Incriminating Evidence (16 page)

“Do you ever worry about what will happen to the center when you retire?” I ask.

“I can’t retire. And I certainly can’t die or get sick. It would help if I could find a couple of clones of myself to help run the place. I know that. I’m fifty-eight. I’ll need to pass the torch in the next few years. The center could use some renovations. We’re running at a deficit. I spend most of my time raising money. Ramon Aguirre has the same problems. St. Peter’s needs a lot of work and the archdiocese is willing to put up only so much money. We commiserate from time to time.”

Rosie and I glance at each other, thinking the same thing: What a huge difference Ernie and Ramon make. They save lives. They get very little thanks. When I talk to guys like Ernie, I wonder sometimes if I might have done more when I was a priest. I worked for a couple of years at a small church in the Sunset. It wasn’t an affluent community, but it was stable. Although there were drug and alcohol issues, they never rose to the level that Ernie and Ramon see every day.

“We should have kept a closer eye on Johnny Garcia,” he says. “We let him out on the street too soon. He was too young.”

“You can’t fix everything,” I say.

“We can try.”

Rosie says, “It’s really urgent that we find Andy Holton. We don’t know whether the police turned up anything at the Jerry, but it does look as if he’s the real connection to what happened to Johnny.”

Clemente clears his throat. He knows everybody in the
neighborhood. “If he’s anywhere around here,” he assures us, “we’ll find him for you. I promise.”

“How would you like Ernie’s job?” I ask Rosie as we’re leaving the center.

“No thanks.”

I agree with her. “Could you imagine being responsible for three hundred kids?”

“Nope. We have enough on our hands dealing with one. And we have to handle only a few cases at a time. That’s plenty for me.”

“He loves it,” I say.

“Yes, he does. Ernie takes on the problems of the entire community.”

“I stopped doing that a long time ago. I couldn’t do it anymore. Do you ever think about trying to heat things up again with him?”

She shakes her head. “He doesn’t have time for a relationship, Mike. I need more than he can give. It’s not his fault. He has a full plate.” She reflects for a moment and adds, “You’re very different from Ernie. He cares about the kids, but he doesn’t personalize all of their problems. He looks at the big picture much more than you do.”

This is true. I couldn’t let anything go when I was a priest. Then again, I can’t let anything go in my law practice, either. “He’s very effective at what he does, Rosie.”

“Yes, he is—terrifically so.”

“But he’s starting to burn out,” I say.

“So are you.”

I’m not the only one who’s been thinking about relationships. Tony’s had it on his mind, too. The first thing he asks
me when I stop by the market a little later is whether I’ve been seeing anybody.

“You mean a woman?” I ask.

He hands me a bag filled with Fuji apples and says, “Yeah.”

“You mean somebody other than your sister?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“You know,” he says, “if you don’t mind my saying, it seems you and Rosie aren’t real clear on the concept of being divorced.”

“People have pointed that out to us from time to time.”

He smiles. “One of my suppliers has a sister. She’s single. Late thirties. New in town. Works for an insurance company. Are you interested?”

“I’m always interested.” I stop for a moment and ask, “Are you?”

“She isn’t my type.”

“Have you met her?”

“I’ve seen pictures. Definitely not my type.”

I put my bag on the counter and say, “Tony, it’s been almost ten years. It’s okay for you to go out on a date every once in a while.”

“She really isn’t my type,” he repeats.

We’ve had this discussion from time to time. “Tell you what,” I say. “Why don’t you ask her out? If she says no or you don’t hit it off, then you can send her over to me.”

He winks. “You’re willing to take my leftovers?”

“Absolutely.” I wonder if he’ll actually ask her. I decide to shift gears. “Has that source of yours been able to provide any information about Andy Holton?”

“I asked.”

“And?”

“He wasn’t real happy when I mentioned Holton’s name.”

“Any inkling why?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t suppose your source might be willing to talk to me?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Is he, well, in a reputable line of business?”

“Yes.”

“Does his business comply with the customary rules of law of the State of California?”

“For the most part,” Tony answers. “What is it you lawyers always say? His business complies with the spirit of the law, if not the letter.”

