“Then why did she go to you?” Silver asked. “If she’s not going to claim ineffective assistance, she should have come to me.”
“I had a case last year,” I said. “It blew up in the news pretty big. I got a guy out of prison on a habeas. I proved actual innocence. She saw the story somehow in Chino and wrote me a letter. A lot of inmates wrote me letters. My investigator did some preliminary checking on the Sanz case and recommended I take it to the next step. To do that, I need the files. Whatever you’ve got. I need to know everything there is to know about the case.”
Silver was quiet for a long moment.
“So?” I said. “Can I get the files? I can have them copied and the originals back to you by the end of the day. I don’t see the big deal here.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Silver said. “Since we’re partnering on it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Partners. You and me. Whatever happens, wherever you take it, we’re partners.”
“Uh, no, we’re not. Lucinda Sanz has engaged me on this. Not you. Not us. And there’s no money. I’m not charging her a dime. It’s a pro bono case.”
“It’s pro bono now. But if you get her out, the sky’s the limit on a false-imprisonment claim.”
“Look, if you want me to, I’ll have my investigator email a copy of her letter asking me to take her case. She’s entitled to her file and if you refuse to give it up, that’s an ethics violation. You’ll have to deal with a bar complaint that’ll stick on your record for five years.”
Silver smiled and shook his head dismissively.
“I’m not worried about a bar grievance,” he said. “Last I heard, they’re still working off a COVID backlog over there at the California Bar. So you go ahead and file your complaint and I’m sure they’ll jump right on it — in maybe three years.”
He had me. I was silent, trying to work out a countermove. I was unprepared for an unethical lawyer trying to extort me and his former client.
“Look, I’m not trying to be an asshole, okay?” Silver said. “But I know what this is. I know what you’re doing.”
“Really?” I said. “What am I doing?”
“You’re paying for all those billboards out there, right? The bus wraps, the benches, all of it. That case you had last year where you sprung the guy on the murder rap? How much you get on the wrongful-conviction lawsuit that followed? The city must have cut you a nice juicy check on that one. I’m guessing high six figures.”
“Wrong. There’s been no settlement in that case.”
“Doesn’t matter. The case is a rainmaker and you and I know it. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But now you come here and want to make the money rain with my case and my work, and fair is fair.”
“Your work? You walked her into prison. How much work was that?”
“I got her manslaughter for killing a deputy. That was a fucking miracle.”
“Sure.”
“I want my piece.”
“What you’re talking about is a long shot in a dark night. She pleaded nolo — you remember that, right? You can’t do a whole lot on a wrongful-conviction suit when the client went nolo. The State’s defense will be that she consented to go to prison and that was on your advice.”
“But you’re the Lincoln Lawyer. They see you coming, they get out the checkbook. They run scared from you.”
His sincerity was as real as the lawbooks on the wall behind him.
“I don’t want you anywhere near this case,” I said. “So what’s it going to take to get you to go away?”
Silver nodded, pleased that he had won. I immediately regretted that I had faltered and given him the opening.
“Partners, right?” he asked. “I want half.”
“No way,” I said. “I’d rather walk away from it. I’ll give you ten points, that’s it.”
I stood up, ready to go.
“Twenty-five,” he said.
I headed toward the doorway.
“Come on,” Silver said. “A twenty-five/seventy-five split is a major payday for you. I invested a lot in that case and got nothing out of it. I deserve this.”
I stopped at the door and looked back at him.
“You don’t deserve shit,” I said. “You missed things and you put your client in prison. It was only a good deal if she was guilty. But she’s not. I could file an action for replevin, which might then blow up into a matter before the California Bar.”
He stared at me and I could tell he wasn’t clear on the definition of replevin.
“I could go ask a judge to order you to turn over the files,” I said. “But, you know what, it doesn’t help her cause to make you an adversary.”
If I ever got the Sanz case into a habeas hearing, I might need Silver to explain his moves to a judge.
“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I’ll give you twenty-five percent of my fee after costs. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it,” Silver said. “As long as I get to audit the costs.”
He had no idea how creative Lorna Taylor could be in building a case-cost summary.
“Not a problem,” I said. “Now, where are the files?” I didn’t expect the file on a case closed five years ago to be in the office.
“It’ll take me a few minutes,” Silver said. “I have a storage locker in the garage here.”
“Nice,” I said. “I’ll wait.”
Silver got up and came around the desk.
“I want one other thing,” he said.
“No, we have a deal,” I said.
He was getting something out of his pocket.
“Relax, it won’t cost you a dime. I just want a selfie with the Lincoln Lawyer.”
He pulled out a cell phone. He quickly and expertly opened the camera app, held the phone up at an angle, came in close, and wrapped his free arm around my back. He took the photo before I could push him away.
“I’ll text you a copy,” he said.
“No, thanks,” I said. “Just go get the files.”
He headed toward the exit. I reached over to the frame on the outside wall and slid the silver-embossed business card out of the slot. I put it in my pocket. I thought I might have a use for it somewhere down the line.
9
Bosch and the Lincoln were out front at the curb. I opened the back passenger door, not by mistake, and saw a white bag on the seat. I moved it over and got in, caught the stink-eye from Bosch in the rearview.
“I got the files and I have to spread them out back here,” I said. “So, no disrespect, but I need to know what there is to know by the time we get to Chino.”
“So we’re going?” Bosch asked.
“If you’re up for it. You’re usually... you know, dragging the day after UCLA.”
“Maybe they gave me the placebo. I feel fine.”
I doubted that. I thought he might be hiding the exhaustion he usually exhibited. Or maybe it was the adrenaline from the case that had him running in high gear.
“If you’re sure, then we’re going. If I get through this before we get there, you can pull over and we’ll trade places and you can look through it. Cool?”
“Cool.”
Bosch pulled away from the curb and headed south toward Alameda.
“You know the way, right?” I asked.
“Been there many times,” Bosch responded. “If you get hungry, I got po’ boys from Little Jewel in that bag back there.”
“Almost sat on them. Oyster or shrimp?”
“Shrimp. You want me to go back for oysters?”
“No, I don’t like oysters. Just wanted to make sure.”