He clears his throat.
“Seems he and Holmes had a big fight. We aren’t sure what it wasabout. The night janitor said they were screaming at each other.
Friedman stormed out of Holmes’s office.”
“They could have been talking about business.”
“I know. I understand Holmes was a screamer and Friedman doesn’t liketo take shit from anybody. They may have been engaged in lawyerlydiscourse. Or it may have been something more.”
“Like what?”
“One of your partners said Friedman was pissed off about not makingpartner.”
“Who told you that?”
“In due time.” He finishes his coffee.
“Was he pissed off about not making partner?”
Reflexively, I shrug. He looks through me. He knows I know. I knowhe’s going to find out.
“Off the record, Roosevelt, you’ll find that he was, in fact, pissedoff about not making partner.”
“You’re not violating any confidences. I already knew that. He toldme so.”
The game’s begun. He’s testing me.
“You think he killed him because he didn’t make partner? Come on,Roosevelt.”
Another cold stare.
“You know a guy named Rick Cinelli?”
“Yeah. The bartender at Harrington’s.” He knows more about what’sgoing on at our firm than most of the partners do.
“Friedman and Kennedy had dinner there,” he says.
“Cinelli says they got into a big fight and she left. She didn’t touchher dinner.”
I’m beginning to see where this is going.
“They were probably talking business. She wasn’t a great legaltechnician. She probably screwed something up and he laid into her.”
I get the “nice try” look.
“All I know is what Cinelli told me. He said they had a big fight. Hedidn’t know what it was about.”
Great.
Then he adds, “You know, I don’t try the cases. I don’t even decidewhether to prosecute. I just gather the evidence.”
His point is, of course, well taken.
“I understand. Anything else?” Inside, I cringe. I half expect himto say he has another janitor who found Joel standing over Bob’sbody.
“Just one other thing. We’re trying to figure out why she came back tothe office.”
I don’t say it out loud, but I’ve been wondering the same thing.
He continues.
“We checked the S and G phone records and we found a twominute phonecall was placed from Friedman’s private line at twelve-fifty-onea.m.”
“Let me guess. Somebody called Diana’s apartment from Joel’s phone.”
“Right.” He eats another piece of toast.
“We’re looking into it. You might want to ask him about it.”
I lean back. None of this is news to me. I don’t want him to see mesweat. I have to play it carefully. Roosevelt is very good. I don’twant to invite speculation about whether Joel may have tried to lureher to the office. I try to change the subject.
“Do you have the coroner’s report yet?”
He finishes his eggs and takes a bite of toast.
“Not final.”
I don’t want to push too far.
“Thanks for your help. I know you’re sticking your neck out.”
“You’re family. Even if you’re a defense lawyer. Besides, you’ll getall of this stuff anyway.”
He’s right. In a few weeks, Skipper will have to present enoughevidence at a preliminary hearing to show cause for holding Joel overfor trial. He’ll undoubtedly use everything Roosevelt has described sofar. This isn’t looking good for a quick dismissal.
Joel is incredulous.
“Now they’re saying I threatened her at Harrington’s and I lured herback two hours later to murder her?” At two o’clock on Saturdayafternoon, I’m giving Joel a report on my meeting with Roosevelt.
“What’ll they dream up next? That I was sleeping with her?”
I take a drink of water.
“I think they’re full of shit. I just don’t want any more surprises.I’m meeting with Skipper in twenty-five minutes and I don’t want tohear about any more arguments at restaurants, any more fights in theoffice and/or more threats. Am I clear?”
“Yes.” He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.
“What do you need to know?”
“I need to know everything that happened that night. Good, bad orotherwise.
For starters, did you and Diana have an argument at Harrington’s?”
“I wouldn’t call it an argument.”
“What would you call it?” I’m not up for cat and mouse now.
“A discussion.”
“A discussion?”
“Yes, a discussion.”
“Joel, I don’t have time for this. Did you have a fight with Diana atHarrington’s?”
“All right. Yes.”
“What was it about?”
“She didn’t finish our escrow instructions and a couple of closingcertificates. We gave her a couple of simple things to do, and shedidn’t do them. She wasn’t a very careful lawyer.”
“That’s what you guys were fighting about?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” I regain my composure and realize I’ve just congratulated himfor making an ass of himself in a public place—for a perfectly validreason.
“All right,” I continue, “let me ask you something else. Was thereever any hanky-panky between you and Diana?”
“Are you asking me if I ever slept with her?”
“In a word, yes.”
“All right. The answer, in a word, is no.”
