Buying Time (36 page)

As Angela passed the bartender, a rotund Latino with a Fu Manchu mustache, he winked, which made her smile and helped lessen some of her anxiety. She selected a booth at the south end of the room because it gave her the best vantage point of the rest of the bar.

Angela slid into the booth and waited. Every few seconds, her eyes scoured the room for any sign of Waverly Sloan. She began to question whether he would actually show up. The man was suspected of killing his clients. Maybe this was some kind of trick. She tried hard to block out her unconstructive thoughts, but couldn’t think of anything else to concentrate on.

When her nerves seemed ready to shatter, she saw Dre sitting at the far end of the bar nursing a drink. His presence instantly calmed her.

Angela pulled out her BlackBerry to look up Waverly’s number just as he walked up to the table.

He sat down across from her. “Thanks for coming.”

Angela wasted no time. “Okay, I’m here. What do you want?”

“Like I told you on the phone, I want you to hear my story. I didn’t murder any of my clients. I just want a fair investigation.”

“And like I told
you
, you should be talking to the police or the D.A.’s Office, not me.”

“I need you to talk to them for me,” Waverly said. “They’ll believe you.”

“I doubt there’s much I can do to help you. I have my own troubles, remember? I’m only here because I’m curious about this witness you claim to have.”

“I don’t
claim
to have a witness. I actually have one.”

“Where is he? Or is it a she?”

“Around,” Waverly said.

Angela was much too exhausted for any antics. “I’ve been through hell in the last twenty-four hours. I don’t have time for games.”

“I’m not playing games,” Waverly said. “My life and my career are on the line. Just like yours.”

Angela stared directly into his eyes and Waverly stared right back. “If you really didn’t kill your clients,” she said, “that will come out in the end.”

Waverly chuckled. “Oh, so you’re telling me I should just believe in truth and justice for all? That innocent people don’t get convicted? I’m a lawyer, remember?”

“For the most part, the system works.”

“Well, I can’t take a chance on it possibly not working for me. Someone’s trying to set me up and they would probably prefer to have me dead.”

Angela made a face. Guilty people always claimed they were set up. But she was here, so she might as well hear his story. “And exactly who would want to set you up?”

Waverly’s eyes flickered around the room. “One of my investors.”

“What’s his name?”

Waverly cracked his knuckles. “Unfortunately, I don’t have much information on him. All I know is that his name is Rico.”

“You don’t know his full name?” she asked, incredulous. “How could he be an investor if you don’t even know his name?”

“I’ve never met him. He had me investing in the name of his corporation.”

“Why?”

“Our deals were under the table, so to speak.”

“
Under the table?
Does that mean you were laundering dirty money?”

“Basically.”

“Drug money?”

Waverly was slow to answer. “I don’t really know for sure. But probably.”

“And you think this guy is killing your clients and setting you up to take the fall?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Angela gave him a look that said she did not believe a word of his story. She leaned over the table. “Let me get this straight. Some bad guy”—she paused and made imaginary quotation marks in the air with her fingers—“is killing your terminally ill clients and blaming it on you. You don’t know this
bad guy’s
name or address or even what he looks like, even though you’ve been investing thousands of dollars for him. That’s what you want me to tell the police? Why would anyone, not to mention the police, believe that story?”

Waverly leaned back in the booth. “I think my story is just as believable as the tale you’ve been spinning. Let’s see what I can remember from the news reports. A smart, successful assistant U.S. attorney who graduated from Stanford Law School, dumps her judge-slash-fiancé only weeks before their wedding because she’d rather be with a convicted drug dealer. The judge isn’t happy about the breakup and drops by her place to talk to her about it. The assistant U.S. attorney takes out a thirty-eight to shoot him, but her ex-con boyfriend comes running from out of nowhere and pulls the trigger for her. The attorney and the drug dealer claim it was self-defense. The judge can’t tell his side of the story because he’s dead.” Waverly paused. “Why would anyone believe
that
story?”

