Higher Law Boxset, Volume 3

by Sheldon Siegel

  “Right.” The first thing that Rosie taught me when I was a baby P.D. was that high-minded concepts like justice and fair play are for law professors and post-trial beers. It was our job to defend our clients to the best of our ability within the rules of professional conduct. If the prosecutors, cops, and judges also did their part, the system—embodied in the form of jurors—would make the final call. More often than not, a semblance of imperfect justice would emerge. Moreover, as a practical matter, our clients judged us by our results. If we got them off, we were good. If we didn’t, we were bad.

  “Are you still planning to do a full prelim?” Rosie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Cable news has been replaying the video showing Lexy administering heroin to King. Judge Tsang is generally prosecution-friendly. Based on that alone, he won’t drop the charges.”

  “I want to see the D.A.’s evidence and get some insights into their trial strategy. We’ll challenge everything, but we won’t show our cards.” I turned to Nady. “Where are we on motions?”

  “Done. Judge Tsang already ruled that the D.A. can show the video that’s been on TV. I’ll file a motion to reconsider, but I don’t like our odds.”

  Neither do I. “Can you do it without working all weekend?”

  She smiled. “I think so.”

  Rosie spoke to her in a maternal voice. “You need to learn to pace yourself, Nady. Otherwise, you’ll end up looking like Mike.”

  “We’ve already had that conversation.”

  Terrence the Terminator appeared in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “No problem. What is it, T?”

  “Jerry Edwards left a message. The Chronicle’s finest has some information for you.”

  26

  “IT’S JUST A COINCIDENCE”

  Edwards answered on the first ring. “Good to hear from you again, Mr. Daley.”

  Right. “I understand you have some information for me.”

  “A confidential source told us that Ms. Low was involved in at least one other relationship through Mature Relations. Would you care to comment?”

  The back of my neck started to burn. Lexy had told us that King was her only patron. “I’ll need the name of your source.”

  “You know that I can’t reveal it.”

  “You have an obligation to provide relevant information on an ongoing criminal case.”

  “I will be publishing the name of your client’s lover tonight, but I won’t give you the name of my source.”

  “Withholding evidence is obstruction of justice. I can send you a subpoena.”

  “The Chronicle has lawyers, too. It’s a losing argument.”

  Yes, it is.

  Edwards kept talking. “Your client’s paramour is Paul Flynn. Seventy-two. Retired biochemist who was an early investor in Genentech and several other biotech firms. Divorced. Two grown children. No criminal record. Lived at Millennium Tower.”

  Nice digs. It was a high-rise across the street from the Salesforce Tower where the lower-priced units would set you back around two million dollars. Its residents included Joe Montana, several Giants, and multiple tech titans. The swanky building had gained national notoriety because the developer hadn’t drilled down and secured the foundation into bedrock. As a result, it had sunk a foot and a half and tilted fifteen inches toward Mission Street. The estimate to shore it up ran about a hundred million, and, not surprisingly, the residents were suing the contractor, the architects, the structural engineers, the City, and anybody else remotely connected to the fiasco. Every law firm in town was representing somebody involved in the endless litigation.

  Edwards cleared his throat. “Flynn was found dead in his condo on the twenty-fifth floor on November sixteenth of last year. He died of a heroin overdose.”

  “What makes you think my client had anything to do with it?”

  “She saw him that night.”

  Uh-oh. “How do you know?”

  “Texts from Flynn to Ms. Low and security videos from the lobby of Millennium Tower. No charges have been filed, but the investigation is still open.”

  “Who is handling the case for SFPD?”

  “Ken Lee.”

  * * *

  I looked across the table at Lexy. “Does the name Paul Flynn mean anything to you?”

  She closed her eyes, and then reopened them slowly. “I met him on Mature Relations.”

  At least you didn’t deny it.

  Lexy, Nady, and I were in a consultation room in the Glamour Slammer at nine-forty-five on Friday night. My somber mood was exacerbated by a headache.

  “You told us that you didn’t have any other relationships from Mature Relations.”

  Her eyes turned down. “That wasn’t entirely true.”

  It wasn’t at all true. “Anybody else?”

  “No.”

  Last chance. “Flynn was the only other one?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many times did you see him?”

  “Twice.”

  “According to Jerry Edwards, Flynn died of a heroin overdose in November.”

  No response.

  “Do you know anything about it?”

  Still no response.

  “Edwards said that the police have security footage of you entering Millennium Tower on the night that he died. They found texts between you and Flynn.”

  She spoke in a whisper. “I saw him that night.”

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you give him the heroin?”

  “No.”

  “Lexy?”

  Her tone became more emphatic. “I didn’t bring the heroin, and I didn’t inject him.”

  “If they found your prints on a syringe, this is going to be serious trouble.”

  “They won’t.”

  “Were you there when he died?”

  “No. He was fine when I left.”

  “Did the police contact you?”

  “Yes. I talked to Inspector Lee. I told them what I told you. We had a date. We had consensual sex. He paid me. That was it.”

  “Why didn’t you mention it to us?”

  “It has nothing to do with my case.”

  It might. “I can’t have any more surprises, Lexy.”

