That La Jolla Lawyer

by Robert Rogers

  “I talked about the Schofield case with her. I guess that’s what she came to the house to get. There were no secrets to tell as far as I was concerned. Did she say anything about it to you?” Matt asked, his right hand extended outward, palm up.

  “Uh…not really. I know she was on the scent, as Sherlock Holmes might say. She was after anybody who had a connection

  with the case. You weren’t the only one she was talking to.”

  “Who else had she talked to?”

  Denise shook her head. “She didn’t give me names. And she never completely shared her angle on the story either. I’m not sure she had fixed on one. She kind of let the angle develop as she

  investigated.”

  “The media uncovered every rock in that case during and after the trial. I didn’t think much was left, but over morning coffee and afternoon wine, Sarah and I discussed the case in depth from my first interview with Jennifer Schofield until she walked away after

  the verdict. And, my…breakdown. She must have told you what she was after.”

  Denise shook her head and looked at him with kind of a blank stare. “No, not really. She never told me anything specific about what you were telling her. She just said she felt there was a story that hadn’t been told. ‘A gut feeling,’ she said.”

  “I gave her everything I knew including speculative rumors that didn’t make it to court.” Oddly enough, talking to Sarah had taken away the fear that bringing the story out of the dark place in his memory would send him into another depression.

  Denise looked at Matt with a smile and said, “She did have a name for the story, a working title she called it.”

  “What?”

  Another smile, “She called it, That La Jolla Lawyer.”

  “Sounds good. I was at the time.”

  “She said that’d get their attention. La Jolla’s where all the money and power is in San Diego.”

  “She was right.”

  Denise had finished her cappuccino and Danish by then. She crumbled her napkin and threw it on the table beside her cup.

  Matt noted the gesture and said, “I guess you have to get back. How about the story you and Sarah were working on…the campaign? Have you found anything worthy of an ANN feature?”

  “Not yet. I’m still trying to come to grips with Sarah’s death. I never knew how much she meant as a friend and workmate.”

  “By the way,” he said as they walked out together. “I

  dropped by the condo for a look at her files. I was after anything related to her estate.”

  “Do you know what my status will be in the condo? I

  imagine Sarah’s parents will inherit the condo. They may want me to move. Would you let me know?”

  “I’m glad you brought that up. I’d forgotten. Mrs. Bush asked if I’d talk to you about your plans. I think they’d prefer to sell it, but they don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  “I was afraid of that,” she said, nervously pushing the hair out of her face. “I just got a raise. And, I know somebody who might be looking for a room to rent. If I could have a couple of weeks to see about a loan, I might want to buy it. I’ve been saving my money. My parents could kick in a few bucks to help with the down payment. My ex’s father has offered to help. He’s been very nice since my divorce.”

  One of the perks of having successful parents. She’s divorced but it was apparently friendly if her ex’s father wants to help.

  “I’ll let her know.”

  She gave him a hug good bye. Sterile, he thought – not a full body hug, just a quick touch and release like she’d want to wash her hands afterward. Even so it lifted his spirts. Even a sterile hug was more than he’d had in as long as he could remember. It reminded him of Jennifer. She always tried to get away with a sterile hug. He wouldn’t let her. That should have tipped me off. What a stupid jerk I was.

  As she turned to walk to her car, he remembered something he wanted to ask and called after her. “Denise! One more question, if you have the time.”

  She turned and asked, “Yeah?”

  “I’ve been wondering how anyone knew Sarah was staying at my place. Did she tell you?” He asked with raised eyebrows.

  “Yes, but, I didn’t tell anybody.” She sighed and said, “Somebody stuck a note on the door for her while I was at work. It read, ‘I’ve discovered what I think you’re looking for and need to

  talk to you now. Call me as soon as you get this.’ The phone number was at the bottom.”

  About what I figured. That was probably the phone number Sarah that hadn’t answered when I called to check it out.

