Attorney-Client Privilege (3 page)

I
t took me a few minutes to round up Lamarr and his homies and hustle them out of the courtroom.

The judge had ordered both sides to stay within fifteen minutes of the courthouse in case the jury had a question or reached a quick verdict. We walked across the street to Kendall’s Brasserie, a high-end restaurant in the Los Angeles Music Center. We’d eaten lunch there nearly every day.

A horde of reporters trailed after us like a pack of wild dogs, shouting questions they knew we wouldn’t answer. Lamarr and his entourage—Keyshawn, Baby Duke, and Mo—followed my instructions and kept their mouths shut.

It was almost three o’clock, so I was hoping the restaurant would be empty. It wasn’t. The fuss our entrance created no longer fazed us. People whispered and pointed as the maître d’ escorted us to a large, semi-secluded table. I’d been too nervous to eat breakfast or lunch, so I was famished. I ordered a bunch of appetizers for the table as soon as we were seated.

“I know we won,” Keyshawn declared.

Keyshawn’s left eye was noticeably smaller than the right. The result of a BB gun injury over a decade ago. He and Lamarr went all the way back to second grade. “Don’t nobody believe that skank.”

“It’s all good,” Lamarr said with a half-smile.

He was putting up a brave front for his boys. In my office two nights ago, he’d broken down in tears, fearful of the impact a loss would have on his career. Lamarr earned ten-million dollars a year on the football field and almost as much in endorsements. A week after Tonisha went public with her rape allegations, Red Bull cancelled his commercials. Two weeks later, Nintendo followed. Four more companies were in a wait-and-see mode. Under the NFL’s conduct clause, Lamarr had been barred from playing, pending the verdict.

A waiter arrived with four trays of appetizers colorful enough to be Christmas tree ornaments. I was the first to dig in.

“I can’t wait to see that bitch’s face when the verdict comes in,” said Mo, who resembled an overdressed sumo wrestler. Gargantuan diamonds sparkled from his meaty earlobes. He and Lamarr played Pop Warner football together.

I let my fork fall noisily to my plate and glowered across the table at Mo as if he’d used the B-word to describe me. I’d repeatedly asked them not to use that word or any other vulgar language in my presence.

Mo raised both hands in surrender before I could say a word. “No disrespect, counselor. That girl know she gave it up. She just tryin’ to jack my boy.”

His statement set off a murmur of approval from Lamarr’s other two buddies.

“Oh snap!” Baby Duke pressed his fist to his lips as if it was a microphone. “Check out the babe at ten o’clock.”

He was attempting to whisper but there was way too much baritone in his voice. All four of the guys gawked as an attractive Latina sauntered by in a tight spandex dress.

“Jennifer Lopez ain’t got nothin’ on that.” Lamarr smiled and rubbed his chin.

“I told you guys to cut it out,” I whispered. I felt more like Lamarr’s mother than his lawyer. “You never know who’s watching.”

Lamarr rubbed his boxy jaw. “It’s all good.”

“It won’t be
all good
when TMZ runs a clip of you guys acting like a bunch of sexual predators. Somebody could have a cell phone camera pointed at you right now.”

Lamarr stopped chewing as his eyes zipped around the restaurant.

“We was just admiring the scenery,” Baby Duke said with a gap-toothed smile. “You need to lighten up, counselor.”

What I needed to do was flee from the restaurant and find some civilized lunch mates. But I had two good reasons to stay put. The food was fabulous and my client and his knucklehead cronies needed a chaperone. If I left, they’d probably get even rowdier.

“Let’s just finish eating and get out of here,” I snapped.

When I received the call from Lamarr’s agent asking me to represent him, I was more than flattered. This was my first high-profile criminal case since defending a local socialite accused of murder. Though the pressure was intense at times, it was exciting to be at the center of such a scandalous case.

I’d recently opened my own law practice, renting space in the law office of a friend. I left my old firm, O’Reilly and Finney, after my partnership chances nosedived, due in part to the antics of a female attorney who was almost as ruthless as Girlie. But that’s another story.

As soon as the verdict was in, I could finally dive into my next big case, a sex discrimination lawsuit on behalf of three female sales associates at Big Buy department stores. One of the plaintiffs had recently left me an excited voicemail message about some mysterious documents she’d received. I’d been too busy putting the finishing touches on my closing argument to call her back.

The mood at the table had lightened considerably by the time we’d finished our meal. Lamarr and his homies were laughing at some off-color joke and getting way too loud. Before I could quiet them down, I spotted Girlie Cortez, minus her client, at the maître d’s stand.

Lamarr’s eyes followed mine. “I hate that bit”—he caught himself—”I mean female. She knows I didn’t force that girl to give it up. Still, I’d love to hit
that
one day.”

The iced tea I’d just sipped spewed all over the table. “Are you nuts?” I said through clenched teeth. “Didn’t I just warn you guys to knock it off?”

“Chill out, counselor. It ain’t that serious. We just blowin’ off some steam.” Lamarr slouched down in his chair and pouted like the spoiled, overpaid celebrity that he was.

