JO01 - Guilty or Else (8 page)

“You give me what I want, and it won’t take that long,” I said.

“You let me down. We were friends. I trusted you, tossed you a bone, and you let me down.”

“I’ll get straight to the point, Bob. Something’s not right about the Rodriguez case. I’ve got thugs following me around. Rodriguez is a gardener, for chrissakes, not a mob boss. Who gives a damn about him? And, by the way, why’d you pressure me to get a guilty plea anyway?”

“Calm down, Jimmy. Nobody pressured you. I tried to help you out, give an old buddy a break. That’s all.”

“C’mon, Bob. You wanted a guilty plea for a reason, and you forced the deputy D.A. to go along with it.”

He rose from his chair. “Who are you to come busting in here,
Christ almighty
?”

“I’ll tell you who I am,” I said, my voice rising. “I’m the patsy you conned into taking the case.”

He stood and looked at me for a moment. Then, before saying anything, he sat down again. “Are you going to calm down and listen to reason, or are you going to continue to make a fool of yourself?”

“Something around here smells and you know it.” I paused. “Tell me this, Bob. Are you protecting Welch?”

“That’s absurd. Welch didn’t kill the girl. He told me he was in love with her, dumb shmuck. But the cops had the killer, and Welch was running for re-election. The campaign couldn’t stand a scandal.”

“Welch wanted the case wrapped up nice and tight. Didn’t he?”

“Of course he wanted it wrapped up, wanted a conviction before the muckrakers and his political enemies tore into his hide and blew it all out of proportion.” He leaned back in his chair and studied my face. “Surely, you can understand his position, and mine as well. I’m up for reelection too, and I’m on Welch’s campaign committee, for chrissakes. But my obligation to the bench comes before politics. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Nothing wrong? You have a conflict, and Rodriguez got the shaft!”

“Whoa, slow down. Welch has an unimpeachable alibi, four hundred miles away at the time of the murder. I was with him in Sacramento at his fund-raising dinner. Everybody was there having a good time, great entertainment—Robert Goulet, and a comedian, Foster Brooks. The guy was hilarious, did a drunk routine.”

“I don’t care about the dinner or the show. I want to get to the bottom of this. Maybe Welch didn’t kill her, maybe he did; don’t ask me how. But I’m saying there are other factors to consider. I think the cops made a rush to judgment. Rodriguez was a very convenient fall guy.”

“Look, Jimmy, I went to law school and took the same courses you did. Even the one where we learned, ‘When you’re up a creek, lay the blame on someone else.’ It was called Reasonable Doubt 101. You’d better come up with something other than what you’re implying. No jury is going swallow a line of bull like that.”

“Yeah, what about the other class we took Don’t Frame an Innocent Man 101? You sleep through that class, Johnson?”

Johnson shook his head slowly. “You always were pigheaded, even when we worked together on the P.D.”

“I’m not being pig-headed. I just want—”

Johnson interrupted. “Shut up and listen to me.”

“I’m listening, but it better be good. Why am I being followed? I don’t like getting threats.”

He stood and walked around the room. He glanced at the photos on the wall, pictures of him shaking hands with politicians. He focused on the one with Governor Reagan for a couple of seconds before turning to me. “You’re in deep shit, Jimmy, but you wouldn’t listen. You had to be a big hero, didn’t you? You’re in over your head.”

“I know I am. I’ve never defended a murder case, but I’m going to give it all I got.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Oh?”

“Big players are involved. They mean business. They don’t want you messing where you don’t belong. You could get hurt.”

“What are you telling me? You’re going to throw this case because some bigwigs are leaning on you?
My God
, Johnson!”

“No! No, you got it all wrong. Rodriguez will get a fair trial. I’ll see to it. But, I’m just telling you what I overhead. Certain people don’t want you snooping in their private affairs. Stick to the facts. Don’t go on a fishing expedition.”

“Who are these guys?”

“They’re not Boy Scouts.”

“I don’t give a shit who they are. I’m going to defend Rodriguez to the best of my ability. And if it takes me places where these big players don’t want me to go…well, so be it.”

