The Lincoln lawyer - By Michael Connelly Page 0,12
don’t know,” he said. “I remembered your name from something I read in the paper.”
“What did you read about me?”
“It was a story about a case where the evidence got thrown out against some guy. I think it was drugs or something. You won the case because they had no evidence after that.”
“The Hendricks case?”
It was the only one I could think of that had made the papers in recent months. Hendricks was another Road Saint client and the sheriff’s department had put a GPS bug on his Harley to track his deliveries. Doing that on public roads was fine. But when he parked his bike in the kitchen of his home at night, that bug constituted unlawful entry by the cops. The case was tossed by a judge during the preliminary hearing. It made a decent splash in the Times.
“I can’t remember the name of the client,” Roulet said. “I just remembered your name. Your last name, actually. When I called the bail bondsman today I gave him the name Haller and asked him to get you and to call my own attorney. Why?”
“No reason. Just curious. I appreciate the call. I’ll see you in the courtroom.”
I put the differences between what Roulet had said about my hiring and what Valenzuela had told me into the bank for later consideration and made my way back into the arraignment court. I saw Maggie McFierce sitting at one end of the prosecution table. She was there along with five other prosecutors. The table was large and L-shaped so it could accommodate an endlessly revolving number of lawyers who could sit and still face the bench. A prosecutor assigned to the courtroom handled most of the routine appearances and arraignments that were paraded through each day. But special cases brought the big guns out of the district attorney’s office on the second floor of the courthouse next door. TV cameras did that, too.
As I stepped through the bar I saw a man setting up a video camera on a tripod next to the bailiff’s desk. There was no network symbol on the camera or the man’s clothes. The man was a freelancer who had gotten wind of the case and would shoot the hearing and then try to sell it to one of the local stations whose news director needed a thirty-second story. When I had checked with the bailiff earlier about Roulet’s place on the calendar, he told me the judge had already authorized the filming.
I walked up to my ex-wife from behind and bent down to whisper into her ear. She was looking at photographs in a file. She was wearing a navy suit with a thin gray stripe. Her raven-colored hair was tied back with a matching gray ribbon. I loved her hair when it was back like that.
“Are you the one who used to have the Roulet case?”
She looked up, not recognizing the whisper. Her face was involuntarily forming a smile but then it turned into a frown when she saw it was me. She knew exactly what I had meant by using the past tense and she slapped the file closed.
“Don’t tell me,” she said.
“Sorry. He liked what I did on Hendricks and gave me a call.”
“Son of a bitch. I wanted this case, Haller. This is the second time you’ve done this to me.”
“I guess this town ain’t big enough for the both of us,” I said in a poor Cagney imitation.
She groaned.
“All right,” she said in quick surrender. “I’ll go peacefully after this hearing. Unless you object to even that.”
“I might. You going for a no-bail hold?”
“That’s right. But that won’t change with the prosecutor. That was a directive from the second floor.”
I nodded. That meant a case supervisor must have called for the no-bail hold.
“He’s connected in the community. And has never been arrested.”
I studied her reaction, not having had the time to make sure Roulet’s denial of ever being previously arrested was the truth. It’s always amazing how many clients lie about previous engagements with the machine, when it is a lie that has no hope of going the distance.
But Maggie gave no indication that she knew otherwise. Maybe it was true. Maybe I had an honest-to-goodness first-time offender for a client.
“It doesn’t matter whether he’s done anything before,” Maggie said. “What matters is what he did last night.”
She opened the file and quickly checked through the photos until she saw the one she liked and snatched it out.