Judgment at Santa Monica Read online

  I didn’t know where Philip was, but it could be reasonably assumed he was being asked all the same questions and giving all the same answers as we were. We had nothing to hide.

  Trench raised an eyebrow, the equivalent of a screaming rage in another man. ‘The enemy,’ he said. It was question-adjacent.

  ‘Patrick was accused of murder and you were on the side of the accusers while I was defending him,’ I explained. ‘Now we’re just two people who got shot at for no reason and you are here to help us, I’m guessing. Why is a homicide detective interested in a shooting where no one was injured?’

  Trench didn’t so much as blink. I’m pretty sure he only blinked when no one was watching. It’s possible Trench was a robot the LAPD was trying out as a detective in case people just stopped showing up to work. ‘In the mandate of the robbery-homicide division of the department, Ms Moss, it is noted that the homicide division is involved at any time a special investigation is ordered by the chief of detectives.’

  ‘Yes, and the Declaration of Independence says all men are created equal but I’m here to tell you they’re not, Lieutenant.’ I wasn’t about to elaborate. ‘Wait. Are you saying the chief of detectives ordered an investigation into a shooting that happened forty minutes ago?’

  ‘Not specifically, no.’ Trench laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair, yet still somehow projected as a man who was as formal and precise as a general during inspection. ‘But I believe you are here to answer the questions, Ms Moss. Now, all you can remember of the license plate on the car that shot at you is that the first digit was a T?’

  ‘Yeah. Oddly, I was somehow preoccupied when I had to dive to the ground and try not to get killed.’

  ‘Do you remember what make and model car it was?’ Trench asked.

  Now, Jersey girls notice cars. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. We know the difference between a guy who comes to pick you up for dinner in a late model Lexus LS and one who shows up in a 2011 Dodge Dart. He’s probably come to take you bowling, and if the truth is told, he’s likely to be more fun. All men are, in fact, not created equal.

  But I was about to be forced to admit I hadn’t taken note of the car itself, focused as I was on the barrel of the gun pointed out its back window on the passenger side. And that, for someone like me, was humiliating, particularly when I had to tell Trench, a man whose respect I secretly craved.

  ‘I can’t be sure, Lieutenant,’ I said. ‘It might have been a Nissan Sentra or a Honda Accord, silver, probably two years old. I mean, who can tell the difference at forty miles an hour?’

  I couldn’t look Trench in the eye. Having to confess a failing like that? I wanted to drop through a hole in the impeccably clean floor and vanish.

  ‘Well, that gives us something to work with.’ What? Trench was letting me off the hook? And they said LA had a car culture. Back home a cop would have done a tight ten minutes on me after an admission like the one I’d just made. ‘And I am assuming until I see evidence to the contrary that the target here was Mr McNabb and not you. Am I incorrect?’

  ‘I honestly couldn’t say, Lieutenant. I know Patrick had hired some private security, but I don’t know if that was just a continuation of the service he had while he was on trial. I take it a lot of actors do that.’

  Trench stood up. That’s it. He just stood up. He didn’t stand up and pace, or stroke his immaculately shaved chin, or sit on the edge of his desk to establish a more mutual rapport with me. He just stood up. Maybe he was doing slow aerobics.

  ‘Are you working on any especially sensitive cases right now, Counselor? Anything that might have someone angry at you beyond the usual limits?’ This, from Trench, was amusing jocular banter. It was like getting trash talk from Sir Anthony Hopkins.

  I shook my head. ‘The usual. A couple of divorces, one child custody matter and a pre-nuptial agreement.’ I guessed I was writing up a pre-nup for Patrick now, although we hadn’t actually formalized the agreement and I suspected his asking me was just his backdoor way of telling me he was getting married again.

  ‘And also the criminal appeal of the woman accused of soliciting an undercover police officer?’ Trench watched me closely to see if I was shaken to the core by his awareness of Madelyn Forsythe’s legal issues.

  To be honest, I was pretty amazed, but Trench and I had an unspoken agreement to be respectful but wary of each other. I tried very hard not to make an outward sign. ‘How did you know about that?’ I asked as casually as I could muster.

