Attorney-Client Privilege (22 page)

I
’d been an irritable ball of nerves since the court hearing. I couldn’t wait for the end of the week to arrive to hear Judge Goldberg’s ruling. Meantime, I was still acting as if I had a class action to litigate.

My telephone rang and I recognized the number as Olivia’s cell phone. It had been a tough week for both of us. Olivia’s co-workers all blamed her for delaying payment of their three grand. I prayed nothing else had gone wrong.

“Hey, Olivia,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “How’s it going?”

“Not too good.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen at work?”

I heard her take a deep breath, then slowly exhale.

“I wanna thank you for everything you’ve been doing for me, but I had a talk with my husband last night. He thinks I should drop the lawsuit. I’d like to see if you can go back to the company and get them to give me the three months’ pay they originally offered. I’ll just resign.”

I didn’t respond.

“Are you there?” Olivia asked.

“Yes, I’m here. I know this is tough on you, but what Big Buy’s doing is wrong.”

“
I
know that and
you
know that, but we can’t fight big business.”

“Yes, we can.”

“But
we
aren’t fighting,” Olivia reminded me. “You’re not the one who has to work with these heathens every day. Last week somebody let the air out of my tires, and a few days after that, somebody keyed my car. I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this.”

I wished I could give her some kind of guarantee of our future success, but the law was simply too unpredictable. Based on the judge’s questions at the hearing, I was reasonably confident that we were going to get a permanent injunction preventing Big Buy from paying off the other women. But then things would be even tougher for her at work.

Jefferson was still bugging me about dropping the case, convinced that I was in danger. He called me several times a day just to check on me. If I was five minutes late getting home, he assumed the worst.

“Just do me a favor,” I said to Olivia. “Don’t make a final decision until after the judge rules on our motion later this week. Then we can sit down and talk about it. Even if the class action is thrown out, we can still pursue your case on an individual basis.”

Olivia’s silence conveyed that she didn’t even want to do that.

“I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem worth it anymore. Maybe this is God’s will.”

I knew my next statement was a cheap shot, but it was the only way I knew to reach her.

“You’ve always had a strong faith,” I said. “God never puts more on us than we can bear. Why don’t you pray on it?”

“I already have,” she said weakly. “And to tell you the truth, I still want to fight. But my husband thinks I should—”

“Ask him just to wait until we get the judge’s ruling,” I pleaded. “That’s only a couple of days from now.”

“Okay,” she said uneasily, bowing to my pressure. “But I doubt that I’m going to change my mind.”

T
he best police work, Mankowski knew from experience, often resulted from a slow, careful analysis of the evidence. Cold cases were solved all the time by different officers reviewing the same case file years later and finding something significant that was missed the first time around.

So Mankowski figured that if he thought about it long and hard enough, he could solve the puzzle of Judi Irving’s death
and
the mysterious Big Buy documents.

Mankowski and Thomas drove out of their way to pick up hotdogs at Pink’s on LaBrea and Melrose. They spent the lunch hour chowing down in their sedan.

“We just gotta think everything through.” Mankowski took a big bite of his Bacon Chili Cheese Dog and chased it down with a swig of Strawberry Crush. “We’re probably missing something. Something simple.”

Thomas grunted. “You really think so? That’s actually quite insightful.”

Mankowski ignored the sarcasm.

“Let’s look at what we’ve got,” he continued. “Judi Irving is attacked in her home. There are these documents that Judi told everybody she had but nobody’s seen. And we have Actor Boy driving off in a Benz when he doesn’t even have a job or two dimes to rub together.”

“And let’s not forget about Robby Irving,” Thomas reminded him. “He hasn’t shown up to provide his DNA. I think we need to light a fire under his rear end.”

“I agree,” Mankowski replied, but his money was still on Phillip Peterman.

“I’d love to get Girlie Cortez in an interrogation room,” Thomas said, talking with his mouth full. He’d ordered a Brooklyn Pastrami Swiss Cheese Dog and was almost done. “I’d bet anything that when she walked out of that hotel behind Peterman, she was carrying those Big Buy documents in her briefcase.”

“Maybe she isn’t screwing him,” Mankowski said. “Maybe she’s the front man Big Buy used to negotiate the deal with Peterman for the documents.”

His partner shot him a skeptical look.

