Grace has to eat."
"I know." He takes a sip of coffee. "What's your billing rate?"
I stop cold. The fact is, I haven't decided. I didn't think
I'd have a client so soon. "One-eighty an hour," I mumble.
Then I add quickly, "Plus expenses." "Weren't you two-eighty at S and G?" "Yeah. It's amazing what you can do if you keep your overhead down. I guess you can think of me as the legal profession's equivalent of the Kmart Blue Light Special." "One-eighty it is. How big a retainer do you want?" I swallow. Here goes. "Let's say twenty thousand." He doesn't blink. I'm relieved. "All right," he says. "And if you get me off on Monday?"
"Your money will be cheerfully refunded and you can buy me lunch at Bill's."
"It's a deal. Naomi will get you a check. We may need to borrow some money."
"I understand. Your credit is good." "All right, Counselor, where do we start?" "From the beginning. Tell me everything that happened, minute by minute, on the evening of December thirtieth."
Joel is working on his second cup of coffee. "Right after the meeting with Chuckles," he says, "I went back to the PCR and reviewed the final documents."
"That was around seven-fifteen?"
"Right. We were waiting for a call from CCC's board in Stamford. They were meeting to approve the deal. We got the go-ahead around eight-thirty."
"So at eight-thirty, the deal was still on track?"
"Yeah. Except, of course, for Vince. He was waffling. He said he wasn't sure he'd close. Nobody really knew if he would go forward."
"Who else was working on the deal?"
"Bob, Diana and the usual army of secretaries and paralegals. The young punk, Jack Frazier, from CCC. His lawyer, Martin Glass. Dan Morris, the political fixer. Ed Ehrlich from the city attorney's office." He pauses to think. "Yeah, that's everybody."
"Who else was around?"
"The word processors and a couple of file clerks. And some of the people from Skipper's party."
"Like who?"
"Like the mayor. He stopped by for a few minutes and talked to Morris privately. I think the mayor reamed him out. He looked like shit when he came back."
"Was Doris around?"
"No. She went home around eight."
I remember saying good night to Doris. "That's right."
"A few of the partners were there. Patton stopped by. Chuckles was around. I talked to him after the meeting with the associates. Gave him a little more shit. You have to keep them honest."
"I know." I pause. "Were you really surprised by the decision to extend the partner track?"
"Not entirely. I'd heard about it. Still, they didn't handle it right. Bob should have told me."
He's right, of course. On the other hand, it's hard to tell whether his speech to Chuckles at the associates’ meeting was genuine or an act.
"Then what happened?"
"We gave some documents to the word processors around nine-thirty and we all went out to eat. Diana and I went to Harrington's. We finished around ten-fifteen. She went home. I came back upstairs. She lives just over in Golden Gateway." The Golden Gateway apartments are a high-rise complex a couple of blocks north of the Embarcadero Center towers. It's a five-minute walk from downtown. "Bob took Vince to Tadich's and Frazier and Morris went to Aqua. I think the mayor went with them. He's a regular there, you know." Tadich Grill opened in 1849 and serves traditional fish in a long, wood-paneled dining room on California Street. On a good night, you can get a private booth and a great piece of petrale sole. Aqua is two doors down and about a hundred and fifty years removed from Tadich's. It appears regularly in trendy food magazines. I've eaten there only once. The crab cakes are out of this world.
Joel stands and stretches his legs. "I got back first. Everybody else got back by eleven and we signed all the papers by twelve-fifteen. I had a few cleanup things to go through, so I went back to my office. We agreed to meet at eight-thirty the next morning for the closing. I worked on the escrow instructions in my office and gave the mark-up to word processing. I went to Bob's office around twelve-thirty to see what was going on. He was arguing with Vince, so I poked my head in and told him we were all ready. We barely said three words."
"So by twelve-thirty, the deal was set to close." "Right. Except everything depended on Vince. He had to give the final go-ahead on Wednesday morning to authorize the wire transfers."
