“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.
“Probably,” I said. “I’ve already got a full-time investigator. He usually handles that stuff.”
“No, then that’s good, because I don’t want your business, Mick. I’ll see you around.”
He headed down the sidewalk and I watched him go.
“Yeah, I’ll see you around, Val.”
I got in the backseat and told Earl to get over to Ventura Boulevard and head toward Studio City. I wanted to drive by Kendall Roberts’s business. There was no reason to do it other than that I was curious about her. I wanted to see what she had built for herself and what she was protecting.
“You did good in there, Earl,” I said. “You saved the day.”
He looked at me in the mirror and nodded.
“I got skills,” he said.
“That you do.”
I pulled my phone and called Lorna to check in. Nothing new had happened since the last call. I told her about the staff meeting I wanted for the next morning and she said Cisco had already informed her. I asked her to make sure she brought enough coffee and doughnuts for five.
“Who’s the fifth?” she asked.
“Earl’s going to join us,” I said.
I looked at him in the mirror. I could see only his eyes but I could tell he was smiling.
After I finished with Lorna I called Cisco. He said he was at a Ferrari dealership on Wilshire Boulevard, about twenty blocks from the Beverly Wilshire. He said the place had multiple security cameras for watching over its expensive fleet at night.
“Don’t tell me,” I said. “The man in the hat?”
“That’s right.”
In his spare time Cisco had been pursuing the man in the hat for five months now. It deeply bothered him that he had been unable to find a camera anywhere in the Beverly Wilshire or its immediate surroundings that showed either the man’s face or him getting into a car to follow Gloria Dayton.
But Gloria’s chauffeur that night had been interviewed and he gave Cisco the exact route he had taken while driving her home from the hotel. Cisco spent all of his spare time on those streets checking businesses and residences with security cameras on the off chance that they picked up the car trailing Gloria home. He had even checked with the transportation departments for Beverly Hills, West Hollywood, and Los Angeles to view traffic cameras along the route. It had become a matter of professional pride to the big man.
I, on the other hand, had long since given up any hope of identifying the man in the hat. To me the trail was dead cold. Most security systems don’t keep video for more than a month. Most of the places where Cisco made inquiries told him they had no video from the night Gloria Dayton was murdered. That he was too late.
“Well, you can drop that,” I said. “I’ve got a name I want you to put at the top of your to-do list. I want to find her as soon as possible.”
I gave him the name Trina Rafferty and filled him in on my conversation with Roberts about her.
“If she’s still a working prostitute she could be anywhere from here to Miami and this might not even be her real name,” he said.
“I think she’s close,” I said. “I think Fulgoni may even have her stashed somewhere. You need to find her.”
“Okay, I’m on it. But why the big hurry? Won’t she say the same thing Roberts just told you?”
“Somebody knew Glory Days was the CI who set up the Moya arrest. That wasn’t Kendall Roberts—at least she says it wasn’t her. I think that leaves Trina Trixxx. I think Fulgoni already got to her and I want to know what she told him.”
“Got it.”
“Good. Let me know.”
I disconnected. Earl told me we were coming up on the address for Flex, the yoga studio owned by Roberts. He slowed the car to a crawl as we passed by the storefront studio. I checked the hours printed on the door and saw the place was open eight to eight every day. I could see people inside, all women and all in downward dog positions on rubber mats on the floor. I knew the position because my ex-wife was a longtime yoga enthusiast.
I wondered if Roberts’s clients minded being on display to the street and passersby on the sidewalk. Many of the positions in yoga have a subtle or overt sexuality to them and it seemed odd to have a studio where one wall was floor-to-ceiling glass. As I pondered the question, a woman inside the studio walked up to the window and held her hands up to her eyes, pantomiming that she was looking at me through binoculars. The point was clear.
“We can go now, Earl,” I said.
He picked up speed.
“Where to?”
“Let’s go down the road a bit to Art’s Deli. We’ll pick up sandwiches and then I’ll go see Legal Siegel for lunch.”