Unfit to Practice (8 page)

Besides, what could Kevin say in his own defense?

Riesner made a powerful closing argument, holding forth on the virtues of Lisa Cruz, pooh-poohing the doctor's report on her ongoing depression except to say that she was “striding toward a healthy future with her children.” He spoke glowingly of his client with zeal and warmth Nina knew was affected but seemed absolutely real. Now that he had Nina back where he wanted her, in the weaker position, he seemed assured and smooth, his old self.

“Your Honor,” he continued, “there's been some effort on the part of the respondent to use religion as a factor in this case. Doctrines that have to do with the celebration of Christmas and birthdays or participation in voting or military service have been held to be outside the realm of religious views that could be considered as a danger to a child's mental or physical health when it comes to deciding custody in a divorce proceeding.”

“I have your citations, Mr. Riesner,” said Judge Milne.

“Mrs. Cruz has stated that she does not know what she would decide in the sad event that a blood transfusion was recommended for one of the children but that she would be open to the input of medical professionals in addition to the opinion of Mr. Cruz. Her community activities as a firefighter and fund-raiser for good causes should be seen not as a distraction from her mothering, but as a shining example to her children, and must be considered in the light of her overall excellence as caretaker to these precious children. She's a superior mom and commendable human being, that is clear.

“Mr. Cruz, on the other hand, with his spotty work history and reprehensible immorality, brought his adulterous behavior right into his home. The best interests of these little children are to remain with their primary caregiver. Not to cast this as a morality play, Your Honor, but consider the character of the players. Consider Mr. Cruz. Moral turpitude, Your Honor. Sexual misconduct. A crime. Mr. Cruz may end up in jail, jobless. He committed statutory rape. I will of course be compelled to turn this information over to the district attorney's office.”

Nina's turn.

She started her own list, a list of Kevin Cruz's practical virtues. “A careful review of the testimony given in this case shows that Kevin Cruz would make the better custodian of his two minor children.

“Lisa Cruz's religious activities, while admirable, are extremely time consuming. To make up for the time she spends away from home looking for converts, she told the court she would take her children along with her door-to-door. We have previous testimony that this activity, while not necessarily harmful in itself, can in time generate painful conflicts between her and the children.”

At this point, she skidded hard into the mental-health problems suffered by Lisa Cruz, recapitulating the testimony of Lisa's own doctor, hammering home his words “chronic depression,” and reminding the judge that her own doctor said Lisa Cruz's chronic condition was likely to come and go for the foreseeable future and could be considered a lifelong disability.

“Now, as to Ali Peck. Mr. Cruz was in fact worrying about his children and did keep her away from them, as she testified. The point is, his children were not affected in any way by this affair. His marriage was in trouble. He was lonely. He made a mistake. What's important, Your Honor, is that this affair lasted only a short time and is long over. A single misstep should not in any way overshadow the mediator's recommendation and finding that overall Mr. Cruz is better suited to have physical custody.”

After she sat down, she caught her breath and, by chance, caught another unsettling glare from Lisa Cruz. After Lisa turned away, Nina scrutinized Judge Milne, trying to read him.

The judge was looking at Ali, who had taken a seat in the back row, probably picturing sweaty embraces observed by little kids. Nina almost saw the decision forming like a cloud over his face. He turned back to his notes. He had decided that an excess of spiritual seeking was better than an excess of lust.

They had failed. Ali, the trim little cadet, had dispatched Kevin directly into the lonely hell reserved for loving fathers without custody.

Okay, that wasn't fair. Kevin had put himself there.

Her client had also spent the past few minutes studying the judge. One glimpse of his white, balled knuckles was enough to tell Nina he knew what she knew. After court adjourned, he stood in the doorway shaking, curling and uncurling his fists, apparently waiting to punch somebody out. Nina nudged him through the door safely, but once they got outside he ran after Lisa, who was walking with swift steps toward the parking lot.

“Wait right there. I want to talk to you,” he said.

Nina ran up behind him. “Kevin, no.”

“Leave me alone, Kev,” Lisa said. “I'm warning you. Stay away from me.”

