Until Proven Innocent (5 page)

“
Yes, I know. I’ve already talked to her about it, and we agreed that you would let my boyfriend arrange to take care of it.”

Wow. She’s got a boyfriend. I don’t even want to know what he looks like. Well, that’s another problem I don’t have to worry about. I can always have Tony the cop talk to April’s building manager, and I’m sure that once he sees that .50 caliber cannon of Tony’s, he’ll change his mind and let April stay there. If Suzi gets more than a hundred bucks out of April’s boyfriend, I’ll be happy.

I don’t really have any errands to run this afternoon, but I don’t want to sit and chat with April for another hour or so, and it looks like that’s how long it would take for her to get up enough strength to leave the boat. While I’ve got some time, I might as well take a ride over to her apartment building and see what it looks like.

Most of the buildings in Santa Monica are kept up very nicely, and her two-story apartment building is no exception. It’s less than two blocks away from the ocean, but there’s nothing that blocks most of the building’s view, because the only things between her building and the water are a McDonald’s Restaurant and a couple of large parking lots for some office buildings. The first two levels are for parking, so April lives on what is equivalent to the third floor above the street level.

I follow a delivery person who gets buzzed through the locked front doors, and by walking through the hallways I locate April’s apartment number.

Back outside the building, I look up and discover the particular apartments that April and her upstairs senior citizen neighbors occupy are the only two bedroom corner units with a clear ocean view. The other side of the building has two more units like that, but their ocean view is partially obstructed by some new skyscraper that’s being constructed.

This time, I do it the proper way. I ring the manager’s bell and wait to be buzzed through the doors. He comes out and meets me in the elevator foyer. I don’t like him at first sight. He’s a swarthy guy with a thin moustache and long black oily hair swept back into a ponytail, all covered by a dark porkpie slim-brimmed hat, and he’s wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. If I didn’t know better, I might think that he’s a member of some bebop jazz combo that plays in hip San Francisco basement clubs. His small goatee makes him look like a combination computer image of Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis, and Chet Baker. He doesn’t give his name or offer his hand. There’s a terse greeting.

“
I’m the manager here. What do you want?”

What a charmer this guy is. Now that all forms of professional courtesy have been eliminated, I get right to business.

“
I’m moving out here from Chicago in a month or two for an assignment, and I’ll be needing a two bedroom apartment for at least a year. Money is no object, because the studio is paying for it, and I’d like to see the ocean. What have you got?”

He rubs his chin while sizing me up. “You say money’s no object, huh? Because we have to pay big relocation fees to anyone asked to move before their lease is up.”

I don’t believe it. He’s so sleazy that at the mention of money, he jumps right up for the bait. I know that April’s paying around eighteen hundred a month for her apartment, so I’ve got some idea of what to dangle in front of his face. “Listen, the studio is giving me an allowance of three grand a month for an apartment and a ten grand moving bonus, so just let me know what you’ve got and when I can get it, and we can do some business. No questions asked.”

He looks at me like I’m too good to be true. “Well, I may have just what you’re looking for. Will a third floor or a high second floor do? I’ve got two corner units that are coming up soon, and we’re now in the process of negotiating the relocation fees.”

This is really interesting, because from what April told me, there’s no money for moving out early – only the avoidance of criminal prosecution for dog droppings. This guy’s obviously got some scam going to make extra money at the tenants’ expense. Now all I have to do is prove it, and April will be off the hook, as will her ‘senior citizen’ neighbors upstairs, who are sadly only about six years older than me.

He hands me his business card and tells me to check back with him in the next week or so. All that’s on the card is his name ‘David Miller’ and a phone number.

Considering the high amount of her rent and how much April must eat to maintain that frame of hers, she must make pretty good money working for the phone sex company. Boy, if those lonely, desperate, horny guys only knew who was on the other end of the line, I’ll bet that would change their mood. I’ve seen some of the newspaper ads for those sex lines, and it’s amazing that men calling in really believe they’re talking to the girls in the pictures instead of girls who look like April.

*****

Back at the boat there’s a note on my desk, telling me that I have an appointment at the Venice Soundstage on Boccaccio Street, to meet with a man named Joe Caulfield. He’s April’s boyfriend, and we’re supposed to discuss her legal fee.

Just as I’m leaving the boat, the phone rings and I see Stuart’s number on my caller ID display.

“
Hey Stu, what’s up?”

“
I just got back from the East Coast, and this time I may have stumbled onto the greatest moneymaking opportunity of a lifetime.”

“
That’s great, Stu, but I’m just leaving the boat for an appointment. Let’s get an early bite, and you can tell me all about it.”

I knew this would be happening some time around now. Stuart hasn’t come up with anything new for almost seven months now and he’s definitely behind schedule.

*****

The Venice Soundstage is in a small nondescript building on a side street off of Abbot Kinney Boulevard, and there is no sign outside giving any indication that it’s connected to the entertainment industry. This is quite common in Venice, because from what I’ve been told, everyone from Julia Roberts to Governor Schwarzenegger has a business, office, loft, or residence in this neighborhood, and they all like to keep as low a profile as possible. (Except for ‘Arnold,’ with his restaurant
Schatzi
on Main Street).

Inside, there’s a small office in front and then a five-foot wide hallway that leads back to a four-foot wide door with a small window in it. Peering through, I see that there’s a small soundstage in there, complete with quite a few lights on stands and hanging from the high ceiling, cameras on tripods, and lots of cable on the floor connecting everything together. The walls are covered with some dark gray sound-absorbing foam, and when opening the big door and walking in, I’m surprised to see that the set they’re using looks just like a courtroom.