The hostess was leading my nemesis to a table a good distance away when Girlie did an about face and marched in our direction.

“Hey, everybody,” Girlie said, sidling up to our table. Her eyes landed on me, but lingered on Lamarr. “Hope you guys aren’t celebrating too early.”

“Might as well,” Keyshawn said, raising his wineglass in a makeshift toast. “’Cuz we gonna win.”

Girlie put a hand on her hip and protruded her ample bosom. “Is that right?”

“Yep, that’s right.” Keyshawn’s hooded eyes moved up and down her body as if he liked what he saw.

I wanted Girlie to disappear. Her close proximity to these goons could easily lead to another sexual assault allegation. “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked.

“Not really. See you back in court.”

The guys ogled her ass as she pranced away.

I picked up my fork and stabbed my plate so hard they all flinched. “Turn around. Now!” I had to fight off the urge to slap each one of them in the back of the head.

I never told Lamarr how much I despised Girlie Cortez nor had I mentioned my prior losses against her. Our first match-up was a race discrimination case a few years back. I lost at trial after she withheld an investigation report crucial to my client’s defense. During our second case just last year, I couldn’t understand why my star witness told a completely different story on the witness stand. I figured it out a couple of months later when I saw him holding Girlie’s hand across a dinner table.

My iPhone vibrated. I recognized the court clerk’s number on the display as soon as I pulled it from my purse. I swallowed hard and held my breath. The jury hadn’t even been out two hours. There was no way they could be done deliberating already. Maybe they had a question.

My hand trembled slightly as I raised the phone to my ear.

“The judge wants everybody back in court,” the clerk told me. “The jury has reached a verdict.”

M
ankowski snagged a patrolman to drive Phillip Peterman to the station in the back of his squad car. Phillip wasn’t officially a suspect yet. Mankowski just wanted him to feel like one.

“Where’d they put Actor Boy?” Mankowski asked, returning to his desk after making a pit stop.

Thomas didn’t answer. His thumbs were busy tapping the screen of his iPhone.

“Please tell me you stopped day trading long enough to get going on those subpoenas?” Mankowski asked with a scowl.

“Hey, man, my latest stock pick just reached an all-time high. My investment savvy is going to put my kids through college. And yes, I’m almost finished with the paperwork to get Judi Irving and Phillip Peterman’s bank, home and cell phone records.”

Another detective walked up. “Your perp’s in interrogation room seven. Want me to sit in?”

Detective Charlie Hopper was a balding, overweight grump who should’ve been put out to pasture decades ago. The last time he’d cracked a case, the first George Bush was president.

“Thanks, Pops,” Mankowski said, walking past him. “But I think we have this one under control.”

“I guarantee you a confession in thirty minutes or less,” Hopper bragged.

“Yeah, right,” Mankowski said.

Thomas slipped his iPhone into his pocket and followed Mankowski into the interrogation room. Phillip sat wedged behind a short metal table, his cell phone jammed against his ear.

“They won’t tell me how Judi’s doing because I’m not a family member,” he griped, hanging up the phone. “I need to get to the hospital. Exactly how long is this going to take?”

Mankowski spread his hands. “Depends on what you have to say.”

“It shouldn’t take long.” Thomas pulled up a chair and offered one to Mankowski. He set two cans of Pepsi on the table. “I thought you might like something to drink.”

Phillip reached for one of the cans, popped it open and took a healthy gulp. “I’m doing you guys a favor. I really don’t have to talk to you without a lawyer.”

“You’re not a suspect,” Mankowski said. “Why would you need a lawyer?”

Phillip shrugged. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt your girlfriend?” Mankowski asked.

Phillip’s face flushed with surprise. “I thought it was a burglary? You think somebody was out to hurt her?”

“What made you think it was a burglary?”

“The place was a wreck. The small flat screen we had in the kitchen was missing. That cop wouldn’t let me look around to see what else they took.”

Mankowski’s brows arched. “They?”

“That was just a manner of speech. I have no idea how many people it was.”

“Let’s get back to my initial question,” Mankowski said. “Is there anyone you can think of who might’ve wanted to hurt Judi?”

The Pepsi can made a crinkle sound as Phillip’s hand tightened around it. “Maybe her husband. Their divorce isn’t final yet. He’s been paying her a grip in alimony based on the court’s temporary order and he’s not happy about it.”

“So Judi’s married?”

“Yeah. He dumped her for some bimbo. His name is Robby Irving. He’s a pharmaceutical sales rep. You should definitely check him out.”

“Does he own that house where you guys were living?”

“Nope. Judi and I rented it a few weeks ago. We were staying in a condo in Westchester at first, but the rent was too high.”

“What about you? Did you have any reason to hurt her?”

Phillip set down his Pepsi and cracked his right knuckles against the palm of his left hand. “Of course not.”

“Those are some nasty scratches on your face.”

“And I already told you how I got them. You need to get Robby Irving down here. He should be your number one suspect.”

“Anybody else?” Mankowski asked.

“Nobody I can think of.” Phillip paused as if he was torn about how forthcoming he should be. “I don’t know if this is important or not, but Judi had a lawsuit going.”

