‘A number of times, yes.’
‘So you know a prostitute when you see one,’ Longabaugh said. I considered objecting on the behalf of all women everywhere that a style of dress or attitude does not immediately make one a prostitute but somehow this just didn’t seem the time to stand up for the sisterhood.
‘I believe so, yes.’
‘Sergeant LeRoy, were you attempting to entrap an innocent woman by enticing her to solicit sex with a fictional man so you could boost your arrest total?’
‘No, sir.’
‘So you could advance in the department?’
‘No, sir.’
‘So you could feel better about yourself at night?’ Clearly that question was meant to be taken as sarcasm but LeRoy clearly didn’t get the nuance; her expression showed a touch of disgust with the prosecutor.
‘No.’
‘Sergeant, why did you write out an arrest warrant for Madelyn Forsythe?’
LeRoy was clearly a lot more comfortable with that question. ‘Because she violated the law.’
‘Thank you, Sergeant.’
Honest to goodness, I’ll never understand how I lost that case.
FOUR
I talked to Maddie for a few minutes and made sure not to promise my client anything I wasn’t sure I could deliver, but I definitely said I’d be filing for an appeal immediately on returning to my office. How any jury could find her guilty on that evidence was baffling.
Patrick tried his best to ambush me (he’d consider it an enthusiastic welcome) at the door to the courtroom, but I insisted we delay our conversation until I could find a quiet spot where we could talk. Matt the bailiff told me there was a small conference room free and unlocked the door for me. Matt the bailiff immediately became one of my favorite people in the world. Today.
Despite Patrick’s best efforts to engage me in whatever strange plot he was cooking up, I was steadfast in waiting until we were inside, the door was closed and we were seated at the small conference table. The door was closed because my experience with Patrick, whom I’d considered a friend, indicated to me that I would soon be shouting at him, and I had a hard-earned, very small reputation in this courthouse that I wanted to maintain.
‘OK,’ I said once we were settled. ‘What are we talking about?’
Cynthia, the woman who supposedly had the problem I was being asked to address, remained silent, as she had inside the courtroom and the whole trip down the hallway. Patrick took the opportunity to look mildly surprised.
‘Didn’t Angie explain?’ he asked. ‘I called her this morning.’
‘Yes, and I went out of my way not to let her tell me what you’d called about. I’d appreciate it if you’d talk to me when you want me to do something,’ I answered. ‘Using Angie is beneath you, Patrick.’
He frowned. Acting. He was pretending to feel ashamed of himself. ‘You’re right about that,’ Patrick said. ‘I was … reluctant to call you cold. I didn’t know if you’d take the call.’
‘You had every reason to wonder,’ I told him. ‘I probably wouldn’t have.’
Patrick shook his head like a dog trying to dry himself. ‘But isn’t it enough that we’re back here together again? Sandy, we have a cause, and you can be part of it!’ There’s a reason actors become politicians; the skill sets are similar. Communicate, inspire!
I couldn’t really reconcile why I was so angry with Patrick. He had no obligation to me. I was his lawyer, the case was finished, and there was no reason to be in touch with me again. And here he was, ostensibly offering me another case, not that my firm needed the business. Patrick was one of its biggest clients and had us on retainer. Maybe I could get this business done quickly and he could disappear again.
‘What’s the case, Patrick?’ There didn’t seem much point in asking Cynthia, who Patrick had said needed my help, since she never seemed to speak. She also didn’t stray far from Patrick, although she was restrained enough not to drape herself over his arm.
‘Ah!’ Patrick appeared to believe he had won that round, whatever that meant. ‘It’s very serious. Cynthia here …’
‘Suppose we let Cynthia tell me herself,’ I suggested. If this was going to be a case for my firm and, more to the point, me, I wanted to hear the story direct from the client. And the client was going to be Cynthia, no matter how much Patrick wanted to be the center of attention.
‘Of course,’ he said, turning toward the obvious blonde to his left. ‘It’s OK, Cynthia. You can tell Sandy anything. She’s amazing.’