  ‘I’m the police, Ms Moss. I know everything.’ Trench was giving a master class in not telling someone anything they wanted to know.

  I let off a little sigh to communicate that his game was a bore. ‘Yes, Lieutenant. Madelyn Forsythe is a client of mine. What’s your point?’

  Trench actually allowed me to see a facial expression, and it was one of genuine concern. He glanced at the office door, which was shut. This was as close to a panic attack as I was likely to ever see from the man.

  ‘Ms Moss,’ he said in a hushed tone, ‘I cannot say this definitively because I honestly don’t know all the facts yet. But if I were you I would consider the very real possibility that it was not Mr McNabb who was being targeted in this shooting.’

  My brain wasn’t really operating at its true capacity right now because I thought I was hearing Trench, 1. Express concern about my wellbeing and, 2. Suggest that someone in Los Angeles might have actually gone to the trouble to shoot at Patrick and me without really wanting to hurt Patrick.

  ‘You believe that they were trying to kill me, Lieutenant?’ I asked.

  ‘I believe that there are a number of people with considerable influence who are angry at you, Ms Moss, and I can’t say for a complete certainty that they would stop short of murder if they thought it was a means to their ends.’

  ‘That was a yes, wasn’t it?’ I said.

  ‘I suppose it was,’ Trench answered.

  ‘Okey-dokey,’ I said. ‘Do you mind if I just sit here a minute or two longer?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Trench said, sitting back down behind his desk. ‘But just for a minute or two.’

  EIGHT

  ‘This is a very serious situation,’ Patrick said.

  We were sitting at a conference table in the offices of Seaton, Taylor, Evans and Wentworth and the group assembled was not a logical one. I was there because I was the attorney handling the case. That made sense. Cynthia Sutton was there because she was the client. Also to be expected. Patrick was there because he was paying Cynthia’s legal fees for reasons that had nothing to do with the real world as far as I could tell. And Angie was there because she is a force of nature and would not be denied. She adored Patrick and hadn’t seen him in some months. Angie was going to show up. Period. Welcome to my life.

  My boss Holiday Wentworth, the newest addition to the firm’s masthead, had popped her head in out of deference to Patrick’s money. She didn’t want to intrude on my work and I appreciated it. Holly is a professional but she also has a heart, and I am always quick to seek out her advice when I need it.

  I didn’t think I’d require any help today, given that the divorce we were negotiating was a fairly straightforward one, just with a couple of extra zeroes at the end of every number involved. Take those away and this could have been a case from Linden, New Jersey, a place where I’d never in my life negotiated a divorce. I kept reminding myself I’d moved out here to LA because I didn’t want to do criminal law anymore and family law had seemed so much less seedy and unpleasant. Until I’d started to do it.

  In the ensuing months I’d defended Patrick against a murder charge stemming from his divorce from Patsy and then discovered in the real family law cases since then that people in the midst of breaking up what had once been a romantic relationship can be as vicious and petty as any drug dealer on the streets of New Brunswick. More, to be honest. The drug dealers just shoot you and put you out of your misery.

  Speaking of s
hooting: I hadn’t told Patrick about Trench’s low-key warning. Patrick would undoubtedly have hired the 101st Airborne Division to act as personal security for me and that was the last thing I wanted. I had told Angie, largely because she would have simply picked up the vibe from me and hounded me until I came clean. Angie has powers beyond that of ordinary humans. It was one of … no. It was the reason she had insisted on coming with me to this conference.

  ‘Patrick,’ I said patiently (no, really), ‘you have to remember that this is not your divorce. This is Cynthia’s divorce from Michael Bryan and you’re just here because … wait. It’ll come to me.’

  ‘He’s here because he’s looking out for me,’ Cynthia said. ‘Patrick’s a loyal friend and he wants to make sure I’m not getting screwed here.’

  Angie’s mouth twisted a little; she didn’t like the way Cynthia was treating me. ‘Sandy’s not going to screw her own client,’ she said through lightly clenched teeth. ‘You don’t need protection from her.’

