Try Fear (27 page)

She looked at me.

“Close enough for government work,” I said and smiled.

She didn’t smile. She told me to wait.

Which meant I got to look at another framed photograph of Councilmember Jamie MacArthur. The photo was beginning to annoy
me. It cried out for a felt-tip mustache.

Regis Nielsen came out. This time missing his plastic smile.

“Mr. Buchanan,” he said, “I don’t really have time to talk with you.”

“I bet you have time to manipulate usage charges on city contracts.”

He paused, looked at the receptionist, who looked back at him. Then he motioned for me to follow him.

He led me down the corridor to his office. It had a desk, and computer, two chairs, a credenza, and a view of the federal
courthouse across Temple Street.

Nielsen motioned for me to have a seat. I stayed standing. He sat behind his desk.

“I want to talk to your boss,” I said.

“I don’t know that that will accomplish anything,” Nielsen said.

“So where is he?”

“Mr. Buchanan—”

“It’s going to happen, and I suggest it is much better for you if it happens now, and not later. Because I get mad at people
when they stall me. It’s a real character defect. I do stuff to make their lives miserable.”

Nielsen touched his lips with his two forefingers. He swiveled in his chair—right, left, right—keeping eye contact with me.

Then he said, “Have you ever seen the city from atop City Hall?”

N
IELSEN TOOK ME
to the elevators and we went up all the way, coming out to a broad staircase. At the top of the stairs was a bust of Tom
Bradley, mayor of Los Angeles for twenty years, and the first African American to hold that position.

We went up another set of stairs to a reception room. There was a portable lectern with the city seal on it, and a few chairs.

Nielsen walked out the door, and we were on the outside, where there is a perimeter viewing area. The city spread out in a
panorama. Walking around the catwalk gives a 360-degree view. Right now we were looking down on the Foltz Building and the
old Hall of Justice across the street.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” Nielsen said.

“A good place for a murder.”

“Don’t even joke about it. We had a jumper last year. They almost decided to close access. But I’m glad they didn’t. I like
to come up here and relax sometimes.”

“And why am I here?” I said.

A voice behind me said, “To see me.”

Jamie MacArthur had joined us.

H
E WAS SHORTER
than I thought he’d be. His matinee-idol head seemed better suited to a man over six feet. He had gray eyes and a full head
of black hair done up in that way thick-haired politicians favor—made to look casual for around $400 a cut.

He offered his hand. “You are Tyler Buchanan?”

“That’s me.” His grip was firm and assumed I’d give him my vote.

He smiled and looked out at the view. “I don’t get up here often enough,” he said. “It’s like people in New York who never
go to the Empire State Building.”

He was wearing a gray suit with white shirt and red tie. A gold bracelet hung on his right wrist and a Rolex on his left.
At least I think it was a Rolex. He seemed a Rolex kind of guy.

“Do you love this city the way I do, Mr. Buchanan?”

“Actually, I do.”

“Were you brought up here?”

“Miami. I came out here for law school.”

I turned my head and realized that Nielsen was no longer there.

“You’re lucky,” MacArthur said. “You’ve had the chance to experience the city the way it really is. This is a city of immigrants.
People come here because it offers hope, new beginnings. You see things with fresh eyes. I like to remind myself to have a
fresh look, too. The old and the new. I look over here, and see the old Hall of Justice, and then over here, the Disney Concert
Hall. Isn’t it all magnificent? But my favorite is on the other side, where you can see Union Station.”

“I wonder how many politicians had to leave town from there?”

He looked at me. “Is that supposed to carry some meaning?”

“I did some reading once about the old days. Political corruption. You know, Mayor Shaw. I wonder if anything’s changed, or
if it’s just gotten more sophisticated.”

He looked at his watch and said, “I’m a little pressed for time. I wanted to give you this meeting because it sounded urgent,
and I know there is a tangential connection to the building project in my district.”

“I’m wondering how much you know about the way contracts have been handed out. And about money changing hands that shouldn’t
have changed.”

