“Come on, Mick,” he said. “We should go.”
I shook his hand off as Finley stepped back to me.
“Sir, did you have permission to enter this home?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Oh, is that how you want to go?” I said. “You’re going to get me for trespassing? You really want to dig yourself in that deep, Sergeant Finley?”
“What I want, sir, is for you to leave these premises,” Finley said. “While you still can.”
“Don’t worry, Sergeant, we’re leaving,” Cisco said.
He pulled again on my arm, but I held my ground and pointed at the front door of the house.
“No,” I said. “I’m not leaving until I know this man’s death is going to be properly investigated. By detectives, not patrol officers.”
Finley smiled.
“Okay, you want an investigation, you’ll get an investigation,” he said. “We’ll investigate you. Officer Dance, put the Lincoln Lawyer in the back seat of your car.”
Dance was the female officer. She stepped toward me.
“Do I cuff him, Sarge?” she asked.
“I don’t think we need to do that,” Finley said. “He’s going to cooperate. Just put him in the car and we’ll get to him when we get to him.”
“This way, sir,” Dance said. She pointed toward the walkway with one hand while taking my arm with the other.
“This is bullshit,” I said. “If you put me in the car, you are arresting me, and you’re going to answer to a federal judge for that.”
“Let’s go, sir,” Dance insisted.
“Mick, who do you want me to call?” Cisco said.
“Call Judge Ruhlin’s clerk,” I said over my shoulder. “Tell them I’m being detained illegally by police, and I need Peggy — I mean, the judge — to issue a show-cause order against LAPD sergeant Finley, Pacific Division. Tell her that otherwise, I won’t make the hearing today.”
I stopped my resistance and let Dance lead me by the arm through the gate. We reached the walkway before Finley called her name.
“Dance, bring him back here,” he said.
Dance and I did a pirouette.
“He’s finally being smart,” I whispered to her.
She didn’t respond. We walked back through the gate and right up to Finley.
“Okay, Dance,” he said. “Why don’t you go out there to Pacific and flag down the coroner’s van.”
“Yes, sir,” Dance said.
She turned to follow the order. Finley took a step closer to me so he would not be overheard by Dance’s partner, who was standing with Cisco by the gate.
“What am I going to do with you, Lincoln?” he said.
I knew by the question and tone that he was going to capitulate. He’d finally seen that the path forward for him was fraught with pitfalls if he insisted on the temporary fulfillment of putting me in my place. Maybe that was why he was a supervisor. My part of the unspoken bargain was to act like he hadn’t blinked. I knew just what to give him to allow him to save face and get me what I wanted.
“Did you see the name of the doctor on the pill bottle?” I asked.
“I didn’t look,” Finley said.
“Same name as the man in the bed. I mean, I’m not a detective, but it seemed kind of hinky to me.”
Finley nodded and turned to the remaining patrol officer.
“Okay, we’ve got some new information,” he said. “Johnson, let’s tape this off and preserve the scene. I’ll call West Bureau and get somebody out here to take a look inside.”
Johnson turned and headed toward the gate, presumably to get a roll of crime scene tape from the patrol wagon. That left me with Finley.
“Happy now, Counselor?” he asked.
“I’m happy the pros are going to take a look at it, yes,” I said. “But I’m not happy I lost my witness.”
“Well, you’re going to have to stay here and talk to the pros about this big case of yours.”
“Not a problem.”
Finley turned away to make the callout to detectives on his radio. I walked over to Cisco to wait.
“What the fuck, Mick,” he whispered. “You almost got arrested over what? The guy did himself. You were in the house. It was obvious.”
I checked Finley to make sure he was not within earshot. He was up on the porch talking into his radio by the front door. I could not hear him and he could not hear me.
“We need an investigation,” I said.
“Why?” Cisco said. “It’s gonna come back suicide. The guy downed a bottle of Oxy.”
“Doesn’t matter how it comes back.”
“Why?”
“Because what matters is that it’s being investigated.”
Cisco stared at me for a long moment before I could see understanding come into his eyes. He slowly nodded his head.
8
The judge was late for the emergency hearing she had scheduled. We — the attorneys — waited silently at our tables. I had nothing to say to the Masons and they had nothing to say to me. I had informed my client of the hearing but she was unable to get away from her job at the lab on short notice. And so I sat alone. In the first row of the gallery, there were three reporters, one print and two TV, all of whom had gotten an anonymous tip about the hearing from Lorna. This allowed me to be insulated from any accusation of setting in motion a news flash unfavorable to the defense. McEvoy had stepped away from his work in the cage to watch from the back row, where he sat next to Cisco.
At 4:15 Judge Ruhlin finally emerged from chambers, took the bench, and got down to business with no explanation for her delay. Federal judges were like that. They rarely had to bother explaining their actions or rulings.
“All right,” the judge said. “We’re back on the record in Randolph versus Tidalwaiv, and we have a motion from the defense to stay my ruling of this morning. Misters Mason, would one of you state your argument for a stay?”
Marcus went toward the lectern, but before he got there, I stood up.
“Your Honor, could I be heard?” I said. “I believe I have information that has significant impact on this hearing and the motion from the defense.”
Ruhlin looked at me for a long moment, showing a flash of annoyance, before responding.
“Very well, Mr. Haller,” she said. “You shall be heard.”
I moved to the lectern, forcing Marcus Mason to step back to his table. I gave him a wink from the eye the judge couldn’t see. He stayed standing, ready to object to whatever I was about to say.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said. “And good afternoon. Unfortunately, I have rather disturbing and sad news to deliver to the court. It appears that on the very morning that the court ruled that Rikki Patel could serve as a witness in this trial, his life was cut short. His death is the subject of a homicide investigation being conducted by the Los Angeles—”
“Objection!” Marcus Mason called out.
“—Police Department,” I continued. “There is no need for this hearing, Judge, because my key witness has died under highly suspicious circumstances. The outcome—”
“Objection!” Marcus shrieked again.
“—of the investigation will undoubtedly shed light on the lengths that Tidal—”
“Okay, stop,” Ruhlin said. “Everyone, just hold on.”
She signaled her clerk to the side of the bench. Ruhlin rolled her chair over and whispered to him. He then left the courtroom through the door to chambers and Ruhlin rolled back into position.
“Okay, we’re going to move to chambers to discuss this further,” she said.
“Your Honor, I object to that,” I said. “This is a serious matter and it should be discussed in public.”