“Joel’s the lead story.”
“So I gather. I was listening to it on the radio.”
“They got your little speech in front of his house on camera.”
“Great.”
“They got another shot of you walking out of the Hall.”
“Nike will be calling tomorrow to offer me a sneaker contract. The“Air Daley’ line.”
She smiles. She’s heard this one before.
“They said you had no comment.”
“That would be correct.”
“You could have said he was innocent.”
“I know. I want to save my best lines for my interview with TedKoppel.”
“Probably smart.”
“I hope so.”
We stare at the TV. News Center 4 loves to send its minicams all overthe Bay Area to do live “team coverage,” even when it makes no sense todo so. Why TV news directors think we want to see their reporterscatching pneumonia escapes me. I guess if you have the fancy toys, youmight as well use them. Rita Roberts is standing in the pouring rainon the dark, empty street in front of Joel’s house. As she getssoaked, they show videotape of the arrest a few hours earlier. Theyshow my speech to the cops and a brief interview with Skipper.
The second reporter, a tall man with beautiful dark hair and a cleftchin, is getting drenched on the dark, empty street in front of theHall. They show videotape of Joel being escorted into the building.Then they show me hustling up the front steps of the Hall.
Rosie shuts off the TV.
“Joel has a big problem.”
“Tell me about it. What else did they say on the news?”
“The basics. The usual blather about incontrovertible evidence placingJoel at the scene. Inconsistencies in his story. They claim he’s beenuncooperative and tried to flee.” She pauses.
“Oh, one more thing. One station quoted ‘reliable sources’ saying Joelwas having an affair with Diana.”
“I see. Who was saying all that?”
“They didn’t say, but it has to be Skipper. It’s a DA’s wet dream.First week on the job and he’s got a highprofile murder case.” Rosiehas such a delicate way with words.
“Did they interview Roosevelt?”
“Briefly. He didn’t say much. He just said they have solidevidence.”
I look at the fire in the small fireplace.
“Joel’s got a big problem.”
She grins. The dancing light reflects off her dark eyes.
“My little rainmaker.
First week on the job and you have already landed a highprofile murdercase.
Not bad.”
“It’s a standard marketing technique,” I say.
“You go to dinner at your best friend’s house and hope he gets arrestedfor murder sometime between the salad and the entree. All thosemarketing seminars at S and G finally paid off.”
She turns serious.
“First things first. You’re going to do this by the book. I have astandard form of retainer letter on my laptop here. We’re going toput one together for you right now. Joel has to sign a retainerletter. And you have to talk to him about what this is going tocost.”
I swallow.
“I know.”
She takes my hand.
“I know you hate this stuff. But you’ve got to take care of business.You’re going to have to take this case all the way to the finish line,Mike. I don’t want to hear you ever again suggest to Joel or Naomithat they hire another lawyer. This is your case. Period. And ifyou’re going to be the attorney of record, you have to get a retainerletter.”
“I will.” She’s right, of course. Rosie used to lecture me a lot whenwe were married. More often than not, she had good reason.
“Good. Then I think you should spend tomorrow with your buddy,Joel.”
“I’m going to spend as much time as I can with him. Unless I can pulla rabbit out of my hat, he isn’t going anywhere any time soon.”
At one-fifteen, I arrive at my second-story one-bedroom apartment in aneight-unit walk-up building just behind the fire station in downtownLarkspur.
I climb up the short flight of steps, find the afternoon paper andfumble for my keys in the dark. The building is vintage fifties, andit’s showing its age. My apartment consists of a small living room, aneven smaller bedroom, a dining area big enough for a dinette set and akitchen big enough for one. It’s enough for me, but cramped when Gracestays here. The furniture is basic cheap Scandinavian teak, with a fewbookcases built of bricks and boards. The only indication of moderntechnology is a computer in the corner of my bedroom, a Mitsubishinineteen-inch TV and a small compact-disc player. Forty-five yearsold and I’m still living like a college student. It’s the price youpay when you have alimony, child support and an ex-wife who wants nicestuff for our daughter. Although Rosie probably doesn’t need the moneyfrom me, she’s absolutely right in demanding it. Given my propensityfor frittering it away, it’s better that I have a legal obligation topay it to her. It doesn’t help that I have a sixty-eight-year-oldmother who isn’t in the greatest of health.