The following morning, Thursday, begins on something less than a high note when I pay a visit to the office of Dan Morris, political consultant to the stars. The paunchy, fiftyish redhead is dressed in a charcoal Wilkes Bashford suit with a blinding white shirt and a tie that has a picture of a mule on it. “I’m running a campaign for a Democrat these days,” he says through a wide grin. “For the next few months, I have to wear my Democrat wardrobe.” He laughs at his own joke. “We’re all whores, Mike. You’re a lawyer. I’m a consultant. You know what I’m talking about.”

In some respects, I admire his honesty. As far as I can tell, he has no political agenda of his own. He’s the ultimate political chameleon. I don’t know if he’s a Republican or a Democrat. He’s up front about it. He’s in it for the money. He’ll represent Republicans, Democrats, Independents, Communists and former professional wrestlers if they can come up with the eight hundred thousand dollars he charges to run a campaign.

Dan is sitting in his memorabilia-filled office on the ground floor of a refurbished gold rush-era building on Montgomery, just north of the Transamerica Pyramid. The
space was formerly occupied by a flamboyant personal injury attorney. The desk is covered with souvenirs from his political triumphs. Coffee mugs. Buttons. Banners. Straw hats. One wall is full of political posters. Another has an array of photos of Dan’s favorite person—himself. You can walk up Montgomery and look right into his office. It is a privilege to watch him work.

I ask him how Leslie Sherman’s campaign is going.

The freckles on his forehead seem to get brighter right before my eyes. “Great,” he says. “Your client did us a tremendous favor by murdering that hooker.” His smarmy grin broadens. “Not that I’d ever say that to the media, of course. For the time being, we’re going to stick with the party line. We’re going to look very serious and say that we have great faith in the justice system and we are sure Mr. Gates will have his day in court.” He beams. “On behalf of everybody involved in Leslie’s campaign, I’d like to express our eternal thanks.”

I underestimated him. I thought he was just a garden-variety jerk.

“Let me tell you a story,” he says. Before I can stop him, he recounts the tale of a well-known politician in a southern state who had a big lead. The night before the election, he told reporters that the only way he could lose was if he was found in bed the next morning “with a dead girl or a live boy.” He cackles. “Your client is trying to take this one step further. He’s trying to see whether he can still win after they’ve found a dead boy in his bed.”

I manage to restrain myself. “I understand you were there that night.”

“I was.”

“Who else was there?”

He leans back and names Skipper, Turner, Natalie and Ann. “Kevin Anderson was there, too.”

It strikes me as a bit odd that the mayor’s aide and Garcia’s social worker happened to be at the hotel that night. “Why was he there?” I ask.

“The mayor asked him to help with the arrangements for the debate.”

Interesting. Young Kevin has more influence with the mayor than I thought.

He adds, “Bill McNulty and Hillary Payne were there.”

Really. “Why?”

“A show of support from the rank and file.”

I’ll be sure to ask them about it. “I understand your associate was there with you.”

“Jason was there, too.” Morris’s toady is a young man named Jason Parnelli, who looks and talks a little bit like George Stephanopoulos but has the brain of George of the Jungle. His job consists of agreeing with everything Morris says and shilling for whatever candidate they are currently representing.

“I’d like to talk to him.”

“I can tell you what happened.”

“Let me just ask him a few questions.”

He pauses and says, “Sure.” He punches a button on his speakerphone and summons Parnelli. I swear he arrives before Morris has hung up his phone.

Parnelli is late thirties but appears younger. He looks like he sprang to life from a Dockers ad. He’s sort of a political toady-in-training. His grandfather was a United States senator and his aunt is on the Board of Supervisors. Dan hired him because of his family connections. Parnelli can’t hold back a grin. “Looks like your client is in some trouble,” he says.

“I understand both of you were there that night,” I reply.

Dan answers. “We had a meeting with Skipper and his people about the debates.”

Parnelli interrupts him. “Of course, in light of the events of the last few days, it’s unclear whether the debates will ever happen.” He’s pleased with himself.