Someone finally notices me and walks over. When I tell her I’m there to meet with Joe Caulfield, she tells me that he’s the associate producer and points him out to me. I’m surprised to see that he’s not huge like his girlfriend is. He’s not white like her either. When I tell him who I am, he calls me aside and we walk out the back door of the soundstage to the alley, for some privacy.

“
Thanks for coming by Mister Sharp. I really appreciate what you’re doing to help out April. She’s a sweetheart, isn’t she?”

Here’s an attractive black guy who’s in the entertainment business. When first looking around the soundstage I saw several good looking slender young starlets, both white and black, but he prefers big April. Go figure.

“
Yes, she’s very nice. My office manager said you wanted to discuss her fee. I told April to talk to her about it, but then was sent over here. What’s on your mind?”

“
As you can see, we’re doing some scenes here that are supposed to take place in a courtroom. Unfortunately, the screenwriter doesn’t know a thing about the law or trial procedures, and the only thing we know is what we learned by watching O.J.’s trial. What I’m trying to say is, we’re badly in need of a real lawyer as a consultant on this film. Ordinarily, we’d pay about a thousand dollars for some lawyer to advise us for a couple of days, but since you’re helping out April, I can arrange to have you put on for the whole five weeks of shooting. If you go through the entire script and keep our film looking as authentic as show business allows, I can arrange for you to get about three thousand a week, and you won’t have to be here more than an hour or so each day.”

This is interesting. I didn’t know that I’d have to take another job just to get paid for April’s legal fee, but considering the fact that this assignment will be an interesting one that might produce about fifteen grand, he’s definitely got my attention.

“
Whatta ya say, Mister Sharp? Are you going to come on board with us?”

The deal is done. We go back inside, Joe has some young big-busted production assistant give me a script to read, and we shake hands. On the way out, I give my business card and social security number to another bimbette and head back to the Marina, now a proud member of the entertainment industry.

*****

The script is definitely not a
Witness for the Prosecution
or
Twelve Angry Men
. In fact, it’s so predictable and lacking in plot twist that I wonder why they’re even wasting their time and money making it. Every idea in the film has been done before, and there’s no difficulty figuring out way in advance how it will end, what the verdict will be, and why.

I’ve heard that in this town everything depends on who you know, so I guess the producers of this turkey must know some really connected people. After reading the part about the trial, I can see why they need a consultant. This film makes the same mistakes that all the others do, by having the lawyers prance around in between the counsel tables and the bench. In real courtrooms, that area is referred to as the ‘well,’ and it’s definitely off limits to everyone but the bailiff, unless the judge gives the attorneys permission to approach the bench for a ‘sidebar.’

The other big error is that the script calls for one of the attorneys to stand next to the witness stand and badger the person testifying. In a real trial, the only time you can get near a testifying witness is with the judge’s permission, and that’s only granted on rare occasions.

Aside from that, there are some minor errors in objections being made - and the lawyers testifying. They don’t take the witness stand, and if it’s not an opening statement or closing argument, all a lawyer is supposed to do is ask questions – not comment on the testimony by arguing with the witness and slipping in new facts.

One part of the script that I can’t help them with is where a ballistics expert is brought in to testify, because his testimony uses words that I never heard before. I’m pretty familiar with fingerprint jargon, but bullets are another category. Joe Caulfield told me that I would be responsible for accuracy of the whole courtroom scene, so I’m going to have to learn about that subject. All I now know is what I see the crime lab people do on CSI television shows, like compare bullets for similar markings, to see if they were fired from the same gun. Maybe a trip to Tony the cop’s target range with him isn’t as out of the question as I thought it was.

Returning to the boat, I see Tony the cop sitting on our dock box. He greets me with the news.

“
I’ve been suspended, and they took my gun.”

“
You mean the big cannon?”

He opens up his sport coat to show me the .50 caliber long revolver in its shoulder holster.

“
Naw, they have no right to take this one. I bought it myself. The one they took back is the 9mm peashooter that was issued to me when I first joined the force.”

“
I’m sorry to hear that. Did they give you any particular reason?”

“
Yeah, it’s because of that fruitcake shrink. He complained that I threatened him with my gun.”

“
That’s interesting, because the only time you showed him the gun was when he was out on the ledge. In order to turn you in for that, he’d have to admit that he was out on the ledge.”

“
Yeah you’re right, but he says he knew I was coming to see him, so his being out on the ledge was a special psychological test he designed for me. Anyway, this time my leave of absence is without pay, so if you need any detective work done, you know where my boat is.”

I sure hope that my urging the shrink to sign Tony’s certificate didn’t have anything to do with his decision to drop a dime on Tony, because this cop is definitely one guy who I don’t want to have mad at me. I board the boat and use my special method of originating a dogmail. One of the cabinets over our sink contains a box of hard dog biscuits. All I have to do is take out the box and shake it a little. Bernie hears the familiar sound of his food rattling, and immediately appears at my feet. While I hand him a biscuit, I tuck a note in his collar, letting the little princess know that Tony’s available for investigation assignments.

As usual, the kid is two steps ahead of me. She already knows about Tony’s suspension, and an email from her tells me that the dog has been sent over to Tony’s boat to give him a new assignment. He’s now working on April’s case. By the way she’s spending money to investigate the manager of April’s apartment building, I now realize that the fee I’m getting for being a legal consultant on the film won’t belong entirely to me. Now it’s a firm matter – a house account.

When I first signed on as the adult part of our law firm, our deal provided for me to share any outside fee with the office only if it entailed the office’s assistance in advancing fees, investigation, or other services. Anything I did outside on my own was mine to keep in full. Ever since then, the kid spends almost full time figuring out how to turn my outside work into ‘firm’ matters, so that she can glom onto part of the fee, and it looks like once again she’s succeeded in getting her hooks into me.