"And at twelve-thirty, he still wasn't prepared to close?" "He said he had to sleep on it. He wasn't sure. I went to my office, got my closing checklist and went down to the lunchroom for a soda."
"You were ready to close?"
"Yeah. In big deals like this, you sign all the documents the day before. The closing is usually a nonevent. Everybody drinks coffee until you get confirmation of the wire transfers."
"What did you do in the lunchroom?"
"I went through the checklist. I pushed three chairs together and went to sleep. I woke up around six and went back to my office. I knocked on Bob's door, but it was locked. I figured he'd gone home. I went back to my office. I was there until a little after eight, when Chuckles came by and asked me if I had the keys to Bob's office."
"Did you?"
"No. But I knew where Doris kept an extra set."
"So the two of you let yourselves in and you found them."
"Right."
A few minutes later, I take a drink of water from a Styrofoam cup. "What happened when you found them?" I ask.
Joel hesitates.
"It's okay," I say. "You can tell me."
"I got sick. I… well… threw up."
"Right there?"
"No. I made it to the bathroom."
"I see."
"Chuckles was calling nine-one-one when I got back. Bob was on the floor. It looked like he shot himself in the temple. Diana was against the wall next to the door. Her clothes were all full of blood, and there was blood on the wall behind her. She was sitting down on the floor and… her eyes were still open. It looked like she was calling out for help."
This isn't getting any easier. "Where was the gun?"
"On the floor next to his chair. It must have fallen out of his hand. It looked like he fell out of his chair."
I know I'll be able to confirm this from the police reports and the photos. "What did you do?"
"Something stupid, in retrospect. I picked up the gun and took out the bullets."
My first impulse is to scream, "YOU DID WHAT?" But after years in this game, I've learned to keep the tone matter-of-fact. "Why did you pick up the gun?"
He scratches his ear. "I've shot Bob's gun at the range. He was real proud of it. Made everybody do it once or twice. Sort of a rite of passage."
"But why did you pick it up?"
"I wanted to make sure it didn't go off. It's a fussy revolver, Mike. The trigger was very sensitive and once it went off in my hand before it was supposed to. The bullet landed about halfway down the range."
"I see." I'm trying not to show it, but this part of Joel's story is sounding a little forced. "So you unloaded the gun?"
"Yes. I wanted to be sure it didn't go off." It's the second time he's mentioned it. "I put the gun down on the desk. I put the bullets and the shells next to it."
Swell. "I trust you told the police Bob kept a loaded gun at his desk."
"Yep. They were amazed."
"It's pretty surprising."
"Not if you knew Bob."
"Then what?"
"That's it. We came downstairs to your meeting and we told Art." A look of recognition appears on his face. "I bet they found my fingerprints on the gun."
"Sounds like a good bet." My mind is racing. There has to be more. He has an explanation for his fingerprints on the gun. I decide to probe a little more. "What haven't you told me?"
"Nothing. That's it. They know I was there. They probably have my fingerprints on the gun. And they seem to think I was really pissed off at Bob about the partner-election stuff."
"What have th
e police told you?"
"You told me not to talk to them."
"Good boy."
"So what do we do now?"
"I'll go see Roosevelt and Skipper. If this is all they've got, then we're in good shape."
I get up to leave. He says, "Mike, you've got to get me out of here. Promise me you'll come back later and tell me what you find out."
I hear the panic in his voice. "I will," I assure him.
"If Joel is telling the truth, they've got nothing, Rosie." At eleven-thirty, I'm back in my satellite office at the pay phones on the first floor of the Hall. "He admits he was there all night. He admits he found Bob and Diana. That much we knew. And he picked up the gun. So now I know how they may have found his fingerprints on it."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
Silence on the other end of the phone. "Well," she says, "Skipper said a whole lot more at his press conference."
"Like what?"
"Like they have a witness at Harrington's who says Joel and Diana were fighting at dinner. And they have a custodian at the building who says he heard Joel and Bob arguing loudly at around one o'clock."
