So after Tucker’s testimony, Colby requested an early lunch hour. And ordered Larry Lopez to his office.
“Do you know anything about Drake being abusive to Darren?” Colby asked his investigator.
Lopez shook his head.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“I don’t care if you believe me or not.”
“I think you’re holding back. I want to know why.”
“Lay off, Leon. You got your job to do, I got mine. There’s nothing gonna get this kid off, you know that.”
Yeah, he knew that. He knew it was the ol’ slam dunk. A notch, a victory, another step toward Mahogany Row.
So why didn’t this victory taste sweet?
10.
“I’m going to take a deal from Colby,” said Woodard quietly.
Lindy stepped back from him as if pushed. “You can’t.”
“Listen to me.” He looked at her sternly, not like a professor, but like a parent. “If Colby will offer less than twenty-five years, we need to take it. The case is getting away—”
“But—”
“And the best interest of our client demands the least amount of prison time we can get.”
“We can’t do that.” She tried to keep her voice down. The courtroom was slowly clearing out. Darren had already been removed.
“What do you suggest? Have you been watching the jury? They are not buying insanity, not in the slightest.”
Chill desperation grasped Lindy. “We can’t. I won’t do it.”
“Lindy,” he said softly, “I want you to listen. The worst thing a defense lawyer can do is lose objectivity. That’s what’s happening here. You’re attached to this case in an unhealthy way. You need to step aside and let me make the call.”
“Step aside?”
“Leave it to me—”
“No. I won’t.”
“Lindy—”
“I won’t do it. I won’t sell him out.”
Woodard frowned. “If you think that’s what’s happening, then you truly have lost your ability to serve your client.”
“We have to keep going.”
“It’s not your call, Lindy.”
She looked into his resolute face. “I won’t go along with this.”
“I am the attorney of record, remember?”
Lindy braced herself against the counsel table. “You’d do this over my objection?”
“If I think it’s in Darren’s best interest. That’s the only thing either one of us should be thinking about.”
Her legs felt weak. “Everett, please . . .”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got till Monday. Go home and think about it. But think about it like a lawyer. Think about it dispassionately. Will you do that for me?”
She swallowed hard, her nerves starting to feel like frayed wires.
“All right, Everett. Till Monday.”
“Good. Come on, I’ll give you a lift home.”
“Roxy’s meeting me. You go ahead.”
“Get some rest.” He swept up his briefcase and walked out.
Absently, Lindy packed her own briefcase with scattered notes and tried to find the light in this dark scenario. There was none. Woodard was right. The jury was not on their side. Maybe a couple of them, and so maybe they could get a hung jury.
That would only mean doing this all again. But if so, she could buy some time and try to find . . . something, anything that would help.
On the other hand, if this jury returned a guilty verdict, Darren would be slapped with the upper limit of a prison sentence.
There was no light.
Lindy clasped her briefcase shut, turned, and looked into eyes staring directly at her.
It was that woman again, Romney. She was fixed in the center of the courtroom, unmoving.
And Lindy thought, if there’s insanity going on, this woman might be right on the edge.
Lindy looked away and started up the aisle. But she felt the woman’s eyes on her all the way out the door.
EIGHTEEN
1.
“Things aren’t going so good, are they?” Roxy asked.
Lindy closed her eyes. “Everett wants to plead Darren out.”
They were driving back to the Valley from the courthouse. The afternoon was L.A.-hot, and Roxy had the windows rolled down. Her air-conditioning wasn’t working. Sweltering air streamed through the car, doing no good at all.
“Maybe that’s the right thing to do,” Roxy said.
“Not you too.”
“I can see his point. Colby wants the max and he may get it.”
Lindy snapped her eyes open. “You remember that girl surfer a couple years ago who got her arm bit off by a shark? And she was back to surfing a few months later?”
“Yeah.”
“Leon Colby wants to bite off my head. He doesn’t care if I ever practice law again, after this case is over. But I won’t have my head.”
Roxy laughed. They were on Victory Boulevard now, beating the freeway traffic by taking surface streets.
“What’s so funny?” Lindy said.
“I just had a vision. Your head, sitting on Colby’s table, shouting, ‘Objection, Your Honor!’”
“You’re sick.”
“I am.” Roxy looked in the rearview mirror and her expression changed.“And unless I’m totally gone, there’s somebody following us.”
“What?” Lindy looked at the side-view mirror. Several cars stretched out behind them. “You sure?”
“I’m pretty sure. That blue number, a couple cars back.”
“When did you pick this up?”
“I noticed it a few blocks from the courthouse, but thought it was just my imagination. Now I’m not so sure.”
“Speed up a little.”
“I’m not going to do a chase scene here.”
“Relax. Just a little. Let’s see if he keeps up.”
Roxy complied, giving the car a little extra gas, changing lanes. Lindy saw in the mirror that the trailing car changed lanes too. And sped up.
“Now what?” Roxy said.
“Keep it steady.”
“Red light coming.”
