Rage (25 page)

“Can’t
say.”

“Isn’t
it your job to say when people are nuts?”

“Don’t
know Malley well enough to diagnose,” I said. “Never met him during my
evaluation and haven’t spoken to him since. How about you?”

He
stroked his mustache. “Only time I ever saw him in person was at the
sentencing.”

“But
you feel he hated your guts.”

“I
don’t feel, I know. That day in court, I was up at the bench doing my thing,
returned to the defense table and caught him glaring at me. I ignored it but
kept getting that itchy feeling at the back of my neck. I waited until the D.A.
starting blabbing before I turned around, figuring Malley’s attention would be
shifted. His eyes were still on me. Let me tell you, if they were guns, I
wouldn’t be here.”

“He
owns real guns,” I said.

“So
do I,” said Lauritz. He flicked his bow tie. “Surprised?”

“Should
I be?”

“I’m
a bleeding heart subversive.” His mustache lifting was the sole indication he’d
smiled. “But as long as the law says I can own bang-bangs, I will.”

“Self-defense?”

“My
dad was military and the one thing we did together was blast away defenseless
animals.” He massaged his left eyebrow. “I was actually good enough to qualify
for my college team.”

“Have
you been threatened because of your work?” I said.

“Nothing
explicit, but it’s an edgy job so I stay on the edge.” He removed another
packet, smoothed its edges, passed it from hand to hand.

“Law
begets order,” he said. “And a shitload of
dis
order. I stopped fooling
myself a long time ago. I’m part of the system so I triple-lock my doors at
night.”

“Did
Malley ever do more than glare at you?”

“No,
but it was a heavy-duty glare.
Serious
rage. I didn’t blame the guy. His
kid was dead, the system’s set up to be us-them and I was them. He didn’t scare
me and I’m not scared now. Why should I be? All this time’s passed and he never
made a move on me. Do the cops seriously think he killed Rand?”

“It’s
just a— ”

“I
know, hypothesis.” He wiped salt grains from the top of the shaker. “I suppose
you know Troy Turner was murdered, too.”

I
nodded.

“Think
there’s a connection?” he said.

“Troy
was killed a month into his sentence,” I said.

“And
this is eight years later. Yeah, if I was Malley and wanted to do the revenge
bit, I’d have finished the job quickly. It’s something I thought about when I
heard about Turner’s death. I got concerned for Rand, called his warden and
asked for a special watch. The jerk said he’d look into it. Definitely
bullshitting me.”

“When
you called were you thinking about Barnett Malley?”

“Maybe,”
he said. “But even in general terms, I was thinking Rand would make a good
trophy for some testosterone-laced sociopath out to make his rep.” He looked
down at his food but didn’t touch it. “Anyway, I appreciate the warning, but if
I got freaked out about every victim’s family member going after me I’d be a
basket case.”

He
held his hands out, palms up, steady. “See, no anxiety.”

Just
compulsively organized table items.

I
said, “You’re in Beverly Hills now. Must be a different level of offenders.”

“B.H.
is more than just celebrity shoplifters. We handle a lot of West Hollywood’s
felony cases, so, no, I’m not sleeping at the wheel.”

“Didn’t
mean to imply you were.”

He
took a long time assembling a salmon and cream cheese sandwich. Picked out
capers one by one and imbedded them around the outer edge of the bagel’s
whitened, bottom half. Inspecting his handiwork, he closed the sandwich but
didn’t eat.

I
said, “How much contact did you have with Rand after he went away?”

“I
called him a couple of times,” said Montez. “Then I moved on. Why?”

“He
phoned me the day he died, said he wanted to talk about Kristal but wouldn’t
give details over the phone. We made an appointment and I showed up but he
didn’t. A few hours later, he was found— dead. Any idea what could’ve been on
his mind?”

He
played with the sandwich on his plate, nudging it with his thumb until it sat
dead center. When he looked up, his jaw was taut. “This isn’t really about
warning me, is it? It’s about pumping me for information.”

“It’s
both,” I said.

“Right.”

“We’re
not in an adversarial position, Mr. Montez.”

“I’m
a lawyer,” he said. “In my world everything’s adversarial.”

“Fine,
but now we’re on the same side.”

“Which
is?”

“Getting
some justice for Rand.”

“By
locking his killer up?”

“Wouldn’t
that be a good start?” I said.

“In
your world,” he said.

“Not
in yours?”

“You
want to know something?” he said. “If the cops do find whoever shot Rand and
the P.D.’s office gets the case, I’d be happy to take it.”

“Even
if the shooter turns out to be Barnett Malley?”

“If
Malley accepted me, I’d do my best to keep his ass out of prison.”

“Pretty
detached,” I said.

“Survival
skills go beyond guns,” said Montez.

“When
you represented Rand, did you sense he was holding back about anything?”

“He
was holding back about
everything.
Wouldn’t communicate with me, basically
he played mute. No matter how many times I told him I was on his side. It
could’ve been frustrating but the script had already been written. I never got
a chance to bring in my own shrink because of the plea deal. Sure, I would’ve
liked to know what was going on in that kid’s head. Which I didn’t get from
your report. That was a masterpiece of omission. All you said was that he was
stupid.”

“He
wasn’t bright,” I said, “but there was plenty going on in his head. I thought
he felt remorse and I said so. I doubt your expert would’ve come up with any
profound abstractions.”

“Just
a dumb kid? Bad seed?”

I
said nothing.

“Yeah,
I sensed remorse, too,” he said. “Unlike his compadre. Now
that
one was
a piece of work. Evil little bugger, if Rand hadn’t gotten involved with him,
his life could’ve turned out a whole lot different.”