“Does this have anything to do with your trial?”

“I’ve got a client up on a murder charge, and I need to know as much as I can about the circumstances surrounding the death
of his brother, who was a contractor working on the project.”

“Are you honestly suggesting that someone connected with the building would have killed him, and tried to make it look like
a suicide?”

“Sounds like you’re up on the details.”

“You’re front page of the
Times
. Which I read religiously.”

“Would you be willing to help out by letting my investigator look over the details of the building contracts?”

“You have to take my assurance that there is nothing that I know about, or anybody in my office knows about, that would have
any bearing on this matter. I’m very sorry.”

“Do you know a man named Turk Bacon?”

He hesitated. “No. Should I?”

“He sounds like a man that people should know. Maybe your able-bodied aide knows him.”

MacArthur sighed. “My able-bodied aide, as you put it, is really talented, and handles my detail work. He also keeps watch
over things. He has my political interests at heart, and he’s very loyal. He knows all the best lawyers in town, and—”

“Almost all,” I said.

“Sure. And he won’t tolerate rumors, innuendos, that sort of thing. I mean, in this age of Internet crazies you simply have
to cut these things off early. And Regis holds a sharp blade.”

For a moment, Jamie MacArthur’s face was as cold as the granite exterior of City Hall itself. Then he flashed his famous pearlies
and said, “I really have to be going now, Mr. Buchanan. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you. Why don’t you stay up
here and enjoy the view?”

I
STAYED ONLY
long enough to watch a pigeon plotz on the railing and decided it was an omen. I left before the bird could do anything to
me.

I called Sister Mary and met her in the parking lot in back of the courthouse.

“He agreed,” she said.

“He’ll testify?”

“Tomorrow. He says it has to be tomorrow. Or he won’t do it.”

“Tomorrow then,” I said. “Did you take any notes?”

“No. Should I have?”

“Absolutely not. Let’s eat.”

After lunch, and before the jury was brought in, I dutifully informed the judge and Radavich there would be an addition to
my witness list. I gave them Nick’s name. I said he was going to testify about the building project, and Carl’s connection
to it, and that I could show a possible motive for someone other than Eric Richess to kill him.

Radavich asked for a written witness statement, and I said there was none.

Radavich said that was very convenient.

I said yes, it was.

Judge Hughes said get back in court.

C
HRISTA
C
ODY HAD
arrived on time, looking like the star of a TV show about a gun-loving woman with tattoos. She had on a white, formfitting
blouse over black pants and black stilettos.

Clearly ready for the cameras. There were none in the courtroom, but plenty outside, and I could just see her playing it up.

I spoke with her briefly in the hallway and asked her if she was relaxed, and she said she was born relaxed and was ready
to kick butt on the stand.

I told her not to kick butt. I told her to calmly answer only the questions she was asked.

“You got it, boss,” she said.

I did not like the way she said it. But it was time to go in.

C
HRISTA WAS SWORN,
and I began my direct examination. “You work at the Flintridge Shooting Range, is that correct?”

“Yes,” she said. “Going on six years.”

“Describe what your duties are there.”

“Oh, a little of everything. I check people in, I police the range, I give lessons, and I slap people around if they need
it.”

Some laughter from the gallery. Christa smiled wide. Terrific. She was in performance mode.

Since I could not stop and wag my finger at her, or slap her myself, I stated my next question slowly. “When you say you check
people in, you mean you’re in the office when people come up to do some shooting?”

“That’s right.”

“How does that work, when someone comes in to book a time?”

“They pay for time, they sign a sheet and show a picture ID, and I tell ’em where to go. And if they hassle me, I also tell
’em where to go.”

More laughter. I had to make this quick.

“How many people do you see a day, on average?”

“During the week, maybe twenty. About twice that on weekends.”

“All right, taking you back to January twenty-third of this year, were you working at the range?”

“Yes, I was.”

“And did two men of, shall we say, larger stature sign in?”

“Yes.”

