Story B: A man is set up for the murder of a former client and unwittingly drives around with the body in the trunk until he is pulled over by police.
The physical evidence fits both stories. One might be more believable than the other when writ small. But a skilled storyteller can even the scales of justice or maybe even tip them the other way with a different interpretation of the evidence. This was where we were now and I was starting to get the visions I got before all trials. Visions of witnesses on the stand, visions of me telling my story to a jury.
“We are clearly going for third-party culpability,” I said. “And the guy we point the finger at is going to be Louis Opparizio. I doubt he pulled the trigger but he gave the order. So he is our fall guy and our number one witness. We need to find him. We need to paper him. We need to make sure he shows up for court.”
Jennifer Aronson shook her hands palms out like she was warding off a swarm of bees.
“Can we just back up?” she asked. “Walk me through this like I’m a juror. What are we saying happened? I mean, I get it. Opparizio killed Scales or had Scales killed and then tried to frame you for it. But can we say yet exactly how this went down?”
“Nothing is exact at this point,” I said. “And we have a lot of holes to fill—that’s why we’re meeting right now. But I can tell you what I think went down and what the evidence—once we have it all—is going to prove.”
“Yes, please,” Lorna said. “I’m with Jen. I’m having a hard time seeing this.”
“Not a problem,” I said. “Let’s go through it slowly. A couple things to start with first. Number one is Louis Opparizio’s enmity for me. Nine years ago I sandbagged him in court, revealing his mob connections and shady dealings in the foreclosure world. In that case, he was a straw man. He was the shiny bait I put out in front of the jury and they went for it. Though he was not the killer I portrayed him as in court, he was involved in some shady shit, the government took notice, and he and his mob backers ended up forfeiting major millions when the Federal Trade Commission reversed a hundred-million-dollar merger he had just completed. I think all of that explains why he would hold a grudge against me. Not only did I expose him in public but I cost him and his mob backers a ton of money.”
“No doubt,” Cisco said. “I’m surprised he waited until now to make a move against you. Nine years is a long time.”
“Well, maybe he was waiting until he had the perfect frame,” I said. “Because I’m in a tight box.”
“That’s for sure,” Lorna said.
“Okay, so the second building block of the case is the victim,” I said. “Sam Scales, con man extraordinaire. Our story is that these two—Opparizio and Scales—intersected at BioGreen. They were bleeding the beast, operating the long con, when something went wrong. Opparizio had to take out Scales but also had to make sure the investigation came nowhere near BioGreen. So I became his fall guy. He somehow knew of my history with Scales and that it ended badly. He sticks Sam’s body in my trunk and I go down for it while BioGreen stays clean and supposedly keeps pumping out that recycled fuel the government loves so much.”
I looked at the three faces around the table.
“Questions?” I asked.
“I have a couple,” Lorna said. “First, what was the con they were pulling?”
“It’s called bleeding the beast,” I said. “Scamming the government—the beast, that is—out of federal subsidies for producing green gold: recycled oil.”
“Whoa,” Lorna said. “Sounds like Sam really came up in the world. That’s a long way from the Internet scams he was known for.”
“Good point,” I said. “That is something that doesn’t fit with what I know about him, but I’m just telling you my theory so far. He had green gold under his fingernails. One thing we do need to find out is whether Sam went to Opparizio with the scam idea, or was Sam simply recruited into the ongoing operation?”
“Any idea what the falling-out was?” Jennifer asked. “Why was Sam killed?”
“Another hole we have to fill,” I said. “And my guess is that the FBI is at the bottom of that hole.”
“They flipped him?” Cisco half asked, half suggested.
I nodded.
“I think it’s something along those lines,” I said. “Opparizio found out and Sam had to go.”
“But the smart move would have been to just make him disappear,” Cisco said. “Why put the body anyplace where it could and would be found?”
“Right,” I said. “That goes on the list of unknowns. But I think that simply disappearing Sam might have brought in more scrutiny from the feds. Doing it the way they did would help insulate BioGreen and maybe make it look like it had nothing to do with the scam down there.”
“Not to mention Opparizio knew this was a good way to get back at you, boss,” Cisco added.
“Most of this is just theory,” Jennifer said. “What’s next? How do we turn theory into a solid defense?”
“Opparizio,” I said. “We find him, serve him, and make sure the judge enforces the subpoena.”
“That only gets him to court,” Jennifer said. “Last time you wanted him to take the Fifth, but this time you have to get him to actually testify.”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “If we have the goods on him, it’ll be about the questions we ask, not the answers. He can take the Fifth all he wants. The jury will hear the story in the questions.”
I turned my eyes to Cisco.
“So, where is he?” I asked.
“We’ve been on the girlfriend, what, five days now?” Cisco said. “And no sign of him. We may need to shake things up. Throw a scare at her, create a need for her to see him.”
I shook my head.
“I think it’s too early for that,” I said. “We have some time. We don’t want to subpoena him till pretty late in the game. Otherwise, Iceberg will be onto us.”