I grab a Diet Dr. Pepper from the fridge and I look at my reflectionin the small mirror in the kitchen. My thick light brown hair ismatted to the top of my head. There are a few flecks of gray in thesideburns. The crow’s-feet around my eyes remind me that I’m no longerin my thirties. My face is a little more rounded than it used to be. Istill have the lean legs and torso of a cross-country runner. Rosiesays I look like the consumate middle-aged Irishman a combination ofboiled potatoes and beer. I realize that I’m beginning to look moreand more like my dad.
There are two messages on the answering machine. The first onesurprises me.
“Mike, this is Roosevelt Johnson. I’d appreciate it if you would callme as soon as you can.” I jot down his phone number.
The second message is from Rabbi Friedman.
“Michael, please call me on Saturday afternoon after services. Thereare a few things I’d like to discuss with you.” I tilt my head backand close my eyes. I wonder if Rabbi Friedman is calling to ask whyJoel is still in jail.
Let the second-guessing begin.
CHAPTER 10
FIRST, YOU HAVE TO TELL ME EVERYTHING
In our top story this morning, District Attorney Prentice Gates saidattorney Joel Mark Friedman will be charged with first-degree murder inthe shootings of two colleagues.”
—news center 4 daybreak. saturday, january 10.
“Did you find a judge yet, Mike? When the hell am I getting out ofhere?” At eight-thirty the next morning, Joel’s unshaven face has alook of desperation.
The small, gray interview room is stuffy.
“Not yet. Rosie’s calling in some favors. The duty judge said we’dhave to wait till Monday.”
“Shit.”
“It’s an old trick. They haul you in on Friday night so you have tospend the weekend in the clink. They think it’ll soften you up.”
He looks incredulous.
“Soften me up for what? They think I’m gonna confess to something?”
“I assume you have nothing to confess to.”
“You got that right.”
“Good. First things first. How did you make it through the night?”
“Like any other night at a fine hotel.”
“I’m serious, Joel. Did they give you your own cell?”
“For a couple of hours. Then they ran out of space so they put a guyin with me who was arrested for beating a prostitute. The cops said hewasn’t dangerous.
He scared the hell out of me.”
Swell. Thanks a lot, Sergeant Ramos.
“So, what happens next?” he asks in a dejected tone.
“First, you have to tell me everything. Then you have to tell me whatyou told the police. You can leave out the part where you got arrestedlast night. I was there for that. Then I’ll find a judge who’swilling to set bail. And I’ll have a little talk with InspectorJohnson. And with Skipper.”
“I don’t trust either of them.”
“You shouldn’t. The only person you should trust is me.”
He gives me a weak smile.
“I know. Do I get to talk to the judge anytime soon?”
Corporate attorneys haven’t the slightest idea how the criminal justicesystem works. It’s probably better that way.
“For one thing, Joel, you don’t talk to the judge. I do. For anotherthing, on Monday, we’ll go to court for an arraignment. They’ll chargeyou. You’ll plead not guilty. Don’t get cute. Just say it clear andfast. The judge will schedule a preliminary hearing. That’s it. It’sas exciting as watching grass grow.”
“Can you get me out of here on Monday?”
“Maybe. If we can’t get a judge over the weekend, we’ll ask the judgeat the arraignment.”
“What are the chances of bail?”
“Depends on the charge. You’re booked on suspicion of murder. If theygo murder one, bail may be tough.” I don’t add that if they ask forthe death penalty, there’s no way.
He’s crushed. It’s a shock when somebody first says aloud you’re beingcharged with murder.
“I need to know all the details from you so I can do my job. I needthe story straight. Don’t embellish it. Don’t sugarcoat it. Justtell me everything that happened.” This is standard defense attorneyjargon. I don’t want to ask him flat out if he did it. If he did, andhe lies to me, I’ve got perjury problems.
I’m not supposed to let him lie. It happens all the time, of course,but I try to avoid it. If he didn’t do it, which I assume, and,coincidentally, I believe, I need his story to put together hisdefense.
He figures out where this is heading.
“I want to get this right out on the table,” he says.
