Until Proven Innocent

by Gene Grossman

  I give Tony my copy of the script to read, so he can see what the movie cops are supposed to testify about.

  *****

  April is nervous because someone slipped a manila envelope under her apartment door, and she doesn’t know what’s in it or who left it there. I’m glad she called me before touching it. I tell her to leave it on the floor and that someone from my office is on the way over there. I send Tony over to her apartment and give him instructions to make sure he wears the proper gloves when he picks it up to put it into an evidence bag.

  Victor Gutierrez is a friend of mine who operates a private scientific lab out near Pasadena, where he does all types of forensic examinations, from autopsies to fingerprints. After giving Tony directions to Victor’s place, I make a phone call so that Tony’s arrival will be expected. I want to know everything I can about whoever put that envelope under her door.

  Tony’s an organized guy. After dropping off the envelope at Victor’s place, he calls to check in with me.

  “Tony, did you get that thing over to Victor’s place?”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t tell me what he does in the back room.”

  “Oh, you mean in the body shop portion of his place?”

  “Yeah, you could call it that. It wasn’t until I noticed his van parked out in back with the name ‘1800AUTOPSY’ painted on the side that I realized what the place was. This guy Victor’s been around for years. I’ve seen him plenty of times when he was doing some consulting work for the department. Oh, by the way, I peeked inside that envelope.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Well, that depends on what you consider interesting. It’s a couple of eight-by-tens of a dog dumping on a sidewalk. This must be a joke of some sort that someone’s playing on her.”

  Tony doesn’t know it, but he just gave me some important information. It looks like that apartment manager is trying to put the pressure on April to move out, so he can get his new tenant moved in. Now that the proof of April’s lawbreaking is out in the open, we might as well put an end to her fear of prosecution. I call April.

  “Hi, it’s attorney Peter Sharp. Can you meet me at your local police station in an hour? I’m going to turn you in for breaking the law.”

  “Oh, my goodness. Why are you doing this to me? You’re supposed to be on my side. You’re my lawyer. I don’t want to go to jail.”

  “April, please trust me. You’re not going to jail. The worst thing that could happen is you might get issued a citation, like a parking ticket, and then there will be a fifty-dollar fine. Oh, by the way, bring some things with you – Charlie, your new scooper,” and your checkbook.”

  She’s not too happy about my suggestion, but she reluctantly agrees to go along with meeting me there.

  Victor has my cell phone number, and he’s calling me while I’m on the way to meet April at the cop house.

  “What’s up Victor?”

  “I got some prints off of the envelope, and some off of the art photos too.”

  “Oh, you like those shots do you? I can get some enlargements made that would be suitable for framing, or some wallet sized ones.”

  “Naw, thanks anyway Pete, I’ll stick with my collector’s version of those dogs playing poker. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that the prints we lifted don’t match anything on file with the authorities, so whomever they belong to doesn’t have a criminal record or any kind of professional license. Have you got anything you want me to compare them to?”

  I think about it for a second or two and then remember that the apartment building manager gave me his business card.

  “Yeah, come to think of it… I’ll be sending a business card over to your place, for comparison. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  I’m glad the conversation is over, because I’m just pulling up to the police station, and this town has an ordinance that prohibits talking on a cell phone while you drive. I see through the front doors of the station that April is already here. She’s hard to miss.

  Walking into the station, I see that she’s got Charlie on a leash, and she brought the extended pooper-scooper with her, like I instructed.

  The desk sergeant is a friendly sort. “What can I do for you folks?”

  I hand him my card. “I’m here with my client, and she wants to confess to a violation of one of your city regulations: Code Section 4.04.385.”

  The sergeant rubs his chin while looking at me. He thumbs through his desk reference book. “You mean the dog dropping law?”

  “Yes sergeant, that’s the one. As you can see, my client might have had some difficulty in obeying it in the past, but she’s seen the error of her ways and has now purchased this extended scooper, which she religiously uses whenever taking her dog for a walk.”

  The sergeant is deep in thought. “I’ll tell you what counselor; why not write your client’s name on the back of this business card you gave me. I’ll tell this story to our City Attorney, and if they want, we’ll issue her a citation and mail it to her in care of your office. Honestly though, in view of your straightforwardness and coming in here like this, I’m sure that they won’t mind letting her off with a warning, this time.”

  That’s it. April’s problems are almost over. Mister Miller doesn’t know it, but he no longer has anything he can threaten April with. The police already know about her alleged violations of the law.

  I’m busy all the way back to the Marina planning the next step, and it involves me making a call to my ex-wife Myra, the newly elected District Attorney of our County.

  Back at the boat, I use my office phone to speed-dial her office. Because I was instrumental in convincing her main opponent to drop out of the race, she feels a small debt of gratitude to me, but it doesn’t extend any further than the granting of access to her without going through a bunch of office underlings. I have the number of her private line.

  “Hello Peter, what favor am I going to refuse today?”

  “You see? Once again you’ve jumped to a wrong conclusion. I’m calling to do you a favor.”

