Jeff Sherratt - Guilty or Else

“He called me too, and I thought maybe we could figure out a plan, how we’re going to handle the press. I don’t want this case tried in the newspapers.”

I pulled the pink message slip Rita had given me from my pocket. The one about the reporter from the Times wanting information. “Conway called you, too?”

“Yeah, that’s what I want to talk about. When will you be available?”

“Let’s talk about it over a bite. I owe you lunch,” I said.

“I don’t know about that. Two lunches in a row…”

“It’s the only time I have available.” I enjoyed having lunch with beautiful women, even if it was only business, but she hesitated. “Unless you want to see my picture in the paper, I suggest we meet and agree on the ground rules. The media is going to be all over this. I don’t want us arguing in public, either.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “Shall we meet at the Regency again?”

“It’s my turn to pick the place. How about Chris ’n Pitt’s?” I said.

“Oh my God, Chris ’n Pitt’s. Sawdust on the floor and all that?” She didn’t sound too thrilled. Her voice had a cringe to it, but I thought I heard a small laugh behind the cringe.

“Yeah, I see you know the place. I’ll see you there in a half hour.” I hung up before she could bail on me.

Chris Pelonis had painted the exterior of his Chris ’n Pitt’s restaurants to look like log cabins. He said the paint job reminded people of honest-to-God country barbecue. It reminded me of painted stucco. The dining room floors, as Bobbi had said, were covered with sawdust, and you ate your huge slabs of baby-back ribs with all the trimmings while seated at wooden picnic tables. The waitresses’ costumes-gingham blouses, Levi mini-skirts with white piping, and cowgirl boots-went with the country western music that heehawed in the background.

I did a little two-step up to the hostess’s station and put my name in for a table. Bobbi came through the front doors and gawked in disbelief. She ventured a little farther into the waiting area. As soon as she spotted me, she shook her head slowly, giving me a mock scornful look. Then she started laughing.

I went to her side. “Howdy, ma’am.”

“I hope you’re not going to do that cowboy shtick all through lunch.”

“A little cowboy shtick, but mostly lawyer shtick.”

The hostess called my name and showed us to our table.

Bobbi ordered a small salad with blue-cheese dressing, no Roquefort. I had the barbecued beef sandwich that came with about a pound and a half of French fries.

While we waited for our food to arrive, we talked about the implications of granting interviews to the press. “It’d be a circus,” I agreed. I figured if the D.A.’s office wouldn’t release information favorable to their case, then I wouldn’t counter. Handling the media took special skills I knew I didn’t possess, at least not yet. Famed lawyers, such as Melvin Belli, were masters at manipulating reporters. But even for them, it could backfire, and when the media turned on you it could be brutal. Belli, late in his career, after ranting continuously about several of his ex-wives, became known as Melvin Bellicose. Yeah, it would be best if Bobbi and I agreed to avoid the spotlight as much as possible. One less thing to worry about.

“So it’s a deal? We both offer no comment to the media hounds,” I said, shooting my hand across the table.

“Deal,” Bobbi said with a smile, taking my hand in hers. Our eyes locked for a moment. “Jimmy, you seem like a nice guy. I want you to understand something.”

“Oh?”

She removed her hand and continued: “I just want you to know I play by the rules, no tricks or fancy footwork. I’m a professional and take my responsibility seriously. I won’t be underhanded with you. I want the system to work and justice to be served, that’s all.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

The food arrived. Bobbi silently picked at her salad. I took a few bites of my sandwich, grabbed a napkin from the stack on the table, and wiped my hands. “There’s something else on your mind,” I said. “Want to tell me about it?”

“My superior says that she’d still be willing to accept a plea. One last chance.”

“We’ll pass on the offer. I want to make myself clear. Rodriguez did not kill her.”

“They all say that.” She shook her head. “The prisons are full of innocent people.”

“In this case it’s true.”

“This is your first murder case. I’ll give you some advice-”

“Forget it. I’m not going to see an innocent man go to prison.”

“I’m sorry to say this, but with you as his lawyer he’s lucky the Supreme Court put a hold on the death penalty last July.”

“That’s a crummy thing to say.”

“No offense, Jimmy, but you are inexperienced.”

“I’m experienced enough to know an innocent man when I see one.”

“Have it your way.”

Bobbi took a sip of iced tea, stirred her fork slowly around in her salad. “You should think it over. He could be out in twenty-five years if he accepts.”

“Twenty-five years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. I don’t think so.”

I took a sip of coffee and stared at Bobbi over the rim of my cup.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

I debated whether I should tell Bobbi the information I had about Welch sleeping with Gloria Graham. As a matter of pure tactics, I was better off keeping my knowledge of the affair to myself. Surprise was one of the most effective trial strategies, and I knew enough to understand that most criminal lawyers would never tip their hand in a situation like this. But, I had no evidence to take to trial, no defense whatsoever, just rumors and innuendos, which wouldn’t be admitted. I needed proof. I needed the police to do a full investigation of Welch. Maybe the authorities could somehow break his alibi, and If Bobbi reopened the case-with her powers of subpoena and full investigative staff-at least I’d know if I were on the right track. But could I trust her? I had to be sure that she was more concerned about justice than victories in the courtroom.

I wouldn’t mention being tailed and what Johnson had said about heavyweights being involved. I needed more information about them: who they were, how they were connected, and what all of the cloak and dagger stuff had to do with the case. I’d keep it under wraps. If all else failed, I’d have something for the trial.

“Bobbi, can I talk to you, well, one-on-one? You know, straight out?”

“You mean man-to-man, don’t you?”

“C’mon, you know what I mean.”

“Jimmy, what’s on your mind?”

“A few minutes ago, we spoke of justice.”

“Yes, go on.”

“Can I trust you?”

“That’s entirely up to you, but what I’ve been trying to explain-”

“I know what you said, but-”

“Let me finish.” Bobbi looked down at her salad. She paused, as if to prepare herself for what she was about to say. “In all my cases, I feel deep sorrow for the victims of the crimes. I feel for them just as I would if the crimes happened to me. I want-no, make that demand-justice, retribution for what happened.” She pushed her plate back and folded her hands on the table. “I’m not concerned with racking up convictions, getting my name in the papers, or scoring points with anyone. I’m not running for office, nor do I ever intend to. My only concern is that the perpetrators are punished for their crimes.”

“What about the times when the police arrest the wrong man?” I asked. “You know it happens.”

“You know better than to ask that, Jimmy. There would be no justice if that were the case. The guilty person would go free. That’s why just adding more convictions to my resume does nothing for me.”