“You want me to try to locate Sue Harvey?” I asked. “She might still be around. I could let you know.”
The color drained from his face. He turned away and motioned to the guard. With his shoulders rounded, he inched slowly toward the exit.
While the guard unlocked the door, Roberts turned back. “Jimmy, I asked you to leave her out of it. Please do as I ask.” He left the room.
CHAPTER 17
For the next two days, Rita and I worked at the office, cleaning up the few cases remaining. Mayor DiLoreto dropped all charges against Crazy Charlie, when we convinced Charlie to get rid of the ratty house trailer on his lawn and move back in with his wife, Tillie.
“It’d be better than going to jail,” Rita had said.
“You don’t know my wife,” he answered.
But when Tillie came to the office with a fresh baked apple pie, he relented. We all shared a piece. I figured-after taking one bite-if Charlie wasn’t going to move back in with her, maybe I would.
Kelley cleaned up his bounced checks when his father-in-law ponied up the money. The bank backed off, and the judge gave Kelley a stern finger wagging. Geoff, Rita’s hopeless drunk, was still on Antabuse. So it’d be a while before he’d need our services again.
Wednesday, along about mid-morning, I sat with my feet on the desk, twiddling my thumbs, listening to the phone not ring. Rita busied herself reorganizing the files. Mabel tailed after her putting things back the way they were.
Finally, at 11:30, Mabel called for a meeting with all three of us present to be held promptly in my office.
“Jimmy, Rita,” she stated. “With no money coming in and no clients beating down the door, we’re not going to make it. I suggest you two get out there and schmooze with the locals. Join the Rotary or something, goddamn it.”
“Aw, Mabel, we’re criminal lawyers. Our type of clients wouldn’t be caught dead at a Rotary or an Elks meeting. The only crooks that join those clubs are bankers. And they steal enough money to hire the big white-shoe law firms.”
“No, Jimmy, Mabel’s right,” Rita said. “We should get out and about more. Get our name out there. How long has it been since you attended a bar association luncheon?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess it’s been about-”
“How about, never?” Mabel interrupted.
“C’mon, Jimmy, grab your coat. The Southeast District Bar Association luncheon is being held today at the Regency. Our dues are current. So let’s go.”
“Aw, Rita.”
“Get your butt out of the chair and go with Rita to the luncheon, or I quit!” Mabel had a subtle but convincing manner about her.
We didn’t know until we arrived at the Regency Restaurant on Firestone Blvd. that the scheduled speaker at the luncheon that day was Vincent Bugliosi.
Rita and I took seats at a table located in the back of the banquet room. A couple of lawyers we knew from around town nodded politely when they saw us sitting there. After the meal, a chicken breast with some kind of stuffing, Bugliosi got up to speak.
Ex-L.A. County Deputy DA Bugliosi had made headlines back in 1970 when he prosecuted the heinous serial killer, Charles Manson.
Along with his ragtag gang of young misfits known as the Family, Manson had murdered a number of people in the L.A. area in the summer of 1969. The most notable victim of their bloody rampage had been Sharon Tate, the beautiful actress and wife of director, Roman Polanski. She had been slaughtered along with four of her friends while partying at her home in the hills above Bel Air. She was eight months pregnant when she died. Polanski had been in Europe on location at the time of the murders.
In 1972, Bugliosi had run against the incumbent, Joe Rinehart, for the office of Los Angeles County District Attorney. He’d lost after a long and bitter campaign fight. Bugliosi’s non-fiction book about the Manson Family, Helter Skelter, had just been released and he was making the rounds.
I’d followed the Manson story in the papers at the time of the murders and wasn’t too keen on hearing the gory details of the tragic events again, especially after a heavy meal, but Rita seemed fascinated. I will admit, though, Bugliosi gave a hell of a talk.
Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed that Bugliosi had focused on Rita and me several times during his presentation. But, then again, maybe he just focused on Rita. And why not? She was attractive and was the only woman in the room.
Following the lecture Bugliosi took questions from the audience. Most of them, surprisingly, weren’t centered on the murders. They had to do with his years working high up in the DA’s office. The lawyers in the audience looking for an edge, perhaps. He apologized for not having books available at the event. Helter Skelter had sold out at the local bookstore, but more were on the way, he said.
“Horrible, huh, Jimmy?” Rita said. “I mean the murders.”
“It will be a long time before the people of Los Angeles forget what happened in the summer of 1969.”
While Rita sipped the last of her white wine and I nibbled the remnants of my dessert, Bugliosi shouldered his way through the crowd, heading toward the exit, pausing every so often to shake hands with an admirer. I looked up, surprised, when he stopped at our table on his way to the exit door behind us, and started to climb out of my chair.
“Please stay seated,” he said. Then, acknowledging Rita, he held out his hand. “Hi, young lady. I’m Vince Bugliosi.”
“I know,” Rita said and gave him one of her amazing smiles.
Bugliosi lingered on Rita for a moment before turning back to me. “You’re Jimmy O’Brien, aren’t you?”
I stood. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
“I understand you work with Sol Silverman.”
“That’s right. Why? What’s this about?”
He glanced left and right. “I only have a moment. I’m aware of your run-in with Byron, and now Joe Rinehart’s on your case. I ran against him in the last election, and believe me, I know his dark side. Watch out. He can be trouble.”
I didn’t think she was serious when Deputy DA, Pamela Young told Rita that Rinehart was keeping an eye on me. And now Bugliosi was saying Rinehart is “on my case,” whatever that meant.
“I doubt that Joe Rinehart really gives a damn about me,” I told him. Due to my agreement to keep quiet about Reagan signing the commutation papers in a few days, I couldn’t explain to him that the Roberts case was, for practical purposes, over.
He glanced around quickly again; someone was walking toward our table. “I have information you need. Stuff I picked up from my days working in the office.”
He dropped his business card on the table. “Have Sol call me. I can trust him. I may be hard to reach, but tell him to keep trying. It’s important.”
A judge I recognized, but didn’t know personally, came up behind Bugliosi and slapped him on the back. Bugliosi spun around.
“Hey, Vince. C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink,” the judge said while looking at Rita and me curiously.
Bugliosi chuckled halfheartedly. “This little lady stopped me on the way out, wanted a signed copy of my book. How could I refuse her?” He turned back to Rita. “Remember, my dear, just call my office. A book will be mailed right away. You have my card.”
CHAPTER 18
“Why do you think Bugliosi wants Sol to call, Jimmy?”
On the drive back to the office, Rita kept talking about Bugliosi. I told her to forget about it, the case was over, but she wouldn’t listen.
“I’ll tell you again, Rita. It’s over, finished, done, all wrapped up.”
“What do you suppose Bugliosi meant when he said he has information?”
I decided to change the subject. “Hey, Rita, did you notice that Buick isn’t following me around anymore?”
She gave me a funny look. “What Buick?”
Oops, forgot. I didn’t tell her about the thugs tailing me in the Buick. I told her my bruises came from some hothead after a fender-bender. “Oh, nothing… forget it.”