Attorney-Client Privilege (30 page)

“Y
ou wanna kiss my ring finger now or later?”

Their annoying colleague, Detective Hopper, planted his flat ass on the corner of Mankowski’s desk.

Thomas grinned and readied himself for the impending confrontation. He could tolerate Hopper, but Mankowski had no patience for the guy.

Mankowski didn’t bother to look up from his computer. “Why don’t you run along and find somebody else to play cops and robbers with, okay?”

The lieutenant never assigned Hopper to a decent case, so he was always running around, trying to solve everyone else’s.

“You guys should be nice to me,” Hopper replied. “I just solved your murder case.”

“Sure you did,” Mankowski said. “And I just found Jon Benet Ramsey’s killer.”

“So what case did you solve?” Thomas asked, amused.

Hopper smiled. “The one in Mar Vista.”

“The Irving murder?”

“That would be the one,” Hopper said with a self-assured chuckle. “I even got a confession.”

Detective Mankowski continued to work on the report he was typing and wished Hopper would just hop away. Thomas, however, wanted to hear more.

“A confession from who?”

“The wannabe thug in interrogation room four. Armando Ortiz.”

Mankowski finally stopped typing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re a detective. You’re supposed to have better listening skills. I
said
I solved your case.”

“How?” Detective Thomas asked.

“Solid police work.”

Mankowski rocked back in his chair. “Stop jerking us around and tell us what you’re talking about?”

Detective Hopper stood up. “Why don’t you come with me and see for yourself?”

They followed him into an interrogation room near the end of the hallway. A dark-skinned Hispanic kid who could have passed for fifteen was handcuffed to a metal table, sniveling into his forearm.

“Armando, this is Detective Thomas and this is Detective Mankowski. I want you to tell them everything you told me.”

“I…I…I didn’t kill that white lady. I swear!”

Mankowski glared back over his shoulder at Hopper. “I thought you said you got a confession.”

“Just hold on and listen to the kid’s story,” Hopper said, holding up both palms in an appeal for patience. “He’s been locked up for two weeks. Picked up on his second DUI and couldn’t bail out. One of the deputies heard him mouthing off to another inmate about a murder.”

It took a few seconds for Armando to compose himself. “I…I was hanging out with my buddy Hector and he asked me for a ride to Mar Vista to get some weed. I swear I didn’t know he was gonna kill that lady.”

Armando cried and hiccupped in tandem. “We was gonna score some weed. That’s it. That’s all I thought we was gonna do.”

“Where do you live?” Mankowski asked.

“Pico Rivera,” Armando sniffed.

Mankowski laughed. “You live in East L.A. and you want me to believe you drove all the way to Mar Vista to buy some weed. Were the drug dealers in your neighborhood on strike or something?”

“Just hold on,” Hopper said, coming to Armando’s defense. “Let him finish.”

“Tell them where you and your friend Hector went,” Detective Hopper prodded.

“We went over on Rose Street in Mar Vista. Another dude told Hector about this white guy, some college dude, who sold weed out of his house. Hector found out the dude had just bought a big stash of weed, but was out of town. We went to steal his weed. That’s all.”

Mankowski interrupted. “So how did Judi Irving end up dead?”

“I let Hector out in front of this house. About twenty minutes later he came running out carrying a jewelry box and a flat screen, screaming at me to take off.”

Thomas and Mankowski locked gazes. Only someone involved in Judi’s murder would know that the only items taken were a jewelry box and a small flat screen. They’d intentionally withheld that information from the media.

“I swear I didn’t know that he was gonna kill that white lady.” Armando started crying again. “I swear I didn’t!”

Mankowski sat down in the chair facing Armando. “What white lady?”

“The one in the newspaper. I don’t know her name. Hector said he hit her in the head with his big metal flashlight he had. He just wanted to knock her out until he had time to search the place to find out where the guy hid his weed.”

“What guy?” Mankowski asked.

“I already told you,” Armando cried. “Some white dude Hector knew.”

“So where’s Hector?”

“He ran, man. He went back to Mexico. He’s never coming back.”

“Let’s talk outside, gentlemen,” Detective Hopper said. “I’ll fill you in on the rest.”