“No sweat.”
“I’m the one driving. I get to sweat.”
Over the next few blocks, the blue car kept an irregular but discernable distance between them.
“I don’t like this,” Roxy said.
“Let’s circle back around and drive to the West Valley police station, on Vanowen.”
“What if this guy’s a cop? Ever think of that?”
“Then he’ll feel right at home. Let’s go.”
“Can I wait for the light to turn green?”
When it did, Roxy proceeded to the next corner and turned right.
The blue car followed.
“I don’t believe this,” Roxy said.
“Keep going.”
Roxy turned right on Vanowen. Lindy saw the blue car in the mirror, still tailing.
“Persistent sucker,” Lindy said.
They approached the West Valley station.
“Go up the driveway halfway. Let’s see if he pulls in with all those black and whites.”
Roxy did as ordered. Two uniformed officers, in an act of impeccable timing, came out the front doors as Roxy screeched to a halt nearly on top of them.
Lindy looked in the mirror. The blue car whizzed by without turning in. Lindy caught a flash of the driver’s face.
And knew who it was.
2.
Leon Colby was in his office when he took the call from George Mahoney.
“How goes the war?” Mahoney asked.
“Fine.” Colby didn’t want to add anything to that. From what he knew of Mahoney, the less information you gave him the less could come back to bite you. Even though he was for the prosecution and could be of enormous political help, there was something about him Colby didn’t like.
“Any updates?” Mahoney asked.
“Nope.”
“A little inside info for your friends at VOICe.”
“And as always, we appreciate your support.”
“Ah, come on, Leon. You’re sounding like a politician already.”
“My door is always open.”
“You’re the master of the runaround.”
“What have I got to run around?”
“Many a thing, if past history is any example. Sometimes we have to fight a little harder depending on who the district attorney is. Before Sherman took over, we had to deal with a pretty closed shop up there, and that came back to bite the previous DA.”
“It’s a little early to be influence peddling, George.”
“The fact that you want to be DA is one of the worst kept secrets in this town. It’s like Cher and silicone.”
“Is there a reason for this call, other than to tell me Hollywood jokes?”
“Well, I was wondering if your relations with the law enforcement community will be an issue in this upcoming race. You know, the support of the Police Officers Guild was the big advantage for Sherman last time around.”
“I like the police.”
“That’s what I thought. But I hear things, you know? I’m sort of the central clearing house for the health and morale of this city’s good officers. They trust me. What can I say? I’ve earned that trust over a long period of time. And I know if you earn trust, and then lose it, you can’t get it back.”
“I think I can guess. Kirby Glenn called you. Or was it Larry Lopez?”
“I don’t reveal names, that’s part of the trust factor. What I want to know, Leon, is whether you’re turning up the flame on the good guys a little too high. The DA has enough trouble cooking the collective goose of the criminal enterprise. He shouldn’t be increasing the heat on the home team.”
Tread carefully here. George Mahoney was a definite power in city politics. Get on his bad side and watch the tide turn in a close election. “Thanks for the call.”
“Then I take it I’ve been of some help to you, Leon?”
“Always helpful to talk to the good citizens of L.A.”
Mahoney laughed. “You are going to be great in that office, Leon. Just great.”
After hanging up, Colby sat in silence for several minutes, mulling over what he knew about George Mahoney. Ex-cop. Now active for victims’ rights. His group,VOICe, was gaining influence.
And before that?
Colby thought about doing a little Internet search on Mahoney, see what came up. He’d start with the L.A. Times, maybe expand via the LexisNexis database.
Then he asked himself why. He had things well in hand. Mahoney was on his side, that much was plain. He could use Mahoney in his corner during the campaign.
But unease needled him, pricked at his insides. And he found himself wondering what his father would counsel him to do.
3.
“No way,” Roxy said.
“He had that long hair, that goatee,” Lindy replied.
“Why would Travis be following us?”
“You tell me.” They stayed in front of the police station. The two uniforms who had walked out the front doors apparently decided Roxy would not run them down and were proceeding slowly toward the parking lot.
“It’s too weird,” Roxy said.
“Follow him then.”
“What?”
“Go!”
Roxy shifted the car and backed out. Lindy heard the squeal of rubber. And saw the two policemen look at them again.
Roxy burst onto Vanowen, headed east. A car screeched behind them, the driver laying heavy on the horn.
“Sorry,” Roxy said. She shifted, put foot to pedal, and burned more rubber.
“Easy!” Lindy held on to the dashboard with both hands.
“You want me to go or not?”
“Go!”
The blue car was well ahead of them, past the Wilbur intersection, cruising by the YMCA.
“Make this light,” Lindy said, as the red Don’t Walk sign stopped flashing. The streetlight turned yellow. Roxy gunned it. The light turned red just before she reached the intersection. She sped through as a chorus of furious car horns protested.
“How was that?” Roxy smiled.
“He’s at Reseda.”