“You stole my file, didn't you? You talk ethics night and day, but you know what? I know the real you under that sanctimonious bullshit. You'd do anything to keep Heather and Joey. You'd lie, cheat, steal—anything. But now hear this. I won't let you have those kids.”

“You have no choice, do you? Just had to have your little girlfriend. You cheated on me, and you cheat your kids, behaving that way, like an animal. You have nerve even talking to me today.”

Her composure pushed Kevin right over the edge into the abyss of his fury. “Watch your back, Lisa!” he yelled, shaking a fist at her. “Those kids are mine!”

Nina held his arm. “Don't touch her. Please don't,” she said.

“Don't threaten me, you loser,” Lisa said. “I'm not afraid of you or your dipshit lawyer. I'm the one in control now. And you'll be living with that for the rest of your days.”

Kevin looked at his fist, put his hands at his sides.

Lisa turned to Nina. “As for you? I'm not surprised you crawled out of the woodwork, that's bound to happen with vermin. Maybe it's a good thing. I finally can tell you exactly what I think of you. You disgust me. You're a disgrace as a human being. Why am I not surprised you get your jollies out of hurting another mother?” With that parting shot, she pulled open the door to her car and drove away.

6

“T
HREE FILES,
” S
ANDY
said back at the office. “Our trickiest cases.”

Five
P
.
M
. The end of the day had arrived. Unlike every other day, when they would leave the door unlocked until they actually left, this Friday they had locked the door promptly and turned on the voice mail. The public business of this calamitous day had ended.

Nina had already reviewed Kevin's hearing and its probable outcome with Sandy, who had reacted with initial restraint at the news that Nina had probably lost. Now Nina stood beside Sandy's computer and pointed to a sheet of lined yellow paper. “These weren't complete files, so I've tried to outline what I know was there in some detail over here.”

“What's this?” Sandy said, her beringed finger hovering over a small dark blob on the sheet.

“Jelly,” said Nina promptly.

“Is not. You cried.”

“I never. But I know I shouldn't worry so much. My files are as dry as dead beetles to anyone but another lawyer. They're in a trash can somewhere, dumped by the delinquent who stole my car. The courthouse is always swarming with criminal defendants. If you tried to think of the worst place to drop your car keys, try the place where car thieves spend half their lives.”

“Whoo-wee.” Sandy examined the list.

“The client-intake notes are my biggest concern. People are forthright with me, and of course, like a good schoolgirl, I write it all down. And as I'm listening, I'm scribbling my thoughts and impressions.”

“Not to mention doodling all over the page. Let's start with Kevin Cruz.”

“The secret's out. Ali Peck testified. The result isn't going to be pretty.”

“Quite a coincidence, her showing up at the last minute. Her name's in the missing file.”

“I know. They might have found Ali without the file, but the time frame—”

“Anything we can do?” Sandy asked.

“Not about the hearing. It's too late to do anything about that,” Nina said.

“That man's gonna win,” Sandy said, referring to Riesner. “And we were five and O!”

“I wasn't keeping score. This isn't about—”

“You can bet
he
was.”

Nina stuck to the point. “Kevin was having a relationship with a young girl. Milne isn't a prude, but, boy, she looked young up there.”

“Well, don't sound so guilty. He slept with her, not you, for Pete's sake,” Sandy said. “How'd they say they found out about her, anyway?”

“In court this morning, Riesner said he got a tip at home early this morning. Implied she called him.”

Sandy frowned. “He claims he just found out about her but it's my policy never to believe a word he says. Maybe he knew months ago and sprang it on you. However. Maybe he did get a phone call. From a car thief.”

“Exactly what I'm afraid of.” Nina noted with clinical interest that her throat seemed to be closing up. She went over to a client chair and sat down and knew she was finished for the day. Time to go home.

“Wish knows Kevin. Says he's seen him around the community college. Says Kevin comes down hard on the druggies.” Sandy's son, Wish Whitefeather, helped around the office, studied criminology at Lake Tahoe Community College, and now drove Paul's old van. He idolized Paul, and made a good sidekick when Paul needed help on his Tahoe work for Nina. “So. Moving right along. Number two—the arson case—the Hmong. The Vang family.”