  “Just a second, a pig just flew by outside my office window.”

  “No, really, my love, I’ve got a 518 for you.”

  “You can’t be serious. You mean section 518 of our beloved Penal Code?”

  “That’s right, beautiful. Extortion. And if you really want to get technical, we’ve got him cold on section 523, because he sent her a photo that purports to show her violating the law.”

  “All right Peter, I want to know one or two things, and your answers better be one hundred percent truthful. Number one, I want to know what the subject of the extortion is, and I want to know the requested consideration for it.”

  “Okay, here goes. The subject of the extortion is my client’s alleged violation of the law, and the requested consideration is her voluntarily giving up the two bedroom ocean view apartment she leases, and surrendering her right to any and all compensation by way of relocation funds.”

  “Hmmm. Sounds interesting. Maybe we can talk about it.”

  “Good. Now that there’s a possibility we have a real case here, why don’t we mull over the details at PM?”

  “Oh all right, what the heck. I’ll see you there at seven this evening. And Peter?”

  “Yes my dear?”

  “This is strictly a business meeting. If I find out you’ve concocted another scheme to try and get into my bloomers, I’m outa there.”

  I wish she wouldn’t have hinted that she’s wearing bloomers. It’s a turn-on. The ‘PM’ that she mentioned is a Mexican restaurant named Pollo Meshuga, and it was our favorite margarita place while we were dating and during our marriage.

  I haven’t gotten any word back from Victor yet about a fingerprint match, because the office sent the manager’s card over there less than an hour ago, but I’m pretty sure that Miller’s prints will be on there somewhere.

  I’ve got some time to kill before meeting Myra this evening, so I’m now on the way over to the Veni
ce Soundstage.

  It looks like they’re busy shooting a scene back there on the set, but I see Joe Caulfield is in his office, going over some paperwork. I peek in, not wanting to disturb him.

  “Hi Peter, your scenes won’t be shot for another day or so, but I do appreciate your stopping by the set.”

  “I was just curious how your meeting went with Tony, that cop I sent over for you to interview.”

  “He’s a unique individual. He starts work tomorrow.”

  “That’s wonderful. Thanks a lot for putting him on. I’m sure he’ll do a good job of making your actors testify like real cops.”

  “Oh, he’s not the consultant… we hired him as an actor. He’s got quite an imposing presence, what with his size and demeanor, and if he remembers his lines, I’m sure he’ll deliver them like a real cop testifying. We figured why risk losing something in the translation when we can get the real thing?”

  “You mean he’s got a featured role in your movie? Just like that? Doesn’t he have to have some kind of screen actor’s guild membership?”

  “Don’t be silly. This is a low budget non-union production, so ‘he don’t need no stinkin’ SAG card.’ We can even put you in the movie as one of the lawyers if you want. How about it? Wanna be a star?”

  Of all the things in the world that I’m not interested in being, movie actor is right at the top. For the life of me, I can’t imagine why people from all over the world gravitate to California for some chance to be in the movies. There must be tens of thousands of wannabee actors out here, and the odds of any of them making it big in the movies is probably worse than their chance of winning the lottery.

  If you want a screenplay or an actor, all you have to do is go into any Los Angeles restaurant. Every waiter has a screenplay in the trunk of his car, and the waitresses are all in between acting jobs.

  Some of them actually make it, because if you ever watch those celebrity interviews, it seems like every one of them waited on tables at one time in their life. That’s where we differ: I’ve never waited on tables, have never written a screenplay, and do not want to be in the movies. Therefore, I respectfully decline Joe Caulfield’s generous offer of fame and fortune, and leave the acting to Tony the cop.

  *****

  Back at the Marina I see Tony leaving our boat.

  “I understand that you’re now going to be a movie star, Tony.”

  “Yeah, isn’t that something? You know, that guy Joe Caulfield is a lot smarter than he looks.”

  “You mean for a guy with black skin? What impressed you about him? Discovering that he can read and write?”

  “Very funny, but that’s not it. We were discussing various police procedures, and there’s nothing I could mention that he didn’t seem to already know about - even the different methods of suspect interrogation. He knew about all of ‘em, including the Hypothetical Story, the Psychological Approach, the Cold Shoulder, Who Talks First, Playing Down the Offense, Mutt & Jeff…”

  “Wait a minute. What’s Mutt & Jeff? Two cops of different sizes?”

  “Close. That’s the technical description for the good-cop, bad-cop routine. He knew ‘em all. He doesn’t need a consultant on that stuff. He must’ve had some law enforcement training in his past.”

  “Or probably some experience working on cops and robber movies. Well, that’s neither here nor there. The important thing is that you’ve got a steady job now for the next couple of weeks, and that the two of you seemed to have gotten along.”

  “How do you know we got along?”

  “Because I just left his office. He’s black, and still alive.”

  “By the way counselor… can he really read and write?”

