The Brass Verdict (9 page)

“It’s a scary world out there,” he said.

“It can be,” I said.

“If you need any help with anything, let me know.”

He left the office and I took his seat in front of the judge’s desk.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Haller? You got the order for the bank?”

“Yes, I got the order, Your Honor. Thank you for that. I wanted to update you a little bit and ask a question about something.”

She took off a pair of reading glasses and put them down on her blotter.

“Please go ahead, then.”

“Well, on the update. Things are going a bit slowly because we started without a calendar. Both Jerry Vincent’s laptop computer and his hard-copy calendar were stolen after he was killed. We had to build a new calendar after pulling the active files. We think we have that under control and, in fact, I just came from a sentencing in Judge Champagne’s in regard to one of the cases. So we haven’t missed anything.”

The judge seemed unimpressed by the efforts made by my staff and me.

“How many active cases are we talking about?” she asked.

“Uh, it looks like there are thirty-one active cases — well, thirty now that I handled that sentencing. That case is done.”

“Then, I would say you inherited quite a thriving practice. What is the problem?”

“I’m not sure there is a problem, Judge. So far I’ve had a conversation with only one of the active clients and it looks like I will be continuing as his lawyer.”

“Was that Walter Elliot?”

“Uh, no, I have not talked to him yet. I plan to try to do that later today. The person I talked to was involved in something a little less serious. A felony theft, actually.”

“Okay.”

She was growing impatient so I moved to the point of the meeting.

“What I wanted to ask about was the police. You were right this morning when you warned me about guarding against police intrusion. When I got over to the office after leaving here, I found a couple of detectives going through the files. Jerry’s receptionist was there but she hadn’t tried to stop them.”

The judge’s face grew hard.

“Well, I hope you did. Those officers should have known better than to start going through files willy-nilly.”

“Yes, Your Honor, they backed off once I got there and objected. In fact, I threatened to make a complaint to you. That’s when they backed off.”

She nodded, her face showing pride in the power the mention of her name had.

“Then, why are you here?”

“Well, I’m wondering now whether I should let them back in.”

“I don’t understand you, Mr. Haller. Let the police back in?”

“The detective in charge of the investigation made a good point. He said the evidence suggests that Jerry Vincent knew his killer and probably even allowed him to get close enough to, you know, shoot him. He said that makes it a good bet that it was one of his own clients. So they were going through the files looking for potential suspects when I walked in on them.”

The judge waved one of her hands in a gesture of dismissal.

“Of course they were. And they were trampling on those clients’ rights as they were doing it.”

“They were in the file room and were looking through old cases. Closed cases.”

“Doesn’t matter. Open or closed, it still constitutes a violation of the attorney-client privilege.”

“I understand that, Judge. But after they were gone, I saw they had left behind a stack of files on the table. These were the files they were either going to take or wanted to look more closely at. I looked them over and there were threats in those files.”

“Threats against Mr. Vincent?”

“Yes. They were cases in which his clients weren’t happy about the outcome, whether it was the verdict or the disposition or the terms of imprisonment. There were threats, and in each of the cases, he took the threats seriously enough to make a detailed record of exactly what was said and who said it. That was what the detectives were pulling together.”

The judge leaned back and clasped her hands, her elbows on the arms of her leather chair. She thought about the situation I had described and then brought her eyes to mine.

“You believe we are inhibiting the investigation by not allowing the police to do their job.”

I nodded.

“I was wondering if there was a way to sort of serve both sides,” I said. “Limit the harm to the clients but let the police follow the investigation wherever it goes.”

The judge considered this in silence again, then sighed.

“I wish my husband had stayed,” she finally said. “I value his opinion greatly.”

“Well, I had an idea.”

“Of course you did. What is it?”

“I was thinking that I could vet the files myself and draw up a list of the people who threatened Jerry. Then I could pass it on to Detective Bosch and give him some of the details of the threats as well. This way, he would have what he needs but he wouldn’t have the files themselves. He’s happy, I’m happy.”

