The Lincoln lawyer - By Michael Connelly Page 0,21
devil himself just as long as he could cover the fee. The only big-time case and client he ever turned down was Sirhan Sirhan. He told my brother that he had liked Bobby Kennedy too much to defend his killer, no matter how much he believed in the ideal that the accused deserved the best and most vigorous defense possible.
Growing up I read all the books about my father and his cases. I admired the skill and vigor and strategies he brought to the defense table. He was damn good and it made me proud to carry his name. But the law was different now. It was grayer. Ideals had long been downgraded to notions. Notions were optional.
My cell phone rang and I checked the screen before answering.
“What’s up, Val?”
“We’re getting him out. They already took him back to the jail and we’re processing him out now.”
“Dobbs went with the bond?”
“You got it.”
I could hear the delight in his voice.
“Don’t be so giddy. You sure he’s not a runner?”
“I’m never sure. I’m going to make him wear a bracelet. I lose him, I lose my house.”
I realized that what I had taken as delight at the windfall that a million-dollar bond would bring to Valenzuela was actually nervous energy. Valenzuela would be taut as a wire until this one was over, one way or the other. Even if the court had not ordered it, Valenzuela was going to put an electronic tracking bracelet on Roulet’s ankle. He was taking no chances with this guy.
“Where’s Dobbs?”
“Back at my office, waiting. I’ll bring Roulet over as soon as he’s out. Shouldn’t be too much longer.”
“Is Maisy over there?”
“Yeah, she’s there.”
“Okay, I’m going to call over.”
I ended the call and hit the speed-dial combo for Liberty Bail Bonds. Valenzuela’s receptionist and assistant answered.
“Maisy, it’s Mick. Can you put Mr. Dobbs on the line?”
“Sure thing, Mick.”
A few seconds later Dobbs got on the line. He seemed put out by something. Just in the way he said, “This is Cecil Dobbs.”
“This is Mickey Haller. How is it going over there?”
“Well, if you consider I am letting my duties to other clients slide while I sit here and read year-old magazines, not good.”
“You don’t carry a cell phone to do business?”
“I do. But that’s not the point. My clients aren’t cell phone people. They’re face-to-face people.”
“I see. Well, the good news is, I hear our boy is about to be released.”
“Our boy?”
“Mr. Roulet. Valenzuela should have him out inside the hour. I am about to go into a client conference, but as I said before, I am free in the afternoon. Do you want to meet to go over the case with our mutual client or do you want me to take it from here?”
“No, Mrs. Windsor has insisted that I monitor this closely. In fact, she may choose to be there as well.”
“I don’t mind the meet-and-greet with Mrs. Windsor, but when it comes down to talking about the case, it’s just going to be the defense team. That can include you but not the mother. Okay?”
“I understand. Let’s say four o’clock at my office. I will have Louis there.”
“I’ll be there.”
“My firm employs a crack investigator. I’ll ask him to join us.”
“That won’t be necessary, Cecil. I have my own and he’s already on the job. We’ll see you at four.”
I ended the call before Dobbs could start a debate about which investigator to use. I had to be careful that Dobbs didn’t control the investigation, preparation and strategy of the case. Monitoring was one thing. But I was Louis Roulet’s attorney now. Not him.
When I called Raul Levin next, he told me he was already on his way to the LAPD Van Nuys Division to pick up a copy of the arrest report.
“Just like that?” I asked.
“No, not just like that. In a way, you could say it took me twenty years to get this report.”
I understood. Levin’s connections, procured over time and experience, traded over trust and favors, had come through for him. No wonder he charged five hundred dollars a day when he could get it. I told him about the meeting at four and he said he would be there and would be ready to furnish us with the law enforcement view of the case.
The Lincoln pulled to a stop when I closed the phone. We were in front of the Twin Towers jail facility. It wasn’t even ten years old but the smog was beginning to permanently stain its