“So Jeff Riesner’s his lawyer.” Cheney sighed when he came back with a paper cup. “All I needed.”
“Have fun.”
“You talk to Jessie Potter about the gun?”
“Why pick on her?”
“She sat next to you in the car.”
“I asked her later and she said she didn’t take it.”
“Hmm. Let’s get some addresses and phone numbers.”
Cheney didn’t accept Nina’s offer to have Jessie and Kenny go to his office. He wanted to know where they were right that moment, and when Paul realized Cheney would arrest him if he didn’t give the information, he described the location of Nina’s property. That blew the desert trailer for Kenny and Jessie. It wouldn’t be safe for them any longer, when the address went into the reports and onto the radio waves. It got later. Paul yawned. If he returned to Nina’s bed now, she would be sleeping a sleep she really needed, since she had to go back next door tomorrow to deal with some more hell breaking loose. He wasn’t going to make it back tonight. What was it, an unlucky star?
“You do believe me about the gun, don’t you?”
“I don’t disbelieve you,” Cheney said. “You’re an ex-cop. You know the story.”
“Well, don’t waste your time pursuing that line. I didn’t use Leung’s gun to kill Potter. It was stolen.” He knew he sounded defensive. He wondered how many people had sat across from Cheney over the years feeling the same way, innocent and yet guilty. Shaky, not because the police had caught them in a crime, but simply because now they were in the official sight. All the dead, forgotten corpses in their pasts were going to reanimate and crawl to the surface, or in Paul’s case, be dug up and reassembled, since he had left the body of the man he had killed nearly eight months before in more than one piece.
Taking a deep breath he hoped was not visible to Cheney, he reminded himself about all the good reasons for that man to die. As a result of an action he still considered righteous, now, and forevermore, he belonged in a new place, on the wrong side of the law, when all his life had been about seeing justice done.
Wasn’t life surprising.
“How about a rundown on your activities from, say”—Cheney consulted his notes—“six-thirty this evening.”
He concentrated on facts. So soothing. “I left the courthouse with Nina Reilly around five-thirty. We met several other people at the main Caesars entrance and went together to the Caesars buffet. I’d say we got into line at just about six-forty-five.”
“Do you happen to know where Jessie Potter was at this time?”
“With the group.”
Cheney scratched out a note.
“How long were you there?”
“The line at the buffet didn’t suit me. The place was mobbed and it didn’t look like we’d be seated until the next morning.”
“You didn’t stay for the buffet.”
“No. I left after about five minutes to go upstairs and have a shower and change. Nina and I agreed to meet at her place for dinner instead. You already know this, if you’ve talked to Kenny Leung on the phone.”
“He did mention you left.”
“And that Jessie Potter stayed?”
“That’s what he claims.”
“Until when?”
Cheney didn’t need to consult his notes. “After eight o’clock.”
“And the shooting took place when?”
“Seven-twenty.”
“So they’re covered. They were in the group. Nina decided to leave at the same time. She picked up her son from summer camp, drove him over to his friend’s, visited for a while, and went home.” Thank God, Nina had also been with people the whole time. “We met at her house about eight-thirty. At dusk.”
“So, how long would you say you were up in your room?”
“Seven to about eight-fifteen. No alibi, but I don’t have a motive either. Lucky for me.”
“But you were the last person known to be in possession of the weapon.”
“Right,” said Paul, intensely disliking this turn in the conversation. Why hadn’t he stayed to eat with the others? Would his life from here on out be a series of disrupted sexual encounters with Nina that had him ready to explode, all mixed up with invitations from the police? Was it possible that during the course of his investigation of Atchison Potter’s murder, the simple fact that Paul did not have an alibi would cause Sergeant Cheney to look further into past events and relationships . . . and wonder what had become of a certain person no one seemed able to find? Cheney was persistent enough. Paul believed that. He wished he didn’t.
“And then you did what?”
“Drove straight to Nina’s place.”