“What kind of lawsuit?” Mankowski asked.

“Discrimination.”

“Against who?”

“Her employer.”

Mankowski drummed his fingers on the table. The way Phillip was parceling out information was beginning to irritate him.

“Mr. Peterman, we can stay here for the next three hours as you dole out your little tidbits, or you can tell us what we need to know and you can go check on your girlfriend. How do you want to play it?”

Thomas tilted his head and gave Mankowski a glare that told him he didn’t approve of his bullying tactics. They had no legal right to keep Phillip there since he wasn’t under arrest. It was inappropriate for Mankowski to act as if they could.

“Okay, okay,” Phillip huffed.

He spent the next few minutes telling them what little he knew about Judi’s sex discrimination lawsuit against Big Buy.

“Sounds like you had a problem with her suing the company,” Mankowski said.

“I thought it was a stupid thing to do. She was going to end up getting fired.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” Thomas grinned and wagged a finger at Phillip. “I recognize you. You’re the Big Buy Guy!”

A modest grin lit up Phillip’s face. “Yeah, that would be me.”

Mankowski eyed his partner. “Big what guy?”

“Big Buy Guy. He does this commercial where he’s running through the store slashing prices.” Thomas started singing the Big Buy jingle.

“Oh, I get it.” Mankowski leaned back in his chair. “You didn’t like your girlfriend messing up your Big Buy gig by suing the company?”

Phillip took a long gulp from the Pepsi can. “I just didn’t think the lawsuit was a good idea.”

They continued to grill Phillip about Judi’s lawsuit, his whereabouts while she was being assaulted and Judi’s impending divorce. For the most part, his story stayed consistent.

“Would you be willing to provide a sample of your DNA?” Mankowski asked.

“DNA?” Phillip cracked his knuckles again and reached for the Pepsi, but didn’t take a sip. “Why would you need my DNA?”

“Just routine,” Thomas said. “We’d like to rule you out.”

“Judi scratched her assailant,” Mankowski added. “We want to know if your DNA matches the skin and blood we found underneath her fingernails.”

Thomas shot Mankowski a chiding glare. His partner was sharing a little too much information. But Mankowski wanted Actor Boy to know that they had him. A worried perp was much more likely to make the kind of mistake that would leave him cornered.

Phillip visibly shuddered. “I…uh…I’m not comfortable providing my DNA.”

Mankowski smirked. “Why not?”

“I’d just rather not, okay?” Phillip cracked his knuckles for the third time. “You need to get her husband down here and get
his
DNA.”

“Alright, Mr. Peterman,” Mankowski said, sliding a pen and notepad across the table. “Give us the name and number of your agent so we can confirm your whereabouts last night. Then you can go. But we’ll definitely need to speak to you again. If you plan on taking any out-of-town trips, we’d appreciate it if you give us a call first.”

Mankowski winked.

“I’ll give you my agent’s cell phone number,” he grumbled. “But just so you know, he’s out of the country. He left for Paris this morning. He won’t be back for six weeks.”

“How convenient,” Mankowski said. “But I’m pretty sure cell phones work in Paris too.”

Phillip scrawled down a number, ripped the paper from the pad and sailed it across the table. “Are we done?”

“Nope,” Mankowski said. “We need a photograph.”

“Of what?”

“Those scratches on your cheek.” Mankowski pulled a tissue from his shirt pocket and slapped it on the table. “Wipe off your makeup.”

“I don’t have on makeup,” Phillip said testily. “It’s a medicated cream.”

“Whatever. Just wipe it off.”

“I’m not sure I want to—”

“You know what?” Mankowski said. “You’re really beginning to make me think you have something to hide.”

Thomas stepped outside and returned with a camera that he handed to Mankowski, who took pictures of Phillip’s face from three different angles.

Afterward, Thomas found a patrolman to drive Phillip home, then met Mankowski back at his desk.

“Did you see how nervous he got when I asked for his DNA?” Mankowski said. “I think Judi scratched his face while he was bashing her in the head.”

“He was sure trying hard to steer us in the direction of her husband,” Thomas replied with a nod. “If he did do it, he must be sweating bullets not knowing whether she’s going to survive and identify him.”

Thomas called the hospital to find out Judi’s condition.

“Good news,” Thomas said, hanging up. “She’s critical, but stable. We might be able to talk to her tomorrow.”

They had already placed a guard outside her room and given the hospital strict instructions that no one, especially Phillip Peterman, should be allowed in to see her. Mankowski, meantime, tried to reach Harold Gold, Phillip’s agent.

Mankowski slammed down the phone. “Asshole gave us a wrong number.”

“That,” Thomas said, “speaks volumes.”

Mankowski turned to his computer to look up the agent’s office number on Google.

“Well,” Thomas said with glee, “at least we have this.” He held up a plastic bag containing Phillip’s empty Pepsi can.

“Criminals are so stupid,” Mankowski said with a satisfied smiled. “That arrogant prick is going to piss in his pants when he finds out we have his DNA. Let’s drop that off at the lab, then go have a little talk with Judi Irving’s almost ex-husband.”