  “What happened?’

  “Sarah came by the next day to get dressed and to see about her cat. That’s when she was sleeping at your place. I gave her the note.”

  “What’d she do?”

  “She wondered how anybody knew where she lived. We

  never gave out home addresses.”

  “Did she call the number?”

  “I don’t know. She gave me the impression that she would. It bothers me that whoever wrote it might have killed her.”

  He nodded. “What about the writing? Would you say it was delicate like a woman might write or heavy like a man’s?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Dawson. If I had to guess, I’d lean toward a man’s handwriting, but I sure wouldn’t want you to hold me to it. I think the area code was 619 if that helps?”

  He thanked her and asked her to call if anything else came

  up.

  Denise turned and resumed her walk toward her car but, with a decided slump to her shoulders. She paused to dab at her eyes.

  Thinking about her friend, Matt conjectured. He stayed for a few seconds to consider the note.

  It almost goes without saying that the killer wrote the note. Must have been somebody she felt safe to meet alone. I’ll let Triplett know. That’ll give him something to think about besides me. Denise will back it up.

  If I had to guess, I’d say Denise was holding something back, but I can’t be sure. She looked away too many times. Trying to avoid eye contact.

  *****

  “Dawson,” Triplett said when Matt identified himself. “You calling to confess?”

  “Kiss my ass, Triplett. I’m calling with info I thought you might want. But, if you aren’t--”

  “I am. What do you have?”

  Matt told him what Denise had said about the note.

  “Yeah. That is interesting. I’ll call her. Of course, for all I know, you might have planted the note yourself,” Triplett said.

  Matt could imagine the man’s smirk and said, “Nothing like a closed mind to avoid thinking, Triplett. Next time I come up with anything, I’ll keep it to myself.”

  “You do and I’ll have your ass. I appreciate the info. Okay? I appreciate it. Thanks. Will that do it? Or do you want a bottle of wine. I assume you drink that shit, living among the high tax racket tax payers,” Triplett said cynically.

  Matt didn’t respond so Triplett continued. “Your last tip about an argument or something at the congressman’s headquarters was worthless. I asked. No such thing. Good try! You’re still in my crosshairs.”

  Matt hung up and drove to the grocery store for a six pack of beer in case Carter came by thirsty.

  Once home, he and Mrs. Bush exchanged emails about Denise’s interest in the condo if she could get a loan. Mrs. Bush agreed to give her time.

  He emailed Carter to ask if he had any information. Carter called him thirty minutes later. “Just getting into it, Matt.”

  “Come on over anyway. I bought a six pack. I’ll tell you what I know.”

  *****

  “Would have answered your email sooner, old buddy, but had to finish vacuuming floors in the ANN newsroom,” Carter said as he popped the cap off the bottle of beer Matt had given him and sat

  down at the table.

  “What the hell are you doing there? A second job?” Matt popped the cap off his bottle and joined him
at the table.

  Carter laughed. “You know I don’t fool around when I’m on the job. After I left here, I called an old drinking pal of mine. He’s in charge of building maintenance for a big management company. One of their accounts is the ANN building. So, I’m substituting for Jose on the night shift, cleaning the newsroom.”

  “Be damned! Have you found out anything?”

  “Patience, my man. Patience. I just started. If I barged in and started hammering ‘em with questions, it just might make somebody suspicious, so I’m kind of creeping up on the question part.”

  Matt nodded.

  “Right now, I’m in the smiling and working part. However, Matt, lots of them reporter types work late and sooner or later one of ‘em’ll turn a listening ear in my direction.” He said with a drawl.

  Matt used to say Carter could make single syllable words sound like two and two syllable words sound like one.

  “Right.”

  “The next thing I did was haul off and barge into Congressman Reid’s San Diego campaign headquarters and volunteer my services to help get the great man elected. He’s what we need, right? So, I’m now on grunt duty there. Stapling campaign posters to stakes.”

