He gestured weakly toward the silent TV screen.
“I brought you something that hasn’t changed in a hundred years,” Haller said. “Dropped by Cole’s on my way over and got you a French dip.”
“Cole’s is good,” Siegel said. “I didn’t eat at lunch because I knew you were coming. Raise me up.”
Haller grabbed another remote off the table and tossed it to Bosch. While Haller opened his briefcase to get out the sandwich, Bosch raised the upper portion of the bed until Siegel was in an almost seated position.
“We’ve met before,” Bosch said. “Sort of met. You cross-examined me on the stand in the case we are going to talk about today.”
“Of course,” Siegel said. “I remember. You were very thorough. A good witness for the prosecution.”
Bosch nodded his thanks as Haller tucked a napkin into the open collar of the old man’s shirt. He then slid the over-bed table across his lap and unwrapped the sandwich in front of him. He opened up a Styrofoam sidecar of jus and put it down on the table as well. Siegel immediately picked up one half of the sandwich, dipped the edge into the juice, and started eating it, taking small bites and savoring each one of them.
While Siegel ate his sandwich and thought about the old days, Haller took the mini-camcorder out of his briefcase and set it up on a mini-tripod on the over-bed table. He adjusted the table while looking at the framing of the shot, and then they were ready.
It took Legal Siegel thirty-five minutes to eat his French dip sandwich.
Bosch waited patiently while Haller asked the old man questions about days gone by, getting him ready for the interview. Finally, Siegel balled up the sandwich wrap and was done. He tossed it toward a trash can in the corner and came well short. Haller picked up the debris and put it back in his briefcase.
“You ready, Uncle Dave?” he asked.
“Been ready,” Siegel said.
Haller pulled the napkin out of the collar of Siegel’s shirt and adjusted the camera once more before holding his finger on the record button.
“All right, here we go,” he said. “Look at me, not at the camera.”
“Don’t worry, they had video cameras back when I was practicing,” Siegel said. “I’m not that much of a relic.”
“I just thought maybe you were out of practice.”
“Never.”
“Okay, then we’ll start. Three, two, one, recording.”
Haller introduced Siegel and stated the date, time, and location of the interview. Though the camera was solely focused on Siegel, he identified himself and Bosch as well. Then he began.
“Mr. Siegel, how long did you practice law in Los Angeles County?”
“Almost fifty years.”
“You specialized in criminal defense?”
“Specialized? That was the entire practice, yes.”
“Did there come a time when you represented a man named Preston Borders?”
“Preston Borders engaged my services in his defense of a murder charge in late nineteen eighty-seven. The trial ensued the following year.”
Haller proceeded to walk him through the case, first the preliminary hearing to determine if the charge was valid, then on to the jury trial. Haller was careful to avoid any questions regarding the internal discussions of the case, as they were privileged attorney-client communications. Once the case was summarized to the point of a guilty verdict and the subsequent sentence of death, Haller moved on to contemporary times.
“Mr. Siegel, are you aware of a new legal effort being undertaken on your former client’s behalf to vacate his conviction after almost thirty years?”
“I am aware of it. You made me aware of it.”
“And are you aware that in the legal filings, Mr. Borders makes the claim that you suborned his perjury during the trial by telling him to testify about things that you both knew were untrue?”
“I’m aware of it, yes. He threw me under the bus, to use today’s terminology.”
Siegel’s voice had drawn tight with contained anger.
“Specifically, Borders makes the claim that you furnished him with the sworn testimony regarding his purchase of a sea-horse pendant on the Santa Monica pier. Did you provide that testimony to Mr. Borders?”
“I certainly did not. If he lied, he did so on his own and at his own counsel. As a matter of fact, I did not want him to testify during the trial, but he insisted. I felt I had no choice, so I let him and he talked himself onto death row. The jury did not believe a word he said. I talked to several of the jurors after the verdict and they confirmed that.”
“Did you ever consider putting forth a defense that included the allegation that the lead detective on the case had planted the sea-horse pendant in your client’s home in order to frame him?”
“No, I didn’t. We had both of the detectives on the case checked out and challenging their integrity was not an option. We didn’t try it.”
“Have you allowed me to interview you today freely and without outside pressure?”
“I volunteered. I’m an old man but you don’t trash me and the integrity of a forty-nine-year career in law without a word from me about it. Fuck them.”
Haller leaned away from the camera, not expecting the off-color language. He tried not to put laughter on the sound track.
“One final question,” he managed to say. “Do you understand that giving this interview today could result in an investigation and sanctions against you from the California bar?”
“They can come and get me if they want. I’ve never been afraid of a fight. They were stupid enough to believe and print the obit I sent them. Let them come at me.”
Haller reached over and turned off the recorder.
“That was good, Uncle David,” he said. “I think it’s going to help.”
“Thank you,” Bosch said. “I know it will help.”
“Like I said, fuck them,” Siegel said. “They want a fight, they got it.”
Haller started packing up the camera.
Siegel turned his head slightly and looked at Bosch.
“I remember you at that trial,” he said. “I knew you spoke the truth and Borders was done for. You know, in forty-nine years, he was the only one of mine to end up on the row. And I never felt bad about it. He was where he was supposed to be.”
“Well,” Bosch said, “with any luck he’ll stay there.”
Twenty minutes later Bosch and Haller stood by their cars in the parking lot.
“So what do you think?” Bosch asked.
“I think they picked the wrong lawyer to mess with,” Haller said. “I loved that ‘fuck them’ line.”
“Yeah. But they thought he was dead.”
“They’re going to be shitting bricks next Wednesday, that’s for sure. Just need to keep this all under wraps if we can.”
“Why shouldn’t we be able to?”
“It’s about standing. I’ll file for you as an intervening party. The D.A. will probably object, saying they represent you as the lead on the case. If I lose that battle, then I may have to file on Legal Siegel’s behalf to get in the door. That’s all we want, a foot in the door to make our case.”
“You think the judge will allow the interview in?”
“He’ll look at some of it, at least. I started out with the basic stuff on purpose. To lull Cronyn and Kennedy into thinking it’s fluff. Then — boom — I ask the question about perjury. It crosses the line into privilege, so we’ll see. I’m hoping the judge will be a little bit pregnant by then and say he wants to watch the whole thing. I checked him out. We got lucky there. Judge Houghton’s been on the bench twenty years and was practicing law for twenty before that. That means he was around when Legal was active. I’m hoping he’ll cut the old guy a break and hear him out.”