“Try Checkers first,” I said. “And get her a suite. If they’re booked, then try the Standard and then the Kyoto Grand. But get a suite so we have room to work.”
“Got it. And what about Muniz? You want him in close, too?”
Julio Muniz was a freelance videographer who lived in Topanga Canyon. Because of his home’s proximity to Malibu he had been the first member of the media to respond to the crime scene after hearing the call out for homicide investigators on the sheriff’s radio band. He had shot video of Walter Elliot with the sheriff’s deputies outside the beach house. He was a valuable witness because his videotape and his own recollections could be used to confirm or contradict testimony offered by sheriff’s deputies and investigators.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It can take anywhere from an hour to three hours to get from Topanga to downtown. I’d rather not risk it. Cisco, is he willing to come in and stay at a hotel?”
“Yeah, just as long as we’re paying and he can order room service.”
“Okay, then bring him in. Also, where’s the video? There are only notes on it in the file. I don’t want the first time I look at the video to be in court.”
Cisco looked puzzled.
“I don’t know. But if it’s not around here, I can have Muniz dub off a copy.”
“Well, I haven’t seen it around here. So get me a copy. What else?”
“Couple other things. First, I got with my source on the Vincent thing and he didn’t know anything about a suspect or this photo Bosch showed you this morning.”
“Nothing?”
“Nada.”
“What do you think? Does Bosch know your guy’s the leak and is shutting him out?”
“I don’t know. But everything I was telling him about this photo was news to him.”
I took a few moments to consider what this meant.
“Did Bosch ever come back and show the photo to Wren?”
“No,” Lorna said. “I was with her all morning. Bosch never came in then or after lunch.”
I wasn’t sure what any of this meant but I couldn’t become bogged down with it. I had to get to the files.
“What was the second thing?” I asked Cisco.
“What?”
“You said you had a couple other things to tell me. What was the second thing?”
“Oh, yeah. I called Vincent’s liquidator and you had that right. He’s still got one of Patrick’s long boards.”
“What’s he want for it?”
“Nothing.”
I looked at Cisco and raised my eyebrows, asking where the catch was.
“Let’s just say he’d like to do you the favor. He lost a good client in Vincent. I think he’s hoping you’ll use him for future liquidations. And I didn’t dissuade him from the idea or tell him you usually don’t barter property for services with your clients.”
I understood. The surfboard would not come with any real strings attached.
“Thanks, Cisco. Did you take it with you?”
“No, he didn’t have it at the office. But he made a call and somebody was supposed to bring it in to him this afternoon. I could go back and get it if you want.”
“No, just get me an address and I’ll have Patrick pick it up. What happened with Bruce Carlin? Didn’t you debrief him today? Maybe he’s got the Muniz tape.”
I was anxious to hear about Bruce Carlin on several levels. Most important, I wanted to know if he had worked for Vincent on the Eli Wyms case. If so, he might be able to lead me to the magic bullet.
But Cisco didn’t answer my question. Lorna turned and they looked at each other as if wondering which one of them should deliver the bad news.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Lorna turned back to me.
“Carlin’s fucking with us,” she said.
I could see the angry set of her jaw. And I knew she reserved that kind of language for special occasions. Something had gone wrong with Carlin’s debriefing and she was particularly upset.
“How so?”
“Well, he never showed up at two like he said he would. Instead, he called at two—right after Wren called and quit—and gave us the new parameters of his deal.”
I shook my head in annoyance.
“His deal? How much does he want?”
“Well, I guess he realized that at two hundred dollars an hour he wouldn’t make much, since he was probably going to bill only two or three hours tops. That’s all Cisco would need with him. So he called up and said he wanted a flat fee or we could figure out things on our own.”
“Like I said, how much?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“My words exactly.”
I looked from her to Cisco.
“This is extortion. Isn’t there a state agency that regulates you guys? Can’t we come down on his shit somehow?”
Cisco shook his head.
“There are all kinds of regulatory agencies but this is a shady area.”
“Yeah, I know it’s shady. He’s shady. I’ve thought that for years.”
“What I mean is, he had no deal with Vincent. We can’t find any contract. So he’s not required to give us anything. We simply need to hire him and he’s setting his price at ten grand. It’s a bullshit rip-off but it’s probably legal. I mean, you’re the lawyer. You tell me.”
I thought about it for a few moments and then tried to push it aside. I was still riding on the adrenaline charge I’d picked up in the courthouse. I didn’t want it to dissipate with distractions.
“All right, I’ll ask Elliot if he wants to pay it. Meantime, I’m going to hit all the files again tonight, and if I get lucky and crack through, then we won’t need him. We say fuck you and are done with him.”
“Asshole,” Lorna muttered.
I was pretty sure that was directed at Bruce Carlin and not me.
“Okay, is that it?” I asked. “Anything else?”
