The Lincoln Lawyer

by Michael Connelly

  I leaned back against the pickup and folded my arms.

  “So did those two cops ask where you were on that Saturday?”

  It hit Valenzuela like a punch.

  “What did you say, Mick?”

  My eyes lowered to the plasma TV box and then back up to his.

  “Somehow, some way, he killed Raul, Val. Now my ass is on the line and I want to know how he did it.”

  “Mick, listen to me, he’s clear. I’m telling you, that bracelet didn’t come off his ankle. The machine doesn’t lie.”

  “Yeah, I know, the machine doesn’t lie . . .”

  After a moment he got it.

  “What are you saying, Mick?”

  He stepped in front of me, his body posture stiffening aggressively. I stopped leaning on the truck and dropped my hands to my sides.

  “I’m asking, Val. Where were you on that Tuesday morning?”

  “You son of a bitch, how could you ask me that?”

  He had moved into a fight stance. I was momentarily taken off guard as I thought about him calling me what I had called Roulet earlier in the day.

  Valenzuela suddenly lunged at me and shoved me hard against his truck. I shoved him back harder and he went backwards into the TV box. It tipped over and hit the floor with a loud, heavy whump and then he came down on it in a seated position. There was a sharp snap sound from inside the box.

  “Oh, fuck!” he cried. “Oh, fuck! You broke the screen!”

  “You pushed me, Val. I pushed back.”

  “Oh, fuck!”

  He scrambled to the side of the box and tried to lift it back up but it was too heavy and unwieldy. I walked over to the other side and helped him right it. As the box came upright we heard small bits of material inside it slide down. It sounded like glass.

  “Motherfuck!” Valenzuela yelled.

  The door leading into the house opened and his wife, Maria, looked out.

  “Hi, Mickey. Val, what is all the noise?”

  “Just go inside,” her husband ordered.

  “Well, what is —”

  “Shut the fuck up and go inside!”

  She paused for a moment, staring at us, then closed the door. I heard her lock it. It looked like Valenzuela was sleeping with the broken TV tonight. I looked back at him. His mouth was spread in shock.

  “That was eight thousand dollars,” he whispered.

  “They make TVs that cost eight thousand dollars?”

  I was shocked. What was the world coming to?

  “That was with a discount.”

  “Val, where’d you get the money for an eight-thousand-dollar TV?”

  He looked at me and the fire came back.

  “Where the fuck do you think? Business, man. Thanks to Roulet I’m having a hell of a year. But goddamn, Mick, I didn’t cut him loose from the bracelet so he could go out and kill Raul. I knew Raul just as long as you did. I did not do that. I did not put the bracelet on and wear it while he went to kill Raul. And I did not go and kill Raul for him for a fucking TV. If you can’t believe that, then just get the hell out of here and out of my life!”

  He said it all with the desperate intensity of a wounded animal. A flash thought of Jesus Menendez came to my mind. I had failed to see the innocence in his pleas. I didn’t want that to ever happen again.

  “Okay, Val,” I said.

  I walked over to the house door and pushed the button that raised the garage door. When I turned back I saw he had taken a box cutter from the tool bench and was cutting the tape on the top of the TV box. It looked like he was trying to confirm what we already knew about the plasma. I walked past him and out of the garage.

  “I’ll split it with you, Val,” I said. “I’ll have Lorna send you a check in the morning.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll tell them it was delivered this way.”

  I got to my car door and looked back at him.

  “Then give me a call when they arrest you for fraud. After you bail yourself out.”

  I got in the Lincoln and backed out of the driveway. When I glanced back into the garage, I saw Valenzuela had stopped cutting open the box and was just standing there looking at me.

  Traffic going back into the city was light and I made good time. I was just coming in through the front door when the house phone started to ring. I grabbed it in the kitchen, thinking maybe it was Valenzuela calling to tell me he was taking his business to another defense pro. At the moment I didn’t care.

  Instead, it was Maggie McPherson.

  “Everything all right?” I asked. She usually didn’t call so late.

  “Fine.”

  “Where’s Hayley?”

  “Asleep. I didn’t want to call until she went down.”

  “What’s up?”

  “There was a strange rumor about you floating around the office today.”

  “You mean the one about me being Raul Levin’s murderer?”

  “Haller, is this serious?”

  The kitchen was too small for a table and chairs. I couldn’t go far with the phone cord tether so I hoisted myself up onto the counter. Through the window over the sink I could see the lights of downtown twinkling in the distance and a glow on the horizon that I knew came from Dodger Stadium.

  “I would say, yes, the situation is serious. I am being set up to take the fall for Raul’s murder.”

  “Oh my God, Michael, how is this possible?”

  “A lot of different ingredients—evil client, cop with a grudge, stupid lawyer, add sugar and spice and everything nice.”

  “Is it Roulet? Is he the one?”

  “I can’t talk about my clients with you, Mags.”

  “Well, what are you planning to do?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered. I’ll be okay.”

  “What about Hayley?”