Nina went to the window. The purple mountains' majesty didn't soothe her as much as usual. A Sunfish with its tricolored sail hoisted high glided into view on silver water toward the Tahoe Keys Marina in the distance. False tranquility, Nina thought. Too beautiful to be true. She remembered someone telling her once there might be bodies lingering on the bottom of Lake Tahoe, perfectly preserved in the melted snow.

She said, her back to Sandy, “The Hmong. Nobody, but nobody, knows about the insurance claim I filed.”

“It's a pitiful story. What was the worst thing in the file?”

“Kao Vang's address. He didn't want to give it to me but I insisted. Kao said, he warned me, that his family would be in danger if the news got out that he might recover a settlement from the fire. People might get angry.”

“Angry enough to do what?”

“I don't know. The Vangs won't talk about it.”

“What should we do?”

“I don't know.”

Nina's voice must have told her assistant to leave things at that, because the usually exhaustively thorough Sandy moved briskly forward. She scribbled a note in pencil, then went back to the list. “Brandy Taylor and Angel Guillaume.”

“Witnesses to a murder. Deeply buried, until I wrote it all down for our thief. I have to get Brandy and Angel to the district attorney and get them protected. How I hate unknown quantities. Those two are about as unpredictable as my cooking, especially the younger one, Brandy. She got dragged here by Angel in the first place. They could get hurt, Sandy. My intake notes—I listed Angel's address here in Tahoe, and maybe even Brandy's in Palo Alto. Along with the whole story they told me.”

“Yeah, it's bad. I read your notes while I was making up the file.”

“Anyway. The weekend is starting. I'm taking a run down to the Monterey Peninsula tomorrow morning, and I plan to ask Paul to come up here as soon as he can next week.”

“Wish could help out in the afternoons.”

“We could use his help. Could he come in next week?”

“You kidding? He'll make time.”

Nina already felt better.

“The A-Team,” Sandy said. “Back together again. Last time was, I think, the Nikki Zack case.”

“You know, Sandy,” Nina said, “believe it or not, I saw these cases as a symbol of our success. We were helping ordinary people in the worst trouble of their lives who heard such good things about our work, they trusted us to do a good job.” She found herself unable to continue with the thought. “Let's finish here quickly and go home. I have to see everyone on Monday.”

“Maybe you should wait longer.”

“I can't. I'm not feeling good about even taking the weekend. I have an ethical duty to tell these clients promptly that there's been a possible breach of confidentiality. Monday's as late as I can wait. If the files turn up, great. Maybe the police will find the car with the files intact. But I have to give myself the weekend. I have to think and talk to Paul, and the insurance company. And—” She stopped.

“Two days to pray.”

“Exactly.”

Sandy said, “Things were rolling along so great. For a minute there we had so many clients we almost had the money for bigger offices. If this gets out, we'll be lucky to keep the fig in Miracle-Gro.” They both looked over at the plump-leafed tree, which, in spite of the misfortune of living in a law office, thrived in its sunny corner. “Look. Let's get some perspective here. Some skunk is banging around in your Bronco, having a whee of a time. He has zero interest in a briefcase full of papers lying on the floor in the backseat under his empty beer bottles.”

“The Bronco bunged up and the papers ignored—that would be the ideal outcome, and I never thought I would feel so casual about my truck. I love my truck.”

“Question.”

“Yes?”

“You pay that legal-malpractice-insurance bill I put on your desk a couple of weeks ago?”

“Sent it out last Thursday.”

“Good.” She punched her lip with a pencil, thinking. “So we went down today.”

“It's not a football game, Sandy. Like I said.”

“He makes a lot of money.”

“Yeah, he does.” Nina had had the distinct displeasure of visiting Riesner's leather-swaddled, mahogany-bedecked offices a few times in the past.

“I'll tell you something about him and money. He's also a cheapskate. When I used to work there, he gave the most pathetic Christmas presents. Instead of bonuses. Stuff he makes down in the basement at his house. Spice racks, lazy Susans, wood bowls.” She made an impolite sound. “We'd have to admire his talent. What we would have really admired was a big gift certificate from Macy's. His ego is the size of Cave Rock. I still have one of his bowls. The dog admires it when he drinks his water. Yeah, he's a prick, no way around it.”