“She is already,” Jennifer said. “She would have gotten copied on the FBI subpoena.”
“But my guess is she saw that as a shot in the dark,” I said. “A fishing expedition to see if the feds had anything. Even the judge thought that. Anyway, I don’t want to go for a subpoena yet. That will give the prosecution too much time to cover our ground. So we need to find him first and then watch him until it’s time.”
“That can be done,” Cisco said. “But it will cost. I didn’t realize we were talking about running this up to the trial.”
“How much?” I asked.
“We’re running four grand a day with the surveillance package we’ve got out there now,” Cisco said.
I looked at Lorna, the keeper of the practice’s bank accounts. She shook her head.
“We’re four weeks out from trial,” she said. “You’ll need a hundred thousand to keep it going, Mickey. We don’t have that.”
“Unless you go back to Andre La Cosse or Bosch,” Jennifer said. “They got off easy on your bail but had been willing to pony up six figures each.”
“No on Bosch,” I said. “I should be paying him rather than asking him for money. Lorna, see if you can set up a dinner between me and Andre. I’ll see what he’s willing to do.”
“Maybe Cisco can negotiate a discount?” Lorna said, looking across the table at her husband. “Mickey is a repeat client, after all.”
“I can try for it,” Cisco said.
I knew that he probably got a piece of any business he brought to the Indians. So Lorna’s suggestion hit him in his own wallet.
“Good,” I said.
“So, what about the FBI?” Jennifer said, changing the subject. “The FOIA and subpoena went nowhere. We could formally go to the U.S. Attorney with a Touhy letter. But we all know the feds can just sit on it, and it won’t work with our timeframe.”
“What’s a Touhy letter?” Cisco asked.
“Step one in a protocol for demanding a federal agent’s testimony,” Jennifer said. “Named after an Illinois convict whose case created it.”
�
��You’re right, though,” I said. “It’ll take forever. But there might be an end run with the bureau. And if we make enough waves at BioGreen or at least threaten to, they may come to the table.”
“Good luck with that,” Jennifer said.
“Yeah, luck is what we need,” I said.
And that put a solemn cap on the meeting.
27
Wednesdays had always been my night with my daughter but things had shifted with law school. She had a torts study group that met at seven, so I was relegated to the early-bird special. We’d meet on campus or close by for a quick and early dinner and then she would go off to the law school and the group’s meeting room.
I had Bishop drop me off at the gate on Exposition Boulevard. Before getting out, I handed sixty dollars over the seat to him.
“Pick me up here in two hours,” I said. “Meantime, use that money to buy me a prepaid burner and then get yourself something to eat with the rest. If there’s time after that, set up the burner. I’ll need to make a call on it when I get back.”
“You got it,” Bishop said. “You want to be able to text?”
“Not necessary. If it goes right, I’ll make one call and receive another. That’s it.”
I walked across campus from there to Moreton Fig in the student center. I found Hayley at an outside table near the towering tree the restaurant was named for. And to my surprise, she was sitting with her mother. They were on the same side of the table, so when I sat down I was facing them both.
“Well, this is a nice surprise,” I said. “Good to see you, Mags.”
“Good to see you too. Are you going to eat?” Maggie asked.
“Uh, that’s why I’m here,” I said. “And to see our daughter.”
“Well, you don’t look like you’re eating,” she countered. “You’ve been out of lockup for, what, a month? And it looks like you’re still losing weight. What’s going on with you, Mickey?”
“What is this, an intervention?” I asked.
“We’re worried about you, Dad,” Hayley said. “I asked Mom to come.”
“Yeah, well, try being charged with a murder you didn’t commit,” I said. “It wears you down, whether you’re in jail or not.”
“How can we help?” Maggie said.
I paused before answering while a waitress brought us menus. Maggie refused a menu, saying she wasn’t going to eat.
“You’re here to tell me I have to start eating but you’re not going to eat?” I said.
“I know these dinners are special,” Maggie said. “For both of you—going all the way back to when you used to get pancakes at the Du-Par’s that isn’t there anymore. I just wanted to see you and ask how you’re doing, then let you two be together.”
“You can stay,” I said. “We would always make room for you.”
“No, I have plans,” Maggie said. “I’m going to go, but you didn’t answer my question. How can we help you, Mickey?”
“Well,” I said, “you could start by telling your colleague, Iceberg, that she’s so blinded by the idea of having me as a trophy on her shelf that she’s not seeing the case for what it really is. A set—”
Maggie waved her hands to cut me off.
“I’m talking about what we could do outside the courtroom,” she said. “This is an extremely awkward work situation, as you know. They’ve kept me far away from the case because of the conflict of interest, but I don’t even have to see the case or the evidence to know there’s no way you did this. Just as I know you’re going to win the case. Hayley and I could never think otherwise. But you need to be able to win the case, and your physical health is key. And you look like shit, Mickey. I’m sorry, but I’ve seen you in court. Hayley said you got your suits altered, but you still look like skin and bones. You’ve got circles under your eyes…you don’t look confident. You don’t look like the Lincoln Lawyer we know and love.”
