The Lincoln Lawyer

would bust the guy and the feds would take over. No prosecutorial glory for Leslie Faire-unless she had designs on jumping over to the U.S. Attorney’s Office one day.
    “The feds will love you for this,” I said, trying to wedge into her conscience. “He’s a bad guy and he’ll probably check out soon and the chance to get him will be lost.”
    She looked at me like I was a bug.
    “Don’t try that with me, Haller.”
    “Sorry.”
    She went back to her thinking. I tried again.
    “Once you have his location, you could always try to set up a buy.”
    “Would you be quiet, please? I can’t think.”
    I raised my hands in surrender and shut up.
    “All right,” she finally said. “Let me talk to my boss. Give me your number and I’ll call you later. But I’ll tell you right now, if we go for it, she’ll have to go to a lockdown program. Something at County-USC. We’re not going to waste a residency slot on her.”
    I thought about it and nodded. County-USC was a hospital with a jail wing where injured, sick, and addicted inmates were treated. What she was offering was a program where Gloria Dayton could be treated for her addiction and released upon completion. She would not face any charges or further time in jail or prison.
    “Fine with me,” I said.
    I looked at my watch. I had to get going.
    “Our offer is good until first appearance tomorrow,” I said. “After that I’ll call the DEA and see if they want to deal directly. Then it will be taken out of your hands.”
    She looked indignantly at me. She knew that if I got a deal with the feds, they would squash her. Head to head, the feds always trumped the state. I stood up to go and put a business card down on her desk.
    “Don’t try to back-door me, Haller,” she said. “If it goes sideways on you, I’ll take it out on your client.”
    I didn’t respond. I pushed the chair I had borrowed back to its desk. She then dropped the threat with her next line.
    “Anyway, I’m sure we can handle this on a level that makes everybody happy.”
    I looked back at her as I got to the office door.
    “Everybody except for Hector Moya,” I said.

EIGHT
    T he law offices of Dobbs and Delgado were on the twenty-ninth floor of one of the twin towers that created the signature skyline of Century City. I was right on time but everyone was already gathered in a conference room with a long polished wood table and a wall of glass that framed a western exposure stretching across Santa Monica to the Pacific and the charter islands beyond. It was a clear day and I could see Catalina and Anacapa out there at the very edge of the world. Because the sun was going down and seemed to be almost at eye level, a film had been rolled down over the window to cut the glare. It was like the room had sunglasses on.
    And so did my client. Louis Roulet sat at the head of the table with a pair of black-framed Ray-Bans on. Out of his gray jail jumpsuit, he now wore a dark brown suit over a pale silk T-shirt. He looked like a confident and cool young real estate executive, not the scared boy I saw in the holding pen in the courthouse.
    To Roulet’s left sat Cecil Dobbs and next to him was a well-preserved, well-coiffed and bejeweled woman I assumed to be Roulet’s mother. I also assumed that Dobbs hadn’t told her that the meeting would not include her.
    To Roulet’s right the first seat was empty and waiting for me. In the seat next to it sat my investigator, Raul Levin, with a closed file in front of him on the table.
    Dobbs introduced Mary Alice Windsor to me. She shook my hand with a strong grip. I sat down and Dobbs explained that she would be paying for her son’s defense and had agreed to the terms I had outlined earlier. He slid an envelope across the table to me. I looked inside and saw a check for sixty thousand dollars with my name on it. It was the retainer I had asked for, but I had expected only half of it in the initial payment. I had made more in total on cases before but it was still the largest single check I had ever received.
    The check was drawn on the account of Mary Alice Windsor. The bank was solid gold-First National of Beverly Hills. I closed the envelope and slid it back across the table.
    “I’m going to need that to come from Louis,” I said, looking at Mrs. Windsor. “I don’t care if you give him the money and then he gives it to me. But I want the check I get to come from Louis. I work for him and that’s got to be clear from the