I looked from one face to the other. Nobody had anything else to bring up.
“Okay, then, thank you both for all you’ve been putting up with and doing this week. Go out and have a good night.”
Lorna looked at me curiously.
“You’re sending us home?” she asked.
I checked my watch.
“Why not?” I said. “It’s almost four thirty and I’m going to dive into the files and I don’t want any distractions. You two go on home, have a good night, and we’ll start again tomorrow.”
“You’re going to work here alone tonight?” Cisco asked.
“Yeah, but don’t worry. I’ll lock the door and I won’t let anybody in—even if I know him.”
I smiled. Lorna and Cisco didn’t. I pointed to the open door to the office. It had a slide bolt that could be used to lock it at the top of the doorframe. If necessary I would be able to secure both outside and inside perimeters. It gave new meaning to the idea of going into lockdown.
“Come on, I’ll be fine. I’ve got work to do.”
They slowly, reluctantly, started to make their way out of my office.
“Lorna,” I called after them. “Patrick should be out there. Tell him to keep hanging. I might have something to tell him after I make that call.”
Twenty-nine
I opened the Patrick Henson file on my desk and looked up the prosecutor’s number. I wanted to get this out of the way before I went to work on the Elliot case.
The prosecutor was Dwight Posey, a guy I had dealt with before on cases and never liked. Some prosecutors deal with defense attorneys as though they are only one step removed from their clients. As pseudocriminals, not as educated and experienced professionals. Not as necessary cogs in the winding gears of the justice system. Most cops have this view and I can live with it. But it bothers me when fellow lawyers adopt the pose. Unfortunately, Dwight Posey was one of these, and if I could’ve gone through the rest of my life without ever having to talk to him, I would have been a
happy man. But that was not going to be the case.
“So, Haller,” he said after taking the call, “they’ve got you walking in a dead man’s shoes, don’t they?”
“What?”
“They gave you all of Jerry Vincent’s cases, right? That’s how you ended up with Henson.”
“Yeah, something like that. Anyway, I’m returning your call, Dwight. Actually, your three calls. What’s up? You get the motion I filed yesterday?”
I reminded myself that I had to step carefully here if I wanted to get everything I could out of the phone call. I couldn’t let my distaste for the prosecutor affect the outcome for my client.
“Yes, I got the motion. It’s sitting right here on my desk. That’s why I’ve been calling.”
He left it open for me to step in.
“And?”
“And, uh, well, we’re not going to do that, Mick.”
“Do what, Dwight?”
“Put our evidence out there for examination.”
It was looking more and more like I had struck a major nerve with my motion.
“Well, Dwight, that’s the beauty of the system, right? You don’t get to make that decision. A judge does. That’s why I didn’t ask you. I put it in a motion and asked the judge.”
Posey cleared his throat.
“No, actually, we do this time,” he said. “We’re going to drop the theft charge and just proceed with the drug charge. So you can withdraw your motion or we can inform the judge that the point is moot.”
I smiled and nodded. I had him. I knew then that Patrick was going to walk.
“Only problem with that, Dwight, is that the drug charge came out of the theft investigation. You know that. When they popped my client, the warrant was for the theft. The drugs were found during the arrest. So you don’t have one without the other.”
I had the feeling that he knew everything I was saying and that the call was simply following a script. We were going where Posey wanted us to go and that was fine with me. This time I wanted to go there, too.
“Then, maybe we can just talk about a disposition on the matter,” he said as if the idea had just occurred to him.
And there we were. We had come to the place Posey had wanted to get to from the moment he’d answered the call.
“I’m open to it, Dwight. You should know that my client voluntarily entered a rehab program after his arrest. He has completed the program, has full-time employment, and has been clean for four months. He’ll give his piss anytime, anywhere, to prove it.”
“That is really good to hear,” Posey said with false enthusiasm. “The DA’s Office, as well as the courts, always looks favorably upon voluntary rehabilitation.”
Tell me something I don’t know, I almost said.
“The kid is doing good. I can vouch for that. What do you want to do for him?”
I knew how the script would read now. Posey would turn it into a goodwill gesture from the prosecution. He would make it seem as though the DA’s Office were giving out the favor here, when the truth was that the prosecution was acting to insulate an important figure from political and personal embarrassment. That was fine with me. I didn’t care about the political ends of the deal as long as my client got what I wanted him to get.
“Tell you what, Mick. Let’s make it go away, and maybe Patrick can use this opportunity to move ahead with being a productive member of society.”
“Sounds like a plan to me, Dwight. You’re making my day. And his.”
“Okay, then get me his rehab records and we’ll put it into a package for the judge.”
Posey was talking about making it a pretrial intervention case. Patrick would have to take biweekly drug tests and in six months the case would go away if he kept clean. He would still have an arrest on his record but no conviction. Unless…
“You willing to expunge his record?” I asked.