I was silent. Her words hit hard because I knew they were sincere.
“Thank you,” I finally said. “I mean that. It’s a good reminder. Act like a winner, you’ll become a winner. That’s the rule and I guess I forgot it. You can’t act like a winner if you don’t look like one. It’s all about sleep, I think. It’s hard to sleep with this hanging over me.”
“See a doctor,” Maggie said. “Get a prescription.”
I shook my head.
“No prescriptions,” I said. “But I’ll figure something out. Should we order? You sure you can’t stay? The food here is great.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I really do have a meeting and I want you and Hay to visit. She was just telling me that she’s learning more watching you in court than in the hallowed hallways of USC Law. Anyway, I’m going to go now.”
Maggie pushed back her chair.
“Thanks, Mags,” I said. “It means a lot.”
“Take care of yourself,” she said.
And then she did a surprising thing. After leaning down and kissing Hayley on the cheek, she came around the table to kiss me as well. It was the first time in too many years for me to remember.
“Bye, guys,” she said.
I watched her go and was silent for a few moments.
“Do they really call her that?” Hayley asked.
“What?” I asked.
“Iceberg.”
“Yeah, they do.”
She laughed and then I did too. The waitress came and we ordered off the happy-hour menu. Hayley had lobster tacos and, inspired by Maggie’s “skin and bones” comment, I ordered the classic hamburger with grilled onions even though I’d had a late lunch.
During the meal, we mostly talked about her classes. She was at a stage where the law was a wonderful thing, with protections for all and equitable punishments for the offenders. It was an exciting time and I remembered it well. It was when ideals were set and goals attached to them. I let her talk and mostly just smiled and nodded my head. My mind was on Maggie. The things she had said, and the kiss at the end.
“Now you,” Hayley said at one point.
I looked up, a french fry ready to go into my mouth.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“All we’ve been talking about is me and the theoretical world of law,” she said. “What about you and the real world? How is the case going?”
“What case?”
“Daaad.”
“Just kidding. It’s going well. We’re coming up with some good stuff, I think. I’m beginning to see the trial come together. There was a football coach. I can’t remember who it was—maybe Belichick, the Patriots guy. Anyway, he would call the first twelve plays of the game for the offense a couple days before the game even started. He’d look at film of the other team, study their habits, decide what he expected them to do on defense, and write out the plays. That’s the place I’m getting to. I can see things falling into place—witnesses, evidence.”
“But you don’t get to go until after the prosecution.”
“True. But I pretty much know what they’re going to do. I mean, we’re four weeks out, so there’s plenty of time for things to change and maybe they surprise me. But right now I’m thinking about my case, not the state’s, and I’m beginning to feel good about it.”
“That’s great. I already talked to all of my professors and told them I needed to be there.”
“Look, I know you’re with me on it, but you don’t have to be there and miss school. Maybe come for openers and then I’ll let you know if there’s something you might want to see. Then the verdict and the celebration afterward.”
I smiled, hoping she would share my optimism.
“Dad, don’t jinx yourself,” she said instead.
“Is that what they teach you at USC Law?” I said. “How not to jinx a case?”
“No, that’s third year.”
“Funny girl.”
We went our separate ways outside the restaurant. I walked off but then stopped to watch her make her way through the plaza. It was dark now but the campus
was well lit. She walked with confidence and a fast step. I watched until she disappeared between two buildings.
Bishop was waiting for me at the appointed spot. I got in the rear passenger door. He handed a cheap flip phone over the seat to me as well as change from my sixty.
“Did you get something to eat?” I asked.
“I went over to the Tam’s on Fig,” he said.
“I had a hamburger, too.”
“Hit the spot. So, where to?”
“Just hold right here a minute while I make a call.”
On my real phone I googled the number for the FBI’s Los Angeles Field Office and called it on the burner. It was answered by a male voice and a curt “FBI.”
“Yes, I need to get a message to an agent.”
“There’s nobody in right now. Everybody’s gone home.”
“I know. Can you please get a message to Agent Dawn Ruth?”
“You’ll have to do that tomorrow.”
“It’s an emergency call from a confidential informant. Tomorrow will be too late.”
There was a long pause and then he relented.
“Is this the number she needs to call?”
“Yes, and the name is Walter Lennon.”
“Walter Lennon. Got it.”
“Please call her now. Thank you.”
I closed the burner and looked over the seat at Bishop.
“Okay, drive. I want to be moving if she calls back. Harder to track us that way.”
“Anywhere?”
“Tell you what—head toward your place. I can drop you off tonight instead of you dropping me and taking an Uber.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, go. I want to be moving.”
Bishop pulled the Lincoln away from the curb and started driving. He was soon on the 110 freeway going south. I knew he would connect to the 105 and turn west toward Inglewood.
We were in the carpool lane and making good time. As we took the exit to the 105, the burner phone started to buzz with a call. Caller ID was blocked. I flipped it open but didn’t speak. Soon I heard a woman’s voice.
“Who is this?”
The Law of Innocence Page 17