Witness for the Persecution Read online

  ‘It’s Saturday,’ I told Holly. ‘What’s so urgent?’

  ‘We have a client who’s been accused of murder,’ Holly said.

  And I swear the first thought I had was, Great! Now I don’t have to argue with Patrick!

  TWO

  ‘We created the criminal law division specifically for you,’ Holly reminded me.

  ‘And you’ll recall that I resisted the idea from the beginning,’ I reminded her back.

  We were walking through one of the interminable corridors at Seaton, Taylor, heading for one of the consultation rooms. I’d been working here for nearly two years and would still have benefitted greatly from a map of the offices.

  At least the carpet wasn’t red.

  ‘You successfully defended two murder trials,’ she said, as if I didn’t know that. ‘We started getting phone calls about more criminal cases and you and Jon were the only attorneys we had with any experience in that area.’ Soon she’d no doubt start reading my CV aloud to me just so she could hit the highlights. I love Holly, but she’s such a boss. ‘We weren’t going to pass up the opportunity. Besides, I think you actually like these cases.’

  Seriously, if we didn’t reach this conference room soon I’d need to stop in at a local bed-and-breakfast for the night. ‘I like the cases where I get to defend people in their right to peaceful protest, or a woman protecting her children from an abusive partner,’ I countered. ‘Murder trials have too much on the line and they make my stomach clench. Can’t Jon do it?’ Jon Irvin, the only other attorney working in the (part-time) criminal justice section of Seaton, Taylor, had no prosecutorial experience, which I considered a plus. We were working on the other side.

  ‘The client asked specifically for you,’ Holly said as we stopped at a door. I caught my breath; this was the longest I’d walked in heels since my senior prom. ‘He’d been referred.’

  ‘By whom?’ I didn’t have enough former clients in LA to be referred.

  Holly shrugged. ‘He didn’t say.’ She reached for the doorknob.

  ‘Didn’t or wouldn’t?’ But it was too late. Holly had opened the door and we were stepping inside.

  This was one of our small conference rooms, which made sense for a group that was going to consist of the client, me and Holly. I did my best not to look like I’d rather be pretty much anywhere else – except answering Patrick about moving in with him – and approached the man, who stood when he saw us enter.

  ‘Sandy Moss, meet Robert Reeves,’ Holly said.

  Reeves wasn’t especially tall, but it was clear from the way he stood that he thought he was. His shoulders were back, his gut was pulled in, and he looked for all the world like a man trying to be better than he really was, which was in its own way sad.

  ‘Mr Reeves,’ I said. I nodded a greeting toward him. I haven’t actually gotten back to the handshake thing yet, but that’s just me. Before he could offer one I sat down at the table and Reeves did the same. Holly stood next to the chair to my left.

  ‘Suppose I leave you in Sandy’s hands, Robert,’ she said. ‘She’s really much more experienced at this sort of thing than anyone else here at the firm.’

  Holly hadn’t mentioned that she wouldn’t be staying for the conference, which was sneaky on her part because she knew I’d insist that she stay so she’d be there when I politely declined the case based on my overextended workload. I chalked that up to being outplayed and decided I’d expense out some lunches on the company card just to show her. Maybe with Patrick and Angie.

  The fact that such things were not considered breaches of the practice’s rules was no comfort at all. Nobody ever checked. It was amazing we were still a functioning business.

  I looked up at her and gave her a look Reeves couldn’t see. She smiled pleasantly because he could see her and left the room.

  Holly had given me the thin file we’d gotten on Reeves’s arrest when I’d arrived at the office, and I’d been able to give it a perfunctory glance while we were hiking it down the Lack of Freedom Trail to this conference room. Apparently Reeves worked on a film set (of course) and, in the midst of filming, a stunt performer had died. What made Reeves responsible and why this was not seen simply as a tragic accident, I had not yet been able to grasp. I opened the file and laid it out in front of me then looked up at Reeves.

