Edwards stops us as we’re heading toward the door. His tone is civil when he says, “I never got my exclusive interview with your client.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “He never got a chance to testify, either.”
“What a waste.”
“Yeah.”
He gives us a thoughtful look and says, “Would you be willing to do an interview?”
“Not today.”
“How about tomorrow?”
“Let me think about it and I’ll give you a call.”
“Let me know as soon as you can, okay? I’m heading out of town tomorrow afternoon.”
“Vacation?”
“No. I’m going down to Mexico to see if I can find Alicia Morales.”
Then he’ll have the ending to his story. I give him a quick grin and say, “You still owe me dinner when you win your Pulitzer.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
Another familiar face greets us on the steps as we’re leaving the church. Roosevelt offers his condolences and says, “I thought I might find you here.”
I ask, “What brings you to our humble corner of town?”
“Official business.”
Uh-oh.
“I need to ask you to testify at Brad Lucas’s prelim,” he says. He pats his breast pocket melodramatically and adds, “If you aren’t willing to cooperate, I’ll have to serve you.”
“Did you really bring a subpoena?”
“No.” His eyes dance as he says, “I can always get one if you give me any grief.”
“I’m in, Roosevelt.”
“I figured you’d see it my way.” His eyes turn serious when he says, “Lucas is going to be charged with first degree murder.”
Rosie and I exchange a quick glance, but neither of us says anything.
“I can’t give you any details,” he continues, “but we found evidence in his condo that he and Grayson were procuring sex and drugs from Alicia Morales. We think she was blackmailing both of them and they had agreed to make a payoff the night Grayson was killed. We found Morales’s phone directory in Lucas’s condo. We think he tossed her room to try to find any evidence that might show a connection to him. The Board of Governors of the ABA would have been unhappy if the name of the new chairman of the Business Law Section was found in the phonebook of a hooker.”
I suspect the partners at Story, Short and Thompson wouldn’t have been overjoyed, either. This may explain why Lucas wanted to kill Morales, but it doesn’t provide a motive for killing Grayson. I ask Roosevelt why Lucas had an axe to grind against his former client.
“As usual, it was stupid. Grayson and Lucas got into a huge fight when Chamberlain discovered that Grayson was skimming money from Paradigm. Lucas was the fund’s attorney and sided with Chamberlain, and Grayson never forgave him. Evidently, Grayson made some not-so-subtle threats about revealing embarrassing details of Lucas’s relationship with Alicia Morales if he didn’t pay him some hush money.”
“Grayson was blackmailing his own lawyer?”
“So it seems. Lucas made several large cash withdrawals from his bank accounts in the last few months. We think some of it went to Morales, but most of it went to Grayson.”
The irony of a client sticking it to his lawyer doesn’t go unnoticed, but it still doesn’t add up. Lucas is no dummy and he has the resources of a big law firm at his disposal. “Grayson must have known that Lucas would fight back,” I observe.
“Lucas had more to lose. He was already persona non grata at his firm because of the investment in Paradigm. The partners were rather unappreciative when they found out they were funding a porn operation.”
“They’re big boys,” I say.
“Some of his partners were pretty upset.”
Hindsight is always twenty-twenty–especially among lawyers, where second-guessing is a way of life.
“Lucas was nervous,” he continues. “It wouldn’t have played well in the hallowed halls of Story, Short and Thompson if there was a headline in the Chronicle that their star corporate partner was buying drugs and hanging out with hookers on Sixth Street.”
True enough, although such issues are usually resolved quietly. When I was at Simpson and Gates, one of my partners operated a brothel in Thailand for ten years before anybody bothered to ask him why he was making so many trips to Bangkok. The worst thing that would have happened to Lucas is that he would have been expelled from the firm. That shouldn’t have been a motive for murder, but people do strange things when they’re overwhelmed by stress.
“Lucas would have brought Grayson down with him,” I say.
“He didn’t want to take the chance. His law firm would have bounced him and nobody else would have hired him. His clients would have abandoned him. At the end of the day, all you have is your reputation.”
Truer words have never been spoken. “Grayson’s reputation would have been shot, too,” I say. “He never would have been able to work in Silicon Valley again.”
“He didn’t care as much. His marriage was already shot and he had enough cash squirreled away to retire. His son was right about one thing–Grayson was good at watching cash flow, especially his own.”
“What about Lucas’s claim that Grayson needed to borrow twenty-five grand to pay Morales?”
“Complete bullshit. Grayson had millions in the Bahamas. We think each of them promised Morales twenty-five grand.”
“Then why was he skimming money from Paradigm?”
“For the same reason he was buying drugs and hanging out with hookers on Sixth Street. He did it for thrills or just to see if he could get away with it.”