  “I’m telling the truth, Mike.”

  One more chance. “Did you give him some bad heroin?”

  “No. He was an old guy with a bad heart who shouldn’t have been taking smack.”

  “The D.A. might still file charges.”

  “It’s just a coincidence.”

  “I don’t like coincidences.”

  “I didn’t bring him the smack. I didn’t inject him. And I wasn’t there when he died.”

  “I hate surprises even more than coincidences.”

  “I’m telling the truth, Mike.”

  I was skeptical. “If they raise it, we’ll file a motion to exclude information about Flynn.”

  “What if the judge rules against us?”

  “I guess we’ll have to argue that it was just a coincidence.”

  * * *

  Nady was sitting in the chair opposite my desk. “Should we try to get ahead of the story that Lexy could be connected to another death?”

  “It’s already on the Chronicle’s website. If anybody asks, I won’t deny that she got together with Flynn, but I’ll say that his death was a self-inflicted overdose.”

  “Why haven’t they filed charges?”

  “Lack of evidence, I presume. They have video of Lexy entering and exiting the building, but they have no proof that she brought the heroin or gave him the shot.”

  “Unless they find her fingerprints on a syringe.”

  “If they did, they would have charged her by now.”

  * * *

  Rosie took a sip of Cabernet. “You look tired, Mike.”

  “Long week.”

  We were sitting on her sofa at eleven o’clock the same night. Tommy was asleep. The TV was tu
ned to the news.

  The airbrushed anchor looked into the camera. “We have a new twist in the case involving the murder of Silicon Valley entrepreneur Jeff King.”

  “Alleged murder,” I muttered out of habit.

  A photo of King appeared above his shoulder. Lexy’s mugshot was superimposed next to it. “We go to Rita Roberts at the Hall of Justice.”

  The veteran reporter’s face was bleached by the TV lights. “We have a startling new revelation in the Jeff King case. Our viewers will recall that a woman named Alexa Low has been charged with murder for injecting Mr. King with a lethal dose of heroin. Mr. King and Ms. Low met on a dating app called Mature Relations, one of the so-called ‘sugar daddy’ sites. It turns out that a second wealthy man, Paul Flynn, recently died of a heroin overdose in his condo at Millennium Tower. Coincidentally, he had also met Ms. Low on Mature Relations. Sources familiar with the case tell us that Ms. Low is a person of interest in the death of Mr. Flynn. While no charges have been filed, the police are continuing their investigation.”

  Rosie finished her wine. “Who’s the source?”

  “Somebody at SFPD. Could be Ken Lee.”

  “They might charge Lexy with manslaughter for Flynn’s death, or even murder.”

  “Lexy confirmed that she slept with Flynn. The fact that he died of a heroin overdose is just a coincidence.”

  “I don’t like coincidences.”

  I might have said the same thing. “I’m going to ask Lee about it in the morning.”

  27

  “I CAN’T TALK ABOUT AN ONGOING INVESTIGATION”

  “Thanks for seeing me.”

  Lee’s response was terse. “Sure.”

  He was at his desk in the otherwise-empty Homicide bullpen at nine-thirty on Saturday morning. He didn’t have to talk to me, so I decided to tread gently.

  “I talked to Jerry Edwards last night. You probably saw his piece in the Chronicle.”

  “I did.”

  “I understand that you’re investigating Paul Flynn’s death.”

  “I am.”

  “Edwards told me that the Medical Examiner concluded that Flynn died of an accidental heroin overdose.”

  “I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation.”

  “Edwards said that he had seen a copy of the autopsy report.” This was a bluff.

  “He didn’t get it from me.”

  I wasn’t going to accuse him of leaking. “Can you confirm the cause of death?”

  “Heroin overdose. Dr. Siu offered no opinion as to whether it was accidental. And even if she did, I can’t talk about it.”

  Seems you just did. “Edwards said there’s video of Lexy entering and exiting Flynn’s building.”

  “There is.”

  “And text messages between them.”

  “There are.”

  “Is there video from inside Flynn’s condo?”

  “No comment.”

  “Is there evidence that Lexy handled the heroin or a syringe?”

  “No comment.”

  “Was Flynn a regular heroin user?”

  “No comment.”

  “Is the D.A. planning to file charges?”

  “That’s up to the D.A.”

  I waited a beat. “I understand that you talked to Lexy about it.”

  “I did. She admitted that she saw Flynn that night. She denied that she gave him heroin.”

  “The fact that she and Flynn had a relationship doesn’t prove anything.”

  “True.”

  “Flynn’s death is irrelevant to our case.”

  “I’ll let you and the D.A. argue about it. If anybody else that she met on Mature Relations turns up dead, not even an excellent lawyer like you will be able to keep her out of trouble.”

  * * *

  “Got a sec?” I asked.

  DeSean Harper was sitting at his desk. “I’m late for a meeting.”

  There’s nobody else here. “I need just a minute. I talked to Ken Lee about Paul Flynn.”

  “I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation.”

  Sounds familiar. “Mr. Flynn also had a relationship with Ms. Low.”

  “And he died of a heroin overdose, too.”

  “I understand that the Medical Examiner ruled the death an accidental overdose.”

