The Gods of Guilt (Mickey Haller 5) (8 page)

Being reminded of the hearing shot holes in the engine block of my day’s momentum. My groan did not go unnoticed by Lorna.

“You want me to try to postpone it?” she offered.

I thought about it. I was tempted.

“You want me to take it?” Jennifer offered.

Of course she wanted it. She’d take any criminal case I’d give her.

“No, it’s a dog,” I said. “I can’t do that to you. Lorna, see what you can do. I want to run with La Cosse today if I can.”

“I’ll let you know.”

Everyone was either grabbing a final doughnut or heading to the door.

“Okay, then, everybody’s got their assignments and knows what they’re doing on this,” I said. “Stay in touch and let me know what you know.”

I made another cup of coffee and was the last one out. Earl was waiting with the car in the back parking lot. I told him to head downtown to the courthouse and to stay off the freeway. I wanted to get there in time to talk to Andre La Cosse before they hauled him before the judge.

I
had fifteen minutes with my client before he would be herded into the courtroom with several other custodies for first appearances before a judge. He was in a crowded holding cell off the arraignment court and I had to lean close to the bars and whisper so the other men in the cell wouldn’t hear.

“Andre, we don’t have a lot of time here,” I said. “In a few minutes you’ll be taken into the courtroom to see the judge. It will be short and sweet, the charges will be read and they’ll set a date for your arraignment.”

“Don’t I plead not guilty?”

“No, not yet. This is just a formality. After you get arrested they have forty-eight hours to put you before a judge to get the ball rolling. This will be very brief.”

“What about bail?”

“You won’t make bail unless that gold brick you sent us is just one of many. You’re charged with murder. They will set bail, but on the low end it will probably be two million, maybe two and a half. That’s a two-hundred-thousand-dollar bond. You have that much gold? You don’t get it back, you know.”

He slumped and pressed his forehead against the bars that separated us.

“I can’t stand this place.”

“I know, but you’ve got no choice right now.”

“You said you could get me into another module?”

“Sure, I can do that. Give me the word and I’ll get you on keep-away status.”

“Do it. I don’t want to go back there.”

I leaned in closer and whispered lower.

“Did something happen to you last night in there?”

“No, but there are animals in there. I don’t want to be there.”

I didn’t tell him that no matter where he was placed in the jail complex, he wasn’t going to like it. The animals were everywhere.

“I’ll bring it up with the judge,” I said instead. “Now I want to ask you a couple things about the case before we go in there, okay?”

“Go ahead. You got the gold?”

“Yes, I got the gold. More than we asked for but it will all go toward your defense, and if it doesn’t get used, the remainder goes back to you. I have a receipt for you if you want it, but I don’t think you want to carry around a piece of paper in Men’s Central that shows you’ve got money.”

“No, you’re right. Keep it for now.”

“Okay. Now the questions. Did Giselle have any kind of security that you know about?”

He shook his head like he wasn’t sure but then answered.

“She had a burglar alarm but I don’t know if she ever used it and I—”

“No, I mean people. Did she have like a bodyguard or somebody that ran security for her when she went out on calls or dates or whatever you call them?”

“Oh, no, none that she ever told me about. She had a driver and she could call him if there was a problem but he usually just stayed in the car.”

“My next question was about the driver. Who was he and how do I reach him?”

“His name is Max and he was a friend of hers. He had a different job during the day and drove her at night. She basically just worked at nights.”

“Max what?”

“I don’t know his last name. I never even met him. She just mentioned him from time to time. She said he was her muscle.”

“But he didn’t go in with her.”

“Not that I know of.”

I noticed another prisoner was hovering behind my client’s left shoulder. He was trying to listen in on our conversation.

“Let’s move down,” I said.

We moved down the bars to the other side of the holding cell. The eavesdropper stayed behind.

“Okay,” I said. “Tell me about the phone call you made to the hotel to check out the Julia Roberts client. How did that whole thing go down?”