Angela was fuming now. Waverly seemed to sense that and used the opportunity to continue pushing her buttons.

“My witness says your boyfriend was nowhere around when you pointed that gun at the judge. My witness also says the judge backed away the second you took it out. When you shoot someone who’s retreating, that’s not self-defense. That’s murder.”

Angela’s recollection was still hazy regarding exactly what had happened in the garage. But she wasn’t about to admit that to Waverly. “I don’t believe you even have a witness. If you did, they’d be here.”

“Get away from me or I’ll blow your goddamn guts out!”
Do those words ring a bell?”

The room suddenly felt swelteringly hot. Those words—her words—took Angela right back to the garage. She could almost feel Cornell’s hand around her neck.

“Oh, I have a witness alright,” Waverly continued. “And I can see from the expression on your face that my friend must have quoted you correctly. You help me cut a deal and I guarantee you my witness will never surface.”

Angela did not know how to respond. She needed to know everything his witness knew. “I want to talk to your witness,” she said. “Is it a man or a woman?”

Waverly hesitated as if he was uncertain about giving up that information. “It’s a woman.”

“What’s her name?”

“You don’t need to know that right now.”

“I’ll need to talk to her before I agree to go any further. And I’m not saying I can actually help you.” She paused. “But I’ll try.”

Waverly’s entire body exhaled. “I’m not ready to produce her yet. But to prove to you that she really exists, I’ll let you speak to her on the phone.” He rose from the booth. “I need to make a run to the men’s room first.”

Angela watched Waverly walk away. Her hands were shaking so badly, she’d kept them hidden underneath the table during the entire conversation. She glanced toward the bar. Dre wasn’t there. She inspected the rest of the room.
Where is he?

She flinched when her BlackBerry vibrated. She grabbed it from the table. Dre had sent her a text.

Get car hav 2 go now!

Angela stared at the message, perplexed. She typed a quick reply.

Why?

Dre fired back.

Cant xplain jus do it!

E
rickson simmered with anger as he stood in his family room surveying the destruction caused by the L.A.P.D.’s rampage through his home. The entire house was in complete shambles and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

He had arrived home only minutes earlier, having decided that it was best that he not be present when the L.A.P.D. served the search warrant. It would not look good for the Attorney General of the United States to be pictured on the six o’clock news standing idly by while his home was ransacked by police.

His family room looked as if a herd of buffalo had thundered through it. The coffee tables and couches were turned on their sides. Lamps, pillows, magazines and books were scattered about the floor. In the adjacent kitchen, there was a broken dish on the countertop and an overturned trashcan on the floor. All of the cabinet doors were open and one was off its hinges.

The doorbell rang and Erickson hurried toward the entryway. He almost slipped in a pile of dirt spilled onto the floor from a potted plant that lay on its side.

He opened the door and Becker stepped inside.

“How are you?” Becker asked.

Erickson led the way inside. “I could be better.”

A palpable level of distrust now existed between them.

When they got to the family room, Becker stopped and whistled. “Look at this place. This is obscene.”

“I would have to agree.” Erickson walked over to the bar in search of something to drink. He found a bottle of two hundred dollar scotch broken into several pieces, its contents having seeped into the carpet. He picked up an undamaged bottle of gin on the floor near the television and poured himself a drink.

“I would offer you a place to sit,” Erickson said, “but things are a bit in disarray at the moment.”

Becker set his briefcase on the center island in the kitchen which opened out into the family room. “Have you been watching the news?”

“Nope,” Erickson said. “Figured it would be too painful. Did they find anything?”
Please tell me Claire didn’t have a second copy of that DVD.

“What’s to find?” Becker asked.

“Nothing,” Erickson replied, resenting the question. “Absolutely nothing. But if Ashley’s trying to set me up as you claim, there’s no telling what she could have planted.”

