JO01 - Guilty or Else (20 page)

“Your client’s confessed.”

“Whoa! Confessed? What do you mean, confessed?”

“He told his cellmate.”

“Told him what?”

“That he murdered the girl.”

I tilted my head back and stared at the ceiling. “That’s bullshit.”

“The D.A. has the cellmate’s statement.”

I couldn’t believe what Sol was telling me. How could Rodriguez confess? After what the Munsons had told me, there was no doubt about his innocence. “When did this so-called confession take place?”

“I got the call yesterday afternoon from one of my spies. The D.A.’s office is keeping the confession and the witness under wraps, gonna spring it on you at the hearing tomorrow. I know it’s a setup. I’m trying to find out what kind of deal your pretty little D.A. friend cut with the cellmate. You need to find out who the guy is and what he’d been arrested for.”

“I’ll find out when they parade him before the judge at the hearing in the morning.”

A waitress strayed over to our table. Sol ordered his usual: Beefeater rocks. I didn’t want anything.

I glanced at the full-length window lining the far wall, peering out into the darkness. “Is Bobbi Allen in on this?”

Sol didn’t answer directly. “Do you think the judge will buy the guy’s testimony?”

“Doesn’t matter, the purpose of this hearing is for the D.A. to present just enough evidence to show that a crime had been committed and that they have grounds to bind Rodriguez for trial. The rules are stacked in the D.A.’s favor. Doesn’t look good.”

The waitress returned with Sol’s drink. He took a sip, set the glass down hard. “Jimmy, it smells. You told me Bobbi Allen is a straight arrow, plays by the rules.”

“Maybe she believes the cellmate. Maybe he just made it all up.”

“Yeah, sure he did.” Sol groaned. “They planted the guy. You told me yourself that they just recently took Rodriguez off psych watch and gave him a cellmate. Then, bingo, he up and confesses. Nah, she set it up. Hey, wait a minute. I gave you her number. You didn’t call her and tip your hand, did you?”

I hesitated. “Yeah, I called her twice. First time she was all friendly. Then when I called her back just a few minutes ago, she wouldn’t even speak to me. Something turned her. I don’t know what. It couldn’t just be the cellmate’s statement. She wouldn’t hold that against me personally. It has to be something worse, something bad, real bad.”

“Jimmy, wise up. She’s using you to advance her career.” He nodded. “Yeah, murder conviction, first time. It’d look good to the big guys.”

“I don’t believe that,” I said.

“Don’t let your feelings for her cloud your thinking.” He paused. “I suppose it’s my fault. I gave you the goddamn number. She had me fooled, too.”

Sol waved at the waitress. He wanted a fresh drink.

“Thanks for the heads up, Sol. I’ll have a couple of minutes to talk to Rodriguez before the hearing. I’ll be somewhat prepared.”

“That’s why I figured you’d better know about the alleged confession before you walk into the courtroom tomorrow. Maybe you can defuse the situation somehow.”

“Yeah,” I said, wondering what I could do.

“Tell me about your Kansas trip.”

While Sol polished off his second drink, I brought him up to speed on my meeting with the Munsons. I explained about the money Gloria had been embezzling, and my thoughts that the money came from Karadimos and Welch’s criminal activity.

“Maybe they found out she stole from them and had her hit. One of Karadimos’s henchmen could’ve done it. Maybe it had nothing to do with the affair, after all,” Sol said. “Maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“You saw the crime scene photos. It had to be a crime of passion. A hit man would have put a bullet in her head, over and done with.” I paused, collected my thoughts. “Sol, here’s what I think happened. The money is just a red herring. Oh, she stole it from them, all right, but I have the feeling they didn’t catch her at it.”

“You don’t think it was the money?”

“I thought about it on the plane. I figure Welch dumped her. Gloria was becoming a political liability. Then after she got the Dear John, she called him at the hotel and probably threatened to expose him. He flew down to confront her. It got out of hand and he killed her. We know the jet was flown down here that Saturday,” I said. “The pilot is the key. He’ll tell us who was on the plane that day. Any leads on finding Fischer?”

“I’m working on it. But when we find him, I don’t think he’ll tell us Welch was on board. We’ve been secretly interviewing people who were at the fundraiser. They all say Welch was there the whole time.”

“Lots of drinking going on. Maybe they’re just assuming he was there.”