  I took a quick glance at the ceiling for perspective and looked at Patrick, then at Angie. ‘OK. So our seconds have agreed upon the location and the weapons of our duel. Should we move on to the rules of engagement?’

  Well, I thought it was funny.

  ‘Huh?’ Cynthia said.

  ‘The issue at hand, which as Patrick said is serious, concerns the terms of your divorce, Cynthia,’ I said. ‘I’ve read what you brought from your previous attorney and frankly, I don’t understand what he was trying to accomplish.’ (Perhaps this is the moment to note that Cynthia’s previous attorney had ducked my call, but I’d find him even if I had to stake out his office. I didn’t want this case and it was his fault I had it.)

  ‘He was trying to bill me for as much money as he could and not get me what I’m entitled to,’ Cynthia said. ‘Look, I was crazy about Michael when we got married and in some ways I still love him, but the idea that I should pay him alimony and give him my house? I don’t get that at all.’

  Cynthia had a valid point. I had read over the draft agreement her previous attorney, David Dennison, had tried to get her to sign, and it did not appear to be written with his own client’s interests in mind. He hadn’t so much conceded every point as come up with new ones to surrender. If Cynthia had signed the agreement he’d drafted, she would have lost millions of dollars she’d already earned and probably would have continued to pay out to her soon-to-be-ex-husband for many years to come. It was hard to fathom.

  ‘You were already a major earner in the entertainment field when you married Mr Bryan,’ I said, ‘but your husband was already a very well-off man. I take it he works for a brokerage house?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Cynthia said. ‘He moves numbers around and people get rich. I mean, it’s all legal and everything, but I can’t say I understand exactly what he does that makes anything better for anybody.’

  ‘Nonetheless,’ I continued, ‘he was easily capable of supporting himself and remains so to this day, yes?’

  ‘Oh sure,’ she answered. ‘He’s loaded. He doesn’t need my money. He doesn’t need the house. He doesn’t need any of this stuff.’

  People get weird when they’re divorcing. I didn’t know how much of Cynthia’s story to believe, but I had no reason to think she was lying, either. Her husband might very well have gone off the deep end with his demands out of pure spite. I’d seen it happen and I’d been a family law attorney for less than a year.

  ‘Can you understand why Michael is making all these demands if he doesn’t need anything he’s asking for?’ I said.

  ‘He’s a guy,’ Angie muttered. I would have silenced her with a look, but who are we kidding? I couldn’t silence Angie with a sledgehammer.

  ‘Because he’s vindictive,’ Patrick piped up. ‘He sees a woman being more successful and powerful than he is and he can’t stand the competition in his own home.’ Patrick McNabb, feminist.

  I looked over at Cynthia in an attempt to command her attention, while the two extra people in the meeting offered their opinions. ‘Why do you think?’ I asked.

  Cynthia did glance at Patrick for a split second but then she made eye contact with me. ‘I think it was his mother,’ she said.

  I thought that one over but, given the information I had in my possession, it still didn’t seem like a relevant response. ‘His mother?’ I parroted back.

  ‘Yes,’ Patrick began.

  I pointed a finger at him. ‘Patrick,’ I said, ‘I need answers from Cynthia and I need them to be un-coached and unprompted. So either stay quiet or go wait in the extremely luxurious hallway.’

  Patrick put his thumb and forefinger together and ran them across his mouth to indicate his lips were sealed. I’d believe that when I didn’t hear it.

  ‘Michael barely makes a move without asking his mother,’ Cynthia said. ‘It took months for her to consent to our getting married and we’d been living together for two years. Hell, it took a year for her to tell him it was OK for us to live together. The stuff in that paper’ – she pointed at the proposed settlement in front of me – ‘that stuff is straight out of his mother’s mouth. Wendy Bryan isn’t going to let me get away with a dollar in my pocket if she can do anything about it. I’m telling you. We could probably stay married if she’d leave us alone.’

  ‘So would it be possible to talk to your husband without his mother around?’ I asked. ‘Maybe he could be convinced that this isn’t the way to go.’ I waved the settlement document in front of me, just to make it clear I was referring to that, something the average baby giraffe would have been able to infer.

