Michael Connelly - The Gods of Guilt

I looked back at Kendall.

“Did you ever talk to Glory about Moya and the bust?”

She shook her head.

“No, in fact, I thought she left the business at the same time. She called me once and said she was in rehab and that she was going to leave town as soon as she got out. I didn’t leave town but I quit the business.”

I nodded.

“Does the name James Marco mean anything to you?”

I studied her face for a reaction or any sort of tell. In doing so I realized she was really quite beautiful, in an understated way. She shook her head and her hair swung under her chin.

“No, should it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was he a client? Most of these guys didn’t use real names. If you had a photo I could look at it.”

“He wasn’t a client as far as I know. He’s a federal agent. DEA, we assume.”

She shook her head again.

“Then I don’t know him. I didn’t know any DEA agents back then, thank God. I knew some girls the feds worked. The feds were the worst. They never let them up, you know what I mean?”

“You mean as informants?”

“If they had their hooks in you, then you couldn’t even think about quitting the life. They wouldn’t let you. They were worse than pimps. They wanted you to bring them cases.”

“Was Glory caught like that with Marco?”

“Not that she ever told me.”

“But she could’ve been?”

“Anything’s possible. If you were diming for the feds, you wouldn’t exactly announce it.”

I had to agree with her there. I tried to think of the next question I should ask but I was drawing a blank.

“What are you doing now?” I finally asked. “For a living, I mean.”

“I teach yoga. I have a studio on the boulevard. What are you doing now?”

I looked at her and I knew that the ruse was up.

“I know who you are,” she said. “I recognize you now. You were Glory’s lawyer. You’re also the lawyer that got that guy off who then killed those two people in the car.”

I nodded.

“Yeah, I’m that lawyer. And I’m sorry for the charade. I’m just trying to find out what happened to Glory and—”

“Is it hard?”

“Is what hard?”

“Living with your past.”

There was an unsympathetic tone in her voice as she spoke. Before I could answer, there was a sharp knock on the door that startled everyone in the room. Roberts leaned forward to get up but I raised my hands and lowered my voice.

“You may not want to answer that.”

She froze, half off of her chair, and whispered back.

“Why not?”

“Because I think it’s a man with a subpoena for you. He’s working for Moya’s attorney—Fulgoni. He wants to talk to you and put you on record regarding some of the things we’re talking about here.”

Roberts dropped back into her chair, her face showing her fear of Hector Arrande Moya. I nodded to Earl and he got up and went quietly into the entry area to check it out.

“What do I do?” Roberts whispered.

“For now, don’t answer,” I said. “He—”

A louder knock echoed through the house.

“He has to serve you personally. So as long as you avoid him, you don’t have to respond to the subpoena. Is there a way out the back? He might sit on the street waiting for you.”

“Oh my god! Why is this happening?”

Earl came back into the room. He had looked through the door’s peephole.

“Valenzuela?” I whispered.

He nodded. I looked back at Roberts.

“Or, if you want, I could accept service on your behalf and then go see a judge to quash it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Trash it. Make sure you’re not involved, that there’s no deposition.”

“And how much will that cost me?”

I shook my head.

“Nothing. I’ll just do it. You’ve helped me here, I’ll help you. I’ll keep you out of this.”

It was an offer I wasn’t sure I could make good on. But something about her fear made me say it. Something about her coming to the dreadful realization that she had not outrun the past touched me. I understood that.

There was another knock, followed by Valenzuela calling Roberts out by name. Earl went back to the peephole.

“I have a business,” Roberts whispered. “Clients. They don’t know about what I used to do. If it gets out, I’ll…”

She was on the verge of tears.

“Don’t worry. It won’t.”

I didn’t know why I was making these promises. I felt confident I could get the subpoena quashed. But Fulgoni could just restart the process. And there was no way I could control the media. Right now this whole thing was flying below the radar but Moya’s appeal contained charges of government misconduct, and if there was a full airing of the allegations, it was bound to draw attention. Whether that interest would extend to a peripheral player like Kendall Roberts was unknown but not something I could prevent.

And then there was the La Cosse case. I wasn’t yet sure how I could use Moya and his appeal in my client’s defense, but at minimum I knew I could introduce it as a diversion to muddy the waters of the prosecution’s case and make the jurors think of other possibilities.

Earl stepped back into the living room.

“He’s gone,” he said.

I looked at Roberts.

“But he’ll be back,” I said. “Or he’ll sit out there and wait for you. Do you want me to handle it for you?”

She thought for a moment and then nodded.

“Yes, thank you.”

“You got it.”

I asked for her phone number and the address of her yoga studio and wrote them down. I told her I would let her know when I had disposed of the subpoena. I then thanked her, and Earl and I left. I was pulling out my phone so I could call Valenzuela and tell him to come back so I could accept service, when I saw I didn’t need to. Valenzuela was waiting for me, sitting on the front hood of my Lincoln, leaning back on his hands and holding his face up to the sun. He spoke without turning his face or changing his position.

“Really, Mick? Clergy? I mean, how low will you go?”

I spread my arms wide like a minister in front of his flock.

“My pulpit is the well of the courtroom. I preach to the twelve apostles, the gods of guilt.”

Valenzuela casually looked at me.

“Yeah, well, whatever. It’s still pretty low and you should be ashamed of your ass. Almost as low as you racing out here ahead of me and hiding in there, telling her not to answer the door.”

I nodded. He had it all figured out. I signaled him off the hood of the car.

“Well, Val, Ms. Roberts is now my client and I am authorized to accept the subpoena from Fulgoni on her behalf.”

He slid off the car, dragging the wallet chain looped from his belt to his back pocket along the paint.

“Oh, geez, my fucking bad. I hope I didn’t scratch it, Reverend.”

“Just give me the paper.”

He pulled the rolled-up document out of his back pocket and slapped it into my palm.

“Good,” he said. “Saves me havin’ to sit on this place all day.”

He then waved over my shoulder at the house behind me. I turned and saw Kendall looking out the living-room window. I waved as if to say everything was okay and she closed the curtain.

I turned back to Valenzuela. He had his phone out and snapped a photo of me holding the subpoena.

“That’s really not necessary,” I said.

“With a guy like you I’m beginning to think it is,” he said.

“So, tell me, how did it go dropping paper on James Marco, or is he playing hard to get?”

“I’m not telling you shit anymore, Mick. And what you said before about hiring me to run your paper, that was all bullshit, wasn’t it?”

I shrugged. Valenzuela had already been useful to me and I knew I shouldn’t burn the bridge. But something about his dragging his chain across the hood of my car bothered me.