“What about it?”
“Is that what this is all about, something in his computer?”
“You tell me.”
“How can I tell you when I have no idea what was in it?”
Bosch nodded the point and stood up.
“Have a good day, Counselor.”
He walked out, carrying the legal pad at his side. I was left wondering whether he had been warning me or playing me the whole time he had been in the room.
Sixteen
Lorna and Cisco arrived together fifteen minutes after Bosch’s departure and we convened in Vincent’s office. I took a seat behind the dead lawyer’s desk and they sat side by side in front of it. It was another score-keeping session in which we went over cases, what had been accomplished the previous night and what still needed to be done.
With Cisco driving, I had visited eleven of Vincent’s clients the night before, signing up eight of them and giving back files to the remaining three. These were the priority cases, potential clients I hoped to keep because they could pay or their cases had garnered some form of merit in my review. They were cases I could win or be challenged by.
So it had not been a bad night. I had even convinced the woman charged with indecent exposure to keep me on as her attorney. And of course, bagging Walter Elliot was the icing on the cake. Lorna reported that she had faxed him a representation contract and it had already been signed and returned. We were in good shape there. I could start chipping away at the hundred thousand in the trust account.
We next set the plan for the day. I told Lorna that I wanted her and Wren – if she showed up – to run down the remaining clients, apprise them of Jerry Vincent’s demise and set up appointments for me to discuss the options of legal representation. I also wanted Lorna to continue building the calendar and familiarizing herself with Vincent’s files and financial records.
I told Cisco I wanted him to focus his attention on the Elliot case, with particular emphasis on witness maintenance. This meant that he had to take the preliminary defense witness list, which had already been compiled by Jerry Vincent, and prepare subpoenas for the law enforcement officers and other witnesses who might be considered hostile to the defense’s cause. For the paid expert witness and others who were willingly going to testify at trial for the defense, he had to make contact and assure them that the trial was moving forward as scheduled, with me replacing Vincent at the helm.
“Got it,” Cisco said. “What about the Vincent investigation? You still want me monitoring?”
“Yes, keep tabs on that and let me know what you find out.”
“I found out that they spent last night sweating somebody but kicked him loose this morning.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“A suspect?”
“They cut him loose, so whoever it was is cleared. For now.”
I nodded as I thought about this. No wonder Bosch looked like he had been up all night.
“What are you going to be doing today?” Lorna asked.
“My priority starting today is Elliot. There are a few things on these other cases that I’ll need to pay some attention to but for the most part I’m going to be on Elliot from here on out. We’ve got jury selection in eight days. Today I want to start at the crime scene.”
“I should go with you,” Cisco said.
“No, I just want to get a feel for the place. You can get in there with a camera and tape measure later.”
“Mick, isn’t there any way you can convince Elliot to delay?” Lorna asked. “Doesn’t he realize that you need time to study and understand the case?”
“I told him that, but he’s not interested. He made it a condition of my hire. I had to agree to go to trial next week or he’d find another lawyer who could. He says he’s innocent and doesn’t want to wait a single day longer to prove it.”
“Do you believe him?”
I shrugged.
“Doesn’t matter. He believes it. And he’s got this strange confidence in it all turning out his way – like the Monday morning box office. So I either get ready to go to trial at the end of next week or I lose the client.”
Just then the door to the office swung open and revealed Wren Williams standing tentatively in the doorway.
“Excuse me,” she said.
“Hello, Wren,” I said. “Glad you’re here. Could you wait out there in reception, and Lorna will be right out to work with you?”
“No problem. You also have one of the clients waiting out here. Patrick Henson. He was already waiting when I came in.”
I looked at my watch. It was five of nine. It was a good sign in regard to Patrick Henson.
“Then, send him in.”
A young man walked in. Patrick Henson was smaller than I thought he would be, but maybe it was the low center of gravity that made him a good surfer. He had the requisite hardened tan but his hair was cropped short. No earrings, no white shell necklace or shark’s tooth. No tattoos that I could see. He wore black cargo pants and what probably passed as his best shirt. It had a collar.
“Patrick, we spoke on the phone yesterday. I’m Mickey Haller and this is my case manager, Lorna Taylor. This big guy is Cisco, my investigator.”
He stepped toward the desk and shook our hands. His grip was firm.
“I’m glad you decided to come in. Is that your fish on the wall back there?”
Without moving his feet Henson swiveled at the hips as if on a surfboard and looked at the fish hanging on the wall.
“Yeah, that’s Betty.”
“You gave a stuffed fish a name?” Lorna asked. “What, was it a pet?”
Henson smiled, more to himself than to us.
“No, I caught it a long time ago. Back in Florida. We hung it by the front door in the place I was sharing in Malibu. My roommates and me, we’d always say, ‘Hellooo, Betty’ to it when we came home. It was kind of stupid.”
He swiveled back and looked at me.
“Speaking of names, do we call you Trick?”
“Nah, that was just the name my agent came up with. I don’t have him anymore. You can just call me Patrick.”
“Okay, and you told me you had a valid driver’s license?”
“Sure do.”
He reached into a front pocket and removed a thick nylon wallet. He pulled his license out and handed it to me. I studied it for a moment and then handed it to Cisco. He studied it a little longer and then nodded, giving it his official approval.
“Okay, Patrick, I need a driver,” I said. “I provide the car and gas and insurance and you show up here every morning at nine to drive me wherever I need to go. I told you the pay schedule yesterday. You still interested?”
“I’m interested.”
“Are you a safe driver?” Lorna asked.
“I’ve never had an accident.” Patrick said.
I nodded my approval. They say an addict is best suited for spotting another addict. I was looking for signs that he was still using. Heavy eyelids, slow speech, avoidance of eye contact. But I didn’t pick up on anything.
“When can you start?”
He shrugged.
“I don’t have anything… I mean, whenever you want, I guess.”
“How about we start right now? Today will be a test-drive. We’ll see how you do and we can talk about it at the end of the day.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Okay, well, we’re going to get out of here and hit the road and I’ll explain in the car how I like things to work.”
“Cool.”
He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and awaited the next move or instruction. He looked like he was about thirty but that was because of what the sun had done to his skin. I knew from the file that he was only twenty-four and still had a lot to learn.
Today the plan was to take him back to school.
Seventeen
We took the 10 out of downtown and headed west toward Malibu. I sat in the back and opened my computer on the fold-down table. While I waited for it to boot up I told Patrick Henson how it all worked.