  “Is he ever around?” Matt asked.

  “He’s all over the place. Smiling, carrying on. Like he’s burning jet fuel,” Carter said with a degree of sarcasm.

  “I guess that’s what it takes to be a politician. I don’t think I could do it.”

  Carter disagreed. “I reckon you could, if you put your mind to it.”

  “I don’t think I will.”

  Matt then told him everything he’d gotten from Padgett and Denise. “Not a hell of a lot but Sarah had a nose for the story the public wants to know about and the guts to dig it out. It could be that Padgett and Denise want to take the story and run with it.”

  “I’ll see what I can get out of them. People talk to me.” He slapped Matt’s shoulder and laughed. “Hell, when they talk to you, they expect to get a bill.”

  A noise behind them brought their heads around. It was Matt’s cat, staring at Carter, his fur standing straight up.

  “What the hell!” Carter said. “That damn thang looks like it’s in attack mode.”

  Matt got up immediately. “Okay, Cat. Back down!” He

  turned to Carter. “You’re blocking his food bowl.” He reached down and picked it up. “Be right back. Come on, Cat.” He took the bowl to the back where the cat ordinarily ate. The cat followed, with a glance over his shoulder along the way, as if to check to see if Carter might be following.

  Matt returned. “Cat gets territorial. I’ve never seen him attack anybody, but I get the feeling he might."

  "Vicious looking beast. What’d you go and do to the poor bastard’s tail?”

  Matt laughed. “It came that way. I suspect that’s why he gets as vicious as he does. Somebody must have kicked him around before he ended up here.”

  “I’ll check for his food bowl before I sit down next time,”

  Carter said, his words drawling out. “What have you got lined up?”

  He said he was sending Jennifer a bill for his services and expenses. It would be almost a million dollars. And, anticipating the sale of Sarah’s Prius, he was going to get his old MB running again.

  He gave Carter a check for a thousand dollars out of the retainer Mrs. Bush had given him.

  “It’ll seem like the old days, seeing you roll down the street in your old MB.”

  “Yeah. Sarah woke me up, Carter. I feel like living again.

  Anything else happening? Found out anything?”

  “I found the number you gave me, the one from Sarah’s phone that didn’t answer, was most likely from one of those phones people, drug dealers, for example, buy from Wal-Mart, or places like that, to use for a limited number of minutes. There’s no way to trace it.”

  “So, like we figured, the killer bought it just to call Sarah. Threw it away afterward.”

  “The cops think so too. I still have contacts down there.”

  “Does that mean they’re off my back?”

  “You know nobody is ever off their list until a case is closed, but you are not at the top anymore.” He looked at his phone to check the time. “Gotta get my butt outta here, Matt. More posters need stapling and I have janitorial duties tonight.”

  Matt thanked him. Something tugged at his memory.

  Something Carter had said, but he couldn’t bring it up. Something about the phone. What the hell was it?

  He walked back to his computer and typed a letter and a bill to Jennifer. His printer still worked. Afterward, he took it to a mailbox down the street and dropped it in.

  I’d like to see her face, when she opens it.

  Two days later he had her reaction.

  Chapter 10

  An envelope had been shoved into the front door-jam of his house. Jennifer Schofield’s office address showed on the upper left-hand. He wondered how she knew where he lived, but remembered that he’d brought her there a couple of times during the trial.

  On the back of the envelope were the handwritten words, “Matt, I was so glad you wrote. I’ve been meaning to contact you. I’m so sorry I haven’t. And, I’m sorry you weren’t at home so we could talk about it. I drove over during my lunchbreak.” He opened the envelope. No check, damn it.

  The letter read, “As you can appreciate, Matt, I have been busy rebuilding my practice, trying to catch up. Could we meet, say at the noodle place next to Wal-Mart and talk? We had some great times there. How about Wednesday at six? I close the office around five.”

  He called and left a message that he’d meet her as suggested.