“Is one of those men in the courtroom?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s right there.” She pointed to Eric.

“Let the record reflect the witness has pointed to Eric Richess.”

“It will so reflect,” Judge Hughes said. “Continue.”

“Do you know who the other man was, with Eric?”

“Yep. His name was Carl.”

“How do you know that?”

“I signed him in.”

I went to the table and got the copy of the sign-in sheet. “Showing you now Defense Exhibit Three for identification, can
you tell me what this is?”

Christa took it and gave it a scan. “Yeah, that’s one of the sign-in sheets from January twenty-third. It shows Carl Richess
signed in for two people.”

“And is that your handwriting?”

“Yep. Big boys, they were. A couple of trees.”

Some more laughs. I thought I’d better wrap this up. “Move that Defense Exhibit Three be admitted into evidence.”

“Without objection,” the judge said.

R
ADAVICH STOOD
. “Ms. Cody, you signed these two in, but you did not see them after that, did you?”

“Well, no. They went out to shoot.”

“You don’t know what they said or did on the range, do you?”

“They shot.”

“Listen carefully. You did not personally witness them shooting, did you?”

“Um, no, but you don’t come up there to play Donkey Kong.”

She waited for a laugh, but the courtroom was silent.

Radavich pounced. “This is not a show, Ms. Cody.”

I objected and the judge sustained me. But I could see some of the jurors shifting in their chairs.

“You did not,” Radavich said, “with your own eyes, see the two men you have identified as the Richess brothers, actually shooting
on the range, did you?”

“No,” Christa said. She folded her arms.

“You don’t know what happened out there on that range then, do you?”

“No, but it doesn’t take a genius to—”

“Just answer the questions I put to you, Ms. Cody. I’ll make them real simple. At no time after they left the office did you
go to the shooting range, did you?”

“All right, no.”

“They could have had a fight out there and you never would—”

“Objection,” I said. “Calls for speculation.”

“Sustained.”

Radavich didn’t care. He’d floated the words out for the jury. “And obviously you never saw the gun that was allegedly fired,
correct?”

“That’d be correct, boss.” Christa looked out for some feedback, but now she was just annoying.

“Well, you’ve been oh so helpful, Ms. Cody. No more questions.”

I didn’t even look at her as she walked out of the courtroom. At least we had established the brothers were at the range a
week before Carl’s death. And that could explain the blood on the gun.

If the jury would buy it. But they didn’t look in a buying mood.

“C
ALL YOUR NEXT
witness,” Judge Hughes said.

I didn’t have a next witness. It was 2:30 p.m.

“I wonder if we might recess until tomorrow,” I said. As I spoke I saw Sister Mary looking at her cell phone. Like she had
a call.

The judge didn’t look pleased. But he stroked his chin and said, “Well, in view of the fact that Mr. Radavich rested early,
we’ll wrap up for today. But I want everyone ready to go tomorrow. Let’s finish the week strong.”

He admonished the jury not to talk about the case and we were through.

After the jury was out and Eric in the hands of the deputies, Sister Mary told me it looked like Nick had called.

“Call him back,” I said.

As she did, I went to the rail and met Kate and Babs there. “How do you think it’s going?” Kate said. She looked even more
worried than usual.

“I think there are questions in the minds of some of the jurors,” I said. “They’re listening to both sides.”

“I suppose that’s all we can ask for,” Kate said.

“We
can
ask. We’re just getting started here. So try not to worry.” I took her hands in mine, and once more I thought of my own mother’s
hands. It was strange, almost ghostly for a second. Like the hands were keys to a hidden memory knocking around a dark attic.
I got the chills and let go.

“Are you all right, Ty?” Kate asked.

“Sure,” I said. “And I want you to try and have a good dinner tonight. See to it, will you, Babs?”

“I’ll try,” Babs said. And then she patted my hand and said, “God bless you.”

Okay. Yes. Sure. I could use it. We all could.

Kate and Babs headed for the courtroom door. Sister Mary tapped me on the shoulder and handed me her phone.