The Lincoln Lawyer

soul of every prisoner who lived or died there is etched on its dark walls. It was as foreboding a prison as I had ever visited, and at one time or another I had been to every one in California.
    They searched my briefcase and made me go through a metal detector. After that they still passed a wand over me to make extra sure. Even then I wasn’t allowed direct contact with Menendez because I had not formally scheduled the interview the required five days in advance. So I was put in a no-contact room-a Plexiglas wall between us with dime-size holes to speak through. I showed the guard the six-pack of photos I wanted to give Menendez and he told me I would have to show him the pictures through the Plexiglas. I sat down, put the photos away and didn’t have to wait long until they brought Menendez in on the other side of the glass.
    Two years ago, when he was shipped off to prison, Jesus Menendez had been a young man. Now he looked like he was already the forty years old I told him he could beat if he pleaded guilty. He looked at me with eyes as dead as the gravel stones out in the parking lot. He saw me and sat down reluctantly. He didn’t have much use for me anymore.
    We didn’t bother with hellos and I got right into it.
    “Look, Jesus, I don’t have to ask you how you’ve been. I know. But something’s come up and it could affect your case. I need to ask you a few questions. You understand me?”
    “Why questions now, man? You had no questions before.”
    I nodded.
    “You’re right. I should’ve asked you more questions back then and I didn’t. I didn’t know then what I know now. Or at least what I think I know now. I am trying to make things right.”
    “What do you want?”
    “I want you to tell me about that night at The Cobra Room.”
    He shrugged.
    “The girl was there and I talked. She tol’ me to follow her home.”
    He shrugged again.
    “I went to her place, man, but I didn’t kill her like that.”
    “Go back to the club. You told me that you had to impress the girl, that you had to show her the money and you spent more than you wanted to. You remember?”
    “Is right.”
    “You said there was another guy trying to get with her. You remember that?”
    “Si, he was there talking. She went to him but she came back to me.”
    “You had to pay her more, right?”
    “Like that.”
    “Okay, do you remember that guy? If you saw a picture of him, would you remember him?”
    “The guy who talked big? I think I ’member.”
    “Okay.”
    I opened my briefcase and took out the spread of mug shots. There were six photos and they included the booking photo of Louis Ross Roulet and five other men whose mug shots I had culled out of my archive boxes. I stood up and one by one started holding them up on the glass. I thought that by spreading my fingers I would be able to hold all six against the glass. Menendez stood up to look closely at the photos.
    Almost immediately a voice boomed from an overhead speaker.
    “Step back from the glass. Both of you step back from the glass and remain seated or the interview will be terminated.”
    I shook my head and cursed. I gathered the photos together and sat down. Menendez sat back down as well.
    “Guard!” I said loudly.
    I looked at Menendez and waited. The guard didn’t enter the room.
    “Guard!” I called again, louder.
    Finally, the door opened and the guard stepped into my side of the interview room.
    “You done?”
    “No. I need him to look at these photos.”
    I held up the stack.
    “Show him through the glass. He’s not allowed to receive anything from you.”
    “But I’m going to take them right back.”
    “Doesn’t matter. You can’t give him anything.”
    “But if you don’t let him come to the glass, how is he going to see them?”
    “It’s not my problem.”
    I waved in surrender.
    “All right, okay. Then can you stay here for a minute?”
    “What for?”
    “I want you to watch this. I’m going to show him the photos and if he makes an ID, I want you to witness it.”
    “Don’t drag me into your bullshit.”
    He walked to the door and left.
    “Goddamn it,” I said.
    I looked at Menendez.
    “All right, Jesus, I’m going to show you, anyway. See if you recognize any of them from where you are sitting.”
    One by one I held the photos up about a foot from the glass. Menendez leaned forward. As I showed each of the first five he looked, thought about it and then shook his head no. But on the sixth photo I saw his