“Good.” If you’re lying to me, I’ll rip your lungs out.
“Did you call her that night?”
“Yes.”
“It would have helped if you had told me. Why did you call her?”
“Bob told me to call her and get her back to the office. He wanted totalk to her about her closing documents.” He pauses.
“And I think he just wanted to talk to her.”
I stop for a moment.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. They talked a lot.”
“Were they sleeping together?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you think so?”
He looks away.
“Maybe… probably.” He stands up.
“All right. Yes. At least I think so.”
“Did you and Bob have a fight that night?”
“I wouldn’t call it a fight.”
“Dammit, Joel. What were you and Bob arguing about?”
“What do you think? The little shit didn’t have the guts to tell methe firm was going to defer all the people who were up for partner thisyear. I told him what I thought.”
“Well, it seems one of the custodians heard you.”
He closes his eyes.
“Great,” he murmurs.
“So what are they saying? I threatened him?”
“That seems to be the jump in logic they’re making.”
“And I threatened Diana at Harrington’s and lured her back, just so Icould kill her?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s a bunch of bullshit. You think I’d kill Bob and ruin mylife because they didn’t make me a partner? You think I’d kill Dianabecause she didn’t finish a set of escrow instructions on time? Thisis fucking preposterous.”
He’s right, of course. But only if he’s telling the truth.
“I’m going to meet with Skipper,” I say.
“I expect you to get this thing dismissed by the end of the day.”
NFC. No fucking chance.
CHAPTER 12
NICE OFFICE, SKIPPER
“We are going to upgrade our facilities and computers. The SanFrancisco District Attorney’s Office will be state-of-the-art.”
—skipper gates. acceptance SPEECH.
The only thing state-of-the-art about the San Francisco DistrictAttorney’s Office is the remodeled suite that now belongs to SkipperGates. The ADAs sit in cramped offices behind metal desks with dentedolive-green file cabinets.
The lucky ones get their own offices. The real lucky ones get windowslooking out at the bail-bond shops across Bryant Street.
On the other hand, as soon as the election results were in, Skipperbegan tearing up half the third floor at the Hall to make some majorcapital improvements. His office has been expanded and he’s built alarge area for press conferences. The space allocated to the ADAs hasshrunk and now only three senior ADAs have their own offices. Theremodeling hasn’t been met with a great deal of enthusiasm among therank and file.
On Saturday afternoon. Skipper’s office is a sea of splendor. He’sdressed in khaki pants and a light blue polo shirt. He props his feeton his desk. I decline a Perrier from his new wet bar.
“Nice office, Skipper,” I say.
“I don’t recall the hardwood floors and paneling when your predecessoroccupied this space.”
“Thanks. I’m glad you like it. We’re trying to upgrade the image ofthe office.” He’s a master at accepting compliments, even whenthey’re given facetiously.
Upgrading is one thing. Ostentatious is another. Hardwood floors, oakpaneling, overstuffed chairs and an antique desk are more than anupgrade. I must admit the large photo of himself shaking hands withthe mayor and the governor that he’s hung behind his desk is veryflattering.
“Skipper, if you don’t mind my asking, don’t you think this might be alittle bit much?”
He laughs.
“It’s okay. The remodeling’s being done on my nickel. It’s veryimportant to me to work where I’m comfortable.”
“Don’t you think the new press room is a little overdone?”
“Nonsense. I’m the district attorney. That makes me the chieflawenforcement officer in the city. If you’re going to act the part,you’ve got to look the part.”
I feel like quoting the old Billy Crystal “Fernando” routine onSaturday Night Live: “You look mahvalous, Skipper, simply mahvalous.”
Sitting quietly in one of the overstuffed chairs and observing thisbanal exchange is a trim, middle-aged man with short gray hair andthick glasses.
Bill McNulty, the ADA in charge of homicide cases, is a native SanFranciscan and a career prosecutor. He thought his number had come uplast year for the DA job. There were only two problems. First, thereisn’t a single ounce of charisma anywhere in Bill’s body. Put him infront of a TV camera and he makes Richard Nixon look photogenic.Second, Skipper tossed his hat into the ring and out spent Bill byabout ten to one. Skipper annihilated him in the election in a viciousnegative campaign. For twenty-six years, McNulty has been on a missionfrom God to put the bad guys away. He’s good at it. What he lacks incharm, he makes up for by being careful, hard-nosed and meticulous. Hehas a reputation as a fighter and his nickname around the Hall is BillMcNasty.
“Mike,” Skipper says, “I’m sure you’ve met Bill McNulty.”