Rather than dispute his statement I turned my attention to Cynthia, who before my eyes transformed from a scared kitten hoping Patrick would make the dog stop barking to a lioness on the hunt protecting her young against a herd of elephants. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. Somehow I liked her better this way.
‘My ex is trying to take my house,’ she said. ‘He can’t do that.’ Cynthia’s voice, but not her accent (which I couldn’t place), reminded me of home in New Jersey. She wasn’t going to take anything from anybody. But she wasn’t really telling me that much, and since I had already failed to save one woman from losing custody of her children and her freedom today, my mind immediately started trying to come up with reasons I couldn’t take this case.
‘Do you have a divorce agreement in place?’ I asked. ‘Don’t you have an attorney handling your divorce …’
‘Not that quack,’ Cynthia said. I ignored the fact that quack is generally used to describe an inept doctor, while shyster was more accepted for unscrupulous lawyers. ‘That guy gave away the store and left me in this crap.’
OK, so I couldn’t slough the case off on her current attorney, whom Cynthia was clearly firing, as she spoke of him in the past tense. ‘Was there an agreement in your divorce settlement?’
‘Yeah.’ Cynthia nodded enthusiastically, wanting me to know she wasn’t the kind of idiot who’d go through a divorce and not have a provision to protect her home. ‘I was supposed to keep the house, which I bought with my money, and he got the three cars and the vacation home in Aspen. Now he’s trying to change it and the quack is saying I should sign off on it but I won’t.’
Clearly this woman was not a poverty-stricken naïf being thrown out of her one-room shack by a cruel legal system. I really wanted to see any paperwork involved in this divorce because that, at least, would be written in language I could understand.
‘What about your divorce settlement?’ I asked her. ‘Is there a copy I can see?’ And then could the two of you go away for a while?
‘I will have it emailed to you immediately.’ Patrick had been trying so hard to stay in the background, but there was nothing he loved better than solving people’s problems for them whether they asked him to or not. He was already pressing buttons on his phone. I nodded at him to avoid saying I thought he should let Cynthia handle her own divorce issues.
‘What is your ex-husband using as a reason to change the agreement?’ I asked Cynthia, making sure to maintain eye contact with her so she wouldn’t look to Patrick for her answers.
‘He says I’m bringing an undesirable element into my home,’ she said, and to her credit she didn’t stumble over the words. ‘He says it’s lowering the property value. Can you imagine?’
I looked briefly at Patrick, still engrossed in his screen so as to avoid looking back. He was a man who had been acquitted of murdering his estranged wife, but a lot of uninformed people still thought he’d been guilty. Maybe Cynthia’s ex-husband was one of them. Patrick was unquestionably an eccentric character. But I didn’t think that in itself would constitute a reason to change the divorce agreement. She was an adult and free to socialize – as it were – with anyone she chose.
‘I understand that’s very hard to hear,’ I told Cynthia. ‘But before we go any further I want you to understand that Seaton, Taylor is a very reputable law firm and our services are not going to be inexpensive. This kind of action with us could cost you a lot of money.’
&nbs
p; Cynthia looked at me with something approaching contempt. ‘I can afford it,’ she said. ‘I’m a star.’
Of course she was. ‘Do you work on Torn with Patrick?’ I asked.
Cynthia turned toward Patrick with exasperation on her face. ‘Do you hear that?’ she demanded. ‘She doesn’t even know who I am!’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Patrick said. To me. ‘I have your firm on retainer and I will be paying Cynthia’s legal fees.’
‘Why?’ Cynthia asked. But Patrick was heading in another direction and didn’t answer.
He patted her hand. ‘Sandy is very engrossed in the law,’ he said, with an almost pitying tone. ‘She doesn’t pay attention to entertainment because she’s so focused. It’s what makes her so …’ He stopped before he could say brilliant, a word I had banned from our conversations. Patrick had assumed I was, and I’m not. It was a fit of pique, I’ll admit, but I couldn’t go back on it now.
‘I’m afraid I’m not familiar,’ I told her. ‘If you’d prefer another attorney …’
‘No!’ Patrick stood up as quickly as Longabaugh had launched himself for his many objections. ‘You’re our lawyer, Sandy.’