  ‘So, Mr Reeves, please keep in mind that I’m new to your case so you might have to explain some things to me that you’ve already told to the police and to … you’re awaiting trial, so I assume you had an attorney before you contacted us who worked with you through your arraignment.’

  Reeves, sitting straight up in his chair with an aura of authority (which was clearly assumed, although I had no idea why), nodded his agreement, but his mouth twisted into a sneer that I hoped was aimed at his previous lawyer and not me. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Herbert Bronson. And all he did for me was suggest that I take a plea deal. He thought I was guilty.’

  Uh-oh.

  ‘You’ve been charged with first-degree murder, Mr Reeves,’ I said. Of course he knew that but hang on, I was making a point. ‘That implies premeditation. Did you have any reason to want Mr …’ I checked the file in front of me. ‘Mr Drake dead?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Reeves answered, at the same time he was not suggesting that I call him Bob, Rob, Robbie, Bobby or even Robert (with the French pronunciation). ‘I barely knew the man. He was a stunt guy on my set.’

  His set.

  ‘What was your job on the set?’ I asked.

  Reeves’s eyes bulged a little bit at my blatant impertinence, but he regained his composure quickly. ‘I am the director,’ he answered.

  That explained a lot. I’d been in Los Angeles and, more importantly, with Patrick long enough now that I’d met a few directors. They tend to have fairly healthy egos (sometimes bigger than those of their actors, which is impressive) when they direct film. Television directors lean toward the unassuming sorts, knowing their jobs are temporary and hoping they’ll be rehired for another episode later in the season. Reeves was clearly accustomed to a pretty high level of deference. And I wasn’t supplying it, because first of all I had no idea who he was and second, I don’t think directors are better than other people. Some of them are fine artists, but so are some short-order cooks.

  ‘OK, so you were directing a scene and, as far as I can tell, a stunt performer fell from a crane and was killed, is that right?’ Best to get past Reeves’s issue with my having never heard of him, which was something I’d gotten used to since moving to California. I hadn’t heard of Patrick when I met him, either, but in the almost two years since then he’d mostly gotten over that fact.

  ‘Yes.’ Either Reeves was auditioning for his testimony in court, or he was still mad at me for being ignorant of his amazing-ness.

  I looked through more of the file, which was astonishingly thin given that another defense attorney had been through it, the police report was included (bearing a name familiar to me) and an arraignment and release (cash bail no longer exists in California) had already taken place. I’d have to give all of this a long look as soon as the meeting was over. ‘That doesn’t sound like a case of first-degree murder to me,’ I said.

  ‘Exactly!’ Reeves leaned forward and placed his hands flat on the table in front of him. He appeared to be acting as if I was on an award-nominating committee. Which I feel it’s important to emphasize I am not. ‘That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time! It was an accident!’

  I didn’t point out that what I’d been about to say was, ‘It sounds like negligent homicide.’ That probably would have dampened my client’s mood. ‘So why did the police and the district attorney think charges should be brought?’ The question was more for myself than Reeves; for all I knew he possessed a law degree and had obnoxious-ed his way into having the charge escalated, but I doubted it. The part about the law degree, anyway.

  ‘You’d have to ask them,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I didn’t have anything to
do with it.’

  ‘Well, let me play devil’s advocate for a moment,’ I said, looking back at him. ‘Obviously there’s some basis or the DA and the cops wouldn’t have arrested you. When did this happen?’

  ‘Nine months ago,’ Reeves answered. ‘The film is going to open in a few months and this was when we were shooting it. I got out of jail the morning after they arrested me, and Bronson has been hacking around at it since then. The imbecile.’

  ‘All right. So here’s me making the prosecution’s case, OK? This isn’t what I think; it’s what they’re going to say. So let’s see how you’ll answer.’ I paused, waiting to see Reeves’s reaction.

  He just looked at me, arms folded. He didn’t speak, but if he had I’m sure it would have been, ‘Bring it on.’

  So I brought it on. ‘As the director of this large production, isn’t it your responsibility to see that a dangerous stunt like this is carried out safely? Why did James Drake fall and die?’