“I didn’t do it. And it is absolutely imperative not only that I befound not guilty, but also that I am fully exonerated. Are we clear onthat?”
I pause to collect my thoughts. This part of a defense lawyer’s speechis always the most difficult.
“Joel, I need you to understand a few things.
First, I believe you. I don’t think you’re capable of killing twopeople. I’ve known you for a long time and I’m a very good judge ofpeople.”
I get the hint of a smile.
“But,” I continue, “my job is to give you the best defense I can. I’llgive you all the support I can, twenty-four hours a day. But I don’tdo absolutions anymore. My job is to try to get you off. I’ll doeverything I can to do just that. If you need more than that, you’llprobably need to go to your rabbi, or at least to another lawyer.” Iknow it sounds harsh. But, it’s the truth. My job is to be JohnnieCochran. I’ll play all the cards I have within the scope of the StateBar Rules of Professional Conduct to get him off.
He looks away.
“You can still find another lawyer, you know,” I say.
His eyes turn to brown steel.
“No. I want you to be my lawyer.” He glances at the top of thetable.
“One more thing,” he says.
“How much do you think this is going to cost?”
I pause.
“If we go to trial, at least a hundred thousand—probably more. If weneed a lot of experts, double it. If you want fancy jury consultantsand mock trials, figure a quarter of a million.”
“Jesus. I thought corporate lawyers were expensive.”
“You know how it is. Trials have a life of their own. And Grace hasto eat.”
“I know.” He takes a sip of coffee.
“What’s your billing rate?”
I stop cold. The fact is, I haven’t decided. I didn’t think I’d havea client so soon.
“One-eighty an hour,” I mumble. Then I add quickly, “Plus expenses.”
“Weren’t you two-eighty at S and G?”
“Yeah. It’s amazing what you can do if you keep your overhead down. Iguess you can think of me as the legal profession’s equivalent of theKmart Blue Light Special.”
“One-eighty it is. How big a retainer do you want?”
I swallow. Here goes.
“Let’s say twenty thousand.”
He doesn’t blink. I’m relieved.
“All right,” he says.
“And if you get me off on Monday?”
“Your money will be cheerfully refunded and you can buy me lunch atBill’s.”
“It’s a deal. Naomi will get you a check. We may need to borrow somemoney.”
“I understand. Your credit is good.”
“All right, Counselor, where do we start?”
“From the beginning. Tell me everything that happened, minute byminute, on the evening of December thirtieth.”
Joel is working on his second cup of coffee.
“Right after the meeting with Chuckles,” he says, “I went back to thePCR and reviewed the final documents.”
“That was around seven-fifteen?”
“Right. We were waiting for a call from CCC’s board in Stamford. Theywere meeting to approve the deal. We got the go-ahead aroundeight-thirty.”
“So at eight-thirty, the deal was still on track?”
“Yeah. Except, of course, for Vince. He was waffling. He said hewasn’t sure he’d close. Nobody really knew if he would go forward.”
“Who else was working on the deal?”
“Bob, Diana and the usual army of secretaries and paralegals. Theyoung punk, Jack Frazier, from CCC. His lawyer, Martin Glass. ClanMorris, the political fixer. Ed Ehrlich from the city attorney’soffice.” He pauses to think.
“Yeah, that’s everybody.”
“Who else was around?”
“The word processors and a couple of file clerks. And some of thepeople from Skipper’s party.”
“Like who?”
“Like the mayor. He stopped by for a few minutes and talked to Morrisprivately. I think the mayor reamed him out. He looked like shit whenhe came back.”
“Was Doris around?”
“No. She went home around eight.”
I remember saying good night to Doris.
“That’s right.”
“A few of the partners were there. Patton stopped by. Chuckles wasaround. I talked to him after the meeting with the associates. Gavehim a little more shit. You have to keep them honest.”
“I know.” I pause.
“Were you really surprised by the decision to extend the partnertrack?”
“Not entirely. I’d heard about it. Still, they didn’t handle itright. Bob should have told me.”
He’s right, of course. On the other hand, it’s hard to tell whetherhis speech to Chuckles at the associates’ meeting was genuine or anact.
“Then what happened?”