“Troy
was the main killer,” I said. “But Rand admitted hitting Kristal.”

“Rand
was a dumb, passive follower who hooked up with a cold little sociopath. In a
trial, I would’ve emphasized the follower angle. But like I said, nothing
would’ve mattered.”

“The
script.”

“Exactly.”

“Who
wrote it?”

“The
system,” he said. “You don’t murder a cute little white kid and walk away.” His
hand brushed over his butter knife. Adjusted the angle of the handle. “Weider
claimed she wanted to mount a team defense. I was so green I bought it. That
tells you something about the system, doesn’t it? One year out of law school
and Rand got me as his one-man army.” He waved a finger. “Justice for all.”

“Why’d
she change her mind?”

“Because
all she wanted to do was pump me for information. Once we got to court, she was
going to pull a switcheroo and dump all over my client. Her prelim motions
emphasized Rand’s size and strength, she had all this expert research data
showing low I.Q. sociopaths were more likely to turn violent. If it had gone to
trial, Turner would’ve been morphed into some frail little dupe who’d been
physically intimidated by Rand. Anyway, we were spared all that. The case went
down easy.”

“Not
for the Malleys,” I said.

He
showed me his palm. “I can’t think in those terms. And if Barnett Malley
doesn’t understand that, I’m ready for him. Nice seeing you again, Doctor.”

I
stood and asked if he knew where I could find Sydney Weider.

“Going
to warn her, too?”

“And
pump her for info.”

Montez
pulled out a pair of sunglasses, held the lenses up and used them as mirrors.
One end of his bow tie had drooped lower than its counterpart. He frowned and
righted it.

“You
can probably find her,” he said, “on the tennis court or the golf course or
sipping a Cosmopolitan on the country club terrace.”

“Which
country club?”

“I
was speaking metaphorically. I have no idea if she belongs to any club but it
wouldn’t surprise me. Sydney was rich then, so she’s probably richer now.”

“Rich
girl playing at the law?” I said.

“Good
insight, you must be a psychologist. The first time you met Sydney she’d be
sure to let you know where she was coming from. Swinging the Gucci purse,
letting drop all the relevant data in machine-gun monologue. Like you were a
student and she was teaching Introductory Sydney.”

“She
talked about her money?”

“About
her daddy the film honcho, her husband the film honcho, all the industry
parties she was ‘compelled’ to attend. The sons at Harvard-Westlake, the house
in Brentwood, the weekend place in Malibu, the Beemer and the Porsche on
alternate days.” He mimed a finger-down-the throat gag.

“When
did she leave the P.D.’s office?” I said.

“Not
long after the Malley case closed, as a matter of fact.”

“How
soon after?”

“Maybe
a month, I don’t know.”

“Think
it had anything to do with the case?”

“Maybe
indirectly. Her name got into the paper and soon after she got a fat private
practice offer from Stavros Menas.”

“Mouthpiece
of the high and mighty,” I said.

“You’ve
got that right. What Menas does is more P.R. than criminal defense. Which makes
him the perfect L.A. guy.
He
alternates between a Bentley and an Aston
Martin.”

“Does
she still work for him? She’s got no office listing.”

“That’s
’cause she
never
worked for him,” he said. “The way I heard it, she
changed her mind and retired to a life of leisure.”

“Why?”

He
glanced down at his food. “Couldn’t tell you.”

“Burnout?”

“Sydney
didn’t feel deeply enough to burn out. She probably just got bored. With all
her money there was no reason for her put up with all the shit. When I first
heard she quit, I figured she was going to try to get a movie deal out of the
case. But it didn’t happen.”

“You
figured because her husband’s a film exec?”

“Because
she’s like that. Manipulative, out for herself. She’d fly to Aspen for the
weekend on a private jet, be at work Monday in a Chanel suit and try to sound
convincing about fighting for justice for some dude from Compton. By lunchtime,
she’d be dropping names about who sat next to her at The Palm.” He laughed.
“I’d like to think she’s not real happy, but she probably is.”

“Did
you hear any specific rumors about a movie deal?” I said.

“I do
know that she wrangled to get the case.”

“How?”

“By
kissing up to the boss. The way it works at the P.D. is whoever’s top of the
list gets the next client. Unless the boss handpicks someone for a specific
case. I know for a fact that Sydney wasn’t next up on Troy Turner because the
guy who was told me he’d been bumped. He wasn’t bitching, he had no stomach for
high-profile bullshit. The way he phrased it was ‘The bitch did me a
favor.’ ”

“Was
she qualified?”

Montez
clicked his teeth together. “I’d like to say no, but yeah, she was smart
enough. By that time she had three, four years under her belt and her win-loss
record was as good as anyone’s.”

“Three
or four years out of school?” I said. “I remember her as older.”

“She
was older. After she passed the bar she got married, did the mommy bit, waited
until the kids were older.” He wiped his mouth and folded his napkin. “When you
see her, give my regards.”

“I
will.”

“I
was kidding.”

* * *

I
phoned Milo’s desk from the car. He was out and I asked for Detective Binchy.

Sean
said, “Hey, Dr. Delaware.”

“Could
you get me an unlisted address?”

“I
don’t know, Doc, it’s kind of against regulations.”

“Milo
asked me to talk to this person, so in a sense I’m a police surrogate.”

“A
surrogate . . . okay. I guess. You’re not going to shoot anyone,
are you?”

“Not
unless they piss me off.”

Silence.

He
said, “Ha. Okay, hold on.”

Lauritz
Montez’s rant about Sydney Weider’s lifestyle had cited houses in Brentwood and
Malibu but maybe that had been metaphorical, too. Or, she’d defied his
rich-get-richer expectations and downsized.