“We’ve worked on several cases over the years.” I turn to McNulty.
“Nice to see you again.”
He nods and grimaces. A man of few words.
“Are you the ADA assigned to this case?”
He nods again.
“Good.” Bad, actually. McNasty’s good. He’s tough. He’s tenacious.And he’s probably prosecuted about fifty murder cases. He’s won mostof them. Skipper has made an astute choice for help on his first bigcase.
McNulty looks at me.
“The arraignment is scheduled for ten o’clock on Monday.
We’ll see you there.” He starts to get up.
“Wait a minute, Bill. I thought we might take a few minutes to talkabout this.”
He gives me an impatient expression.
“What’s there to talk about? The next step is the arraignment. Iassume your guy will plead not guilty and we’re on our way.”
Skipper holds up his hand.
“I’ve just put Bill on this case,” he says.
“He’s understandably reluctant to talk to you before he’s been throughthe file.
Isn’t that right, Bill?”
McNasty scowls. I can’t tell if he’s pissed off about being here,being put on this case or having to suck up to Skipper. Probably allof the above.
“Well,” Skipper continues, “maybe I can answer a few questions for you.And by the way, I’m sorry about all the hoopla last night. We didn’tknow you were going to be there. We sure as hell didn’t know his kidsand parents were going to be there.”
Right. Where the hell did you think his kids would be at seven o’clockon a Friday night?
“Skipper,” I say, “maybe you could just tell me what you’ve got inmind. You can’t be serious about charging Joel based upon the skimpyevidence you’ve got so far.”
His face turns solemn and he folds his arms.
“You bet your ass.”
I look at McNulty, who is completely still. He has a good poker face.I turn back to Skipper.
“Maybe you can enlighten me. What evidence?” I want to find outeverything that I can. And I don’t want to give them anything else.
“You can’t expect me to tip my hand,” Skipper says.
“All in due time.”
McNulty looks pained.
“You’re going to have to tell him sooner or later. Now, tell him whatyou’ve got, or I will.”
This is beginning to sound a little too rehearsed for my taste.
“Well, Skipper?” I say.
“All right,” he says.
“We know he was there at the time of the murders.”
“Alleged murders,” I correct him.
Eye roll.
“Alleged murders. He was the only one there. He knew where the gunwas. He knew how to use it. He’d used it at the range. So we’ve gotopportunity.”
“Fine, Skipper,” I say.
“We know he was there. He told you so. And we all know about thegun. So what?” I’m tempted to ask Skipper where he was, but I let itgo.
“There’s the physical evidence. His fingerprints were on the gun, thespent shells and the unused bullets. So, we’ve got direct contact withthe murder weapon.”
“Not good enough,” I say.
“It shows he disarmed the gun. He told you that. He did it for thesafety of the others in the firm. You aren’t close to probable cause,let alone a conviction.” Actually, he zoomed past probable cause a fewminutes ago and he’s about a quarter of the way to a conviction, but hedoesn’t have to hear that from me.
Skipper scratches the bottom of his chin and takes a drink of Perrier.I wonder if Perrier has ever found its way into this building before.
“Then, of course, we have the question of motive.”
I sit back in my chair and lock my fingers behind my head. I realizethe chair is nicer than anything I have at home. This should be agem.
“And what motive have you concocted, Skipper?”
“Actually he has motive in both cases. Let’s talk about Diana first.He was really pissed off at her. They got into a big screaming matchat Harrington’s The bartender saw it. She tossed a drink at him andstormed out.”
They were fighting about work. She fucked up some closing documents.It doesn’t mean he killed her.”
“That’s what your guy is telling you. She went home, had a drink andwent to bed. Then around twelve-fifty, after he had a chance to stewabout i t a little, he called her up and lured her back to the office.He waited for her, then he blasted her. Right there in Bob’s office.”You’re dreaming, Skipper. What makes you think he called her?” I knowwhat’s coming.
We have the phone records. A call was placed from his private line atthe office to her apartment at twelve-fifty-one. The call lasted twominutes. She showed up at the office fifteen minutes later at aboutone-ten. We got the time of her arrival from the building securitycameras.” Th is is getting interesting. At least the timing of thingsis becoming clear. I make a mental note to ask for all of the securitytapes.
“Assuming your records are right,” I say, “I’ll grant you that a callmay have been placed from Joel’s phone. But it doesn’t show he madethe call. Even if he did, he was undoubtedly calling to ask her tocome to the office to help with the closing.” I’m kind of enjoying thecat-and-mouse aspect of this. It’s been a while.