“Fine, but now we’re on the same side.”
“Which is?”
“Getting some justice for Rand.”
“By locking his killer up?”
“Wouldn’t that be a good start?” I said.
“In your world,” he said.
“Not in yours?”
“You want to know something?” he said. “If the cops do find whoever shot Rand and the P.D.’s office gets the case, I’d be happy to take it.”
“Even if the shooter turns out to be Barnett Malley?”
“If Malley accepted me, I’d do my best to keep his ass out of prison.”
“Pretty detached,” I said.
“Survival skills go beyond guns,” said Montez.
“When you represented Rand, did you sense he was holding back about anything?”
“He was holding back about everything. Wouldn’t communicate with me, basically he played mute. No matter how many times I told him I was on his side. It could’ve been frustrating but the script had already been written. I never got a chance to bring in my own shrink because of the plea deal. Sure, I would’ve liked to know what was going on in that kid’s head. Which I didn’t get from your report. That was a masterpiece of omission. All you said was that he was stupid.”
“He wasn’t bright,” I said, “but there was plenty going on in his head. I thought he felt remorse and I said so. I doubt your expert would’ve come up with any profound abstractions.”
“Just a dumb kid? Bad seed?”
I said nothing.
“Yeah, I sensed remorse, too,” he said. “Unlike his compadre. Now that one was a piece of work. Evil little bugger, if Rand hadn’t gotten involved with him, his life could’ve turned out a whole lot different.”
“Troy was the main killer,” I said. “But Rand admitted hitting Kristal.”
“Rand was a dumb, passive follower who hooked up with a cold little sociopath. In a trial, I would’ve emphasized the follower angle. But like I said, nothing would’ve mattered.”
“The script.”
“Exactly.”
“Who wrote it?”
“The system,” he said. “You don’t murder a cute little white kid and walk away.” His hand brushed over his butter knife. Adjusted the angle of the handle. “Weider claimed she wanted to mount a team defense. I was so green I bought it. That tells you something about the system, doesn’t it? One year out of law school and Rand got me as his one-man army.” He waved a finger. “Justice for all.”
“Why’d she change her mind?”
“Because all she wanted to do was pump me for information. Once we got to court, she was going to pull a switcheroo and dump all over my client. Her prelim motions emphasized Rand’s size and strength, she had all this expert research data showing low I.Q. sociopaths were more likely to turn violent. If it had gone to trial, Turner would’ve been morphed into some frail little dupe who’d been physically intimidated by Rand. Anyway, we were spared all that. The case went down easy.”
“Not for the Malleys,” I said.
He showed me his palm. “I can’t think in those terms. And if Barnett Malley doesn’t understand that, I’m ready for him. Nice seeing you again, Doctor.”
I stood and asked if he knew where I could find Sydney Weider.
“Going to warn her, too?”
“And pump her for info.”
Montez pulled out a pair of sunglasses, held the lenses up and used them as mirrors. One end of his bow tie had drooped lower than its counterpart. He frowned and righted it.
“You can probably find her,” he said, “on the tennis court or the golf course or sipping a Cosmopolitan on the country club terrace.”
“Which country club?”
“I was speaking metaphorically. I have no idea if she belongs to any club but it wouldn’t surprise me. Sydney was rich then, so she’s probably richer now.”
“Rich girl playing at the law?” I said.
“Good insight, you must be a psychologist. The first time you met Sydney she’d be sure to let you know where she was coming from. Swinging the Gucci purse, letting drop all the relevant data in machine-gun monologue. Like you were a student and she was teaching Introductory Sydney.”
“She talked about her money?”
“About her daddy the film honcho, her husband the film honcho, all the industry parties she was ‘compelled’ to attend. The sons at Harvard-Westlake, the house in Brentwood, the weekend place in Malibu, the Beemer and the Porsche on alternate days.” He mimed a finger-down-the throat gag.
“When did she leave the P.D.’s office?” I said.
“Not long after the Malley case closed, as a matter of fact.”
“How soon after?”
“Maybe a month, I don’t know.”
“Think it had anything to do with the case?”
“Maybe indirectly. Her name got into the paper and soon after she got a fat private practice offer from Stavros Menas.”
“Mouthpiece of the high and mighty,” I said.
“You’ve got that right. What Menas does is more P.R. than criminal defense. Which makes him the perfect L.A. guy. He alternates between a Bentley and an Aston Martin.”
“Does she still work for him? She’s got no office listing.”
“That’s ’cause she never worked for him,” he said. “The way I heard it, she changed her mind and retired to a life of leisure.”
“Why?”
He glanced down at his food. “Couldn’t tell you.”
“Burnout?”
“Sydney didn’t feel deeply enough to burn out. She probably just got bored. With all her money there was no reason for her put up with all the shit. When I first heard she quit, I figured she was going to try to get a movie deal out of the case. But it didn’t happen.”
“You figured because her husband’s a film exec?”
“Because she’s like that. Manipulative, out for herself. She’d fly to Aspen for the weekend on a private jet, be at work Monday in a Chanel suit and try to sound convincing about fighting for justice for some dude from Compton. By lunchtime, she’d be dropping names about who sat next to her at The Palm.” He laughed. “I’d like to think she’s not real happy, but she probably is.”
“Did you hear any specific rumors about a movie deal?” I said.
“I do know that she wrangled to get the case.”
“How?”
“By kissing up to the boss. The way it works at the P.D. is whoever’s top of the list gets the next client. Unless the boss handpicks someone for a specific case. I know for a fact that Sydney wasn’t next up on Troy Turner because the guy who was told me he’d been bumped. He wasn’t bitching, he had no stomach for high-profile bullshit. The way he phrased it was ‘The bitch did me a favor.’ ”
“Was she qualified?”
Montez clicked his teeth together. “I’d like to say no, but yeah, she was smart enough. By that time she had three, four years under her belt and her win-loss record was as good as anyone’s.”
“Three or four years out of school?” I said. “I remember her as older.”
“She was older. After she passed the bar she got married, did the mommy bit, waited until the kids were older.” He wiped his mouth and folded his napkin. “When you see her, give my regards.”
“I will.”
“I was kidding.”
I phoned Milo’s desk from the car. He was out and I asked for Detective Binchy.
Sean said, “Hey, Dr. Delaware.”
“Could you get me an unlisted address?”
“I don’t know, Doc, it’s kind of against regulations.”
“Milo asked me to talk to this person, so in a sense I’m a police surrogate.”
“A surrogate… okay. I guess. You’re not going to shoot anyone, are you?”
“Not unless they piss me off.”
Silence.
He said, “Ha. Okay, hold on.”
Lauritz Montez’s rant about Sydney Weider’s lifestyle had cited houses in Brentwood and Malibu but maybe that had been metaphorical, too. Or, she’d defied his rich-get-richer expectations and downsized.