I’m not entirely convinced, but I now have a plausible explanation for why Lucas may have killed Grayson and perhaps tried to kill Morales. This still doesn’t explain how it happened. There’s no evidence that Lucas was anywhere near Sixth Street the night Grayson died. I ask, “How do you connect Lucas to Grayson’s death?”
“It goes back to Lucas’s story about his car. It was the only place where he tripped up. First he said he left the garage at one-thirty, but the videotapes showed that wasn’t true. Then he changed his mind and said he walked home. We couldn’t confirm either story.”
“That shows he’s a liar–and not a very good one–but not a murderer. It doesn’t prove that Lucas was on Sixth Street with Grayson.”
“It’s a hole that we have to plug. We need to find somebody who saw Lucas on Sixth.”
A smart defense attorney might get to reasonable doubt on that alone. “Alicia Morales should be able to place him at the scene,” I say.
“We have to find her first.”
Yes, you do. I’m glad it’s your problem, not mine. “What are the chances?”
“Fair. We’ve already sent a search party down to Mexicali.”
Maybe he’ll run into Jerry Edwards and his private posse. I’m still trying to put the pieces together. “Let’s assume you’re right,” I say. “What happened after Grayson and Lucas left Boulevard?”
“Grayson drove Chamberlain home, then he picked up Lucas and they drove down to Sixth Street.”
“If Grayson was going to deliver the money, why did he need Lucas?”
“To make sure nobody interfered with the drop off.” He adds, “And Lucas probably wanted to be sure that Grayson actually made the delivery. Grayson went into the liquor store to signal Alicia Morales that he had the money. She’s no dummy. She wanted him on camera in front of witnesses if anything went wrong. She didn’t know that Lucas had come along for the ride.”
“And the cell phone call?”
“Confirmation to meet Grayson in the alley. We think Lucas nailed Grayson as he was walking by the loading dock, then he went after Morales. She ran and he couldn’t catch her. Leon came out a moment later. Lucas knocked him out and wiped some of Grayson’s blood on his jacket. He put the knife in Leon’s hand–his right one–to get his fingerprints. Then he shoved the knife and the bills into his right pocket–where Leon kept his l
ighter. It set up robbery as a motive, but he didn’t know that Leon was left handed.”
“And the lighter?”
“He took it out of Leon’s pocket or it fell out. Either he put it in the car intentionally or he dropped it accidentally.”
He’ll never be able to prove it. “How did Lucas know that Grayson would flash a wad of bills at the counter?”
“He didn’t. He got lucky. He also was lucky that Walker needed money for his daughter’s medical care. It made the robbery motive even more plausible.” He gives me a sarcastic grin and adds, “His luck ran out when he couldn’t catch Morales. She knew that Lucas would be looking for her. She had already cleaned out her bank account, so she picked up her sister and headed to Mexico.”
I ask him why she didn’t report the murder.
“Put yourself in her shoes,” he says. “She was involved in drug dealing and prostitution. She was blackmailing an attorney and a venture capitalist. She didn’t want to get into a discussion with us about what she was doing in the alley at two in the morning.”
“And the shouting in the alley that Nick Hanson heard?”
“It was probably Lucas and Morales.”
Rosie asks, “What about Grayson’s car?”
“Our best guess is that Lucas tried to make it look like a random theft by driving it over to the abandoned area by the ballpark. It’s also walking distance from his condo. He had to get rid of it, but he didn’t want to get caught driving Grayson’s stolen car.”
“So he torched it?” I say.
“We can’t prove it yet, but we think so.”
It’s plausible, but there’s another missing piece. I ask, “What happened to the money?”
The corner of his mouth turns up slightly when he says, “That’s why we can win this case. We found forty-eight grand in cash in an envelope in Lucas’s car. We figure he slipped two grand into Walker’s pocket and he kept the rest. Alicia Morales never got a penny.”
The circle of futility is complete. Grayson is dead, Lucas is in jail, Morales didn’t get her money and Leon never knew that he was exonerated.
I take a deep breath of the warm air. The sweet aroma of the La Victoria bakery wafts down the street. I ask Roosevelt the $64,000 question. “Are you going to be able to prove this beyond a reasonable doubt?”
He wipes his glasses with his handkerchief. “It won’t be easy,” he acknowledges. “Lucas hasn’t said a word and he’s hired a smart lawyer. We haven’t connected him to the murder weapon. We can’t place him at the scene and we have no solid evidence that he stole Grayson’s car. We found the cash in his car, but we have no way of proving it was stolen. It’s going to be a circumstantial case unless we can find some additional evidence.”
“Or you find Morales,” I say.
“True.”
We stand in silence for a moment, then I ask, “Was there something else, Roosevelt?”
He strokes his chin says, “You aren’t hearing this from me.”
“Understood.”