“Uh…, that’s asking a lot, Mickey. He did, after all, break in and steal the diamonds.”
“He didn’t break in, Dwight. He was invited in. And the alleged diamonds are what this is all about, right? Whether or not he actually did steal any diamonds.”
Posey must have realized he had misspoken by bringing up the diamonds. He folded his tent quickly.
“All right, fine. We’ll put it into the package.”
“You’re a good man, Dwight.”
“I try to be. You will withdraw your motion now?”
“First thing tomorrow. When do we go to court? I have a trial starting the end of next week.”
“Then we’ll go for Monday. I’ll let you know.”
I hung up the phone and called the reception desk on the intercom. Luckily, Lorna answered.
“I thought you were sent home,” I said.
“We’re about to go through the door. I’m going to leave my car here and go with Cisco.”
“What, on his donorcycle?”
“Excuse me, Dad, but I don’t think you have anything to say about that.”
I groaned.
“But I do have a say over who works as my investigator. If I can keep you two apart, maybe I can keep you alive.”
“Mickey, don’t you dare!”
“Can you just tell Cisco I need that address for the liquidator?”
“I will. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Hope so. Wear a helmet.”
I hung up and Cisco came in, carrying a Post-it in one hand and a gun in a leather holster in the other. He walked around the desk, put the Post-it down in front of me, then opened a drawer and put the weapon in it.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “You can’t give me a gun.”
“It’s totally legal and registered to me.”
“That’s great but you can’t give it to me. That’s il—”
“I’m not giving it to you. I’m just storing it here because I’m done work for the day. I’ll get it in the morning, okay?”
“Whatever. I think you two are overreacting.”
“Better than underreacting. See you tomorrow.”
“Thank you. Will you send Patrick in before you go?”
“You got it. And by the way, I always make her wear a helmet.”
I looked at him and nodded.
“That’s good, Cisco.”
He left the room, and Patrick soon came in.
“Patrick, Cisco talked to Vincent’s liquidator and he still has one of your long boards. You can go by and pick it up. Just tell him you are picking it up for me and to call me if there is any problem.”
“Oh man, thank you!”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got even better news than that on your case.”
“What happened?”
I went over the phone call I’d just had with Dwight Posey. As I told Patrick that he would do no jail time if he stayed clean, I watched his eyes gain a little light. It was as if I could see the burden drop off his shoulders. He could look once again at the future.
“I have to call my mom,” he said. “She’s gonna be so happy.”
“Yeah, well, I hope you are, too.”
“I am, I am.”
“Now, the way I figure it, you owe me a couple thousand for my work on this. That’s about two and a half weeks of driving. If you want, you can stick with me until it’s paid off. After that, we can talk about it and see where we’re at.”
“That sounds good. I like the job.”
“Good, Patrick, then it’s a deal.”
Patrick smiled broadly and was turning to go. “One other thing, Patrick.”
He turned back to me.
“I saw you sleeping in your car in the garage this morning.”
“Sorry. I’ll find another spot.”
He looked down at the floor.
“No, I’m sorry,” I said. “I forgot that you told me when we talked on the phone the first time that you were living in your car and sleeping on a lifeguard stand. I just don’t know how safe it is to be sleeping in the same garage where a guy got shot the othe
r night.”
“I’ll find someplace else.”
“Well, if you want, I can give you an advance on your pay. Would that help you maybe get a motel room or something?”
“Um, I guess.”
I was glad to help him out but I knew that living out of a weekly motel was almost as depressing as living out of a car.
“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “If you want, you could stay with me for a couple weeks. Until you get some money in your pocket and maybe get a better plan going.”
“At your place?”
“Yeah, you know, temporarily.”
“With you?”
I realized my mistake.
“Nothing like that, Patrick. I’ve got a house and you’d have your own room. In fact, on Wednesday nights and every other weekend, it would be better if you stayed with a friend or in a motel. That’s when I have my daughter.”
He thought about it and nodded.
“Yeah, I could do that.”
I reached across the desk and signaled him to give me back the Post-it with the liquidator’s address on it. I wrote my own address on it while I spoke.
“Why don’t you go pick up your board and then head over to my place at this second address. Fareholm is right off Laurel Canyon, one street before Mount Olympus. You go up the stairs to the front porch and there’s a table and chairs out there and an ashtray. The extra key’s under the ashtray. The guest bedroom is right next to the kitchen. Just make yourself at home.”
“Thanks.”
He took the Post-it back and looked at the address I’d written.
“I probably won’t get there till late,” I told him. “I’ve got a trial starting next week and a lot of work to do before then.”
“Okay.”
“Look, we’re only talking about a few weeks. Till you get on your feet again. Meantime, maybe we can help each other out. You know, like if one of us starts to feel the pull, maybe the other one will be there to talk about it. Okay?”
“Okay.”
The Brass Verdict Page 20