The Lincoln Lawyer

be,” I said. “The case would have started coming apart almost two weeks ago and we probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now if you had been up-front with me from the start.”
    In that moment I realized where my anger was truly coming from and it wasn’t because Roulet had been late or had lied or because of Sam Scales calling me a street-legal con. It was because I saw the franchise slipping away. There would be no trial in this case, no six-figure fee. I’d be lucky just to keep the retainer I’d gotten at the start. The case was going to end today when I walked into the DA’s office and told Ted Minton what I knew and what I had.
    “I’m sorry,” Roulet said again in a whiny voice. “I didn’t mean to mess things up.”
    I was looking down at the ground between my feet now. Without looking at him I reached over and put my hand on his shoulder.
    “I’m sorry I yelled at you before, Louis.”
    “What do we do now?”
    “I have a few more questions to ask you about that night, and then I’m going to go up into that building over there and meet the prosecutor and knock down all his plates. I think that by the time I come out of there this may all be over and you’ll be free to go back to showing your mansions to rich people.”
    “Just like that?”
    “Well, formally he may want to go into court and ask a judge to dismiss the case.”
    Roulet opened his mouth in shock.
    “Mr. Haller, I can’t begin to tell you how -”
    “You can call me Mickey. Sorry about that before.”
    “No problem. Thank you. What questions do you want to ask?”
    I thought for a moment. I really didn’t need anything else to go into the meeting with Minton. I was locked and loaded. I had walking proof.
    “What did the note say?” I asked.
    “What note?”
    “The one she gave you at the bar in Morgan’s.”
    “Oh, it said her address and then underneath she wrote ‘four hundred dollars’ and then under that she wrote ‘Come after ten.’”
    “Too bad we don’t have that. But I think we have enough.”
    I nodded and looked at my watch. I still had fifteen minutes until the meeting but I was finished with Roulet.
    “You can go now, Louis. I’ll call you when it’s all over.”
    “You sure? I could wait out here if you want.”
    “I don’t know how long it will take. I’m going to have to lay it all out for him. He’ll probably have to take it to his boss. It could be a while.”
    “All right, well, I guess I’ll go then. But you’ll call me, right?”
    “Yes, I will. We’ll probably go in to see the judge Monday or Tuesday, then it will all be over.”
    He put his hand out and I shook it.
    “Thanks, Mick. You’re the best. I knew I had the best lawyer when I got you.”
    I watched him walk back across the plaza and go between the two courthouses toward the public parking garage.
    “Yeah, I’m the best,” I said to myself.
    I felt the presence of someone and turned to see a man sit down on the bench next to me. He turned and looked at me and we recognized each other at the same time. It was Howard Kurlen, a homicide detective from the Van Nuys Division. We had bumped up against each other on a few cases over the years.
    “Well, well, well,” Kurlen said. “The pride of the California bar. You’re not talking to yourself, are you?”
    “Maybe.”
    “That could be bad for a lawyer if that got around.”
    “I’m not worried. How are you doing, Detective?”
    Kurlen was unwrapping a sandwich he had taken out of a brown bag.
    “Busy day. Late lunch.”
    He produced a peanut butter sandwich from the wrap. There was a layer of something else besides peanut butter in it but it wasn’t jelly. I couldn’t identify it. I looked at my watch. I still had a few minutes before I needed to get in line for the metal detectors at the courthouse entrance but I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend them with Kurlen and his horrible-looking sandwich. I thought about bringing up the Blake verdict, sticking it to the LAPD a little bit, but Kurlen stuck one in me first.
    “How’s my man Jesus doin’?” the detective asked.
    Kurlen had been lead detective on the Jesus Menendez case. He had wrapped him up so tightly that Menendez had no choice but to plead and hope for the best. He still got life.
    “I don’t know,” I answered. “I don’t talk to Jesus anymore.”
    “Yeah, I guess once they plead out and go upstate they’re not much use to you. No appeal work, no nothing.”
    I nodded. Every cop