Майкл Коннелли - The Law of Innocence

I was silent. Her words hit hard because I knew they were sincere.

“Thank you,” I finally said. “I mean that. It’s a good reminder. Act like a winner, you’ll become a winner. That’s the rule and I guess I forgot it. You can’t act like a winner if you don’t look like one. It’s all about sleep, I think. It’s hard to sleep with this hanging over me.”

“See a doctor,” Maggie said. “Get a prescription.”

I shook my head.

“No prescriptions,” I said. “But I’ll figure something out. Should we order? You sure you can’t stay? The food here is great.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I really do have a meeting and I want you and Hay to visit. She was just telling me that she’s learning more watching you in court than in the hallowed hallways of USC Law. Anyway, I’m going to go now.”

Maggie pushed back her chair.

“Thanks, Mags,” I said. “It means a lot.”

“Take care of yourself,” she said.

And then she did a surprising thing. After leaning down and kissing Hayley on the cheek, she came around the table to kiss me as well. It was the first time in too many years for me to remember.

“Bye, guys,” she said.

I watched her go and was silent for a few moments.

“Do they really call her that?” Hayley asked.

“What?” I asked.

“Iceberg.”

“Yeah, they do.”

She laughed and then I did too. The waitress came and we ordered off the happy-hour menu. Hayley had lobster tacos and, inspired by Maggie’s “skin and bones” comment, I ordered the classic hamburger with grilled onions even though I’d had a late lunch.

During the meal, we mostly talked about her classes. She was at a stage where the law was a wonderful thing, with protections for all and equitable punishments for the offenders. It was an exciting time and I remembered it well. It was when ideals were set and goals attached to them. I let her talk and mostly just smiled and nodded my head. My mind was on Maggie. The things she had said, and the kiss at the end.

“Now you,” Hayley said at one point.

I looked up, a french fry ready to go into my mouth.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“All we’ve been talking about is me and the theoretical world of law,” she said. “What about you and the real world? How is the case going?”

“What case?”

“Daaad.”

“Just kidding. It’s going well. We’re coming up with some good stuff, I think. I’m beginning to see the trial come together. There was a football coach. I can’t remember who it was — maybe Belichick, the Patriots guy. Anyway, he would call the first twelve plays of the game for the offense a couple days before the game even started. He’d look at film of the other team, study their habits, decide what he expected them to do on defense, and write out the plays. That’s the place I’m getting to. I can see things falling into place — witnesses, evidence.”

“But you don’t get to go until after the prosecution.”

“True. But I pretty much know what they’re going to do. I mean, we’re four weeks out, so there’s plenty of time for things to change and maybe they surprise me. But right now I’m thinking about my case, not the state’s, and I’m beginning to feel good about it.”

“That’s great. I already talked to all of my professors and told them I needed to be there.”

“Look, I know you’re with me on it, but you don’t have to be there and miss school. Maybe come for openers and then I’ll let you know if there’s something you might want to see. Then the verdict and the celebration afterward.”

I smiled, hoping she would share my optimism.

“Dad, don’t jinx yourself,” she said instead.

“Is that what they teach you at USC Law?” I said. “How not to jinx a case?”

“No, that’s third year.”

“Funny girl.”

We went our separate ways outside the restaurant. I walked off but then stopped to watch her make her way through the plaza. It was dark now but the campus was well lit. She walked with confidence and a fast step. I watched until she disappeared between two buildings.

Bishop was waiting for me at the appointed spot. I got in the rear passenger door. He handed a cheap flip phone over the seat to me as well as change from my sixty.

“Did you get something to eat?” I asked.

“I went over to the Tam’s on Fig,” he said.

“I had a hamburger, too.”

“Hit the spot. So, where to?”

“Just hold right here a minute while I make a call.”

On my real phone I googled the number for the FBI’s Los Angeles Field Office and called it on the burner. It was answered by a male voice and a curt “FBI.”

“Yes, I need to get a message to an agent.”

“There’s nobody in right now. Everybody’s gone home.”

“I know. Can you please get a message to Agent Dawn Ruth?”

“You’ll have to do that tomorrow.”

“It’s an emergency call from a confidential informant. Tomorrow will be too late.”

There was a long pause and then he relented.

“Is this the number she needs to call?”

“Yes, and the name is Walter Lennon.”

“Walter Lennon. Got it.”

“Please call her now. Thank you.”

I closed the burner and looked over the seat at Bishop.

“Okay, drive. I want to be moving if she calls back. Harder to track us that way.”

“Anywhere?”

“Tell you what — head toward your place. I can drop you off tonight instead of you dropping me and taking an Uber.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, go. I want to be moving.”

Bishop pulled the Lincoln away from the curb and started driving. He was soon on the 110 freeway going south. I knew he would connect to the 105 and turn west toward Inglewood.

We were in the carpool lane and making good time. As we took the exit to the 105, the burner phone started to buzz with a call. Caller ID was blocked. I flipped it open but didn’t speak. Soon I heard a woman’s voice.

“Who is this?”

“Agent Ruth, thanks for calling. It’s Mick Haller.”

“Haller? What the hell are you doing?”

“Is this a private line? I don’t think you want this recorded.”

“Yes, it’s private. What exactly is this about?”

“Well, it’s about Walter Lennon. And the fact that you called me back so quick pretty much confirms you know exactly who he is. Make that, was.”

“Haller, you have about three seconds before I hang up. Why are you calling me?”

“I’m taking a gamble, Agent Ruth. The other night when your partner Aiello wanted to throw me off the deck, you pulled him back. I’ve seen a lot of tape in my time of the good cop — bad cop routine, and I don’t think that’s what was going on there. You didn’t like what he was doing.”

“I’m asking you one more time before hanging up: What do you want?”

“Well, for one thing, I want you to testify.”

I heard sarcastic laughter.

“And barring that,” I said, undaunted, “I want you to tell me what was going on with Sam Scales aka Walter Lennon and BioGreen.”

“You’re crazy, Haller,” Ruth said. “You expect me to just throw my job away?”

“I expect you to do the right thing, is all. Isn’t that why you became an FBI agent? I’m basing this on what happened the other night but I’m guessing that whatever is going on — this cover-up — you’re not down with it. Your partner may be all in, but you’re not. You know I didn’t kill Sam Scales and you can help me prove it.”

“I’ll say it again. You’re crazy if you think I’m going to throw away my career for you. And, no, I don’t know whether or not you killed Sam Scales.”

“Well, maybe you don’t have to throw away your career. Maybe you can do the right thing and still keep it. I know this: your partner isn’t keeping his.”