“It’s too soon for me to know anything. My contacts need a few days to nose around. Anyway, no one’s saying you’re a suspect. Just a person of interest.”

Erickson laughed. “Isn’t that just a nicer way of saying the same thing?”

Becker spread his hands in a gesture of acquiescence. “Have you talked to the White House yet?”

“No.” Erickson took a sip of vodka. “But I assume they’ve been calling.”

“You
assume
?”

“I turned off my phone. I would suspect Wrigley’s been trying to reach me.”

“Yes, he has,” Becker confirmed. “When he couldn’t reach you, he called me. He’s pretty hot. You need to call him right away.”

“I will.”

“Where do we go from here?” Becker asked.

“That’s certainly a strange question coming from you,” Erickson said. “You’ve been the one calling all the shots. Now that everything’s a disaster, you want me to take over?”

“This wasn’t how I planned it.”

“Is that so?” Erickson now suspected that this was exactly how Becker had planned it. How stupid he had been. “If Ashley killed Claire, I want her behind bars.”

“I have a copy of today’s
L.A.
Times
if you’d like to see it.” Becker removed the newspaper from his briefcase and handed it to him.

The bold headline splashed across the front page nearly floored him.

Foul Play Suspected in Death of AG’s Wife.

Erickson’s face grew agitated as he read the story. “All this innuendo is completely slanderous! They might as well say I killed her. How can they do this?”

He hurled the newspaper across the room. At this point, there was nothing he could say or do to salvage his reputation. Even if he was cleared, the media speculation would do almost as much damage as a conviction.

“It is what it is,” Becker said.

“
It is what it is?
Is that all you have to say? This was
your
idea and
your
plan, yet
I’m
the one holding the bag.”

“You didn’t kill Claire,” Becker said. “So you have nothing to worry about.”

“Don’t you dare humor me! You read that story! Some prosecutor with a bug up his ass would love to further his career by putting me behind bars. Just tell me what evidence you have against Ashley so I can get this thing over with.”

Becker averted his eyes. “I wish I had some, but I don’t.”

Erickson felt like he’d just been slapped. “But you said she killed Claire.”

“And I think she did. I’m just waiting for more information.”

“
You think?
You fucking think? That isn’t good enough. If I go down, you’re going down with me!”

Becker calmly closed his briefcase. “Like I said, I’ll take care of everything. I’ll give you a call after I talk to my contact.”

A
ngela grabbed her purse from the table and walked briskly toward the entrance of the bar. It took every ounce of willpower she could muster not to break into a sprint. The bartender winked at her again, but she didn’t take the time to acknowledge him.

Trying not to draw attention to herself, Angela zigzagged through the crowded hotel lobby.
What did Dre see
? She charged through the glass doors and trotted to her car. Dre’s decision to keep the car parked out front had been a smart move.

She snatched open the door and retrieved the keys from underneath the floor mat. As she started up her Saab, she looked around, praying Dre was on his way out.

Her pulse raced as she waited.
Where is he?

Angela heard the rapid fire of gunshots, and seconds later a rush of people poured out of the hotel. More gunshots followed as a large wall of glass came crashing down, spraying debris in every direction. Hotel guests scattered about like ants, wedging Angela’s Saab between frantic, screaming people. She couldn’t move the car an inch even if she wanted to.

A pounding on the passenger window made her jump.

“Open the door!” Dre yelled.

She fumbled with the electronic door locks until they finally clicked open. Dre swung the door open and jumped inside. “Let’s get out of here!”

“I can’t move! Not without running over somebody.” Just then, a man climbed across the hood.

Keeping her foot on the brake, Angela gripped the steering wheel with both hands, terrified that she was going to run over someone.

Dre reached over and pressed the horn, causing people to flee, giving them room to slowly move forward. They made it through most of the crowd and were headed down the ramp toward the street when the back door opened and Waverly Sloan tumbled in, falling across the seat.

“Somebody’s trying to kill me!”