  ‘It used to be possible,’ Cynthia answered with a little catch in her throat. ‘I could talk to Michael when we were alone or when Wendy wasn’t on the phone or coming over. But she started talking trash about me in his ear maybe a year ago, and for some reason he started listening. He became this … I don’t know … this thing that I couldn’t stand to be around. I was almost afraid of him.’

  I’d heard some of these terms before and they weren’t making me relaxed. ‘Did he ever hit you, Cynthia?’ I asked. Then I turned and pointed again to stop Patrick, who I was certain would be trying to answer the question himself. He held up his hands, palms forward, to show me he was staying quiet.

  ‘Oh no,’ she answered. ‘Michael wouldn’t ever. I mean, that’s just not in him. But the emotional toll his mother’s influence was having on him was just suffocating, you know? I knew anything I said to him was going straight to her, and anything she said about me would stick in his mind. She poisoned my marriage, that woman.’

  ‘So one of my first strategies will be to try and remove Mrs Bryan from the negotiations,’ I said. ‘That’s not something I can do blatantly, but it is possible to insist I speak only with Michael’s attorney. Your mother-in-law won’t have any influence over him, Cynthia.’

  ‘So you’ll take the case?’ Cynthia seemed to think we were having this conference just to convince me I should represent her. Patrick was paying the legal bills, since a sizable retainer had already been paid, and he certainly wanted me to take the case. I wondered if his new fiancée the realtor had any idea he was doing that for Cynthia.

  ‘Yes, I’m your attorney if you want me to be,’ I told Cynthia.

  Angie shot me a look that asked me if I knew what I was getting myself into. I gave her one back that was less eloquent but to the point.

  ‘Thank you.’ Cynthia actually started to tear up. ‘I didn’t know where to turn until Patrick told me about you.’

  I looked over at Patrick, who was grinning but pinched his lips together with his fingers.

  ‘It’s OK, Patrick,’ I said. ‘The gag order is lifted.’

  ‘I just wanted to say I’m glad to bring two of my favorite women together with a singular purpose,’ he said. He’d been working on that one for a while, I could tell.

  I stood up and the others followed. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I will set up a conference on the phone or in person with Joseph Dombrowski, you
r husband’s attorney. Once we’ve had that discussion, I’m hoping I’ll have better news to give you, Cynthia.’

  We all stood up from the table with those grim professional smiles (except Patrick’s, which was of course charming and didn’t seem at all forced. Actors.) and nodded at each other. Patrick, ever the center of attention, insisted on taking me aside while Cynthia walked out looking slightly less terrified than when she arrived (people are afraid of lawyers). Angie, after I sent her the right look, walked out, but she clearly wasn’t happy about being left out of the loop. Like that would last.

  ‘About my pre-nup,’ Patrick began.

  ‘We should schedule a separate conference for you and me to discuss that, Patrick,’ I said, cutting him off. ‘Until I have all your financial records and let one of the money guys here in the firm see them, I won’t be able to give you any useful advice.’

  ‘I don’t know if that will be necessary,’ he answered. ‘I’m calling off the wedding.’

  That was quick! ‘Really,’ I said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Largely because of you, Sandy.’

  NINE

  ‘Patrick is in love with you,’ Angie said.

  I reached into the fridge and pulled out a beer because wine wasn’t going to make me burp and, after the day I’d had, I really wanted to burp. They say in some societies letting a good grepse go is considered a compliment to the chef. In New Jersey, it’s a form of self-expression.

  My weariness as I took in the first swallow of Corona was palpable. I mean, I’d started the day being shot at, and now a major television star was telling me I was the reason he’d decided to tell a woman he wasn’t going to marry her. And there’d been stuff in the middle! I wanted a nap.

  ‘Patrick is not in love with me.’ I sat down on a barstool we’d set up next to the pass-through in our kitchen. I figured if you were drinking a beer you should be sitting on a barstool. ‘Patrick thinks I’m a genius, so the second I suggested he was rushing into marriage again, he figured he was getting it straight from Albert Einstein and should immediately change his entire life.’