Twenty minutes had passed when I heard the courtroom door open. I turned to look. Sergeant Hodges swaggered over to me with his partner in tow.
“O’Brien,” Hodges said. “Deputy D.A. Allen asked me to meet you here. It seems you’ve been a naughty boy.”
Here it comes. I knew there had to be more. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Did you think you could manufacture evidence and get away with it? I figured you were smarter than that, being an ex-cop.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s an ex-cop,” the partner said.
“Is that what happened, O’Brien? Got a little clever with the LAPD, too? That’s why you’re an ex-cop? You don’t have to answer that. It’ll come out in the investigation.”
I jumped to my feet. “What investigation? What evidence? What the hell are you guys talking about?”
“I think you know, but I’ll tell you anyway. Allen bought your story about a hidden meter on Karadimos’s jet. I told her it was a line of crap. I’d already checked out the plane. She wanted me to check it again. No problem, I said. What the hell, I’ll go on the goose chase.”
“You checked the Hobbs meter?”
“Yeah, and guess what we found, O’Brien? But you already know what we found.”
“Tell him, Phil,” the partner said.
I stood there in shock, taking slow deep breaths.
“You guessed it, O’Brien. We found the mechanic.” Without taking his eyes off me, he snapped his fingers in the direction of his partner. “What’s the mechanic’s name?”
The partner took a notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Fred Vogel.”
“Yeah, good old Freddie boy decided to come clean, told us the whole story. How you pressured him to lose the logbook. How you made up a story about some hidden meter, and how you bribed him to go along.” Hodges snapped his fingers again. “How much money did O’Brien give Vogel?”
“Forty bucks, cash.”
At least they got the amount right. “This whole thing’s absurd, he-”
“There’s more,” Hodges said.
“More? More what?”
“Tell him about the mob, Phil.”
Hodges turned to his partner. “Shut up, Johnny,” he said and turned back to me. “We know you’ve been hanging with the Mafia.”
“I don’t believe this.”
“You better believe it, my friend. FBI says you’re a known associate, going to their bust-outs. They say you like to party with the Wise Guys?”
I didn’t say anything. Hodges turned to his partner and made a gesture with his head in the direction of the door. The partner snapped his book closed and stuffed it into his pocket.
As they drifted toward the exit, Hodges stopped and turned back. “If you pulled that evidence trick in my jurisdiction, I’d slap the irons on you right now. But we turned it over to the Long Beach PD. They’re conducting the investigation.”
I glanced around. No one else was in the room. Nobody came in and told me the whole thing was a joke. Allen Funt wasn’t lurking anywhere, no hidden cameras.
“By the way, the pretty D.A. lady filed a complaint with the State Bar. Gonna pull your law ticket. And, my friend, she’s filing a motion with the court to have you removed from the Rodriguez case. Won’t be a lawyer long enough to see it through.”
“Rodriguez is guilty,” the jerk partner said. “He’s confessed, doesn’t matter who his lawyer is. He’s toast.”
“Yeah, I heard,” Hodges said. “See ya later, O’Brien.”
They started to leave again. Hodges stopped, looked at me with a smirk plastered across his face. “Hey, O’Brien.”
“What?”
“Have a nice day,” he said. They left the room.
C H A P T E R 30
I watched the courtroom door slowly close. Minutes passed with me still staring at the door. Hodges’s smirking face lingered in my mind.
I thought of my phone call to Bobbi and what she had said: “Don’t call me. Don’t call me ever.” Why was this happening to me? What had I done? Had I overreached, taken on a case beyond my ability? Had I been too trusting? Outsmarted? I’d told Bobbi about the hour meter on the jet, but by the time Hodges checked it out, Karadimos had already gotten to Vogel. The second meter was gone, and with it my hope that the police would reopen the case.
I sank into a seat and faced forward. The room was quiet, nothing stirring. I covered my ears with my hands, elbows on the table, as if to block out the deafening silence.
Karadimos’s frame-up was thorough and complete. My most concrete lead had crumbled to dust and vanished like powder in a breeze.
Ten minutes later, the bailiff and a guard shuffled Rodriguez to my table and forced him in the chair next to me. I glanced up at the guard.
“Don’t ask,” he said. “We’re not removing the restraints.” He stepped around and stood behind Rodriguez.
Bobbi and her assistant, a thin man about forty, marched into the courtroom, and without acknowledging my presence, sat at the prosecutor’s table. They placed their briefcases on the table and faced forward, all prim and proper. I felt like shouting at her that I’d been framed.
But then I thought, maybe I had let my feelings for her get in the way of defending Rodriguez. Maybe she’s in on it. Sol thinks so. I didn’t know what to think. I knew I’d get over Bobbi. But if my client went to prison because I trusted her, I’d never forget that.
The hearing would start any minute and I had nothing to present today that would convince the judge to drop the charges. Even if by some miracle I could’ve arranged to have Bonnie Munson testify, her statements would be ruled inadmissible. It was all conjecture, with nothing to sustain her allegations.
The immediate problem at hand had to do with the alleged jailhouse witness. I leaned into Rodriguez. “Amigo,” I whispered, “we’ve got problems.” His eyes asked the question, and I answered: “Your cellmate told the D.A. that you admitted killing the girl.”
There was no shock or surprise on his face, no rage, or outbursts of anger, just his same stoic expression. He must’ve felt there was no hope. Felt the system was stacked against guys like him. After a while, the mind becomes numb to the abuse and the body becomes a formless lump of flesh and bone.
“I know you didn’t tell him that, but I have to know everything you said to him.” I paused for a moment. “Did you say anything to him?”
“No.”
“Must have said something.”
“Nada.”
“Tell him your name, anything at all?”
He looked at me. “I told you, I said nothing.”
“How long was the guy in your cell?”
“One day. They took him away in the morning, yesterday.”
It wasn’t hard to believe that he didn’t talk to his cellmate. I was his lawyer trying to save his life, and he would hardly talk to me. “I believe you, Ernesto, but I’ll have to convince a jury when we go to trial.”
He slowly turned his head and looked into my eyes.
“Sounds like they’re playing tricks on you.”
“Yeah, they’re playing tricks.”
“Jimmy, they can’t fool you. You’re a smart guy.”
Yeah, I’m a smart guy, all right. Smart enough to give the D.A. advance notice about my defense of this poor man sitting next to me. “One more thing,” I said. “The cops and the D.A. have filed charges against me. It just means they’re worried, that’s all. I’ll beat the rap.”
“The judge is after you too?” His expression changed to one of concern.
“They say I made up some false evidence.”
“I know you do nothing wrong. Esta muy malo. You are in trouble ’cause of me.”
“Don’t worry about me. They don’t have squat.”
“Squat? Que? What is squat?”
“Well, it means they can’t pin anything on me. Anyway we’re going to play our hand close to the vest from now on.”