No Legal Grounds (20 page)

The drive to Harper Lumber in Canoga Park took longer than ever, and not just because of the traffic on the 101. The weight of dismay was a heavy drag, and Sam couldn’t cut loose from it.

He had to cut something else loose to keep the fragile threads of the rest of his life from wrapping around his throat.
Pete Harper would have to be it.
It killed him to think of it. The Harpers trusted him. But that trust would not help them in the long run. He wasn’t going to be able to take this case where it needed to go.
He should have gone to Pete’s house, of course. But he couldn’t face Sarah. That was one scene he could not play without cracking.
Pete was holding a clipboard and talking on a cell phone out in the yard. Stacks of lumber in various cuts and sizes created a bunker feel, as if this might be ground zero against a military attack. Sam felt besieged, and a bit like a traitor.
It hurt even more when Pete smiled at him and checked out of his call. “Sam, nice surprise.”
Pete’s grip was strong this time, invested with optimism. Sweat glistened on his arms.
“Moving a lot of wood?” Sam said in a feeble attempt at small talk.
“If that Valley Circle development goes through — you know the one out at the end of Roscoe — we’ll move a whole bunch.”
“That’d be nice.”
“We could use it. Walk and talk?”
“Sure.”
Pete clipped his cell phone on his belt and started walking toward the north end of the yard. “You have some news,” Pete said.
“Yes.”
“Good?”
“In the long run, I think it will . . .”
A forklift loaded with two-by-tens rumbled past them, drowning out Sam’s words. He didn’t want to shout.
Pete’s face clouded. “You think we’ll lose.”
“No.”
“What then?”
“Pete, I have to pull out.”
“I thought we — ”
“Something’s happening to my family, Pete.”
Pete nodded. “The legal thing with that guy? Listen, I don’t care — ”
“Thing is, I can’t give my best to you because of it. I’ve tried, but you need somebody who can give a hundred percent.”
A man in a blue work shirt and baseball hat shouted to Pete from the loading bay. “Hey, Mr. Harper, you want us to house that load of air-dried?”
“Do it,” Pete answered.
“Which space?”
“Just pick one!”
Now Sam felt a double dose of guilt. He’d become a workplace irritant. “I’m sorry, Pete. I shouldn’t have bothered you here.”
“Sam, are you absolutely sure about this? Because if it’s the matter of the fee . . .”
“That’s not it. It’s never been it.”
“But if we have to find another lawyer — ”
“I want to try to find you the best.”
“Second best,” Pete said.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you, Sam. I know you wouldn’t do this if you didn’t think it was best for Sarah.”
“Thank you.” But he wondered, looking at the lines on Pete Harper’s face, if Pete really believed it.
In the car, Sam began putting together a mental list of lawyers to call to take the Harper case. He thought of Lew, the best litigator he knew, but ruled him out. He had never liked the Harper case, and even a standard cut wasn’t going to change that. Besides, FulCo was going to be a full-time job for a while.
Ben Rosensweig was a possibility. He was a classmate who’d been kicking insurance companies all over the country. Maybe —
His phone interrupted. It was Case.
“What you got going today?” Case asked.
“One less client, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Can you catch a Southwest to San Francisco?”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where I’ll pick you up.”
“You’re there?”
“I’m here. And then we drive three hours. To Burrell.”
“Why?”
“There’s someone I want us to talk to.”
“Who?”
“Nicky Oberlin’s dear old mum.”
“You found her?”
“Of course. This is Gerald Case you’re talking to. If you want me to handle this on my own, I’ll — ”
“No. I want to be there. I’m coming.”

Early the next morning, Friday, Sam caught a Southwest flight at Burbank Airport. Case was waiting for him at the San Francisco Airport, as promised. The car from Hertz was a Crown Victoria. “I won’t put this on the expenses,” Case said, “unless you like what I’ve turned up. And I think you will.”