Our lawyer?
Cynthia looked a little skeptical as she assessed Patrick’s face. ‘OK,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to her. ‘Ms …’
‘Sutton. Cynthia Sutton.’ She looked at me, assuming that the name would jog whatever strange deficiency there was in my mind. But I’d never heard of Cynthia Sutton.
‘Ms Sutton,’ I continued, before she could express her shock at not being recognized. Again. ‘If you’re not comfortable with me representing you, it’s not something you should do because of Patrick’s opinion. You are the person who needs to be comfortable with me.’
Patrick, being Patrick, stepped in then, grinning with congeniality. ‘You see?’ he said to Sutton. ‘She’s so ethical!’
Cynthia nodded. ‘Yeah.’ She turned toward me. ‘You’re my lawyer.’ She held out her hand but I didn’t take it. I’m still doing the no-touching methods of greeting. Call me new-fashioned. I nodded significantly, almost a bow. I’ve been practicing.
‘You’re sure.’ Literally any chance to get out of this case would have been welcomed, but I felt like the door was closing on that possibility.
‘Sure,’ she said.
I sighed a little. I hoped Cynthia Sutton hadn’t heard me. ‘OK, then,’ I said. ‘Let’s hear the story.’
FIVE
‘I can’t believe you lost!’ Angie said.
‘It’s nice to see you too.’ I put down my laptop case on the table near the door and flung myself onto the sofa, kicking off the instruments of torture that men have imposed upon us (my shoes) at the same time. ‘And thanks a heap for sending Patrick to the courtroom. That helped a huge amount.’ I needed to change my clothes. That would be better.
‘I told you he called and you wouldn’t listen to me about it,’ she pointed out.
Yup, different clothes. I got up, reluctantly, from the couch, and walked into my bedroom where I could find suitably grungy things to wear. Angie, of course, followed.
‘So he brought his new girlfriend to the conference?’ she asked.
I threw on a T-shirt with a picture of Claude Chabrol on it that I’d bought at the IFC Center in New York, and a pair of sweatpants because they were sweatpants and that was what I needed. We sat at the ‘kitchen table’, a tiny thing we’d found on the street one day and furnished with two barstools from IKEA. It was like we were sitting at an overpriced, pretentious café, but in our apartment. Angie had ordered bad Los Angeles pizza (they never get the crust right and they ask if you want pineapple) and we each took a piece out of the box.
‘Well, they didn’t actually touch while I was there but it was pretty clear,’ I answered. ‘His wife hasn’t even been dead a year yet.’
‘Patsy wasn’t really his wife so much when she died,’ Angie reminded me. ‘But it still seems kinda quick. I thought if he was going to rebound with anybody it would have been you.’
‘Patrick and I are friends,’ I reminded her. ‘Always have been. He can date anybody he wants. He’s a grown man.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Angie is a woman of few syllables.
‘Anyway, this is about her case. When I got back to my office there were all her divorce records waiting on my desktop. And the agreement she was being asked to sign was a travesty. This woman was supposed to give away all her rights if she so much as went to dinner more than once with another man.’
‘Really?’ Angie washed down her pizza with some red wine. I wasn’t in that kind of mood so I was drinking beer.
‘No, not really. I’m exaggerating. But the terms Cynthia Sutton agreed to …’
Angie’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’. ‘Cynthia Sutton? Patrick’s going out with Cynthia Sutton?’
I had googled the name once I left the meeting and discovered that Cynthia Sutton was an actress of some reputation. She did not work on Patrick’s series Torn but was currently employed on an HBO prestige drama called Tiny Panes of Glass, which apparently was about a woman who murders people in the name of justice. What the panes of glass had to do with it was not clear.
‘Yeah. Is she a big deal?’ For LA the pizza was good. For Jersey it was average. After a year here, average still wasn’t quite good enough, but it was getting better.
‘Are you kidding? She got snubbed for an Oscar nom two years ago because she played a sympathetic superhero. And she won a TeeVee for best actress in a series.’ Angie swirled the wine around in her glass, which would have been more impressive had it been a wine glass, but all of those were in the dishwasher. She was drinking out of a plastic cup I’d bought at Rite Aid.