“Sandy, you're going to have to find another description for Riesner. I find that term objectionable.”

“You offended? You never said that before.”

“I'm not offended. It's just objectionable.”

“Huh?”

“I'm going to make a couple of quick calls before I go.” Nina opened the door to the inner office and went in, leaving the door open.

After a few minutes, Sandy called, “So what's your objection? Why's it objectionable?”

“It's not offensive enough,” Nina said, and was rewarded by a dusty chuckle from the outer office.

Sandy said, “I'll call Angel Guillaume tomorrow morning to set up the appointment. How do I get hold of Brandy Taylor?”

“I think she's still at her sister's.”

“And Kao Vang?”

“Call his friend Dr. Mai. He gave me his phone number in Fresno.”

“If it's okay with you, I gotta go right now. Joe and I are on the committee to organize a powwow down by the lake two weeks from now. So far, lots of discussion and nothing getting done.”

“Sounds like my life. Go get 'em, Sandy.”

“Yeah, we'll ruffle some feathers tonight. Don't forget to lock up. And.”

“And?”

“Stay cool.”

“Yeah.”

As soon as she heard the outer door slam, Nina punched in the number of her malpractice insurer, Lawyer's Fidelity. No answer. The company had gone home for the weekend. She should have called earlier.

She called the Lake Tahoe Police Department and asked for Officer Scholl or Matthias. The officer on duty took her message and told her the Bronco hadn't been found yet.

She called Paul.

“Van Wagoner Investigations.”

“Hello.”

“Hi!” She always forgot his voice, so warm and full of life.

“Paul, I changed my mind. I have a big problem up here I need to discuss with you. And I miss you. I can be there about four tomorrow. Okay?”

“Sure. I was just on my way out the door. Big football game tonight at Carmel High School. Can you tell me what's up right now? Are you okay?”

“I'm okay. It'll wait until tomorrow.”

But Paul made her give him the outline, and from the long silence on the end of the phone when she finished she knew he, too, was grappling with what to say.

“You go on,” she said. “You'll miss the game. And I have to get home.”

“Wait, Nina. Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to call an old buddy of mine who happens to be certified to practice in the state-bar court. All he does is lawyer-discipline cases. He can help us sort this out.”

From the new relief she felt, Nina knew he was on the right track. She needed information. “That sounds great. But is this attorney good? You know this person well?”

“He's been around. Left private practice two years ago and does this exclusively now. Lives in SF and loves to come down to the Monterey Peninsula. Big talker, big ego, but you see plenty of that in your business.”

“What's his name?”

“Let me call and see if he's available first. Meanwhile, pack light. My big plan for the evening won't involve dinner clothes.”

Nina's bed did not offer its usual comforts that night. Instead of resting, she journeyed bleakly through times she had screwed up or swerved into the windy side of the law. Green sunglasses—two years ago, she had hidden this evidence of one client's presence at a crime scene. Hypnosis—she had assured another client it would remain private. She had been wrong and Misty Patterson had almost been convicted of murder because of it. Bob's No Fear cap, recognized by her at another crime scene—she had never told the police about that. And then there were the pieces of a dead man out there buried under the pine trees of Tahoe—a murder had been committed to protect her and Bob.

She had thought of herself as a good lawyer, good enough to look for the spirit behind the letter of the law sometimes, looking for the real rule that ought to govern the situation, trying to be brave about applying it.

She had been accused of recklessness many times, but she had always managed to pull the right result out of the situation before. Sometimes, she had to admit, she had taken risks that were more suitable to a horse track than a law practice. All in the service of the clients, she told herself.

Last night? She hadn't even identified the risk in advance. She had been careless and lazy.

How hard would the clients get hit?

How hard would she get hit? For the first time, she let her most private, selfish fears loose, and the thought came:

Fuck! I could get disbarred!

And then what would I be?

She opened a bleary eye to the green clock light at 2:30
A
.
M
., then rolled and tumbled until dawn in the twisted sheets. Gut-wrenching self-doubt, the whole night long.