As they cut over the Golden Gate Bridge, enveloped in wet fog, Case said, “Ever been to Burrell?”
“No.” All Sam knew about the place was that it was rural and had redwoods and a lot of old hippies, in addition to a little tourism centered on the terminus of a long-defunct nineteenth-century railroad line.
“You ought to buy some property up there,” Case said. “Could be the next — ”
“Tell me about the woman.”
“We have three hours before — ”
“Tell me.”
“I traced her from Sacramento. She had a big house there, nice house, so I guess it gave her more than enough for the move. Only thing is, she’s living in a dump.”
“You’ve seen her?”
“From a distance. With binoculars. Puttering around the place. Feeding some furry little friends of the forest. She looks like a bag lady, to be honest.”
“So where’d the money go?”
“Exactly. That’s what we’re gonna find out. Now here’s the kicker. Laverne Oberlin, that’s her name, was not a happy camper back when Nicky was in short pants.”
“How so?”
“Called the police a number of times. Domestic. Mr. Oberlin, Nick’s daddy, was apparently quite the abuser.”
“How’d you find this out?”
Case smiled. “You do your job and let me do mine. I know guys, okay? So back in 1970 she files a formal complaint, then immediately withdraws it. The investigating officer files a report, and it says the subject, which would be the old man, left the premises by mutual consent.”
“So maybe Nicky was knocked around, or just had to watch his father take it out on his mother.”
“Nicky got it too. A social worker filed an addendum. They let it go. Things were different then. Today they’d take the kid in and sort it out later. That’s all I know about our boy’s past.”
“That’s a lot.”
Case nodded. “The waiting period over for your handgun?”
“Picked it up yesterday. A Browning.”
“Good gun. Where is it?”
“In its case in the trunk of my car.”
“Good. If it’s in the trunk it doesn’t fall under the concealed weapon prohibition.”
“Gerry?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m a lawyer, remember?”
“I’ll try to overlook it.”
Eventually the scenery switched from suburbia to country, with rolling green hills and vineyards. Beautiful place, Sam thought. He’d always wanted to bring Linda here when the flowers were in bloom. He wanted to bring them all now, Linda and Heather and Max, and just lie in the sun and have nothing to do with the world.
Sam called Linda. All was quiet on the home front. Heather had even checked in. At least she wasn’t in jail. Count your blessings, Sam told himself, while they last.

The house was in the middle of a pine grove, with a perimeter marked by a barbwire fence. A decrepit gate made from bleached wood hung halfway open. A red No Trespassing sign, rimmed with rust, dangled from the gate.

They’d taken a dirt road about half a mile to get here. Sam noticed a few other structures in the area, but no people. He kept thinking of
Deliverance
and tried not to. He didn’t need that little item in his imagination.

“Looks almost deserted,” Sam said. He didn’t see a vehicle of any kind around the messy yard. There was an old box spring leaning against the side of the small, squat residence. Brown paint flaked from the eaves.

“You sure about this? These are Second Amendment people up here.”
Gerald Case smiled. “You’ve seen too many movies.”
Great.
Deliverance
popped in again.
“You all right?” Case asked.
“Move.”
The two walked up the dirt path to the front of the house. A birdfeeder over the small porch swung in the slight breeze. Just to the right of the front door was a folding chair, weather faded, and an empty coffee can that held about a week’s worth of cigarette butts.
Charming.
Case knocked on the door.
No response.
He knocked again, more insistently.
Sam thought he heard a rustling but didn’t know if it came from inside or outside. Or above. He looked up and into a pair of beady black eyes in the ugliest animal face he’d ever seen. The pointed nose was a sickly pink, set off by black ears.
He jumped back.
“What is it?” Case said.
The ugly, cone-snouted creature hissed, then disappeared somewhere on the roof.
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “Maybe a possum. A big rat.”
“Easy, boy. We’re all just creatures trying to get along, right?”
Case knocked one more time. Sam got the creepy feeling all over again. He half expected to hear the thin
plunk
of a banjo string in the distance.
Instead he heard the sound of a chain unlatching behind the door.
Case looked at Sam. Sam looked at the door. It opened an inch or so.
“Mrs. Oberlin?” Case said. “May I — ”
He stopped as a revolver stuck out the door.

The woman was broomstick thin, her cotton dress hanging on for dear life. Her snowy hair hung down past her shoulders, framing wide gray eyes. Her hands shook as they held the gun.