“We gave some documents to the word processors around nine-thirty andwe all went out to eat. Diana and I went to Harrington’s. We finishedaround ten-fifteen. She went home. I came back upstairs. She livesjust over in Golden Gateway.” The Golden Gateway apartments are ahighrise complex a couple of blocks north of the Embarcadero Centertowers. It’s a fiveminute walk from downtown.
“Bob took Vince to Tadich’s and Frazier and Morris went to Aqua. Ithink the mayor went with them. He’s a regular there, you know.”Tadich Grill opened in 1849 and serves traditional fish in a long,wood-paneled dining room on California Street. On a good night, youcan get a private booth and a great piece of pet rale sole. Aqua istwo doors down and about a hundred and fifty years removed fromTadich’s. It appears regularly in trendy food magazines.
I’ve eaten there only once. The crab cakes are out of this world.
Joel stands and stretches his legs.
“I got back first. Everybody else got back by eleven and we signed allthe papers by twelve-fifteen. I had a few cleanup things to gothrough, so I went back to my office. We agreed to meet ateight-thirty the next morning for the closing. I worked on the escrowinstructions in my office and gave the mark-up to word processing. Iwent to Bob’s office around twelve-thirty to see what was going on. Hewas arguing with Vince, so I poked my head in and told him we were allready. We barely said three words.”
“So by twelve-thirty, the deal was set to close.”
“Right. Except everything depended on Vince. He had to give the finalgo-ahead on Wednesday morning to authorize the wire transfers.”
“And at twelve-thirty, he still wasn’t prepared to close?”
“He said he had to sleep on it. He wasn’t sure. I went to my office,got my closing checklist and went down to the lunchroom for a soda.”
“You were ready to close?”
“Yeah. In big deals like this, you sign all the documents the daybefore. The closing is usually a nonevent. Everybody drinks coffeeuntil you get confirmation of the wire transfers.”
“What did you do in the lunchroom?”
“I went through the checklist. I pushed three chairs together and wentto sleep. I woke up around six and went back to my office. I knockedon Bob’s door, but it was locked. I figured he’d gone home. I wentback to my office. I was there until a little after eight, whenChuckles came by and asked me if I had the keys to Bob’s office.”
“Did you?”
“No. But I knew where Doris kept an extra set.”
“So the two of you let yourselves in and you found them.”
“Right.”
A few minutes later, I take a drink of water from a Styrofoam cup.
“What happened when you found them?” I ask.
Joel hesitates.
“It’s okay,” I say.
“You can tell me.”
“I got sick. I … well… threw up.”
“Right there?”
“No. I made it to the bathroom.”
“I see.”
“Chuckles was calling nine-one-one when I got back. Bob was on thefloor. It looked like he shot himself in the temple. Diana wasagainst the wall next to the door. Her clothes were all full of blood,and there was blood on the wall behind her. She was sitting down onthe floor and… her eyes were still open. It looked like she wascalling out for help.”
This isn’t getting any easier.
“Where was the gun?”
“On the floor next to his chair. It must have fallen out of his hand.It looked like he fell out of his chair.”
I know I’ll be able to confirm this from the police reports and thephotos.
“What did you do?”
“Something stupid, in retrospect. I picked up the gun and took out thebullets.”
My first impulse is to scream, “YOU DID WHAT?” But after years in thisgame, I’ve learned to keep the tone matter-of-fact.
“Why did you pick up the gun?”
He scratches his ear.
“I’ve shot Bob’s gun at the range. He was real proud of it. Madeeverybody do it once or twice. Sort of a rite of passage.”
“But why did you pick it up?”
“I wanted to make sure it didn’t go off. It’s a fussy revolver, Mike.The trigger was very sensitive and once it went off in my hand beforeit was supposed to. The bullet landed about halfway down the range.”
“I see.” I’m trying not to show it, but this part of Joel’s story issounding a little forced.
“So you unloaded the gun?”
“Yes. I wanted to be sure it didn’t go off.” It’s the second timehe’s mentioned it.
“I put the gun down on the desk. I put the bullets and the shells nextto it.”
Swell.
“I trust you told the police Bob kept a loaded gun at his desk.”
“Yep. They were amazed.”
“It’s pretty surprising.”
“Not if you knew Bob.”
“Then what?”
