"Yes. I think you should hold out for in excess of ten, after my commission."
"Ten what? Million?" he asks.
I nod. "Million. We're talking about almost seven years. Isn't your life worth at least a million five per year?"
He slows down, trying to gather his thoughts to deal with what he is hearing. "Damn straight," he finally says. "This is my life we're talking about." Willie is a really good "thought gatherer."
"So we're agreed?" I ask.
"Definitely. We are standing on the same corner, man. Singin' the same tune. Walking the same walk. All the way."
"Good," I say. "One for all and all for one."
He nods in agreement, then: "But what if they don't give us the ten?"
"Then we'll get a jury to give us fifteen."
"My man!" he enthuses, and actually slaps me five twice, so that it will total ten. A while later he gets up to leave, but stops at the door and turns to me. "You're not bullshitting me, right? I mean, no way you are bullshitting me?"
"No way." I smile, and then he smiles a hell of a lot wider than I do.
Minutes after Willie leaves, I get a phone call from Dylan Campbell's assistant asking me to meet Dylan in his office as soon as possible. I can only assume that the police have uncovered more evidence damaging to Oscar, but there's no sense asking the assistant. Dylan takes center stage whenever he can; if there's a bomb to drop on me, he will drop it personally.
I'm ushered into Dylan's office as soon as I arrive, another sign that he's got something to use on me. It's more often his style to make visitors stew in the reception area, but this time he can't wait to get right to it.
Also in Dylan's office waiting for me is Lieutenant Nick Sabonis, the lead detective on Oscar's case. If he shares Dylan's glee at what is about to be said, he hides it well. Nick's a career cop nearing the day when his biggest concern will be what fishing rod to use. He doesn't get into personal stuff with lawyers; he just wants to lock up the bad guys and move on to the next case.
"Thanks for coming down so quickly, Andy," Dylan says. "New evidence has turned up concerning your client."
I just wait for him to continue; coaxing him to hurry up would give him a satisfaction I don't want to provide.
"We got a call from a Wallace Ferro, the manager at the Food Fair supermarket on Riverside. It turns out that there's a tape of Garcia in the store at the exact time that the coroner says the murder was committed."
I'm pleased but puzzled. "I asked him about the tapes."
Dylan nods, a slight smirk on his face. "According to him, you didn't ask too hard. This was a tape above the cash machines at the bank branch in the market. It's a different system, and they don't tape over them for months. For some reason he thought we'd be more interested in it than you would."
Little of what Dylan is saying makes sense, but I'm not really concerned. No matter what Wally the grocery manager thinks of my investigative techniques, my client is about to be freed and so am I. I'm out of the case and clear of conscience. I can go back to saving otters.
"Does Oscar know about this?" I ask.
"He does. He's been released, and he's agreed to voluntarily answer some questions."
Alarm bells go off in my head. "What kind of questions? Why wasn't I informed?"
"Don't worry, Andy, Oscar waived his right to counsel." He smiles. "Especially your counsel."
"What the hell is going on, Dylan? What are you questioning Oscar about?"
My sense of foreboding increases when Nick, not having said a word, walks out of the office. My sense is that while he may be on the same side as Dylan, he doesn't want to associate himself with this performance.
Dylan doesn't even seem to notice him leave. He is taking his time, savoring the moment. "We've made another arrest in the case, Andy. We believe Oscar has information to provide in connection with that arrest."
"Who did you arrest?" I ask, knowing that this is the reason Dylan called me here, and knowing with even greater certainty that I'm going to hate the answer.
"I'm sorry I have to be the one to tell you this," he lies, "but we've arrested and charged Laurie Collins with the murder of Alex Dorsey."
THE PRESS IS OUT IN FORCE BY THE TIME I GET TO the jail. When it was Oscar Garcia that stood accused, it was a marginal story. When it's Laurie Collins, ex-cop and sworn enemy of the deceased, it's page one all the way.
I work my way through the reporters and camera crews, making comments as I go. I don't usually like to speak to the press until I know the facts, so I say only what I know to be true.
"What's your reaction to the arrest?" I'm asked.
"It's beyond idiotic," I respond.
"Are you going to defend her?"
"The facts will defend her," I say. "I'll just make sure everybody knows them."
I get inside the jail and ask to see Laurie. The bozo at the front desk tells me that she's being "processed." I know she's smart enough not to talk to anyone without me present, but I don't like the fact that she's alone. After five minutes of waiting, I tell him I'm going to go outside and tell the press I'm being denied access to my client. Coincidentally, at that very moment he receives a telepathic communication informing him that the processing just ended.
I'm led back to an anteroom where I wait for another five minutes, until Laurie is brought in. Her hands are cuffed in front of her, and she is already dressed in jail clothing. I expect to see fear in her eyes, but that's not what is there. What I see is anger. Which is good, because I've got enough fear for both of us.
"Andy, what the hell is going on?"
"I don't know," I say. "I haven't tried to press anyone for information yet. I wanted to talk to you first."
"They've charged me with Dorsey's murder," she says, total disbelief in her voice.
I nod. "Tell me what happened. Don't leave out a thing."
She sits down, resting her cuffed hands uncomfortably on the table. The cuffs are so offensive to me, I want to bite them off with my teeth.
"There isn't that much to tell," she says. "I went out to the stadium, like you said. It took a little while, but I finally noticed something in the shrubbery. I went over and looked at it, but I didn't touch it. It looked like clothing with blood on it. Then I saw the handle of a large knife, as if somebody had tried to cover it with the shrubs."
"What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything. Ten seconds after I saw the stuff, officers seemed to come from everywhere. There must have been seven or eight of them, guns drawn. They read me my rights and brought me down here."
"Do you think they had been following you, or waiting at the site?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know, maybe both. There were a lot of them." She shakes her head again, this time with more sadness. "It was weird; I helped train two or three of them."
I'm silent for a few moments, trying to figure this out. None of these pieces fit together.
"Andy, why did you send me out there?" It's not an accusation, just a need to know.