The Lincoln Lawyer

ride,” I said. “You guys can search my house and my office and my car for as long as you want, but I have to tell you, you are wasting your time. Not only am I the wrong guy for this, but you aren’t going to find that gun.”
    I saw Lankford’s head jog up and he was looking at me in the rearview again.
    “And why is that, Counselor? You already dumped it?”
    “Because the gun was stolen out of my house and I don’t know where it is.”
    Lankford started laughing. I saw the joy in his eyes.
    “Uh-huh, stolen. How convenient. When did this happen?”
    “Hard to tell. I hadn’t checked on the gun in years.”
    “You make a police report on it or file an insurance claim?”
    “No.”
    “So somebody comes in and steals your Mickey Cohen gun and you don’t report it. Even after you just told us you registered it in case this very thing happened. You being a lawyer and all, doesn’t that sound a little screwy to you?”
    “It does, except I knew who stole it. It was a client. He told me he took it and if I were to report it, I would be violating a client trust because my police report would lead to his arrest. Kind of a catch-twenty-two, Detective.”
    Sobel turned and looked back at me. I think maybe she thought I was making it up on the spot, which I was.
    “That sounds like legal jargon and bullshit, Haller,” Lankford said.
    “But it’s the truth. We’re here. Just park in front of the garage.”
    Lankford pulled the car into the space in front of my garage and killed the engine. He turned to look back at me before getting out.
    “Which client stole the gun?”
    “I told you, I can’t tell you.”
    “Well, Roulet’s your only client right now, isn’t he?”
    “I have a lot of clients. But I told you, I can’t tell you.”
    “Think maybe we should run the charts from his ankle bracelet and see if he’s been to your place lately?”
    “Do whatever you want. He actually has been here. We had a meeting here once. In my office.”
    “Maybe that’s when he took it.”
    “I’m not telling you he took it, Detective.”
    “Yeah, well, that bracelet gives Roulet a pass on the Levin thing, anyway. We checked the GPS. So I guess that leaves you, Counselor.”
    “And that leaves you wasting your time.”
    I suddenly realized something about Roulet’s ankle bracelet but tried not to show it. Maybe a line on the trapdoor to his Houdini act. It was something I would need to check into later.
    “Are we just going to sit here?”
    Lankford turned and got out. He then opened my door because the inside handle had been disabled for transporting suspects and custodies. I looked at the two detectives.
    “You want me to show you the gun box? Maybe when you see it is empty, you can just leave and save us all the time.”
    “Not quite, Counselor,” Lankford said. “We’re going through this whole place. I’ll take the car and Detective Sobel will start in the house.”
    I shook my head.
    “Not quite, Detective. It doesn’t work that way. I don’t trust you. Your warrant is bent, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re bent. You stay together so I can watch you both or we wait until I can get a second observer up here. My case manager could be here in ten minutes. I could bring her up here to watch and you could also ask her about calling me on the morning Raul Levin got killed.”
    Lankford’s face grew dark with insult and anger that he looked like he was having trouble controlling. I decided to push it. I took out my cell phone and opened it.
    “I’m going to call your judge right now and see if he -”
    “Fine,” Lankford said. “We’ll start with the car. Together. We’ll work our way inside the house.”
    I closed the phone and put it back in my pocket.
    “Fine.”
    I walked over to a keypad on the wall outside the garage. I tapped in the combination and the garage door started to rise, revealing the blue-black Lincoln awaiting inspection. Its license plate read NT GLTY. Lankford looked at it and shook his head.
    “Yeah, right.”
    He stepped into the garage, his face still tight with anger. I decided to ease things a little bit.
    “Hey, Detective,” I said. “What’s the difference between a catfish and a defense attorney?”
    He didn’t respond. He stared angrily at the license plate on my Lincoln.
    “One’s a bottom-feeding shit sucker,” I said. “And the other one’s a fish.”
    For a moment his face remained frozen. Then a smile creased it and he broke into a