He’d like to get his hands on that soft-bellied Kenny right about now, give him a poke in that pudgy flesh for getting him into this.
“Where’s your own gun?” Cheney was saying.
“In a locked case in the locked trunk of my car. Sergeant, forget about me. Let’s talk about a shooting in Minden a couple of weeks ago, and the shooting at Regan Beach last week. My guess is you’re going to find that the Glock was the gun used in all the shootings. It’s the same guy.”
Cheney set his paper and pen down. He leaned forward and said, “Been withholding evidence, Paul?”
“No. I’m just one step ahead of you in making some connections. I think we’re looking for a biker, a biker who has been seen driving a gold Porsche Boxster.”
“A high-income biker,” Cheney said.
Paul found himself spilling his guts to Cheney. He told him about the lineup at the Greed Machines the night of the jackpot—not the lineup of the three banks, but the human lineup. Amanda Lewis and her biker friend. Kenny. Charlie Kemp. He described the biker as Kenny had described him to Paul, and Cheney got excited and went out of the room and made some calls to Nevada. Then he told Cheney about Kenny being attacked and stalked. They talked about Atchison Potter’s lawsuit.
Midnight came and went. Paul was hoarse.
“I knew it was a good idea to drag your ass down here, the minute I heard your name pop up,” Cheney said, clicking off the tape recorder at last.
“What happens now?”
“Well, I’m gonna share something with you, Paul. We have at least one witness to the Potter shooting who says she saw the shooter. She’s working up a description with our artist as we speak.”
Paul’s heart beat faster. “What did she see?”
“She said he wore a baseball cap and she couldn’t see his face too well, but he had a goatee and a ponytail.”
“It’s him.”
“Yeah. So, to answer your question, now we pick up the biker.”
26
IF NINA WAS beat at court the next morning, if she had gotten up at dawn to get on the phone with Paul and Jessie and Kenny and Cheney, Jeff Riesner nevertheless took the prize for most frazzled of all. Still red-eyed and sniffly from the pepper spray, he looked positively grief-stricken. True, Atchison Potter’s death was a calamity for him. She might not like Riesner, but she knew how it felt to have a client murdered.
And then there was his case, which had evaporated with Potter’s death. Potter’s need for vengeance had animated it in the first place. Now what remained were ashes.
Or so she hoped. She had done some legal research at seven A.M. in an arcane area of the law called survival of actions. She was trying to find out what could happen next, legally. It wasn’t easy. The cause of action for wrongful death suits did die when the plaintiff died, but in this case Potter had obtained a judgment. Could the case somehow continue, with the money, assuming the judgment was executed, going into Potter’s estate to be probated along with his other assets?
Which brought up questions she couldn’t answer yet, such as whether Potter had a will and who he had left his money to. And the fact that he had a grandson who might be a pretermitted heir with a claim on Potter’s estate. She had even tried to call Ruth Anzai, the lawyer who had won the judgment for Potter in Hawa
ii, forgetting it was the middle of the night there. All she had gotten was a recording.
There was only one good thing in this whole mess: they couldn’t even think about nailing Jessie or Kenny for this, because the time of Potter’s death was known, and they had been eating dinner at the Caesars buffet in full view of hundreds of people. It was a monster break.
Cheney wanted to see Kenny and Jessie as soon as the court session was over. He was taking no chances. There he sat in the audience, solid, sleepy-looking. Outside the courtroom door a portable metal detector had been set up, manned by two uniformed police officers.
And then there was Paul. He sat right beside her, but a gulf had opened between them. The case had beaten them somehow. It had interfered with Paul and her.
They weren’t going to make it. She didn’t have time to care right now.
She looked around at all the reporters jamming the back rows. Flashbulbs went off. Deputy Kimura had called in a second bailiff to control the crowd, and the doors were long shut. She had had to duck in through the jury door instead of the main door.