  “He died of an overdose. It remains to be seen whether it was accidental.”

  “Any evidence that the heroin was spiked with another substance?”

  “No comment.”

  “Do you have any plans to file charges?”

  “We’ll make that determination after the investigation is complete.”

  It was the correct answer. “Any idea when that might happen?”

  “After we have looked at all of the evidence.”

  “My client had a consensual encounter with Flynn, an older man with a bad heart. She didn’t give him any heroin.”

  “Says your client. A jury will connect the dots.”

  Maybe. “Not beyond a reasonable doubt.”

  “Contrary to their portrayal on Law and Order, jurors are smarter than you think.”

  That much is true. “Either way, Flynn’s death has nothing to do with our case. Judge McDaniel won’t let you talk about it at our prelim.”

  “The Flynn investigation is separate and ongoing. We’ll go where the facts lead us. We’ll make a determination of charges, if any, in due course.”

  28

  “YOU’RE TALKING LIKE A LAWYER”

  Lexy pressed the handpiece of the phone tightly against her ear. “Why are you here?”

  “I need to talk to you about the prelim.” And a few other things.

  “We’re still moving forward on Monday morning, right?”

  “Right.”

  At six o’clock on Saturday evening, we were sitting on opposite sides of a Plexiglas divider in the visitor area of the Glamour Slammer. The consultation rooms were occupied. Most days, I could sweet-talk the guards into finding us a more private spot, but the rookie manning the desk lacked the flexibility of his more experienced colleagues.

  First things first. “I talked to Ken Lee and DeSean Harper about Paul Flynn. They haven’t decided whether they’ll file charges.”

  “We had consensual sex. That’s it.”

  I left it there. “I wanted to talk to you about what to expect at the prelim. As I explained, the prosecution needs to show just enough evidence to demonstrate that there is a reasonable possibility that you committed a crime. Given the circumstances, there is a good chance that the judge will bind you over for trial. We will challenge the D.A’s witnesses, but I would recommend that we not put on a lot of evidence to avoid tipping our hand.”

  “You’re planning to roll over?”

  “I’m suggesting that we hold our cards tightly until trial.”

  “You think I’m guilty?”

  “No, but unless we find something truly exculpatory in the next twenty-four hours, I think it’s better not to telegraph our strategy before trial.”

  “You told me that you would be able to get the charges dropped at the prelim.”

  No, I didn’t. “I don’t see that happening, Lexy. At trial, we only need to persuade one juror that the prosecution has not proved its case beyond a reasonable doubt.”

  “You’re talking like a lawyer.”

  “It’s my job to explain the legal ramifications and make strategy recommendations.”

  Her lips turned down. “I want to testify at the prelim.”

  No, you don’t. “That’s out of the question. I don’t want the prosecution to lock you into a story.” And Harper will tie you in knots. “We may reconsider for the trial.”

  “And bail?”

  “We’ll ask again, but it’s unlikely that this judge will rule in our favor. Even if he does, the practical reality is that you don’t have any money.”

  She took a moment to process my less-than-satisfying advice. “If you can’t get the charges dropped at the prelim, how s
oon before the trial starts?”

  “Six months to a year.” Maybe longer.

  “Is there any way to do it sooner?”

  “Technically, you have the right to demand a trial within sixty days, but I would strongly recommend against it. That wouldn’t give us enough time to prepare.”

  “I want to go to trial as soon as possible.”

  “It’s a mistake. We’ll need to interview witnesses. We have to line up a medical expert.”

  “I am not going to rot in here for another six months.”

  “A delay would give us a much better chance of success.”

  “If you can’t get the charges dropped, I want you to ask for a trial within sixty days. If you won’t do it, I want another lawyer.”

  * * *

  The light was on as I walked by Nady’s office at eight o’clock on Saturday night. As I reached for the switch to turn it off, her voice startled me.

  “Leave that on, please.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was about to ask you the same question.”

  “I work here.” I sat down on the desk of one of her officemates. “I wanted to do a little more prep work for the prelim. I talked to Lexy again. If we can’t get the charges dropped, she wants a trial date within sixty days, sooner, if possible.”

  “That’s a bad idea.”

  “Yes, it is, but put yourself in her shoes. You can’t make bail, you’re going through heroin withdrawal, and your lawyer just told you that the prosecution probably has enough to bind you over for trial. Wouldn’t you want to move forward as soon as possible?”

  “Not if it was a lousy strategy.”

  “You’re thinking clearly, and you understand the system. By the way, what are you doing here?”

  “Luna wanted to go for a walk.”

  “You couldn’t find a park?”

  “They’re overrated.”

  Her well-trained Keeshond appeared from beneath her desk. Luna looked like a mix between a German Shepard and a husky, with enormous brown eyes and an engaging smile. I wasn’t inclined to remind Nady that the P.D.’s Office had a policy against bringing pets to work. Besides, Luna didn’t know that she was a dog, and I wasn’t going to break the news to her.

  I reached over and patted Luna’s head. “I don’t have anything for you today.” Notwithstanding her disappointment, the over-sized puppy extended a big paw, which I shook. I turned back to Nady. “Why are you really here?”