thick file from the library sitting on my chair. I took a seat and flipped through it. There was a bio about Garrett Andersen from a legal directory, an old United States Senate bio on Steele, background checks purchased through a service the firm subscribed to, and address listings for the names I’d given.
At the back of the pile was Matt Bishop’s criminal record. The initial entries were juvenile crimes — shoplifting, vandalism, public drunkenness — all amounting to short stints in juvenile halls around LA County. Then, at nineteen, he was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon for mugging a woman at knifepoint. He served six months of a thirteen-month sentence. Then, three years ago, he was arrested for another burglary as well as an attempted rape. The rape would have been successful if a neighbor hadn’t rushed in after hearing the woman’s screams. Matt Bishop was currently three years into a six-year sentence. That must have been the robbery his mother and sister were blaming on Danny Kelly.
I read it again. There was a crime against a woman and a crime with a knife. Although they happened long after Sharon Steele was killed, they didn’t do anything to make Matt Bishop look innocent.
I turned to the Steele biography. It was photocopied from an old bound volume — two pages crammed on a sheet of paper with the text curving up and inward at the center of the page:
“Senator Steele is a native Californian with a long history of public service. Born in Los Angeles on April 4, 1951, Senator Steele attended Stanford University where he graduated summa cum laude in 1973 with a bachelor’s degree in geology. While at Stanford, Senator Steele volunteered for various coastal environmental protection groups and helped draft Proposition 22 which failed to pass during the 1972 general election. Though unsuccessful, the Proposition 22 campaign solidified Senator Steele’s commitment to preserving California’s coastal beauty for future generations.
“After working in the oil industry for two years, Senator Steele returned to Stanford in 1975 to pursue a graduate degree in business. Senator Steele was convinced that the oil industry could be both profitable and environmentally conscious and was determined to improve the industry’s environmental record. Upon taking his M.B.A. in 1977, Senator Steele began a six year career in the oil industry where he was responsible for dozens of improvements in both the extraction and shipping of oil.
“Never far from politics due to his constant contact with environmental regulators, Senator Steele was appointed to the California Water Resources Board in 1983 at the age of 32. He was the youngest ever appointee to that Board. Three years later, Senator Steele made an unsuccessful bid for the United States House of Representatives. Returning to the private sector in 1985, Senator Steele worked tirelessly, laying the groundwork for his successful 1988 campaign. After two terms in the House, where he became known for his environmental expertise, Senator Steele was elected to the United States Senate in 1992.”
I thought about the Steele I’d met at the prison. I never would have guessed he was a geologist, or an environmentalist.
I had barely finished reading when I felt someone walking up to my office door. I raised my head in time to see Morgan Stapleton smiling, as though we were old friends.
“Heeeeey, we missed you at Marmont.”
I felt my face flush. “Oh, I was having drinks with one of my professors. An adjunct guy I’m a TA for. Sorry I missed it.”
“Oh, it was no big thing. Just another night on the town, you know.” I did not know, but I nodded as if I did. Her eyes were bright and large and clear, her hair bounced. She wore a tight black dress, as though the office was just another cocktail party where people laughed and flirted and flashed each other knowing looks between sips of cosmopolitans.
“So what are you doing a little later?” She asked. “Some of us are going out for drinks. Interested?”
“Sure, where and when?” I said it like I went out drinking every night after work.
“We thought we’d start up the street at Ben & Bev’s and then get out of there as soon as we recognized any lawyers.”
“Sounds good.”
“About six?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Cool.” She tilted her head, smiled, and was gone.
I couldn’t believe it. I’d been hoping to bump into her, rounding a corner in the stacks and seeing her leaning back against a wall of books concentrating on an obscure treatise, her calves flexing as