Jonathan Kellerman - Self-Defence

"Like going easy on a multiple murderer?" said Leah.

Bleichert raised an eyebrow at her. She crossed her legs and looked away. MacIlhenny allowed himself a tiny smile.

Bleichert said, "Some jail time. I mean it, Land."

MacIlhenny glanced at App. "I suppose we can live with that. At a federal facility, protective custody."

"So what happens on Mellors and Barnard?" said Leah, looking at MacIlhenny but adressing Bleichert. "Talk about being in an awkward position. Especially when Lowell's case hits the fan. We'll never be able to keep it quiet. The minute his attorney finds out about the deal and squawks, we'll come across softer on crime than the ACLU."

"Tsk, tsk-"

"She's got a point," said Bleichert.

"Come on, Stan," said MacIlhenny. "What kind of crime are we talking about? A scumbag private eye blackmailer and the scumbag motel manager who killed him? Weigh that against the chance to try Lowell."

"Afro-American scumbag motel manager," said Leah. "Trading black life for white life? Can't you just see the NAACP having fun with that? And let's not forget, Lowell's victim was no choirboy, either. Is anyone going to care what an old man did twenty years ago?"

"There's a substantial difference, young lady."

"Sure, someone else's client'll be facing the heat."

Bleichert chewed his lip. App looked at him. First interest he'd shown in the proceedings.

Bleichert said, "I hear everything you're saying, Land, but she raises a valid consideration."

Talking about Leah as if she wasn't there.

MacIlhenny thought for a while. "There could be other evidence, Stan. Theoretically."

"Like what?"

"Audiotapes. Terrence Trafficant telling his story."

Leah said, "Theoretical." She looked disgusted.

MacIlhenny shrugged. Pounds of flesh shivered. "It's been a long time. Memories fade. Clean out an attic, no telling what you'll find."

"Malibu attic?" said Leah. "Or the one in Holmby Hills?"

"Here's my offer," said Bleichert, "take it or leave it. Mr. App confesses to his involvement in Karen Best, Felix Barnard, and Denton Mellors. Involuntary manslaughter on Best, conspiracy-second on Barnard because Mellors was the shooter, and straight second degree on Mellors, all sentences to run concurrently. If we avoid a trial-"

"Stan, Stan."

"Hold on, Land. If we avoid a trial and if Lowell is convicted of first degree because of information provided by Mr. App, Mr. App's sentences are suspended."

Leah's huge eyes were hot skillets.

MacIlhenny pretended to deliberate.

"Just one thing, Stan," said Leah. "By all accounts, Barnard was premeditated. We could go for Conspiracy One and by the same token, straight One on-"

Bleichert shushed her with a short, angry hand movement.

MacIlhenny said, "What do you mean by confession?"

"Written, sworn, all the details, no evasion of questions, full acknowledgment of complicity."

"Like in church," said App softly.

MacIlhenny's eyebrows sank. "What about the dope?"

"If you can work it out with the feds, total walk," said Bleichert. "But only if he admits guilt in writing and only if his information leads directly to Lowell's conviction. And no own-recognizance, he stays put. What I said before about Lompoc stands, and I'll grant you the protective custody- hell, I'll put him on a cellblock with ex-senators."

Leah cracked her knuckles.

Bleichert said, "Why don't you go get all the files, Lee? So we know what to ask Mr. App."

She stomped out of the room and walked right past me.

Just as the door to the hall slammed, MacIlhenny said, "Pretty girl."

App and MacIlhenny conferred with the sound off and App started dictating to the lawyer.

During the break, Bleichert returned to his office and Leah Schwartz to hers.

Before she left she said, "Going to wait here?"

"Till Milo gets here."

"Well, be careful. Hang around here too long, you'll need to be disinfected."

She slammed the door and App heard it through the glass and jumped. His fear had always been there, hiding just beneath the cashmere.

MacIlhenny patted his shoulder and App resumed dictating.

Twenty minutes later, Milo still hadn't come back from accompanying Lucy and I wondered why.

A half hour after that, MacIlhenny stopped writing.

Bleichert ran his finger down the center of the page. Speed-reading. Then a slower perusal.

He put it down.

"It says nothing in here about who shot Mr. Mellors."

"A guy named Jeffries," said App, as if it didn't matter. "Leopold Jeffries. He got killed himself, five years ago- check the police files."

"What did you have to do with Mr. Jeffries's death?"

App smiled. "Nothing at all. The police shot him, in the middle of a robbery. Leopold Earl Jeffries- check it out."

Calm again.

Bleichert read the confession again. "This is okay, for a start." Putting it in his pocket. "Now fill me in on Trafficant."

App looked at MacIlhenny. The fat lawyer sucked his cheeks.

"There are tapes," said App. "At my house in Lake Arrowhead. Feel free to get them without a warrant. They're in the basement, behind one of the refrigerators."

"One of them?" said Bleichert, writing.

"I have two basement refrigerators at Arrowhead. For parties. Two Sub-Zeros. Behind the one on the right is a wall safe. The tapes are in there, I'll get you the combination. They've got Terry Trafficant telling me everything. I taped him because I thought one day it might be historically significant. Terry got fed up with Lowell's manipulation and looked to me as someone he could trust. I paid him every penny of his option money. I also paid him for a screenplay he did. Every penny."

"In return for all his future royalties?" said Leah.

"That, too," said App. "He got the better end of the deal. I haven't earned a thing in years."

"What kind of screenplay?" said Bleichert.

"Not really a full script, just a summary of some horror flick - Friday the Thirteenth type of thing, women getting chopped up by a maniac."

"Title?"

"The Bride."

The treatment I'd read, Trafficant's. Title stolen from a dead man's novel. For the petty thrill? The allure of crime had never left him.

"I thought," App was saying, "with a few changes- more character arc- it had potential. If Terry hadn't disappeared, I probably would have produced it."

"Hooray for Hollywood," said Bleichert. "So far I don't know much more than when I came in."

App wore a meditative look.

MacIlhenny handed his client water, and App sipped delicately.

Putting the glass down, he said, "The key to all of it is Lowell's creative block. He went into a massive block years ago- thirty years ago. Just couldn't break out of it, maybe because of his drinking or maybe he'd just said all he had to say. But Trafficant didn't know that. He spent most of his youth in prison, found Lowell's old stuff, and read it, had no idea what was going on in the outside world. Then he ended up in some sort of creative writing program the prison was experimenting with and got the idea he could write. So he wrote to Lowell, stroked Lowell's ego, the two of them started a correspondence. Trafficant started writing poems and keeping a diary. He sent it to Lowell. Lowell was impressed and started working for Trafficant's parole."

Pausing.

"That's the part the public knows. The truth is, Lowell and Trafficant cut a deal, back when Trafficant was still in prison. Lowell hatched the whole thing, telling Trafficant poetry was a financial loser in the book business, it was almost impossible to get published. Except for a few famous poets like him. Lowell promised to agitate until Trafficant got early parole; meanwhile he'd also be editing Trafficant's poems, then submit them for publication under his own name. Trafficant would get the money and Lowell would also get the diary published under Trafficant's name."