  ‘Because the stunt coordinator was incompetent. He’s the one who should have been arrested.’

  One thing I had noticed on the film and television sets Patrick had invited me to was that stunt coordinators were pretty much never women. But that was another observation I choked back in order to keep the business of a man who had been charged with murder in what I could only assume was an odd game where I had to figure out why.

  ‘What did the stunt coordinator – and what’s his name? – do that created the situation where Mr Drake died?’ I asked.

  ‘Burke Henderson, the stunt coordinator, did not see properly to the cables that were holding up the unfortunate Mr Drake, and so they snapped and he fell to his death.’ Reeves huffed and settled back in his chair. He folded his arms. He wanted to come across as indignant and couldn’t muster up more than petulant.

  ‘Mr Reeves, I’m going to need to do some research on your case before I can advise you on your next steps,’ I said, closing the file just to give him a sign that our meeting was about to end. There was way too much I didn’t know yet that I could find out quickly on my own. ‘I just came into your case a few minutes ago and I have to do my work. Let’s say we meet again in about two weeks and then we can plot a strategy once I have all the information I need.’

  Reeves looked stunned; he blinked like an actress whose false eyelashes were glued on badly. ‘Two weeks?’ he said. ‘I don’t think we can afford two weeks.’

  ‘Why not?’ They tell you in law school never to ask a question to which you don’t know the answer, but that’s only supposed to matter in the courtroom. Still I had the feeling I’d just taken a step into something that might require me to throw out my shoes altogether.

  ‘Won’t you have to prepare a whole case and ask for witnesses and all that?’ His haughty demeanor was cracking, which meant Reeves was starting to panic.

  ‘Yes I will, but I assure you I’ve done this before.’

  ‘But the trial is scheduled to start six weeks from tomorrow,’ he said.

  OK, but … wait, what? ‘Six weeks.’ I tried not to make it a question. ‘Well, the first thing I’ll do is file for an adjournment.’ I’d had bad luck with that on Patrick’s trial, but that was an aberration. Any judge other than Franklin would have allowed it, and even that wasn’t his fault. It’s a long story. It involves a guy I was sort of dating. Suffice it to say.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Clearly Reeves had never directed a courtroom drama.

  ‘It means we’ll get an extension of time before the trial can start,’ I said. ‘The judge will understand that you changed attorneys recently and he or she will give me time to prepare. Which judge heard your preliminary hearing?’

  ‘Judge Hoffman,’ he said. ‘But the judge who’s hearing the trial is named Franklin.’

  Well, that figured.

  THREE

  ‘It wasn’t Franklin’s fault,’ Angie said.

  We were eating at our apartment for a change. I had been spending a lot of time at Patrick’s house, but now I wanted to be with my roommate, my best friend, my companion, the woman who had moved herself 3,000 miles just to watch out for me. You don’t see that kind of loyalty and devotion in the vast majority of people, and I felt it was more than due time that I showed Angie some appreciation.

  OK, so I wanted to give myself time to think before I continued the conversation with Patrick. So sue me.

  ‘I know Judge Franklin never saw the request for an adjournment on Patrick’s trial,’ I told her. I put my feet up on the coffee table and lost myself in the sofa cushion. Sweatpants and an old T-shirt felt good. ‘But I didn’t find that out until much later and I’d already decided I resented him.’

  ‘What I’m saying is that there’s no reason to carry that over to this guy’s trial.’ Angie was doing pushups and planks on the floor because she’s Angie and wants to be both strong and sexy. I can’t personally attest to the latter, but I’ve seen men look at her and I know she can lift heavy objects and throw a very effective punch. I’ve seen it. You don’t want to. ‘In the end, the judge was completely fair.’

  I hate it when she’s right.

  The doorbell rang and there was a guy with the pad thai we’d ordered and which, frankly, I’d kind of forgotten about. But it gave me a good way to get out of the conversation because I knew I was going to lose.

  ‘Patrick wants me to move in with him,’ I told Angie when we’d settled in and started eating (turned out I did want the Thai food after all). I watched her face carefully as I told her to gauge her reaction. Angie has always thought that Patrick and I were destined for each other and does nothing but advocate on his behalf.