  I knew what she was saying. She was warning me to keep it away from Hayley. Don’t let her go to school and hear kids talking about her father the murder suspect with a face and name splashed across the news.

  “Hayley will be fine. She’ll never know. Nobody will ever know if I play this thing right.”

  She didn’t say anything and there was nothing else I could do to reassure her. I changed the subject. I tried to sound confident, even cheerful.

  “How did your boy Minton look after court today?”

  She didn’t answer at first, probably reluctant to change the subject.

  “I don’t know. He looked fine. But Smithson sent an observer up because it’s his first solo.”

  I nodded. I was counting on Smithson, who ran the DA’s Van Nuys branch, having sent somebody to keep a watch on Minton.

  “Any feedback?”

  “No, not yet. Nothing that I heard. Look, Haller, I am really worried about this. The rumor was that you were served a search warrant in the courthouse. Is that true?”

  “Yeah, but don’t worry about it. I’m telling you, I have things under control. It will all come out okay. I promise.”

  I knew I had not quelled her fears. She was thinking about our daughter and the possible scandal. She was probably also thinking a little bit about herself and what having an ex-husband disbarred or accused of murder would do to her chances of advancement.

  “Besides, if it all goes to shit, you’re still going to be my first customer, right?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The Lincoln Lawyer Limousine Service. You’re in, right?”

  “Haller, it doesn’t sound like this is a time to be making jokes.”

  “It’s no joke, Maggie. I’ve been thinking about quitting. Even before all of this bullshit came up. It’s like I told you that night, I can’t do this anymore.”

  There was a long silence before she responded.

  “Whatever you want to do is going to be fine by me and Hayley.”

  I nodded.

  “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”

  She sighed into the phone.

  “I don’t
know how you do it, Haller.”

  “Do what?”

  “You’re a sleazy defense lawyer with two ex-wives and an eight-year-old daughter. And we all still love you.”

  Now I was silent. Despite everything I smiled.

  “Thank you, Maggie McFierce,” I finally said. “Good night.”

  And I hung up the phone.

  Tuesday, May 24

  THIRTY-THREE

  T he second day of trial began with a forthwith to the judge’s chambers for Minton and me. Judge Fullbright wanted only to speak to me but the rules of trial made it improper for her to meet privately with me about any matter and exclude the prosecution. Her chambers were spacious, with a desk and separate seating area surrounded by three walls of shelves containing law books. She told us to sit in the seats in front of her desk.

  “Mr. Minton,” she began, “I can’t tell you not to listen but I’m going to have a conversation with Mr. Haller that I don’t expect you to join or interrupt. It doesn’t concern you or, as far as I know, the Roulet case.”

  Minton, taken by surprise, didn’t quite know how to react other than to drop his jaw a couple inches and let light into his mouth. The judge turned in her desk chair toward me and clasped her hands together on the desk.

  “Mr. Haller, is there anything you need to bring up with me? Keeping in mind that you are sitting next to a prosecutor.”

  “No, Judge, everything’s fine. Sorry if you were bothered yesterday.”

  I did my best to put a rueful smile on my face, as if to show the search warrant had been nothing more than an embarrassing inconvenience.

  “It is hardly a bother, Mr. Haller. We’ve invested a lot of time on this case. The jury, the prosecution, all of us. I am hoping that it is not going to be for naught. I don’t want to do this again. My calendar is already overflowing.”

  “Excuse me, Judge Fullbright,” Minton said. “Could I just ask what —”

  “No, you may not,” she said, cutting him off. “What we are talking about does not concern the trial other than the timing of it. If Mr. Haller is assuring me that we don’t have a problem, then I will take him at his word. You need no further explanation than that.”

  She looked pointedly at me.

  “Do I have your word on this, Mr. Haller?”

  I hesitated before nodding. What she was telling me was that there would be hell to pay if I broke my word and the Glendale investigation caused a disruption or mistrial in the Roulet case.

  “You’ve got my word,” I said.

  She immediately stood up and turned toward the hat rack in the corner. Her black robe hung there on a hanger.

  “Okay, then, gentlemen, let’s get to it. We’ve got a jury waiting.”

  Minton and I left the chambers and entered the courtroom through the clerk’s station. Roulet was seated in the defendant’s chair and waiting.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Minton whispered to me.

  He was playing dumb. He had to have heard the same rumors my ex-wife had picked up in the halls of the DA’s office.

  “Nothing, Ted. Just some bullshit involving another case of mine. You going to wrap it up today?”

  “Depends on you. The longer you take, the longer I take cleaning up the bullshit you sling.”

  “Bullshit, huh? You’re bleeding to death and don’t even know it.”

  He smiled confidently at me.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Call it death by a thousand razor blades, Ted. One doesn’t do it. They all do it. Welcome to felony practice.”

  I separated from him and went to the defense table. As soon as I sat down, Roulet was in my ear.

  “What was that about with the judge?” he whispered.

  “Nothing. She was just warning me about how I handle the victim on cross.”