I didn’t pretend to understand all the words she’d just said, but decided the details of Cynthia’s career weren’t relevant to the part of her life I’d been hired to fix. ‘So how does she know Patrick?’ I wondered aloud.
Angie, of course, knew the answer. Angie is to pop culture what Neil deGrasse Tyson is to astrophysics. She knows everything and isn’t afraid to tell you about it. ‘They worked together once on a BBC miniseries before Patrick came over here for Legality,’ she said. ‘It was called Silents, about the silent movie era in the UK.’
‘The UK? Cynthia didn’t sound British.’
‘She’s not. She’s from Pensacola, Florida.’
‘How do you know that stuff off the top of your head?’ I marveled.
‘You know that part of your brain that has all the law stuff in it? I use it for this.’
I shook my head, not to tell Angie ‘no’, but to get that thought out of it. ‘The point is, I need to talk to the lawyer who negotiated this travesty and find out why. Cynthia’s just going to give me attitude because I’m not genuflecting when she enters the room. I don’t know why she accepted me as her lawyer, except that Patrick told her to.’
‘You should show her some respect,’ Angie said. ‘Oscar snub and all.’
‘I’ll try to keep that in mind.’
We finished dinner and Angie went into the living room to watch television on the giant screen she’d insisted we (I) buy when she moved in permanently. She can watch shows on her phone or her laptop, but she’s a purist.
I went into my bedroom so I could shut the door and think about work. The issue at hand right now was Maddie Forsythe’s appeal, not Cynthia Sutton’s divorce. I had to figure out what – among the many issues with the trial – would be best on which to base an appeal.
That evening was spent digging into all the paperwork (now mostly PDFs) on the case in the vain hope that I’d spot something I hadn’t seen before. The way I saw it, I had to punch holes in the ridiculous accusation that Maddie had been soliciting when she innocently went online in the hope of finding someone to fill the gap her husband was in the process of leaving.
I could call in Maddie’s children to make it clear they’d never seen anyone coming into
the house to sleep over with Mommy, but it always looked cruel to force children to testify, and Longabaugh would undoubtedly complain that I shouldn’t be retrying the case in appeal, and he would be right. Besides, Maddie had specifically said she didn’t want to do that.
So I spent three hours writing four different drafts of a brief in the hope that I could somehow convince the appeals court that Maddie wasn’t a whore. That belief, however misguided, was the only thing I could see that would cause any judge to rule against Maddie.
Then I went in and watched three episodes of some sitcom I can’t possibly remember with Angie. She wanted to watch Torn but I felt like I’d had enough Patrick McNabb for one day. She put it on the DVR for later.
There were three messages from Patrick on my phone when I woke up the next morning. Two were texts asking me if I was awake, which I had obviously not been, and the third was a voice mail: Sandy. (He did not identify himself because of course my phone knew him and besides, didn’t everybody?) I’m so excited that you’ll be handling Cynthia’s case! Can we meet for lunch today to discuss it? Please call me as soon as you can because I have a seven a.m. call.
Lunch with Patrick? I’ll admit I was tempted just to get him to myself for a while, but then I thought it through and realized that lunch with Patrick on a day he was filming his series would probably include a pretty serious entourage. I decided to ignore the message and get back to him after I’d given Cynthia Sutton’s file a thorough reading. And after I’d called Cynthia Sutton to discuss it with her. Patrick was not the client.
When I told Angie at breakfast that I wasn’t going to call Patrick back, she looked positively aghast. ‘Come on!’ she wailed. ‘He wants to make it up to you. What are you waiting for?’
‘Make what up to me?’ I asked. ‘Patrick doesn’t owe me anything. He brought me a client and I’m sort of grateful for that, even if it’s not a case I’d normally want to take. They should have gone to the firm, if Patrick is paying the bills – and knowing Patrick I’m betting he is – and let them assign an attorney. Now I’m walking in telling my boss that the client demanded me when I’m not even sure she wants me to represent her. Everything about this is wrong.’
Judgment at Santa Monica Page 3