Try Darkness (36 page)
Roberts objected and wanted an offer of proof.
Up at the bench I showed the judge the photo that Ms. Esparza had signed, the one I’d shown to Mr. Roshdieh, the one he’d ID’d as definitely being Gilbert Calderón. Only it wasn’t a photograph of Gilbert Calderón but of someone named Rolando Santiago. A fact I could establish by another witness.
“He violated 1054.8 to get that,” Roberts pleaded.
“So what?” Judge Lowe asked. “You want sanctions?”
“No, I want to exclude this evidence.”
“Seems like relevant evidence to me, Mr. Roberts. The remedy of exclusion does not seem apt here.”
Roberts looked at me. He seemed incredulous.
“Just like pool,” I said. “It’s a table and it’s balls.”
“What are you talking about?” the judge said.
“It’s a Paul Newman thing,” I said.
So I got the photo evidence in. And then it all came down to closing arguments.
This is usually where I want to be. Give me a jury. Give me twelve in the box I can talk to. It helps to believe in your client. Defense lawyers almost never get to do that. We have to argue the Constitution and the presumption of innocence and all. Nothing wrong with that.
When you really think your client is telling the truth, though, it’s like getting an espresso in your coffee. But that jolt also makes you nervous. Because when it’s an innocent guy on the line you really better be good.
Be your best.
Mitch Roberts was at his best. In California the prosecution leads off with its summation. Then the defense gets to argue. And the prosecution gets to have the last word.
Roberts would get two bites at the apple to my one.
I had to make mine a very big bite.
I got up to argue at 11:05 a.m. on a Friday morning. I thanked the jury for their attention. And I started in on my prepared statement.
But then something happened. Some words came to my head. And I had to say them.
“You, ladies and gentlemen, stand between the government and Mr. Calderón. It is you, and you alone, who judge the facts in this case. Not the prosecutor. Not the judge. You. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what makes this country different from almost every other country on earth.”
I engaged several sets of juror eyes. And got this funny feeling. It was like I was flying almost. Yes, that was it. As if Mitch Roberts was Pierpont Wicks and I was in his home gym. But flying through the middle, throwing the ball up backward, a no-looker, knowing it would go in.
“In our country it is not the prosecutor who gets to vote. He has to prove his case to you beyond a reasonable doubt.
Beyond
a reasonable doubt. If he does not, you must find Mr. Calderón not guilty. Because, ladies and gentlemen, throughout the history of the criminal law there runs a sacred trust, which is now placed in your hands. I am talking about the presumption of innocence.”
I talked about a lot more, sat down, and listened to Mitch Roberts go.
He was good again.
Judge Lowe instructed the jury on the law and sent them off to deliberate.
And the lawyers home to stew.
Then called us back two hours later. It was 5:15 p.m. when the jury came in with their verdict.
When one of them, number six, a woman from San Fernando, smiled at me I knew what it was.
Not guilty.
Gilbert Calderón threw his arms around my neck. “I told you you could do this!”
“Easy—”
“You got a friend for life, man. Me!”
“You can let me go now,” I said.
“No way, man!”
“Go hug your mother.”
“Oh, yeah.” He let go, but not before planting a kiss on my cheek.
Mitch Roberts walked over. “Don’t expect a kiss from me,” he said.
“I’m hurt, Mitch. I mean, Mr. Roberts.”
“Mitch. Nice job.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“I hope you know I really thought it was your guy,” he said.
“You mean, nothing personal?”
“That’s what a trial is for,” Roberts said. “If I didn’t think I could prove it, I wouldn’t have brought it. But I brought it and the jury said I didn’t prove it. I accept their verdict.”
“For what it’s worth, you’re very good.”
“So are you. I didn’t think that sacred-trust stuff worked anymore. You made it work. You ever think of giving up the solo life, you’d make a good DA.”
“Me?”
“Why not?”
“I guess I’m not the company type.”
He put out his hand. I shook it.
“Now maybe we can all get some sleep,” he said.
A COUPLE OF
days later they caught Fly Charles trying to cross the border into Mexico. Brosia sent a detail down to pick him up and cart him back to L.A.
When he got a chance to question him, Fly Charles sang like he hadn’t since the breakup of Detritus and the Electric Yaks.