Shit. "Did he hear gunshots?"
"They're not saying."
"Anything else?"
"They looked at the telephone records. Seems a call was placed from Joel's phone line to Diana's apartment at about ten to one in the morning. They think he lured her back to the office."
Great. I ask her if Skipper said anything else.
"Yeah. He said he's going to charge Joel with first-degree murder and he may ask for special circumstances."
Swell. "I'll talk to you later." I head for my car. I want to get to Roosevelt Johnson as soon as I can to get the full story on the evidence. And I want to talk to the coroner and the evidence technicians right away. I begin to outline our requests for access to the evidence in my head. Either Joel neglected to tell me a few important details or his story has some gaping holes in it. Or maybe he's flat-out lying.
11
"YOUR FRIEND IS IN VERY SERIOUS TROUBLE"
"We're going to charge him with first-degree murder. As long as I'm the DA, we're going to be very aggressive prosecuting violent crimes."
—Skipper Gates. Press Conference. Saturday, January 10.
At twelve-thirty on Saturday afternoon, Roosevelt Johnson and I are sitting in a cramped red-vinyl booth in a coffee shop called JT's at the corner of Nineteenth and Taraval, a couple of blocks from his house in the Sunset District. He's eating scrambled eggs and toast. I'm nursing a cup of decidedly ungourmet coffee. "I tried to reach you yesterday," he says.
"I didn't get the message till I got home late last night. Thanks for trying."
"I didn't like the way it was handled. I know he's your friend. And I didn't realize you'd be representing him."
Neither did I. "Of course, Roosevelt. Thanks."
"Sometimes things don't work out so well." He pauses. "Especially when somebody else is calling the shots." He uses his toast to push his eggs onto his fork. He's doing me a favor. I'll have to let him make the first move. "Your friend is in very serious trouble, Mike." His gravel voice sounds tired. "We're off the record, now, understood?"
"Understood."
"Good." He spreads some jelly on his toast. He leans forward so nobody can hear us. "Holmes and Kennedy were killed by shots fired from Holmes's gun. She died from two shots to the chest. He died from one shot to the head. Your guy's fingerprints were on the gun. There were three spent shells and three unused bullets. His fingerprints were on those too."
"All that shows is he picked up the gun. He told you so. It doesn't prove he killed anyone."
He pushes his glasses up to the top of his nose and wipes his mustache with his napkin. I take the cue. Shut the fuck up, Mike. He'll tell me what he can. This isn't the time for me to start pleading Joel's case. "There's more," he says.
I'm trying to remain professional, if not nonchalant. I play with my coffee cup. I hold my palms up—the universal symbol for "So what have you got?"
He clears his throat. "Seems he and Holmes had a big fight. We aren't sure what it was about. The night janitor said they were screaming at each other. Friedman stormed out of Holmes's office."
"They could have been talking about business."
"I know. I understand Holmes was a screamer and Friedman doesn't like to take shit from anybody. They may have been engaged in lawyerly discourse. Or it may have been something more."
"Like what?"
"One of your partners said Friedman was pissed off about not making partner."
"Who told you that?"
"In due time." He finishes his coffee. "Was he pissed off about not making partner?"
Reflexively, I shrug. He looks through me. He knows I know. I know he's going to find out. "Off the record, Roosevelt, you'll find that he was, in fact, pissed off about not making partner."
"You're not violating any confidences. I already knew that. He told me so."
The game's begun. He's testing me. "You think he killed him because he didn't make partner? Come on, Roosevelt."
Another cold stare. "You know a guy named Rick Cinelli?"
"Yeah. The bartender at Harrington's." He knows more about what's going on at our firm than most of the partners do.
"Friedman and Kennedy had dinner there," he says. "Cinelli says they got into a big fight and she left. She didn't touch her dinner."
I'm beginning to see where this is going. "They were probably talking business. She wasn't a great legal technician. She probably screwed something up and he laid into her."