  That’s a surprise. Tony the cop actually has a sense of humor. It may be a little on the sick side, but it’s still there. In a show of gratitude for getting him the job, he offers to buy me dinner at that same Mexican restaurant we went to last time. I take a rain check that I never intend to cash. There’s less chance of gunfire tonight with Myra, although you never can tell what mood she’ll be in.

  *****

  Pollo Meshuga is in a building that looks like a Japanese Pagoda. That’s probably because they took the location over after a Benihana restaurant moved out.

  As usual I’m at least thirty minutes early, so when Myra comes in, her favorite flavored Patrón margarita is waiting on the table. Because this place is a walking distance from my boat, there’s no need to drive and no need to abstain, so I’ve already had a few and am feeling no pain. I always like to anesthetize myself a little when Myra is around. It eases the pain of her sharp criticism.

  I see her come in the front door and she looks as good as ever, but in a more conservative way. No more flaming red hair waving around, no more cleavage showing, but still looking good. Her hair is a conservative darker color, her blouse is buttoned up to a conservative point, and her walk is a little more conservative, on lower more conservative ‘sensible’ heels and with less motion of the posterior part of her body.

  She walks right over to the table, picks up her glass, and with a clink onto mine, takes her first sip. Being a high-ranking Los Angeles County official, a car and driver have been assigned to her, so she doesn’t have to worry about drinking and driving any more.

  After ordering, we spend a while catching up on mutual friends. Because we’re both involved in the law, we know the same people. She doesn’t ask about Suzi, who idolizes her, because I think they talk on the phone every day at least once or twice. As a result of Myra, Suzi plans on going to law school and becoming attorney general of the state. I’d like to think they also spend some time talking about me, but there’s no sense in getting my hopes up. We both know that Suzi’s grand scheme is to get us back together again, so that she can live with a mother and a father. In some ways I wish her luck, but I know in my heart that Myra’s had enough of me to last for a lifetime. It looks like the chances of Suzi succeeding are like the punch line of a pit boss in Vegas that I once represented: slim and none…. and Slim’s out of town.

  We’ve run out of small talk and now Myra wants more details on the extortion case I mentioned this afternoon. I start right at the beginning and tell her everything I know about April’s case. To interest her a little more, I also include the details of Olive’s problems with Hershel the car dealer. Maybe she’ll take both of them on. Myra listens to it all, orders another drink, finishes up the one still on the table, and gives me her honest opinion.

  “Are you out of your frigging mind? What kind of pervert are you? I always knew you were a little kinky when we were married, but this is ridiculous. You’ve got one phone sex girl referring another phone-sex girl to you. There are two alleged extortion attempts, one for an apartment and another for some dirty talk. You amaze me. I never thought your practice would sink to such depths.”

  “Hey, wait a minute. What’s with that ‘kinky’ remark? I remember that when we were married you never complained when we played ‘the handyman and the housewife.’ And if my memory serves me correctly, you came up with a few new versions of that game yourself.”

  Her face turns a deep red.

  “Okay, maybe I was a little harsh with you, but Peter, please, you can’t be serious about these cases can you? I know you can do better than turning these losers over to me. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that this was all a ploy just to have dinner with me.”

  “That works for me. If you don’t want these cases, I’ll know that I at least tried. And because this satisfies parts of the kid’s plan to hook us up again, I also know that I’ll be reimbursed for this evening, so drink and enjoy.”

  Our repartee is interrupted by the cell phone vibrating in my lap. I sneak a glance down at it and see that the text message display says: “Tony was fired.”

  The rest of the evening’s conversation is taken up by our exchanging stories about Tony the cop. She’s heard more of them than me, but I actually witnessed two of them. We
both decide that extortion cases or not, the evening didn’t turn out too bad. She buzzes her driver to bring the car around and I stumble back to our dock, to meet with the newly unemployed movie star.

  As usual, Tony is sitting on the dock box next to my boat. I ask him only one question. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  “We disagreed about how a cop should testify. There was a bit of an argument, and he threw me off of the set.”

  “What’s the matter, didn’t he think you were authentic enough playing the part of a cop?”

  “He thought I was too authentic. He wanted me to tone it down. I tried to explain to him that after a judge makes liberal rulings like that for some shyster defense attorney, no real cop on the stand would act any different. He said he wanted realism and that’s what I gave him.”

  “Well, as long as he’s still alive, maybe there’s a chance. Did the ‘N’ word come up at all in your heated conversation with him?”

  “C’mon counselor, I’m not that bad, and you should know it by now.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Maybe I can salvage something. Remember, Tony, this is not Court TV, this is a movie. It’s all make-believe. It’s not supposed to be too authentic. Do you think Arnold Schwarzenegger really came from the future, or that Sylvester Stallone can be a champion boxer? It’s a fantasy. That’s why they call it acting instead of reality. I’ll try to smooth things out, but if I can talk him into letting you continue as an actor, please follow the director’s instructions.”

  I get his grumbling acceptance and decide to call it a night. I know that the kid will be waiting for me to report on my dinner with Myra, so I might as well get it over with. She’ll probably spend the rest of the evening on the phone with Myra, verifying everything I’m about to tell her now.