“That’s it. We came downstairs to your meeting and we told Art.” Alook of recognition appears on his face.
“I bet they found my fingerprints on the gun.”
“Sounds like a good bet.” My mind is racing. There has to be more. Hehas an explanation for his fingerprints on the gun. I decide to probea little more.
“What haven’t you told me?”
“Nothing. That’s it. They know I was there. They probably have myfingerprints on the gun. And they seem to think I was really pissedoff at Bob about the partnerelection stuff.”
“What have the police told you?”
“You told me not to talk to them.”
“Good boy.”
“So what do we do now?”
“I’ll go see Roosevelt and Skipper. If this is all they’ve got, thenwe’re in good shape.”
I get up to leave. He says, “Mike, you’ve got to get me out of here.Promise me you’ll come back later and tell me what you find out.”
I hear the panic in his voice.
“I will,” I assure him.
“If Joel is telling the truth, they’ve got nothing, Rosie.” Ateleven-thirty, I’m back in my satellite office at the pay phones on thefirst floor of the Hall.
“He admits he was there all night. He admits he found Bob and Diana.That much we knew. And he picked up the gun. So now I know how theymay have found his fingerprints on it.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Silence on the other end of the phone.
“Well,” she says, “Skipper said a whole lot more at his pressconference.”
“Like what?”
“Like they have a witness at Harrington’s who says Joel and Diana werefighting at dinner. And they have a custodian at the building who sayshe heard Joedl and Bob arguing loudly at around one o’clock.”
Shit.
“Did he hear gunshots?”
“They’re not saying.”
“Anything else?”
“They looked at the telephone records. Seems a call was placed fromJoel’s phone line to Diana’s apartment at about ten to one in themorning. They think he lured her back to the office.
Great. I ask her if Skipper said anything else.
“Yeah. He said he’s going to charge Joel with first-degree murder andhe may ask for special circumstances.”
Swell.
“I’ll talk to you later.” I head for my car. I want to get toRoosevelt Johnson as soon as I can to get the full story on theevidence And I want to talk to the coroner and the evidence techniciansright away. I begin to outline our requests for access to the evidencein my head. Either Joel neglected to tell me a few important detailsor his story has some gaping holes in it. Or maybe he’s flat-outlying.
CHAPTER 11
YOUR FRIEND IS IN VERY SERIOUS TROUBLE
“We’re going to charge him with first-degree murder. As long as I’mthe DA, we’re going to be very aggressive prosecuting violentcrimes.”
—skipper gates. press conference. saturday, january 10.
At twelve-thirty on Saturday afternoon, Roosevelt Johnson and I aresitting in a cramped red-vinyl booth in a coffee shop called JT’s atthe corner of Nineteenth and Taraval, a couple of blocks from his housein the Sunset District. He’s eating scrambled eggs and toast. I’mnursing a cup of decidedly un gourmet coffee.
“I tried to reach you yesterday,” he says.
“I didn’t get the message till I got home late last night. Thanks fortrying.”
“I didn’t like the way it was handled. I know he’s your friend. And Ididn’t realize you’d be representing him.”
Neither did I. “Of course, Roosevelt. Thanks.”
“Sometimes things don’t work out so well.” He pauses.
“Especially when somebody else is calling the shots.” He uses histoast to push his eggs onto his fork.
He’s doing me a favor. I’ll have to let him make the first move.
“Your friend is in very serious trouble, Mike.” His gravel voicesounds tired.
“We’re off the record, now, understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good.” He spreads some jelly on his toast. He leans forward sonobody can hear us.
“Holmes and Kennedy were killed by shots fired from Holmes’s gun. Shedied from two shots to the chest. He died from one shot to the head.Your guy’s fingerprints were on the gun. There were three spent shellsand three unused bullets. His fingerprints were on those too.”
“All that shows is he picked up the gun. He told you so. It doesn’tprove he killed anyone.”
He pushes his glasses up to the top of his nose and wipes his mustachewith his napkin. I take the cue. Shut the fuck up, Mike. He’ll tellme what he can. This isn’t the time for me to start pleading Joel’scase.
“There’s more,” he says.
I’m trying to remain professional, if not nonchalant. I play with mycoffee cup. I hold my palms up—the universal symbol for “So what haveyou got?”