The song was pointed at Hyrum Roddy.
Brosia invited me to have lunch with him at a Mexican place on Figueroa.
Over some great carnitas he told me about his grilling of Hyrum Roddy. “The guy hates the DeCosse family. Doesn’t think they give him the respect he deserves. He did all this work for them over the years, but then they gave most of it to that big firm you used to work for.”
“Gunther, McDonough,” I said.
“And all he got was cleanup and table scrap work. He didn’t seem to like that.”
“I wouldn’t, either.”
“So one day this Reatta woman shows up at his office. She saw Ariel’s picture in the paper. She also knew Sam DeCosse Junior.”
“What?”
“He was apparently a Night Silk regular. That was how Ariel, then known as Ginger Lambelet, met Sam Senior. He found out about the dalliance his son was having, broke it up, but in the process he fell for Ginger himself. Love, huh?”
“And another one of Sam DeCosse’s reclamation projects.”
“Meanwhile, Ginger gets nabbed for a misdemeanor. Roddy is sent to help make it go away.”
“What does this have to do with Reatta?”
“She thought she could squeeze some money out of the DeCosses by claiming Kylie was Sam Junior’s kid. Roddy told her there was a better way. She’d check into the Lindbrook and go for an injunction against getting shuffled out. Refuse to settle. Ariel would eventually find out who Reatta was and then
she
would offer a major payout for Reatta to go away. Before any publicity hit. Roddy would broker the settlement and split the money with her, eighty-twenty. Eighty for him.”
“Hyrum Roddy told you all this?”
“He’s cooperating. He doesn’t think we can get him on any of this, and he’s probably right. He didn’t murder Reatta. Though he had a motive. Reatta decided she would go for more on her own. Reatta found out about the DeCosse interest in the land owned by St. Monica’s. Reatta went there to see what she could find out. Maybe she thought she could find a way to inject herself in that deal, too.”
“That’s how she found me,” I said. “She met Father Bob, who had her talk to me.”
“There you go,” Brosia said. “Hiring you would cut Roddy completely out. She could keep all the money that way.”
“Very nice.”
“Roddy denies hiring Fly Charles for anything. He says Charles came to him trying to extort money. He’d found out about the Reatta scheme from Avisha.”
“Loose lips sink ships,” I said.
“Charles says Roddy hired him to kidnap Kylie, but that doesn’t sound plausible to me. More likely it was Fly’s own idea.”
“So who did Avisha?”
“Both of them deny it. The investigation, as they say, is ongoing.”
When the check came Brosia picked it up. “I am doing you a service,” he said. “I am no longer in your debt.”
TWO DAYS LATER
Brosia arrested Ariel DeCosse for the Lindbrook murder.
She was still living in DeCosse’s mountaintop home. Brosia served a search warrant for the place. It turned up all sorts of items, including a large cache of books on spiritual matters. Everything from feng shui to Buddhism to, interestingly, Rastafarianism.
Why did she kill Reatta? To stop a claim against Junior for paternity? Was Reatta threatening to spill all the details of Ariel’s sordid past at the same time Ariel was trying so hard, with a new name, to be taken seriously as an actress?
Was that even enough of a motive? Then I thought of the woman who poisoned her husband so she could use the life insurance to pay for breast implants.
Motives are cheap currency in this land of the sun.
Ariel was nailed and did the only thing she could. She played the arrest for the publicity bonanza it was. She was now where every actress wanted to be. The spotlight was on her. The talk was Ariel DeCosse, 24-7.
Wronged wife of Sam DeCosse.
Former call girl escaping her past.
Murderer.
She denied the latter, of course. She was going to fight.
Didn’t really matter. Even if convicted, she’d be a star for the ages.
Only in Hollywood.
SHORTLY AFTER ARIEL’S
arrest I got a personal call from Sam DeCosse.
“I just wanted to tell you the agreement’s done,” he said. “It makes the Lindbrook full residency. That satisfy you?”
“That satisfies me,” I said.
“I am moving forward on the land deal near St. Monica’s. You want to come work for me?”
I was too stunned to answer.
“I have a little hole in my operation,” he said. “Mr. Roddy is no longer part of my team. You’re smarter than he is. Smart enough to come on board.”