  “Who, the woman? She actually called her a victim?”

  “Louis, first of all, keep your voice down. And second, she is the victim in this thing. You may have that rare ability to convince yourself of almost anything, but we still—no, make that I—still need to convince the jury.”

  He took the rebuke like I was blowing bubbles in his face and moved on.

  “Well, what did she say?”

  “She said she isn’t going to allow me a lot of freedom in cross-examination. She reminded me that Regina Campo is a victim.”

  “I’m counting on you to rip her to shreds, to borrow a quote from you on the day we met.”

  “Yeah, well, things are a lot different than on the day we met, aren’t they? And your little scheme with my gun is about to blow up in my face. And I’m telling you right now, I’m not going down for it. If I have to drive people to the airport the rest of my life, I will do that and do it gladly if it’s my only way out from this. You understand, Louis?”

  “I understand, Mick,” he said glibly. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You’re a smart man.”

  I turned and looked at him. Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything further. The bailiff called the court to order and Judge Fullbright took the bench.

  Minton’s first witness of the day was LAPD Detective Martin Booker. He was a solid witness for the prosecution. A rock. His answers were clear and concise and given without hesitation. Booker introduced the key piece of evidence, the knife with my client’s initials on it, and under Minton’s questioning he took the jury through his entire investigation of the attack on Regina Campo.

  He testified that on the night of March 6 he had been working night duty out of Valley Bureau in Van Nuys. He was called to Regina Campo’s apartment by the West Valley Division watch commander, who believed, after being briefed by his patrol officers, that the attack on Campo merited immediate attention from an investigator. Booker explained that the six detective bureaus in the Valley were only staffed during daytime hours. He said the night-duty detective was a quick-response position and often assigned cases of a pressing nature.

  “What made this case of pressing nature, Detective?” Minton asked.

  “The injuries to the victim, the arrest of a suspect and the belief that a greater crime had probably been averted,” Booker answered.

  “That greater crime being what?”

  “Murder. It sounded like the guy was planning to kill her.”

  I could have objected but I planned to exploit the exchange on cross-examination, so I let it go.

  Minton walked Booker through the investigative steps he took at the crime scene and later while interviewing Campo as she was being treated at a hospital.

  “Before you got to the hospital you had been briefed by Officers Maxwell and Santos on what the victim had reported had happened, correct?”

  “Yes, they gave me an overview.”

  “Did they tell you that the victim was engaged in selling sex to men for a living?”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “When did you find that out?”

  “Well, I was getting a pretty good sense of it when I was in her apartment and I saw some of the property she had there.”

  “What property?”

  “Things I would describe as sex aids, and in one of the bedrooms, there was a closet that only had negligees and clothing of a sexually provocative nature in it. There was also a television in that room and a collection of pornographic tapes in the drawers beneath it. I had been told that she did not have a roommate but it looked to me like both bedrooms were in active use. I started to think that one room was hers, like it was the one she slept in when she was alone, and the other was for her professional activities.”

  “A trick pad?”

  “You could call it that.”

  “Did it change your opinion of her as a victim of this attack?”

  “No, it didn’t.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because anybody can be a victim. Prostitute or pope, doesn’t matter. A victim is a victim.”

  Spoken just as rehearsed, I thought. Minton made a check mark on his pad and moved
on.

  “Now, when you got to the hospital, did you ask the victim about your theory in regard to her bedrooms and what she did for a living?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “She flat out said she was a working girl. She didn’t try to hide it.”

  “Did anything she said to you differ from the accounts of the attack you had already gathered at the crime scene?”

  “No, not at all. She told me she opened the door to the defendant and he immediately punched her in the face and drove her backwards into the apartment. He assaulted her further and produced a knife. He told her he was going to rape her and then kill her.”

  Minton continued to probe the investigation in more detail and to the point of boring the jury. When I was not writing down questions to ask Booker during cross, I watched the jurors and saw their attention lag under the weight of so much information.

  Finally, after ninety minutes of direct examination it was my turn with the police detective. My goal was to get in and get out. While Minton performed the whole case autopsy, I only wanted to go in and scrape cartilage out of the knees.

  “Detective Booker, did Regina Campo explain why she lied to the police?”

  “She didn’t lie to me.”

  “Maybe not to you but she told the first officers on the scene, Maxwell and Santos, that she did not know why the suspect had come to her apartment, didn’t she?”

  “I wasn’t present when they spoke to her so I can’t testify to that. I do know that she was scared, that she had just been beaten and threatened with rape and death at the time of the first interview.”

  “So you are saying that under those circumstances it is acceptable to lie to the police.”

  “No, I did not say that.”

  I checked my notes and moved on. I wasn’t going for a linear continuum of questions. I was potshotting, trying to keep him off balance.

  “Did you catalog the clothing you found in the bedroom you said Ms. Campo used for her prostitution business?”

  “No, I did not. It was just an observation I made. It was not important to the case.”

  “Would any of the outfits you saw in the closet have been appropriate to sadomasochistic sexual activities?”