Matt had called the office just before she left. He had heard about Potter. She had felt the old accusation in his voice. He couldn’t help it, but whenever violence came anywhere near her, he took it as a personal threat against his family. He had told her that she ought to get out of law entirely, and it had hurt even though she knew he would calm down later.
“All rise.” Amagosian appeared on the bench in his black robes. His face was stern. He didn’t like commotions, maybe because he was so excitable himself.
He took a look at the crowd, which was still rustling papers and closing briefcases and finishing sentences, and he said, glaring at all of them, “This is a continuation from yesterday of the hearing in Potter v. Potter. If there is any disturbance from any person, that person will immediately be evicted from this court.”
Quiet spread over the room. Amagosian looked at Riesner, who was on his feet.
“Your statement for the record, Counsel,” he said. He looked at the stenographer.
“Atchison Potter, the judgment creditor in this action, was shot to death in the casino district just after seven o’clock last night, Your Honor,” Riesner said. “He was shot in the temple and was dead at the scene when the ambulance arrived, murdered by an unknown assailant. The police are investigating.”
“For the record, I have spoken with Sergeant Cheney of the Lake Tahoe police department, and I can confirm these statements myself,” Amagosian said. “The court wishes to express its condolences to Mr. Potter’s family. The court wishes to express its regret that this man should have left his home and come here to our town and lost his life here. It is a sad moment for this court.”
“He will be missed,” Riesner said. He bowed his head. They all bowed their heads. It was sad, and wrong. Yesterday, Nina had thought Potter had been very shaken by Dr. Jun’s testimony. He might have somehow made up with Jessie. She bowed her head, unable to see clearly through the tangle of family and heartache.
After a moment or two, Amagosian said, “I suppose the question we face is how to proceed with this hearing. Mr. Potter was actually testifying yesterday, and due for cross-examination today. We can’t complete the hearing, obviously. Which doesn’t even address the larger issue, which is whether the action can proceed at this time. Counsel, will you please address these questions. The court is aware that you have had little time to prepare.”
“I have spent the whole night thinking about these things, Judge,” Riesner said. “It is the first time I have lost a client.” He sounded pretty broken up. Nina felt softened by this show of humanity. She had a motion to dismiss the writ proceeding prepared, but she didn’t want to have to use it. Maybe Riesner would gracefully let the case go. She kept her papers inside her briefcase, along with the pepper spray. It must have stung very badly, and she appreciated that he hadn’t made a stink about it. Maybe he understood that he had asked for it. Maybe he was biding his time.
Anyway, the problem was, what now?
Riesner said, “What hurts the most, Judge, was that Mr. Potter felt very strongly about all this. I know he would have wanted to finish this matter, to get a resolution. Those were the last words I heard from him, in fact, to finish it.”
“What do you suggest, Counsel?”
“Let’s finish it. I will waive any cross-examination and waive further argument, and submit the issue for decision.”
“Just a moment,” Nina said, getting up. “I hope we are going to be consulted on this. First of all, it is we who called for this hearing to object to issuance of the Writ of Execution. It seems to me that there is no way to finish this hearing without the participation and assent of the judgment-debtor.”
“Finish it and submit it for decision, Your Honor,” Riesner insisted.
“For what purpose?” Nina said. “I don’t understand.”
“The money should go into Mr. Potter’s estate.”
“But the only heir I am aware of is the little boy, Gabe Potter. The matter is moot, Your Honor. Gabe Potter will receive the benefit of the money either way. We are in a gray area of the law. Let us be sensible and close this chapter in Gabe’s life.”
“Not so fast. There is at least one other claimant to the estate, Judge,” Riesner said. “I have a copy of a valid contract which inures to the heirs, assigns, and estate of Mr. Potter in the event of his death. The amount is just a little more than three million dollars.”
That amount sounded familiar to Nina. She tried to remember where she had heard it before.
“Let me see that,” Amagosian said. Riesner handed him a copy of several sheets of paper, then, with a suspicious flourish, gave Nina a copy too.