“Will Bonnie Munson be willing to testify at Rodriguez’s trial?”

“Her testimony would be no good. It’s all hearsay.

Wouldn’t be admissible.”

“I guess the pilot is your only hope. Don’t worry, we’ll find the guy.”

“Are you staying in town today?”

“Canceled my table at Del Mar, thought you might need me.”

“I’ll call you after the hearing,” I said.

I woke up the next morning and stumbled around getting ready to leave. I had to be in the courtroom at nine-thirty. Bobbi had said she’d meet me there before the hearing.

Maybe I was delusional, but there was an off chance she’d still show up and tell me what this was all about. I knew I was hoping against hope, but it wouldn’t hurt to be there.

On my way to the court, I stopped at Paramount Chevrolet and while waiting for them to fix my car window, I made notes about the case. But no ideas came. I just thought about Bobbi.

I entered Division 5, Judge Koito’s courtroom, on the third floor of the Norwalk Superior Court at nine-thirty on the dot. I looked around the empty room, my stomach tied in knots. I had to get a hold of myself and quit thinking about Bobbi. I wondered again why she’d been so hostile on the phone. Rodriguez’s alleged confession wouldn’t have caused that kind of reaction. Her hostility was personal, and directed at me.

Twenty minutes had passed when I heard the courtroom door open. I turned to look. Sergeant Hodges swaggered over to me with his partner in tow.

“O’Brien,” Hodges said. “Deputy D.A. Allen asked me to meet you here. It seems you’ve been a naughty boy.”

Here it comes. I knew there had to be more. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did you think you could manufacture evidence and get away with it? I figured you were smarter than that, being an ex-cop.”

“Maybe that’s why he’s an ex-cop,” the partner said.

“Is that what happened, O’Brien? Got a little clever with the LAPD, too? That’s why you’re an ex-cop? You don’t have to answer that. It’ll come out in the investigation.”

I jumped to my feet. “What investigation? What evidence? What the hell are you guys talking about?”

“I think you know, but I’ll tell you anyway. Allen bought your story about a hidden meter on Karadimos’s jet. I told her it was a line of crap. I’d already checked out the plane. She wanted me to check it again. No problem, I said. What the hell, I’ll go on the goose chase.”

“You checked the Hobbs meter?”

“Yeah, and guess what we found, O’Brien? But you already know what we found.”

“Tell him, Phil,” the partner said.

I stood there in shock, taking slow deep breaths.

“You guessed it, O’Brien. We found the mechanic.” Without taking his eyes off me, he snapped his fingers in the direction of his partner. “What’s the mechanic’s name?”

The partner took a notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Fred Vogel.”

“Yeah, good old Freddie boy decided to come clean, told us the whole story. How you pressured him to lose the logbook. How you made up a story about some hidden meter, and how you bribed him to go along.” Hodges snapped his fingers again. “How much money did O’Brien give Vogel?”

“Forty bucks, cash.”

At least they got the amount right. “This whole thing’s absurd, he—”

“There’s more,” Hodges said.

“More? More what?”

“Tell him about the mob, Phil.”

Hodges turned to his partner. “Shut up, Johnny,” he said and turned back to me. “We know you’ve been hanging with the Mafia.”

“I don’t believe this.”

“You better believe it, my friend. FBI says you’re a known associate, going to their bust-outs. They say you like to party with the Wise Guys?”

I didn’t say anything. Hodges turned to his partner and made a gesture with his head in the direction of the door. The partner snapped his book closed and stuffed it into his pocket.

As they drifted toward the exit, Hodges stopped and turned back. “If you pulled that evidence trick in my jurisdiction, I’d slap the irons on you right now. But we turned it over to the Long Beach PD. They’re conducting the investigation.”

I glanced around. No one else was in the room. Nobody came in and told me the whole thing was a joke. Allen Funt wasn’t lurking anywhere, no hidden cameras.

“By the way, the pretty D.A. lady filed a complaint with the State Bar. Gonna pull your law ticket. And, my friend, she’s filing a motion with the court to have you removed from the Rodriguez case. Won’t be a lawyer long enough to see it through.”

“Rodriguez is guilty,” the jerk partner said. “He’s confessed, doesn’t matter who his lawyer is. He’s toast.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Hodges said. “See ya later, O’Brien.”