I checked my watch.

“Quickly,” I added.

“Well, he made contact through the website. I told him the prices and—”

“Was this by e-mail?”

“No, he called. From the hotel. I saw it on the caller ID.”

“Okay, go on. He called from the hotel, then what?”

“I told him her price and he said that was fine, and so we set it up for nine thirty that night. He gave me the room number and I told him I needed to call back to confirm. He said fine, so I did.”

“You called the hotel and asked for room eight thirty-seven?”

“That’s right. They connected me and it was the same guy. I told him she’d be there at nine thirty.”

“Okay, and you never dealt with this guy before?”

“No, never.”

“How did he pay?”

“He didn’t. That’s why I got in the fight with Giz. She said he didn’t pay because there was nobody in that room. She said they told her at the desk the guy checked out that day, and I knew that was bullshit because I talked to him in that room.”

“Right, right, but did you discuss payment with him? You know, cash or credit?”

“Yes, he said he was going to pay cash. And that’s why I went to Giz’s place, to collect my share. If the guy had just paid with a credit card, I would have handled the transaction and taken my share. It was paying with cash that made me want to go collect before she had a chance to spend it all or lose it.”

La Cosse’s business practices were becoming clearer to me now.

“And this is how you always did it?”

“Yes.”

“It was routine.”

“Yes, always the same.”

“And this guy’s voice, you didn’t recognize it as a previous customer?”

“No, I didn’t recognize it and he also said he was a new customer. What does this have to do with anything?”

“Maybe nothing but maybe everything. How often were you in contact with Giselle?”

La Cosse shrugged.

“Every day by text. We did a lot of it by text, but when I needed a quick answer I would call her on the cell. Maybe a couple times a week we’d talk.”

“And did you see her very often?”

“Maybe once or twice a week when we had a cash customer. I’d come by to collect after. Sometimes we’d meet for coffee or breakfast and I’d collect then.”

“And she never held back on you?”

“We’d had issues before.”

“How so?”

“I pretty much learned with Giz that money was for spending. The longer I left my money with her, the greater the chance it would get spent. I never waited long to collect.”

I saw the lineup of custodies who had just had first appearances being shuttled from the courtroom back into another holding cell. La Cosse was about to go out.

“Okay, hold on a second.”

I stooped down and opened my briefcase on the tile floor. I took out the document I needed signed and a pen and then stood back up.

“Andre, this is a conflict-of-interest waiver. I need you to sign it if you want me to represent you. It acknowledges that you understand that the victim you are charged with killing was a former client of mine. You are waiving any future claim that I had a conflict of interest while representing you. You are saying right now that you are okay with it. Hurry up and sign it before they see you with the pen.”

I passed the document and pen through and he signed it. He did a quick scan of the page as he passed it back.

“Who is Gloria Dayton?”

“That’s Giselle. That was her real name.”

I bent down to return the document to my briefcase.

“Couple more things,” I said as I stood back up. “You told me yesterday that you would make contact with the client who vouched for Giselle when she came to you. Did you do that yet? I need to talk to her.”

“Yes, she said fine. You can call her. Her name’s Stacey Campbell. Like the soup.”

He gave me the number and I wrote it down on my palm.

“You have her number memorized? Most people don’t remember numbers anymore because they’re on speed dial on their cell.”

“If I put everybody’s number in my phone, the police would have all of that right now. We change phones and numbers often, and I commit them all to memory. It’s the only safe way to do it.”

I nodded. I was impressed.

“Okay, we’re good, then. Let’s go out and see the judge.”

“You said a couple more things.”

“Oh, yeah.”

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a short stack of cards. I handed them to him through the bars.

“Put these on the bench over there,” I said.

“You’re kidding,” he said.

“No, people are always looking for good representation. Especially when they get out there and meet the deputy PD who’s handling their case along with about three hundred others’. Spread them out a little bit on the bench and I’ll see you in the courtroom.”