Morris reddens and he glares at Parnelli, whose smile disappears. He slinks down in his chair. He won’t have another speaking part in this little drama.

“What time did you leave?” I ask.

They glance at each other. “The meeting broke up around twelve-thirty,” Morris says.

Not quite the answer to my question. “Did you go home?”

Another look at Parnelli. “Yes,” Morris says.

Parnelli starts to squirm. “Dan,” he begins.

Morris stares daggers at him. “We went home around twelve-thirty.”

This will need pursuing. I study Parnelli. He’s uncomfortable. “Yeah,” he says. “I got home around one. My wife can confirm it if you’d like.”

Morris is triumphant. “As I said, we’d like to thank your client for his great contributions to Leslie’s campaign.”

I’m glad to leave.

I have a visitor when I return to the office. “I apologize for not making an appointment,” Natalie says. “I didn’t want Ann to know I was coming down to see you.”

“You can see me whenever you want,” I say. “You’re always welcome.”

She fingers the reading glasses. “Do you have to tell Ann that I was here?”

“Of course not.”

She looks relieved.

I ask her how she is holding up.

She swallows. “All things considered, not bad.” She leans back in her chair and adds, “I’m hopeful that things will be resolved before too long.”

“Natalie,” I say, “I know the situation is very difficult—”

“We are going to get through it, Michael,” she says. “We’ve been through difficult situations in the past. We will get through this one, too.”

I ask, “Is there something between you and Ann that I should know about?”

She says a touch hesitantly, “I expect you’ve noticed that Ann and I don’t always communicate very effectively. I love her more than she’ll ever know, but I haven’t always agreed with some of her choices.”

“What sorts of choices?”

“Career choices. Choices about the company she keeps, how she lives her life. She’s very ambitious and talented, but she exercises bad judgment from time to time. She seems so—so angry. She’s never been the same since her divorce. She blamed her husband and she blamed Prentice and me. She said we manipulated her into marrying Richard and then she said we weren’t supportive when they had difficulties.” There are tears in her eyes. “It wasn’t true, Michael,” she protests. “It was terribly unfair. We did everything we could to help them.”

“You never want your children to hurt, Natalie.”

She doesn’t respond, but I can see the pain in her eyes.

I search for my calming priest-voice. “I don’t mean to pry, and I realize this is very painful for you. Then again, it may help me to know a little more. Did the situation with Ann affect your relationship with Skipper?”

“Prentice and I began to drift apart many years ago,” she says, “but Ann’s divorce exacerbated the situation. Prentice immersed himself in his work.” Her voice breaks as she says, “I feel as though I’ve lost my daughter and my husband.”

I thank her for explaining. “It helps me to understand,” I tell her.

“I don’t mean to burden you, and it does help me to talk
about it,” she says. “But I really came down here to see if I could help. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“We’ll take care of the legal maneuvering. It will help if you provide whatever support you can for your husband. I need you to be strong for your daughter, too. The entire situation has been very difficult for her.”

“I’m glad you realize that, Michael,” she says. “I know Ann has been hard on you.”

“She cares,” I reply. In spite of the vitriol, I mean this.

“Yes, she does. She has always admired Prentice.”

“We’ll do our best for him. You have to take care of yourself, too. This can be a painful process—the justice system doesn’t work very quickly.”

“My family is falling apart, Michael,” she says, her composure beginning to break. “Prentice is not a murderer. If the charges aren’t dropped, I won’t have a family.”

“Natalie,” I say, “if there’s anything I can do to make things easier for you…”

She stops me. “You’ve done enough. Thank you for listening.”

I’m studying police photos when Rosie walks in and takes her favorite spot on the corner of my desk, her usual Diet Coke in her hand. “I understand Natalie stopped by,” she says.

“Yep.” I summarize the highlights of our conversation.

Rosie nods. “Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you get a free pass from the issues we all have to deal with,” she says, looking thoughtful. “She and her husband grew apart. It happens. So did we. She has issues with her daughter. You can bet we will, too. And it’s going to get even more complicated when she’s a teenager.”

Tell me about it. “Wait until Grace brings home her first boyfriend.”