“Oh, no,” she said, reading it. “I don’t think so.”
“As Counsel is attempting to point out, my law firm is the primary creditor with a claim against the estate. Our agreement with Mr. Potter was that in the event that this proceeding concluded with a favorable outcome for Mr. Potter, he would pay to this firm forty percent of the monies currently under lien.”
Nina said, “Well, now we see the reason for the crocodile tears and the attempt to keep this hearing going. But even if Mr. Riesner’s firm is entitled to such a fee, the law provides for a contingency like this. He can bill the hours at his usual hourly rate and simply collect from the other assets of Mr. Potter’s estate.”
“And I might consider doing that,” Riesner said. “If he had any other assets. Unfortunately, Mr. Potter left only debts.”
A buzz of astonishment enveloped the room, and Amagosian said sharply, “Quiet! Quiet!” He banged down the gavel. When he could be heard again, he said, “You say this is the only potential asset you could collect any fees from?”
“That is correct. Mr. Potter suffered major reverses in the stock market recently. Enron, I believe he said was the problem.”
“Your Honor,” Nina said, “I move to set aside the levy on funds awarded to Jessie Potter presently held in California Republic Bank. I move to dismiss the request for issuance of the Writ of Execution. I have prepared a short motion, but due to the swiftness of events, I could not prepare points and authorities.”
She served Riesner with the papers and passed a copy to the judge’s clerk.
“I will not agree to that,” Riesner said. “I move to substitute in my firm, Caplan, Stamp, Powell, and Riesner, as the party of record in place of Atchison Potter. I have prepared that motion, but I also did not have time to prepare supporting points and authorities.” He passed over some pleadings to Nina.
Amagosian looked at the new pile of papers on his desk. He seemed angry and confused. He didn’t know what to do either.
“Your Honor, if I may . . .” Nina started, but he stopped her with a glare as impervious as Lucite.
“I am going to continue this entire matter for two days,” he said. “We are going to have to determine whether Mr. Riesner’s firm can step in here. I will need points and auth
orities from both sides.” There was a deflated sigh from the audience. The show would continue. Amagosian went on with the details, setting dates, setting a new hearing time. Nina made herself get it all down.
Court adjourned. She packed up her briefcase and said to Jessie and Paul, “Meet you at the police station. Sergeant Cheney said to come as soon as the hearing was over.”
John Jovanic came up to her. He was sweating in the hot courtroom and his big burly body didn’t fit the expensive suit.
“Congratulations,” he said. “I like your style. I’d like to talk to you about getting you to handle some of our legal work at Prize’s.”
“I’m not licensed in Nevada.”
“Weren’t you working on the Kiss My Foot campaign?”
“Marlis Djina is the attorney of record on that.”
“Well, anyway, maybe we could give you a boost somewhere.”
“In return for what?”
“I could be in touch on that.”
“You sound just like Atchison Potter when he tried to buy Byron Eppley, Mr. Jovanic. Haven’t we had enough of that?”
Jovanic just laughed. “Fine,” he said. “Didn’t think you’d be interested.”
As she was leaving, she looked over at the row of Nevada casino people who had become regulars at the hearing. They were standing together. Jovanic was explaining something in that good-humored way of his. Ully Miller, the Gaming Control Board inspector, was deep in thought. Thomas Munzinger was looking at his watch like he couldn’t wait to get out of there. Andy Doig, his red hair flaming even in the dull light, and the two lawyers were listening to Jovanic. Gary Gray, the slots supervisor at Prize’s, was just leaving the courtroom, tearing off his red bow tie as he flung open the door.
They’d all be in meetings for the rest of the day, figuring out the P.R. angles, the legal strategies, the money impact of Potter’s death. That was what they did. They went to work, sat in meetings, went home to their families. They were ordinary people, caught, as she was, in an extraordinary situation. No baseball caps here, she thought, at least that’s not the kind of trouble they cause.
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