  So it startled me a bit to see her frown when I said that. ‘Are you gonna do it?’ she asked, revealing nothing in her voice.

  ‘Why? Do you think I shouldn’t?’ Any argument Angie offered would be helpful. I felt deep in my gut that I should tell Patrick it was too soon (it wasn’t) or that I wasn’t sure I loved him (that wasn’t going to fly), so an alternate excuse would be useful.

  Why didn’t I want to move in with Patrick? That was something I’d need to think about later for sure. Because on paper it was absolutely the right move. My mother called twice a week to see if Patrick and I were getting married ‘yet’. Patrick would probably have agreed with her. I was the stick in the mud. Why?

  Later.

  ‘Well for one thing, that would leave me without a place to live, unless I’m coming as your valet.’ Angie had a point. She couldn’t afford the rent in this place on her own even though Patrick paid her nicely. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Los Angeles (or in our case, Burbank) was not an inexpensive place to call home.

  ‘There’s enough rooms. You could probably have your own wing.’ For one demented second, the idea of bringing Angie along to live in Patrick’s ginormous house felt logical.

  ‘Great,’ she said, dropping her fork (we weren’t using chopsticks because who are we impressing?). ‘I can be installed as the permanent fifth wheel at Patrick’s house. It’s not like I don’t see him all day everyday anyway.’ There had been a time when spending five minutes with Patrick McNabb was essentially Angie’s idea of heaven. She still loved him and was still in awe to an extent, but as his assistant she had normalized him. He was now Patrick, the guy she worked for who dated her roommate.

  Probably her moving in with us was a bad idea.

  ‘I was joking,’ I said.

  ‘Sure you were.’

  Neither of us ate anything for a full minute. ‘What do you think I should do, Ang? I mean, Patrick’s never been anything but wonderful to me, whenever he wasn’t driving me crazy and even sometimes when he was. How come I’m not jumping at the chance to live with him?’

  Angie is my conscience. She’s my level. She tells me the truth when no one else is willing or able to find it. ‘I dunno,’ she said.

  So that was a huge help.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘The last thing I need right now is for you to hold back be
cause you’re afraid to hurt my feelings.’

  Angie’s lips moved left into something approaching a sneer. ‘I’m not afraid of hurting your feelings. I’m afraid you’re going to snitch on me to my boss.’

  Snitch on her? ‘Do you know something about Patrick that I need to know?’ Was he seeing someone else on the side? Would I be hurt or relieved? Hurt.

  ‘Nothing you don’t know. You said it yourself, Sand. Patrick is all about the pursuit. He goes after a woman he wants to fall in love with him, and then once she does, well, he still likes her well enough but he’s not as passionate about her as he used to be. It was true when he got married and it was true with that nutjob he was going to marry last year before you talked him out of it.’

  ‘Yeah and look how well that worked out.’ Patrick’s most recent fiancée was currently awaiting trial on charges of attempted murder, conspiracy, and a few things the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s office had thrown in for a laugh.

  ‘I’m just saying.’ Angie stood up and repackaged her food for storage in the fridge, just as I was about to do. Neither of us felt like eating anymore. ‘You’re skittish because you’re afraid that once he knows he has you, he won’t want you anymore.’

  Like I said. I hate it when she’s right.

  FOUR

  Detective Lieutenant K.C. Trench was the most composed man I had ever met. Despite having seen a broad array of horrors as a homicide detective in a city of four million people, he was as stoic as Mr Spock and three times as logical. So it was no surprise when I knocked on his office door and the response was simply, ‘Yes.’

  Somehow it had also not shocked me to find Trench’s name as the arresting officer and lead investigator in the James Drake murder, which the police report (which I had read over the weekend) had been clear to note was in fact a homicide and not an accident. Since I knew Trench relatively well and had met Reeves once, I was inclined to put more weight in Trench’s version of the events than in my client’s. Or was that wrong?