“Bosch is the lead detective?”

“Yes, Harry Bosch. He’s with Robbery-Homicide. I can’t remember his partner’s name.”

“You have to understand, Mr. Haller, that even if you just give this man Bosch the names, you are still breaching client confidentiality. You could be disbarred for this.”

“Well, I was thinking about that and I believe there’s a way out. One of the mechanisms of relief from the client confidentiality bond is in the case of threat to safety. If Jerry Vincent knew a client was coming to kill him last night, he could have called the police and given that client’s name to them. There would’ve been no breach in that.”

“Yes, but what you are considering here is completely different.”

“It’s different, Judge, but not completely. I’ve been directly told by the lead detective on the case that it is highly likely that the identity of Jerry Vincent’s killer is contained in Jerry’s own files. Those files are now mine. So that information constitutes a threat to me. When I go out and start meeting these clients, I could shake hands with the killer and not even know it. You add that up any way and I feel I am in some jeopardy here, Judge, and that qualifies for relief.”

She nodded her head again and put her glasses back on. She reached over and picked up a glass of water that had been hidden from my view by her desktop computer.

After drinking deeply from the glass she spoke.

“All right, Mr. Haller. I believe that if you vet the files as you have suggested, then you will be acting in an appropriate and acceptable manner. I would like you to file a motion with this court that explains your actions and the feeling of threat you are under. I will sign it and seal it and with any good luck it will be something that never sees the light of day.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

“Anything else?”

“I think that is it.”

“Then, have a good day.”

“Yes, Your Honor. Thank you.”

I got up and headed toward the door but then remembered something and turned back to stand in front of the judge’s desk.

“Judge? I forgot something. I saw your calendar from last week out there and noticed that Jerry Vincent came in on the Elliot matter. I haven’t thoroughly reviewed the case file yet, but do you mind my asking what the hearing was about?”

The judge had to think for a moment to recall the hearing.

“It was an emergency motion. Mr. Vincent came in because Judge Stanton had revoked bail and ordered Mr. Elliot remanded to custody. I stayed the revocation.”

“Why was it revoked?”

“Mr. Elliot had traveled to a film festival in New York without getting permission. It was one of the qualifiers of bail. When Mr. Golantz, the prosecutor, saw a picture of Elliot at the festival in
People
magazine, he asked Judge Stanton to revoke bail. He obviously wasn’t happy that bail had been allowed in the first place. Judge Stanton revoked and then Mr. Vincent came to me for an emergency stay of his client’s arrest and incarceration. I decided to give Mr. Elliot a second chance and to modify his freedom by making him wear an ankle monitor. But I can assure you that Mr. Elliot will not receive a third chance. Keep that in mind if you should retain him as a client.”

“I understand, Judge. Thank you.”

I nodded and left the chambers, thanking Mrs. Gill as I walked out through the courtroom.

Harry Bosch’s card was still in my pocket. I dug it out while I was going down in the elevator. I had parked in a pay lot by the Kyoto Grand Hotel and had a three-block walk that would take me right by Parker Center. I called Bosch’s cell phone as I headed to the courthouse exit.

“This is Bosch.”

“It’s Mickey Haller.”

There was a hesitation. I thought that maybe he didn’t recognize my name.

“What can I do for you?” he finally asked.

“How’s the investigation going?”

“It’s going, but nothing I can talk to you about.”

“Then I’ll just get to the point. Are you in Parker Center right now?”

“That’s right. Why?”

“I’m heading over from the courthouse. Meet me out front by the memorial.”

“Look, Haller, I’m busy. Can you just tell me what this is about?”

“Not on the phone, but I think it will be worth your while. If you’re not there when I go by, then I’ll know you’ve passed on the opportunity and I won’t bother you with it again.”

