, taking or defending depositions, negotiating settlements.