“I talked to Judge McDaniel when we were pulling the warrants to search Lucas’s condo. For what it’s worth, she said you did an excellent job.”
“Thanks. Did she happen to mention which way she was planning to rule before our little adventure at the Gold Rush on Thursday night?”
“As a matter of fact, she did. Do you want to know?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“You’re full of shit,” he says.
He knows me too well. “It’s a purely academic exercise, but I’d like to know.”
“You aren’t going to like it.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“She was going to hold Leon over for trial.”
In other words, we would have lost. “Did she say why?”
“You know the legal reasons. It was only a prelim. McNulty just needed to show that there was sufficient evidence to suggest that Leon committed the crime. He placed him at the scene and put the murder weapon in his pocket. The deck was stacked against you from the start, Mike. You never had a chance.”
“So this was all a waste of time.”
“No, it wasn’t. We’re going to get the right result.”
“It’s little consolation for Leon.”
“True enough, but if it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t have caught Lucas.”
“We had a lot of help from you.” I say.
He gives me a fatherly pat on the shoulder and says, “Don’t beat yourself up this time. It isn’t a perfect result, but your client’s name was cleared–more or less–and we have a good chance at nailing Lucas. Not bad in a case that you had no business winning in the first place.”
As always, he’s right. “Can I beat myself up just a little?”
“I haven’t been able to stop you for almost five decades.”
I look into the eyes of my father’s partner and realize that I may have benefitted from his last piece of exemplary police work. “Thanks for everything, Roosevelt.”
“You’re welcome.” He looks down the block and says, “You look hungry. Let me take you over to LaVictoria for a bite to eat–this time it’s my treat.”
# # #
“Ramon spoke nicely at the funeral,” Rosie observes.
“He’s a good guy.”
“Yes, he is.” Her eyes focus onto mine when she adds, “So are you.”
“Thanks.”
We’re in my office at eight o’clock on Tuesday night. The days are long and the sun is still shining, but our mood is subdued. We’ve spent the last hour boxing up Leon’s case files. There is a sense of finality in this exercise that is always anticlimactic. The last two weeks will be relegated to ten DataSafe boxes in the back of our storage area.
I look at the bags under my ex-wife’s eyes and say, “You look tired.”
“I am.” She gives me a faint smile. “There is some good news,” she says. “I talked to Vanessa. I was able to pull some strings down at family services and Julia is going to get her tests. The prognosis looks pretty good if they get her into treatment right away.”
“Sounds like something good may come of this after all.”
“I hope so.” She takes a drink of her Diet Coke, then looks at a newly-opened space on the wall above my desk. “I see you finally decided to take down Madame Lena’s chart,” she says.
“It had great sentimental value, but it was pretty tired.”
“Have you selected a piece of artwork to cover the crack in the wall?”
“I have.” I pull out a flat package that’s wrapped in plain brown paper and lay it on my desk. I peel off the wrapping paper and hold it up to show it to Rosie, who recognizes it right away. It’s a framed print of Michelangelo’s The Last Judgment.
“Appropriate,” she says.
“I thought so.”
She helps me lean it up against the wall and we admire it in silence. The masterpiece looks out of place in my musty office, but the thought seems right. “So,” she says, “is it time for us to settle our account with Leon Walker?”
“I think so.” I hesitate and say, “Are you ready?”
“Yeah.”
I reach into my drawer and remove a sealed white envelope. “In my capacity as the escrow holder,” I say, “I am pleased to report all of the conditions for release of this item have been fulfilled.” I slide it across the desk to her and say, “This discharges my fiduciary duties.”
“You fulfilled them in an exemplary manner and you are to be commended.”
We stare at the envelope. There are tears in Rosie’s eyes as she says, “It’s almost as if Leon is talking to us from the grave.” She eyes the envelope for a few interminable seconds, then she looks up at me and says, “Do you want to open it?”
“The terms of our escrow agreement provided that you were to open it.”
She picks it up and whispers, “The contents of the letter never leave this room.”
“Agreed.”
She doesn’t say anot
her word. She tears it open and places the single sheet of lined white paper on the desk where we both can see it. Leon’s handwriting is more ornate than I might have expected, and there are no misspelled words. I can hear his voice in my head as we read in silence.
Dear Rosie and Mike,
Ten years ago on November 2nd, my brother and I went to a Warriors-Lakers game. Afterward, Frankie and I had burritos at LaCumbre, then we went out for a couple of beers. On our way home, we stopped at a 7-Eleven, where I bought a Coke while he waited in the car. When I returned, he asked me if anybody was in the store. I told him no and he said he was going inside to buy a six pack of beer. I was listening to the radio while he was in the store. He didn’t seem agitated when he returned. I was driving when the police stopped us a short time later.
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