Case put his hands up. “We’re not here to — ”
“How dare you come to get me!” the woman said.
For a brief moment Sam thought Case was a dead man. The

trembling finger on the trigger, the out-of-proportion hysteria. It was a recipe for disaster. “It’s about Nicky,” Sam said.
The wild eyes, crazy and empty at the same time, turned on him.
Then the woman’s look transformed to worry. She kept the gun up, pointed it at Sam’s chest.
“Is Nicky hurt?” she said.
“No, ma’am,” Sam answered. “Let us talk to you.”
“What have you done with him?”
“Nothing, ma’am. Will you put that gun down so we can talk?”
She pulled the trigger.
Click.
Sam’s heart clawed into his throat.
“Not loaded,” she said. “Don’t tell. If you tell, they’ll take me away.”
And it wouldn’t be a moment too soon. Sam took a deep breath. “Have you been in touch with your son?”
“Where is he?”
“Have you talked to him recently?” Case said.
“Talk?”
“To Nicky.”
“Is he hurt? Is he back there?” She seemed to be drifting into another scene, another time.
“Back where?” Case said.
“I can’t take it anymore.”
“We’d like to talk to you.”
“Have you got the pizza?”
Case looked at Sam, then back at Mrs. Oberlin. “No pizza. We need your help.”
“Help?”
“To help Nicky.”
“Nicky? Where is he?” She looked out at the trees beyond the fence.
“Ma’am, would you like to come with us and talk about Nicky?”
She took a step back then, an inner flame igniting her face. “What have you done to Nicky?”
Sam looked at Case, asking with his eyes what he was doing. Case nodded assurance.
“If you come for a ride, Nicky will like that.”
The woman started shaking her head, out of confusion or obstinacy Sam couldn’t tell. Did it matter?
The woman’s face steadied for a short beat, then she looked past them, her eyes widening again.
The sound of tires on dirt and gravel made Sam turn. Some sort of cop car with a light bar flashing skidded to a stop. Two uniforms jumped out, one with his weapon drawn.
“Don’t move!” he shouted.

The older deputy — Bradford, according to his name badge — managed to get the screaming Mrs. Oberlin into the back of his vehicle and close the door on her. The silence was a welcome respite.

Sam produced it from his wallet, showed it to the deputy. “And this is my investigator, Gerald Case.”
Case said, “Can you take the bracelets off now?”
Bradford scowled at the card, handed it back to Sam. “You’re aware that your client is growing marijuana in her backyard?”
“Is that what this is all about?”
“We followed you here.”
“Why?”
Bradford jerked his head back toward the road. “A tip reported that rental Crown Vic out here yesterday. Said a guy with scopes was looking around.”
“That would be me,” Case said. “Cuffs, please?”
“Unlock him, Trace!” Bradford snapped at the younger deputy. To Sam he said, “Same guy called it in again today. Must be a neighbor. They don’t like a lot of snooping around.”
“I’ve noticed. And you thought we were here for a buy?”
“It happens. Tipster said there’s cultivation going on here.”
“Do you have a warrant?” Sam said.
Bradford’s scowl deepened. “I told you, we got a call from an informant who gave — ”
“You still need a warrant, Deputy.”
“I haven’t searched anything.”
“An arrest warrant. You arrested my client.”
“I haven’t arrested her.”
“What’s she doing in the back of your vehicle then?”
“She was uncooperative, she — ”
“She has every right to be uncooperative, unless you have a warrant or probable cause to detain her. The uncorroborated information of a tipster is not PC.”
“Then we’ll just take a look in the backyard.”
“Not without a search warrant.”
“Okay, mister lawyer sir, then I’m taking your client in for assaulting an officer. You got something to say about that?”
“Good,” Sam said.
“Good?” Now Bradford looked confused.
“I’ll be joining you at the station. Please give directions to Mr. Case. I’ll speak to my client now.”
After hesitating for a moment, Bradford indicated with his head for Trace to walk Sam to the sheriff’s car.
“This is weird,” Trace said.
“You have no idea,” Sam said.
Trace opened the passenger-side front door. Mrs. Oberlin started with the
how dare yous
and some other colorful language. Sam put his hand up. “We’re here to help Nicky, remember?” She stopped her tirade and looked at Sam.
“He’s in trouble and we’re all going to help him,” he said. “You go with these nice men and I’ll be with you soon.”
Looking scared now, and very tired, Mrs. Oberlin said nothing.
Sam closed the door. “She’s a little out there,” he said to the deputy.
“You didn’t have to tell me that.”
“Handle her gently.”