I closed the phone before he could respond. It took me five minutes to get over to Parker Center by foot. The place was in its last years of life, its replacement being built a block over on Spring Street. I saw Bosch standing next to the fountain that was part of the memorial for officers killed in the line of duty. I saw thin white wires leading from his ears to his jacket pocket. I walked up and didn’t bother with a handshake or any other greeting. He pulled the earbuds out and shoved them into his pocket.

“Shutting the world out, Detective?”

“Helps me concentrate. Is there a purpose to this meeting?”

“After you left the office today I looked at the files you had stacked on the table. In the file room.”

“And?”

“And I understand what you are trying to do. I want to help you but I want you to understand my position.”

“I understand you, Counselor. You have to protect those files and the possible killer hiding in them because those are the rules.”

I shook my head. This guy didn’t want to make it easy for me to help him.

“I’ll tell you what, Detective Bosch. Come back by the office at eight o’clock tomorrow morning and I will give you what I can.”

I think the offer surprised him. He had no response.

“You’ll be there?” I asked.

“What’s the catch?” he asked right back.

“No catch. Just don’t be late. I’ve got an interview at nine, and after that I’ll probably be on the road for client conferences.”

“I’ll be there at eight.”

“Okay, then.”

I was ready to walk away but it looked like he wasn’t.

“What is it?”

“I was going to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Did Vincent have any federal cases?”

I thought for a moment, going over what I knew of the files. I shook my head.

“We’re still reviewing everything but I don’t think so. He was like me, liked to stay in state court. It’s a numbers game. More cases, more fuck-ups, more holes to slip through. The feds kind of like to stack the deck. They don’t like to lose.”

I thought he might take the slight personally. But he had moved past it and was putting something in place. He nodded.

“Okay.”

“That’s it? That’s all you wanted to ask?”

“That’s it.”

I waited for further explanation but none came.

“Okay, Detective.”

I clumsily put out my hand. He shook it and appeared to feel just as awkward about it. I decided to ask a question I had been holding back on.

“Hey, there was something I was meaning to ask you, too.”

“What’s that?”

“It doesn’t say it on your card but I heard that your full name is Hieronymus Bosch. Is that true?”

“What about it?”

“I was just wondering, where’d you get a name like that?”

“My mother gave it to me.”

“Your mother? Well, what did your father think about it?”

“I never asked him. I have to get back to the investigation now, Counselor. Is there anything else?”

“No, that was it. I was just curious. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.”

“I’ll be there.”

I left him standing there at the memorial and walked away. I headed down the block, thinking the whole time about why he had asked if Jerry Vincent had had any federal cases. When I turned left at the corner, I glanced back and saw Bosch still standing by the fountain. He was watching me. He didn’t look away, but I did, and I kept walking.

Eleven

C
isco and Lorna were still at work in Jerry Vincent’s office when I got back. I handed the court order for the bank over to Lorna and told her about the two early appointments I had set for the next day.

“I thought you put Patrick Henson into the dog pile,” Lorna said.

“I did. But now I moved him back.”

She put her eyebrows together the way she did whenever I confounded her — which was a lot. I didn’t want to explain things. Moving on, I asked if anything new had developed while I had gone to court.

“A couple things,” Lorna said. “First of all, the check from Walter Elliot cleared. If he heard about Jerry it’s too late to stop payment.”

“Good.”

“It gets better. I found the contracts file and took a look at Jerry’s deal with Elliot. That hundred thousand deposited Friday for trial was only a partial payment.”

She was right. It was getting better.

“How much?” I asked.

“According to the deal,” she said, “Vincent took two fifty up front. That was five months ago and it looks like that is all gone. But he was going to get another two fifty for the trial. Nonrefundable. The hundred was only the first part of that. The rest is due on the first day of testimony.”

I nodded with satisfaction. Vincent had made a great deal. I had never had a case with that kind of money involved. But I wondered how he had blown through the first $250,000 so quickly. Lorna would have to study the ins and outs of the accounts to get that answer.