“I didn’t expect this.”
“Then say yes. Come down from your hill and rejoin the living. Make some real money again.”
“Thanks, Mr. DeCosse. But the best things are never done for money.”
Long pause. “That’s a sentiment I don’t understand, Mr.Buchanan. I will have the agreement messengered to you.”
“And I’ll go down to the Lindbrook Hotel.”
“Why?”
“It’ll be nice to deliver some good news.”
THE LOBBY OF
the Lindbrook Hotel was as lively as always. Somnolent men sitting in front of streaked yellow windows, watching the traffic and life itself pass by.
Oscar saw me and threw down his ever-present newspaper.
“How’s the Sudoku?” I said.
“Still from hell,” he said, motioning me to sit down.
“I have a little news for you.”
“More news? You been busy.”
“It just came in,” I said. “Orpheus is going to make this place a full- residency hotel.”
Oscar’s mouth dropped open a little. He teared up. “Well that’s just . . . that’s just fine, Mr. Buchanan. How’s the little girl?”
“Doing great. I think I may have found a real home for her.”
Oscar smiled. “I’m glad when something works out. Kind of restores my hope for the human race.”
“That’s worth celebrating,” I said. “How ’bout I buy us a couple of Cokes?”
“If the machine’s workin’,” he said.
“Be right back.” I stood and turned around and headed for the stairs. I was going to go down to Candyland.
I never made it.
HE STEPPED OUT
of the shadows from the corner near the stairs.
Devlin.
He wore a black jacket and had his hands in the pockets. “Let’s go outside,” he said.
“If you came to apologize, you can do that right here.”
“Outside.”
“How’s the knee?” I said.
“We won’t talk about that.”
“We won’t talk about anything.”
Devlin pulled back his jacket so I could see his gun.
“What, you’re going to pop me right here?” I said.
“You don’t come with me, yeah.”
I put my hands up. “What can I say?” I shot the heel of my right hand up under his chin. I heard the sound of clacking teeth. His head went back and I kicked him in the groin.
He buckled slightly, then came back at me with his left hand. I saw the brass knuckles flash. I moved enough so the blow only glanced off my side. I backed up, into the light.
I heard Oscar shout, “Hey!” and start moving toward me.
Devlin shouted, “Back off!” and pulled his gun. His eyes were wild now. He had the somebody-is-going-to-die look.
It could be anybody.
“All right,” I said. “We go outside.”
“What is this?” Oscar said.
Devlin pointed the gun at Oscar. “Stay where you are, old man. Goes for the rest of you.”
“Don’t do anything,” I said. “The guy’ll shoot.”
“That’s right,” Devlin said. “That’s so right.”
“So come on.” I started backing toward the front doors.
Devlin pointed the gun back at me.
That’s when I saw Disco Freddy spinning toward Devlin from behind.
It was a moment frozen in deadly time. A nightmare beat where you couldn’t move, couldn’t talk.
Devlin turned his head toward Disco.
And then I saw what is still the most magnificent, poetic move I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen Magic Johnson.
Disco Freddy made a final spin and leaped, and as his left foot came down his right foot went up.
He kicked Devlin solid in the mouth. The smack echoed through the lobby.
Devlin went straight down.
“MumbuddynomakenomubbamindRiverdance!” Disco Freddy shouted.
Oscar and five or six other guys hurried over. They had Devlin disarmed and incapacitated in about two seconds.
I called Central Division and told them to come collect a multiple felon packing a gun.
Oscar got some duct tape and he and the boys got Devlin’s hands secured behind his back. He was still groggy from Disco Freddy’s kick.
As we waited for the police to show, I approached Disco, who was doing circles in the middle of the lobby. He stopped when I got to him.
“You’re beautiful,” I said.
He looked at me. And winked. “Beautiful?” he said. “MumbuddynomakenomubbamindRita Hayworth!”
Then he waltzed across the foyer.
KYLIE WAS FEEDING
the cats in Fran’s backyard when I went to see them on Saturday. Brought them a tub of mint chip ice cream, too. You just can’t have enough of that around the house.
“I’m going to get her enrolled in school,” Fran said, watching from the kitchen window. “She wants to go. She’s excited about it.”
