The Brass Verdict

second address. Fareholm is right off Laurel Canyon, one street before Mount Olympus. You go up the stairs to the front porch and there’s a table and chairs out there and an ashtray. The extra key’s under the ashtray. The guest bedroom is right next to the kitchen. Just make yourself at home.”
    “Thanks.”
    He took the Post-it back and looked at the address I’d written.
    “I probably won’t get there till late,” I told him. “I’ve got a trial starting next week and a lot of work to do before then.”
    “Okay.”
    “Look, we’re only talking about a few weeks. Till you get on your feet again. Meantime, maybe we can help each other out. You know, like if one of us starts to feel the pull, maybe the other one will be there to talk about it. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    We were quiet for a moment, probably both of us thinking about the deal. I didn’t tell Patrick that he might end up helping me more than I would help him. In the past forty-eight hours, the pressure of the new caseload had begun to weigh on me. I could feel myself being pulled back, feel the desire to go to the cotton-wrapped world the pills could give me. The pills opened the space between where I was and the brick wall of reality. I was beginning to crave that distance.
    Up front and deep down I knew I didn’t want that again, and maybe Patrick could help me avoid it.
    “Thanks, Mr. Haller.”
    I looked up at him from my thoughts.
    “Call me Mickey,” I said. “And I should be the one saying thanks.”
    “Why are you doing all of this for me?”
    I looked at the big fish on the wall behind him for a moment, then back at him.
    “I’m not sure, Patrick. But I’m hoping that if I help you, then I’ll be helping myself.”
    Patrick nodded like he knew what I was talking about. That was strange because I wasn’t sure myself what I had meant.
    “Go get your board, Patrick,” I said. “I’ll see you at the house. And make sure you remember to call your mother.”

Thirty
    After I was finally alone in the office, I started the process the way I always do, with clean pages and sharp points. From the supply closet I retrieved two fresh legal pads and four Black Warrior pencils. I sharpened their points and got down to work.
    Vincent had broken the Elliot case into two files. One file contained the state’s case, and the second, thinner file contained the defense case. The weight of the defense file was not of concern to me. The defense played by the same rules of discovery as the prosecution. Anything that went into the second file went to the prosecutor. A seasoned defense attorney knew to keep the file thin. Keep the rest in your head, or hidden on a microchip in your computer if it is safe. I had neither Vincent’s head nor his laptop. But I was sure the secrets Jerry Vincent kept were hidden somewhere in the hard copy. The magic bullet was there. I just had to find it.
    I began with the thicker file, the prosecution’s case. I read straight through, every page and every word. I took notes on one legal pad and drew a time-and-action flowchart on the other. I studied the crime scene photographs with a magnifying glass I took from the desk drawer. I drew up a list of every single name I encountered in the file.
    From there, I moved on to the defense file and again read every word on every page. The phone rang two different times but I didn’t even look up to see what name was on the screen. I didn’t care. I was in relentless pursuit and cared about only one thing. Finding the magic bullet.
    When I was finished with the Elliot files, I opened the Wyms case and read every document and report it contained, a time-consuming process. Because Wyms was arrested following a public incident that had drawn several uniform and SWAT deputies, this file was thick with reports from the various units involved and personnel at the scene. It was stuffed with transcriptions of the conversations with Wyms, as well as weapons and ballistics reports, a lengthy evidence inventory, witness statements, dispatch records and patrol deployment reports.
    There were a lot of names in the file and I checked every one of them against the list of names from the Elliot files. I also cross-referenced every address.
    I had this client once. I don’t even know her name because I was sure that the name she was under in the system was not her own. She was in on a first offense but she knew the system too well to be a virgin. In fact, she knew everything too