“I guess that’s a possibility,” Thomas said. “She’s a classy lady. It’s hard to see her lowering herself for a weasel like Peterman.”

“Except she claims she never met the guy.”

Thomas paused mid-bite. “Exactly when did she tell you that?”

Mankowski winced. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. “Couple days ago,” he admitted.

“Man, please tell me you’re not still sleeping with that chick. She’s a person of interest or at least a potential witness.”

“Who said I was sleeping with her?”

“I did,” Thomas said. “I didn’t buy it for a minute the way you were ignoring her blatant flirting when we were in her office. You didn’t want me to know you planned to screw her because you know I would’ve told you that you’d be stupid to risk your career for a lay.”

Mankowski squeezed his Strawberry Crush bottle. He hated having a bright partner.

“Okay, so I screwed her. But now I’m playing her, just like she thinks she’s playing me.”

Thomas brushed his palm down his face. “I know you don’t want to believe it, but that woman is trouble. I felt it from the day we first met her.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The ringing of Thomas’ iPhone filled the car. He retrieved it from the pocket of his jacket.

“If that’s another call from your stockbroker, I’m turning you in,” Mankowski said.

Thomas placed the phone to his ear. His brows fused into one as he listened. After a minute or so, he lowered the phone and turned to face his partner. “You won’t believe this. Phillip Peterman just crashed his brand new Benz.”

Mankowski almost spit up his Strawberry Crush. “What?”

“Wrecked it off Sunset. Sounds like he’s pretty banged up.”

Mankowski stuffed his hotdog in the cup holder, turned on the engine and screeched off from the curb.

I
’d been telling myself all week to think positive thoughts. Judge Goldberg was going to side with me and prevent Big Buy from gutting my class action. And in less than an hour, I’d have a permanent injunction order in my hand.

I exited the Harbor Freeway at 4th Street and made my way to Grand. I was just pulling into the underground parking garage when my iPhone rang. I let it go to voicemail as I searched for a parking space. Once I parked, I pulled the phone from my purse and saw that the call was from my mother.

I listened to her message.

“This is your mama.” Her tone was uncharacteristically curt. “You need to call me as soon as you get this message.”

What was that about?
I racked my brain, trying to figure out if I’d missed a birthday or family event, but I couldn’t think of anything my mother might be upset about. I didn’t need to be rattled before going into court. I would return her call after the hearing.

I joined a long line of courthouse visitors waiting to go through the metal detectors. I had just made it to the elevators, when one of my law school classmates rushed past me.

“Hey, girl,” Angela Evans called out to me. “That was an interesting article in the
L.A. Times
today. I’m running late, but we’ll
definitely
have to talk.”

Before I could ask what article she was talking about, Angela disappeared down the corridor. When I reached Judge Goldberg’s courtroom, the clerk was busy checking in the attorneys who had matters on the judge’s docket.

“Hey, Candy, how’s it going?” I handed the clerk my business card.

I always made a habit of getting to know the judges’ clerks. Some attorneys failed to realize that the clerks ran the courtroom. Candy had been with Judge Goldberg for more than ten years.

Candy did not return my greeting. Instead, she snatched the business card from my hand.

Dang.
She was obviously having a bad day.

“Did the judge issue a tentative?” I asked.

She looked me up and down. “Not in your case.”

Who pissed you off this morning?

The fact the judge had not issued a tentative ruling concerned me. I took a seat in the gallery just as Girlie walked in. As usual, she drew more than her share of admiring stares, probably because her skirt was halfway up her ass.

Girlie sat in the first row, directly in front of me. After a minute or so, she turned around and smiled. “That was a nice article in the
L.A. Times
today.”

“You’re the second person to mention the
Times
to me,” I said. “What article are you talking about?”

“The article about you.” The deviousness in her smile radiated pure evil. “On the front page. You haven’t seen it?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You should definitely check it out.” She waved at an older man in a tailored suit standing near the clerk’s desk, then went over to talk to him.

I glanced at my watch. We still had thirteen minutes before the judge took the bench. I walked out into the corridor and tried to pull up the
Times
website on my iPhone, but couldn’t get a signal inside the courthouse. I glanced down the corridor looking for someone reading the newspaper.