“Brave talk, Jimmy.” He shook his head again. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”

It was ten-thirty when I arrived back at my office. The Buick sedan followed me at a discreet distance. I entered through the front, went straight to the back door, exited the office and walked to the rear parking lot. Moving back around the corner of the building, I spotted the sedan parked curbside about ten feet down the street pointed in my direction, but the guy in the Buick hadn’t spotted me. I doubled around the block and crept up behind the car.

On the back of my business card, I scribbled the license number. I rushed back to the office and hurried to my desk. Rita had left a note: “Went to the stationery store to get some legal forms!!!” She put three exclamation points and one of those smiley faces at the end of it. I wondered why the forms were important enough to rate three exclamation points. One exclamation point was nothing. She put exclamation points on the shopping list: Coffee!, Paper towels!, stuff like that. Two would be more of a big deal, something like my car insurance was overdue, but now three? Why were forms so important?

Rita would let me know when she returned. But first, I had to get a hold of Sol. I grabbed the receiver and punched in his office number.

“Is he around, Joyce?”

“He’s still at Del Mar, but I can get him a message.”

“I’ve got a plate number, need an ID.”

“No need to bother the boss, I can handle it. Won’t have the information until this afternoon. It’s almost eleven now. Our DMV contact would be out to lunch. He’ll run the plate when he gets back, around three.”

“Thanks. Call me when you get the name, okay?”

I leaned back in my chair, laced my hands behind my head, and put my feet on the desk. All I had to do now was wait until Joyce called back, then I’d find out who was following me. With a name and Sol’s help, I’d find out why.

The front door opened. “Jimmy, I’m back. I’ve got the forms.”

“What forms?”

“Discovery forms. I’m sure you want me to fill them out and file them with the D.A. as soon as possible.”

“For the Rodriguez case?”

“Well,
duh
.”

“Oh, yeah. I was just going to ask you to do that.”

Rita smiled and walked back to her desk. In a few minutes, the phone rang. She shouted from the other room, “Miss Allen’s on the line.”

“Hi, this is O’Brien.”

“Jimmy, I just received a call. Thought you might want to talk about it, but you probably already know what I’m referring to.”

Why would she call me? Is there something I should know? “Yeah, sure. I know what it’s about.”

“Do you want to discuss it? That is, if you know what I’m talking about.”

“Of course, I know.”

“He called me too, and I thought maybe we could figure out a plan, how we’re going to handle the press. I don’t want this case tried in the newspapers.”

I pulled the pink message slip Rita had given me from my pocket. The one about the reporter from the
Times
wanting information. “Conway called you, too?”

“Yeah, that’s what I want to talk about. When will you be available?”

“Let’s talk about it over a bite. I owe you lunch,” I said.

“I don’t know about that. Two lunches in a row…”

“It’s the only time I have available.” I enjoyed having lunch with beautiful women, even if it was only business, but she hesitated. “Unless you want to see my picture in the paper, I suggest we meet and agree on the ground rules. The media is going to be all over this. I don’t want us arguing in public, either.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “Shall we meet at the Regency again?”

“It’s my turn to pick the place. How about Chris ’n Pitt’s?” I said.

“Oh my God, Chris ’n Pitt’s. Sawdust on the floor and all that?” She didn’t sound too thrilled. Her voice had a cringe to it, but I thought I heard a small laugh behind the cringe.

“Yeah, I see you know the place. I’ll see you there in a half hour.” I hung up before she could bail on me.

C H A P T E R 
11

Chris Pelonis had painted the
exterior of his Chris ’n Pitt’s restaurants to look like log cabins. He said the paint job reminded people of honest-to-God country barbecue. It reminded me of painted stucco. The dining room floors, as Bobbi had said, were covered with sawdust, and you ate your huge slabs of baby-back ribs with all the trimmings while seated at wooden picnic tables. The waitresses’ costumes—gingham blouses, Levi mini-skirts with white piping, and cowgirl boots—went with the country western music that heehawed in the background.

I did a little two-step up to the hostess’s station and put my name in for a table. Bobbi came through the front doors and gawked in disbelief. She ventured a little farther into the waiting area. As soon as she spotted me, she shook her head slowly, giving me a mock scornful look. Then she started laughing.

I went to her side. “Howdy, ma’am.”

“I hope you’re not going to do that cowboy shtick all through lunch.”

“A little cowboy shtick, but mostly lawyer shtick.”

The hostess called my name and showed us to our table.