  Wednesday was the next day.

  *****

  Matt waited in Sarah’s Prius outside the restaurant until he saw Jennifer park her BMW and get out. He was in his tennis casuals. It was an informal kind of place. It didn’t look as if she’d changed

  from her office clothes, white blouse and tan skirt.

  He followed her to the restaurant, like he’d just arrived. Her auburn hair was as striking as ever.

  “Oh,” she said at the door, when she saw him approaching from the side. “I didn’t see you. I like your beard and mustache.

  When did that happen?”

  “I decided to shave but quit when I got this far. I think I got tired. So much to cut.” He rubbed his hand over his chin and grinned.

  She gave a half laugh. “It looks good on you, Matt. Keep it.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  She gave him a warm, full body hug. “I looked for your Mercedes.”

  Not like the sterile, cautious, Denise hug, Matt thought. And, not the sterile hugs you tried to get away with during the trial. His guard went up. It did when anybody changed the way they related to him. It usually meant they had an agenda.

  “Just rolled up. Good to see you,” he said, trying to sound normal. Being that close to her again, sent a shockwave through him. “You look great. I always loved your hair, the way you keep it long, like you don’t give a damn.”

  “Thank you. You haven’t lost your animal magnetism, Matt.”

  He was pretty sure he didn’t have any animal magnetism, but didn’t mind if she said it. He gave her comment a dismissing laugh.

  “It has been a long time. Too long,” she said and stood back while he opened the door for her. “You’re like a different person with that beard.”

  He decided to put her comment about “too long” on the table and said, “Well, I think the ball has been in your court, hasn’t it?”

  She looked at him as if he’d said something profound. “Well, I

  guess it has at that. I apologize, Matt. I’ve missed you. You’ve been in my thoughts.”

  He lied and said, “I’ve missed you too, Jennifer.” I’ve thought about you, cursed you and your husband, but I haven’t missed you. Like I’d miss getting gutted. But, I’ll admit to myself anyway that I’ve thought about you.

&n
bsp; He vividly recalled the afternoon in the courtroom, seconds after the verdict had been announced by the jury foreman. He turned toward her but she had already stood and was hugging her other attorney, now her husband. The recollection still burned in his thoughts.

  Yeah, I miss that. I miss thinking we would spend a hot night together after I’d saved you from 35 years in prison. I miss consummating our foreplay like you promised.

  In full stage performance, he took her arm and hugged her again. That time, he kissed her on the lips. He wasn’t sure if he’d done it spontaneously or out of spite.

  Probably spite. But, it felt good, whatever it was.

  He noticed a flinch and she almost pushed him away, but didn’t. Instead, she drew back and smiled. “Wow, Matt, that

  surprised me. I wasn’t expecting it.”

  “I couldn’t help myself. I was remembering the old days.”

  She touched his chest with the palm of her right hand and smiled. “Yes, I was too. In the midst of all that turmoil, we carved out a few moments of fun.”

  I thought we had. Damn, her voice is just as captivating as it ever was, calm and melodic. Watch yourself, buddy, he warned and raised his defensive barrier. He wished he had during the trial.

  Would have saved me a lot of grief.

  They sat down and ordered. The server brought hot sake with two porcelain cups.

  Matt poured.

  “To your good health,” he said, lifting his cup.

  “To yours,” she said and followed his lead.

  “So, why did you call? My letter?” he asked.

  She spun her cup around while staring into it. “Your letter did remind me of our times together. Reminded me how much I missed them.”

  “You couldn’t have missed them much. You are married.

  Franklin Stone, right? Your esteemed divorce attorney.” He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice but knew he had failed from the pained look on her face.

  “Yes. Franklin.” She sighed and looked down at the sake cup in her hand. “I should have told you about him during the trial. He was there for me when I needed someone. I don’t think I could have endured Aaron’s abuse if it had not been for Franklin. He was my patient. Did you know that?”