“Whatever.”

“And remember, you can talk to whoever you want inside about your lawyer, but don’t talk to anybody about your case. No one, or it will come back to bite you on the ass. I promise you that.”

“Got it.”

“Good.”

Arraignment court is the place where the criminal justice system becomes a feeding frenzy, where those who are caught in the net are delivered to market. I stepped out from the holding facility and into a morass of defense lawyers, prosecutors, investigators, and all lines of support staff, all moving in an unchoreographed dance presided over by Judge Mary Elizabeth Mercer. It was her job to make good on the constitutional guarantee to swiftly bring those accused of a crime to court to be informed of the charges against them and assigned counsel if they have not made such arrangements themselves. In practice, this meant that each of the accused had but a few minutes before the judge prior to beginning the long and usually torturous journey through the system.

The attorney tables in first-appearance court were large boardroom-size tables designed so that several lawyers could be seated at once as they prepared for their cases and clients to be called. Still more defense lawyers stood and milled about in the corral to the left of the judge’s bench, where defendants were brought in from the holding cells in groups of six at a time. These lawyers would stand with their clients for the reading of the charges and then the scheduling of an arraignment hearing, where the accused would formally enter a plea. To an outsider—and this included those accused of crimes and their families packed into the wooden pews of the courtroom’s gallery—it was hard to keep track of or understand what was going on. They could only know that this was the justice system at work and that it would now take over their lives.

I went to the bailiff’s desk where the custody call list was on a clipboard. The bailiff had crossed out the first thirty names on the list. Judge Mercer was efficiently moving through the morning shift. I saw Andre La Cosse’s name next to the number thirty-eight. That meant one group of six was ahead of his group. And that gave me time to find a spot to sit down and check my messages.

All nine chairs at the defense table were taken. I scanned the line of chairs running along the railing that separated the gallery from the court’s work area and spotted one opening. As I made my way to it, I recognized one of the men I would be sitting next to. He wasn’t a lawyer. He was a cop, and we had a past history that coincidentally had been brought up that morning at the staff meeting. He recognized me, too, and grimaced as I sat down next to him.

We spoke in whispers so as not to draw the attention of the judge.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mickey Mouth, great courtroom orator and defender of douche bags.”

I ignored the shots. I was used to it from cops.

“Detective Lankford, long time no see.”

Lee Lankford was one of the Glendale PD homicide detectives who investigated the murder of my former investigator Raul Levin. The reasons for Lankford’s grimace and insults and the friction that still obviously existed between us were many. First, Lankford seemed to have a genetically bred hatred of all lawyers. Then there was the little rub that came when he wrongly accused me of Levin’s murder. Of course it didn’t help our relationship when I eventually proved him wrong by solving the case for him.

“You’re a long way from Glendale,” I offered as I was pulling out my phone. “Don’t you guys do your arraignments up there in Glendale Superior?”

“As usual, Haller, you’re behind the times. I don’t work for Glendale anymore. I retired.”

I nodded like I thought that was a good thing, then smiled.

“Don’t tell me you went to the dark side. You’re working for one of these defense guys?”

Lankford looked disgusted.

“No fucking chance I’d work for one of you creeps. I work for the DA now. And by the way, a seat just opened up at the big table. Why don’t you go over there and sit with your own people?”

I had to smile. Lankford hadn’t changed in the seven years or so since I had seen him. I kind of enjoyed tweaking him.

“No, I think I’m good here.”

“Wonderful.”

“What about Detective Sobel? Is she still with the department?”

Lankford’s partner back then was the one I communicated with. She didn’t carry around a bagful of biases like he did.

“She’s still there and she’s doing well. Tell me, which one of these fine upstanding citizens they’re traipsing out in bracelets is your client today?”

“Oh, mine will be in the next batch. He’s a real winner, though. A pimp accused of killing one of his own girls. It’s a heartwarming story, Lankford.”