I get the "nice try" look. "All I know is what Cinelli told me. He said they had a big fight. He didn't know what it was about."
Great.
Then he adds, "You know, I don't try the cases. I don't even decide whether to prosecute. I just gather the evidence."
His point is, of course, well taken. "I understand. Anything else?" Inside, I cringe. I half expect him to say he has another janitor who found Joel standing over Bob's body.
"Just one other thing. We're trying to figure out why she came back to the office."
I don't say it out loud, but I've been wondering the same thing.
He continues. "We checked the S and G phone records and we found a two-minute phone call was placed from Friedman's private line at twelve-fifty-one A.M."
"Let me guess. Somebody called Diana's apartment from Joel's phone."
"Right." He eats another piece of toast. "We're looking into it. You might want to ask him about it."
I lean back. None of this is news to me. I don't want him to see me sweat. I have to play it carefully. Roosevelt is very good. I don't want to invite speculation about whether Joel may have tried to lure her to the office. I try to change the subject. "Do you have the coroner's report yet?"
He finishes his eggs and takes a bite of toast. "Not final."
I don't want to push too far. "Thanks for your help. I know you're sticking your neck out."
"You're family. Even if you're a defense lawyer. Besides, you'll get all of this stuff anyway."
He's right. In a few weeks, Skipper will have to present enough evidence at a preliminary hearing to show cause for holding Joel over for trial. He'll undoubtedly use everything Roosevelt has described so far. This isn't looking good for a quick dismissal.
Joel is incredulous. "Now they're saying I threatened her at Harrington's and I lured her back two hours later to murder her?" At two o'clock on Saturday afternoon, I'm giving Joel a report on my meeting with Roosevelt. "What'll they dream up next? That I was sleeping with her?"
I take a drink of water. "I think they're full of shit. I just don't want any more surprises. I'm meeting with Skipper in twenty-five minutes and I don't want to hear about any more arguments at restaurants, any more fights in the office and/or more threats. Am I clear?"
"Yes." He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. "What do you need to know?"
"I need to
know everything that happened that night. Good, bad or otherwise. For starters, did you and Diana have an argument at Harrington's?"
"I wouldn't call it an argument."
"What would you call it?" I'm not up for cat and mouse now.
"A discussion."
"A discussion?"
"Yes, a discussion."
"Joel, I don't have time for this. Did you have a fight with Diana at Harrington's?"
"All right. Yes."
"What was it about?"
"She didn't finish our escrow instructions and a couple of closing certificates. We gave her a couple of simple things to do, and she didn't do them. She wasn't a very careful lawyer."
"That's what you guys were fighting about?"
"Of course."
"Good." I regain my composure and realize I've just congratulated him for making an ass of himself in a public place—for a perfectly valid reason. "All right," I continue, "let me ask you something else. Was there ever any hanky-panky between you and Diana?"
"Are you asking me if I ever slept with her?"
"In a word, yes."
"All right. The answer, in a word, is no."
"Good." If you're lying to me, I'll rip your lungs out. "Did you call her that night?"
"Yes."
"It would have helped if you had told me. Why did you call her?"
"Bob told me to call her and get her back to the office.
He wanted to talk to her about her closing documents." He pauses. "And I think he just wanted to talk to her."
I stop for a moment. "Why?"
"I don't know. They talked a lot."
"Were they sleeping together?"
"I don't know."
"Did you think so?"
He looks away. "Maybe… probably." He stands up. "All right. Yes. At least I think so."
"Did you and Bob have a fight that night?"
"I wouldn't call it a fight."
"Dammit, Joel. What were you and Bob arguing about?"
"What do you think? The little shit didn't have the guts to tell me the firm was going to defer all the people who were up for partner this year. I told him what I thought."
"Well, it seems one of the custodians heard you."
He closes his eyes. "Great," he murmurs. "So what are they saying? I threatened him?"
MD01 - Special Circumstances Page 9