The blue car was completing a left turn at Reseda Boulevard, at least half a mile ahead. Lindy caught a look at the speedometer. Roxy was doing fifty, a healthy fifteen above the speed limit. But this was the Valley after all, where thousands of drag racing kids did twice that.
Some justification.
The light turned red when they reached Reseda. They sat in the left-turn lane behind a black pickup.
“The slowest light in the world!” Lindy said.
“Actually, Orange County is much slower. I remember—”
“Go!”
The light turned green, but cross traffic held them up. Finally Roxy shot up Reseda, past a string of fast-food joints—Subway, Jack in the Box, Arby’s. Ahead, Lindy thought she saw the blue car turn right on Sherman Way.
“There’s a string of stoplights up there,” Lindy said. “He may have made a mistake.”
Roxy gave the car an extra dose of gas. It seemed to Lindy that they were driving through mud. Every moment out of sight gave the blue car an opportunity to cut down a side street.
Approaching the corner, Lindy saw the light about to change to green. “Don’t slow down!”
Roxy slammed on the brakes.
Lindy jerked forward. Her seat belt locked and kept her from putting her head through the windshield. Her heart made a vertical leap to her throat. The smell of burning rubber and scorched brake fluid filled her nostrils.
“What’re you—” Lindy stopped when she saw what had caused the stop. A large Hispanic woman was pushing a baby stroller in the crosswalk.
The woman wagged her finger at Roxy and said something hot and Spanish.
“This is nuts!” Roxy was breathing like she’d seen death too close.
“Keep going!”
“You’re crazy.”
“He’s getting away.”
“Let him!”
“What’s wrong with you?”
A siren answered her question. Lindy saw the cop car in the side-view mirror, the red and blue lights flashing.
“Great!” Roxy said.“We’re Thelma and Louise now. Happy?”
Lindy recognized them as the officers from the station. They must have hunted them down after Roxy’s less-than-smooth exit from the driveway.
“Relax now,” Lindy said. “Let me do the talking.”
4.
Iron John Sherman glared at Leon Colby from the door of his Hancock Park home. “What’re you doing here? I don’t recall your being invited—”
“This can’t wait,” Colby said.
“I have guests—”
“Five minutes.”
Sherman sighed, took a sip of his drink, and walked past Colby. Ice clinked in Sherman’s glass as he led Colby halfway down the walk. “I’m schmoozing, Leon. It’s a fine art and one you need to get good at. Coming to somebody’s house unannounced is not the way to do it.”
“I didn’t want to use the phone.”
“That’s odd. Sort of All the President’s Men by way of South Central.”
“What do you know about George Mahoney and VOICe?”
“Good group to have on your side.”
“What do you know about him?”
Sherman shrugged. “Not much. Active in the community. Something of a ladies’ man, I hear.”
“Did you know he used to be a cop?”
“I think I may have read that somewhere.”
“Do you know where he was assigned before he left the force?”
“Leon, get to the point.”
“Rampart.”
Sherman did not flinch. Instead he took another drink. Then he said, “He got out before the scandal hit.”
“I thought you didn’t know much about him.”
In t
he dim light from the windows, Colby saw Iron John Sherman smile. “Leon, you are going to make it big. You saw right through me. I held back. That’s another thing a great prosecutor does. Holds back as much as he can from the other side, or they just might use it in ways that will be, say, harmful.”
“You think I’m going to use it that way?”
“Not if you’re the man I think you are, Leon. I don’t think you would, because you need me in your corner. I know that.” Sherman smiled. “I don’t pick dumb people to back.”
Colby felt the coolness of the words as he would a stiff breeze. “I just don’t like being unaware of things I should be aware of.”
“Who needs awareness? You’re whacking at Lindy Field and Everett Woodard like they were piñatas. Just keep whacking.”
“That’s not good enough.”
Sherman stared at him. “What’s that mean, Leon?”
“I want the truth.”
“Will you just can that cheap patter? Please, Leon? Use that in a campaign speech, but don’t let’s get all Mother Teresa here. You have a job to do. Finish it and move on. Forget about George Mahoney—”
“And a police officer named Glenn.”
“You’ve never had trouble with the police before. Why start now?”
“I’m a prosecutor. You’re the DA. We’re the ones keeping the system balanced between—”
“Balanced?” Sherman spat the word. “Don’t go back to law-school fantasies, Leon. You think it’s balanced that every time a cop sneezes funny an Internal Affairs suit knocks on his door? You think it’s balanced the city council, with their coffee and croissants, gets to hold the chief’s head in a vice? It’s not a balancing act out there, Leon, and you know what? The people don’t want it to be. They want the cops to win. They’re tired of gangs and graffiti and drugs and people sleeping on the sidewalks. So don’t ever get it in your head that balance is what this system, or your job, is about.”
A woman stuck her head out the front door. “Jonathan? What’s going on?”
Sherman turned. “Office matter. I’ll be right in.”
“We’re going to play Balderdash.”
“I said I’ll be right there.”
Sins of the Fathers Page 26