Bobbi ordered a small salad with blue-cheese dressing, no Roquefort. I had the barbecued beef sandwich that came with about a pound and a half of French fries.

While we waited for our food to arrive, we talked about the implications of granting interviews to the press. “It’d be a circus,” I agreed. I figured if the D.A.’s office wouldn’t release information favorable to their case, then I wouldn’t counter. Handling the media took special skills I knew I didn’t possess, at least not yet. Famed lawyers, such as Melvin Belli, were masters at manipulating reporters. But even for them, it could backfire, and when the media turned on you it could be brutal. Belli, late in his career, after ranting continuously about several of his ex-wives, became known as Melvin Bellicose. Yeah, it would be best if Bobbi and I agreed to avoid the spotlight as much as possible. One less thing to worry about.

“So it’s a deal? We both offer no comment to the media hounds,” I said, shooting my hand across the table.

“Deal,” Bobbi said with a smile, taking my hand in hers. Our eyes locked for a moment. “Jimmy, you seem like a nice guy. I want you to understand something.”

“Oh?”

She removed her hand and continued: “I just want you to know I play by the rules, no tricks or fancy footwork. I’m a professional and take my responsibility seriously. I won’t be underhanded with you. I want the system to work and justice to be served, that’s all.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

The food arrived. Bobbi silently picked at her salad. I took a few bites of my sandwich, grabbed a napkin from the stack on the table, and wiped my hands. “There’s something else on your mind,” I said. “Want to tell me about it?”

“My superior says that she’d still be willing to accept a plea. One last chance.”

“We’ll pass on the offer. I want to make myself clear. Rodriguez did not kill her.”

“They all say that.” She shook her head. “The prisons are full of innocent people.”

“In this case it’s true.”

“This is your first murder case. I’ll give you some advice—”

“Forget it. I’m not going to see an innocent man go to prison.”

“I’m sorry to say this, but with you as his lawyer he’s lucky the Supreme Court put a hold on the death penalty last July.”

“That’s a crummy thing to say.”

“No offense, Jimmy, but you are inexperienced.”

“I’m experienced enough to know an innocent man when I see one.”

“Have it your way.”

Bobbi took a sip of iced tea, stirred her fork slowly around in her salad. “You should think it over. He could be out in twenty-five years if he accepts.”

“Twenty-five years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. I don’t think so.”

I took a sip of coffee and stared at Bobbi over the rim of my cup.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

I debated whether I should tell Bobbi the information I had about Welch sleeping with Gloria Graham. As a matter of pure tactics, I was better off keeping my knowledge of the affair to myself. Surprise was one of the most effective trial strategies, and I knew enough to understand that most criminal lawyers would never tip their hand in a situation like this. But, I had no evidence to take to trial, no defense whatsoever, just rumors and innuendos, which wouldn’t be admitted. I needed proof. I needed the police to do a full investigation of Welch. Maybe the authorities could somehow break his alibi, and If Bobbi reopened the case—with her powers of subpoena and full investigative staff—at least I’d know if I were on the right track. But could I trust her? I had to be sure that she was more concerned about justice than victories in the courtroom.

I wouldn’t mention being tailed and what Johnson had said about heavyweights being involved. I needed more information about them: who they were, how they were connected, and what all of the cloak and dagger stuff had to do with the case. I’d keep it under wraps. If all else failed, I’d have something for the trial.

“Bobbi, can I talk to you, well, one-on-one? You know, straight out?”

“You mean man-to-man, don’t you?”

“C’mon, you know what I mean.”

“Jimmy, what’s on your mind?”

“A few minutes ago, we spoke of justice.”

“Yes, go on.”

“Can I trust you?”

“That’s entirely up to you, but what I’ve been trying to explain—”

“I know what you said, but—”

“Let me finish.” Bobbi looked down at her salad. She paused, as if to prepare herself for what she was about to say. “In all my cases, I feel deep sorrow for the victims of the crimes. I feel for them just as I would if the crimes happened to me. I want—no, make that demand—justice, retribution for what happened.” She pushed her plate back and folded her hands on the table. “I’m not concerned with racking up convictions, getting my name in the papers, or scoring points with anyone. I’m not running for office, nor do I ever intend to. My only concern is that the perpetrators are punished for their crimes.”