They started to leave again. Hodges stopped, looked at me with a smirk plastered across his face. “Hey, O’Brien.”

“What?”

“Have a nice day,” he said. They left the room.

C H A P T E R 
30

I watched the courtroom door
slowly close. Minutes passed with me still staring at the door. Hodges’s smirking face lingered in my mind.

I thought of my phone call to Bobbi and what she had said: “Don’t call me. Don’t call me ever.” Why was this happening to me? What had I done? Had I overreached, taken on a case beyond my ability? Had I been too trusting? Outsmarted? I’d told Bobbi about the hour meter on the jet, but by the time Hodges checked it out, Karadimos had already gotten to Vogel. The second meter was gone, and with it my hope that the police would reopen the case.

I sank into a seat and faced forward. The room was quiet, nothing stirring. I covered my ears with my hands, elbows on the table, as if to block out the deafening silence.

Karadimos’s frame-up was thorough and complete. My most concrete lead had crumbled to dust and vanished like powder in a breeze.

Ten minutes later, the bailiff and a guard shuffled Rodriguez to my table and forced him in the chair next to me. I glanced up at the guard.

“Don’t ask,” he said. “We’re not removing the restraints.” He stepped around and stood behind Rodriguez.

Bobbi and her assistant, a thin man about forty, marched into the courtroom, and without acknowledging my presence, sat at the prosecutor’s table. They placed their briefcases on the table and faced forward, all prim and proper. I felt like shouting at her that I’d been framed.

But then I thought, maybe I had let my feelings for her get in the way of defending Rodriguez. Maybe she’s in on it. Sol thinks so. I didn’t know what to think. I knew I’d get over Bobbi. But if my client went to prison because I trusted her, I’d never forget that.

The hearing would start any minute and I had nothing to present today that would convince the judge to drop the charges. Even if by some miracle I could’ve arranged to have Bonnie Munson testify, her statements would be ruled inadmissible. It was all conjecture, with nothing to sustain her allegations.

The immediate problem at hand had to do with the alleged jailhouse witness. I leaned into Rodriguez. “Amigo,” I whispered, “we’ve got problems.” His eyes asked the question, and I answered: “Your cellmate told the D.A. that you admitted killing the girl.”

There was no shock or surprise on his face, no rage, or outbursts of anger, just his same stoic expression. He must’ve felt there was no hope. Felt the system was stacked against guys like him. After a while, the mind becomes numb to the abuse and the body becomes a formless lump of flesh and bone.

“I know you didn’t tell him that, but I have to know everything you said to him.” I paused for a moment. “Did you say anything to him?”

“No.”

“Must have said something.”

“Nada.”

“Tell him your name, anything at all?”

He looked at me. “I told you, I said nothing.”

“How long was the guy in your cell?”

“One day. They took him away in the morning, yesterday.”

It wasn’t hard to believe that he didn’t talk to his cellmate. I was his lawyer trying to save his life, and he would hardly talk to me. “I believe you, Ernesto, but I’ll have to convince a jury when we go to trial.”

He slowly turned his head and looked into my eyes.

“Sounds like they’re playing tricks on you.”

“Yeah, they’re playing tricks.”

“Jimmy, they can’t fool you. You’re a smart guy.”

Yeah, I’m a smart guy, all right. Smart enough to give the D.A. advance notice about my defense of this poor man sitting next to me. “One more thing,” I said. “The cops and the D.A. have filed charges against me. It just means they’re worried, that’s all. I’ll beat the rap.”

“The judge is after you too?” His expression changed to one of concern.

“They say I made up some false evidence.”

“I know you do nothing wrong.
Esta muy malo
. You are in trouble ’cause of me.”

“Don’t worry about me. They don’t have squat.”

“Squat?
Que
? What is squat?”

“Well, it means they can’t pin anything on me. Anyway we’re going to play our hand close to the vest from now on.”

“Close hands, vest, I do not understand. Is that lawyer talk?”

“It means we are going to kick their asses.” I started to get hot, thinking how Bobbi had betrayed me after I made a fool of myself, asking—no, almost begging—to take her out.

And all that bullshit about the Chinese wall.

“Okay, I understand. You kick their asses for me too, huh, Jimmy?”

“You got it, Ernesto. I’ll kick her ass, goddammit.” I patted him on his back. “But not today. We’ll win at the trial.