I spotted a discarded copy of the newspaper left on a bench two courtrooms down. I picked it up and stared at the front page in disbelief. Right there in living color was a photograph of Jefferson and me standing in front of the mosque chatting with Special and Clayton. All four of us were wearing broad smiles. When I read the headline, I was glad I had skipped breakfast.

The Community of Islam Attracts
New Breed of Black Professionals.

The story discussed the growing number of young, African-American professionals joining the Community of Islam. The article included quotes from an Inglewood dentist, a McDonald’s franchise owner and a UCLA sociology professor. My name wasn’t mentioned in the story, but the caption beneath the photo identified me as
Attorney Vernetta Henderson.

I was at a complete loss.
Was this Girlie’s doing
?

I slumped down on the bench and tried to gather myself. Now I understood the gruff tone of my mother’s voicemail message.

“Miss, are you okay?” an elderly Latina wearing a juror’s badge touched me on the shoulder.

I could only imagine how distraught I must have looked.

“Oh…uh, yeah. I’m fine.”

I stood up and marched back into the courtroom and charged straight up to Girlie. I stepped in front of the man she was talking to and got right up in her face.

“Did you have anything to do with that
Times
article?” I spoke in a tone that was appropriately low for the setting, but sufficiently venomous for the target.

“Did you like it?” Girlie smiled as if she was proud of herself. “A close friend of mine freelances for the
Times.
He’s always looking for interesting feature stories. When I found out that you were a member of the Community of Islam, I told him about it.”

“I’m not a member of the Community of Islam. And if I was, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

The man who’d been talking to Girlie backed away from us, his eyes wide.

Girlie shrugged. “The way you were happily chatting outside that mosque, it sure looked like you were a member to me.”

I pointed my index finger inches from her nose. “You are the most unethical—”

“Please come to order,” the clerk called out. “The courtroom of the Honorable Ezra Goldberg is now in session.”

Unfortunately, we were the first case on the docket. The clerk called our case number and we both headed into the well of the courtroom.

My head was still reeling and I couldn’t think straight. I had no idea what Girlie had hoped to gain from this little stunt.

“After a careful review of the moving papers and case law,” Judge Goldberg began, “I’m lifting the temporary injunction against Big Buy and denying plaintiff’s motion for a permanent injunction. I find that Big Buy’s settlement offer to its employees did not violate the attorney-client privilege as the employees were not represented by counsel at the time of the relevant communications since the class had not been certified.”

“Your Honor,” I said, “I’d like to direct your attention to
Mallory v. Sommers
, which we cited in our moving papers. The facts of that case are similar to this one in that—”

“I’m not taking any additional argument on your motion, Ms. Henderson.” There was an impatience in his voice that I’d never seen him exhibit before.

“Your Honor, I would just like to—”

The judge banged his gavel. “Next case.”

It wasn’t until this precise moment that I understood the motivation for Girlie’s vicious little stunt. She feared Judge Goldberg would grant my request for a permanent injunction. So she maneuvered to get that article published, banking on the likelihood that our Jewish judge would allow his personal feelings about the Community of Islam to color how he decided my motion.

Girlie had gathered her papers and was on her way out of the courtroom. I just stood there like a frozen stick figure.

“We’re done here, Ms. Henderson,” Judge Goldberg said brusquely. He turned to his clerk. “Please call the next case.”

I all but stumbled out of the courtroom. I looked around for Girlie, but she was long gone. I tried to wait for an elevator, but I was so filled with rage that I finally jogged down the escalators.

Girlie Cortez had done it again. She’d defeated me not with legal talent, but with a blatantly underhanded tactic. I had spent my entire career playing by the rules, something that was foreign to Girlie. Maybe it was time for me to start doing things her way.

The second I stepped outside the courthouse, I pulled out my iPhone and speed-dialed Special. “I have a job for you.”

“A job? What kind of job?”

“You said you want to be an investigator, well, I’m hiring you. And this is a paying job.”

“Oh, snap! I’m definitely down with that. What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to find me some dirt on Girlie Cortez. And I don’t care what you have to do to get it.”

“Whooaaa. This doesn’t sound like the uber-ethical Vernetta Henderson I know. What did that cow do to piss you off now?”

“Read the front page of today’s
L.A. Times
,” I said. “That little story she planted just sank my class action. And whatever information you dig up on her ass, make sure it’s enough for me to bury that bitch.”