“His story checks out,” Hopper said, when they stepped into the hallway. “Judi Irving had just rented that house a month earlier. Before that, it was the residence of Kenneth Murphy, a sophomore at UCLA. He was doing so well in the weed trade that he was able to upgrade to a condo in Westwood. Unfortunately for Ms. Irving, Mr. Murphy forgot to send a change-of-address notice to his customers.”

“I’ll be damned,” Thomas said. “So it wasn’t Phillip Peterman
or
Robby Irving?”

Mankowski wasn’t buying this tale just yet. “What else you got? We can’t just take the word of this whimpering thug.”

“How about this?” Hopper said. “Armando told me Hector turned off the breakers, cutting the electricity to Judi’s unit before he broke in. If I’m correct, that information was withheld from the media. Hector Ortiz has a long record of petty crimes. I ran his prints and they match the ones found at the crime scene. The kid’s telling the truth.”

“Wait a minute,” Mankowski said, growing angry. “We submitted those prints weeks ago. How’d you get word of a match before we did?”

“When you’re nice to people they don’t mind putting your request ahead of others.”

It was incredibly annoying, not to mention embarrassing for a sap like Detective Hopper to have cracked their case simply by lucking up on this cry baby.

Thomas and Mankowski were too stunned to react with anything other than stone silence.

Detective Hopper treated them to a goofy gap-toothed smile. “Like I said, gentlemen. I just cracked your murder case.”

“H
ey, girlfriend!” Special greeted Tonisha with a big sisterly embrace in the crowded lobby of the Cheesecake Factory.

As usual, the trendy restaurant in Marina Del Rey was packed. Special could see that all eyes were on Tonisha. Probably because of her leather hot pants, gold halter top and the blonde page-boy wig that looked more like a football helmet. Her foundation was thick enough to scrape off with a knife. Special wished she had time to teach the girl a little class. But that wasn’t her job.

What Special was about to do was straight-up backstabbing, but if she was going to be a top-notch investigator, she had to do whatever it took to solve the case without any trace of guilt.

“Thanks for inviting me out,” Tonisha said. “I’ve just been hanging out at home with nothing to do. When you go through the kind of craziness I’ve been through, you learn pretty fast who your real friends are.”

Tonisha probably didn’t have any real friends before she’d accused Lamarr of sexual assault, so it was understandable that she didn’t have any now. When Special had Googled her name, the venomous posts shocked her. There was one whole website dedicated to attacking her. The girl definitely needed a BFF.

Special had chosen this restaurant because it was always crowded. She wanted Tonisha to feel as uncomfortable as possible. That way, she would rely on Special even more. Special did not expect to work a confession out of Tonisha tonight. That would take time. This was simply a build-a-friendship dinner. Real investigative work took time and patience.

“Girl, you’re a celebrity.” Special gazed around the restaurant. “Everybody’s checking you out.”

Tonisha turned up her nose. “I don’t feel like no celebrity the way everybody’s hatin’ on me.”

Special gave her forearm a squeeze. “Don’t let it get to you, girl. You got two-million dollars coming.”

“I hope so. My attorney is trippin’ hard. I told her I’m tired of waiting. I need my money now. She won’t even return my calls.”

The hostess led them to a choice table.

Their waitress, a thick black woman with a wide smile, came over to take their drink orders.

“What will you be drinking, ladies?” she said, pleasantly to Special.

She wanted a Long Island Iced Tea, but had to stick to her rule about not drinking on the job. “I’ll have a Coke. I’m taking some medication, so I can’t drink,” she explained to Tonisha.

When the waitress’ eyes bounced over to Tonisha, her nose crinkled as if she had smelled something foul.

“And what do
you
want?” the waitress said with a hand on her hip.

“Hold up,” Special said, her hand in the air. “What’s up with the attitude? I hope I don’t have to ask the manager to have someone else serve us.”

Special leaned across the table. “What you drinking, girl?”

“I’ll have an apple martini,” she said. “And some avocado eggrolls.”

The waitress waddled away without writing down their order.

“Girl, you can’t let people treat you like that. You gotta put them in their place.”

“Thanks for standing up for me.” She let out an exasperated breath. “It’s been rough.”

“Don’t worry about it, girl. I got your back.”

Special spent the next hour telling Tonisha details about her own life—her made-up life—that she hoped would engender trust. Tonisha was gulping down her drink and munching on the avocado eggrolls as if this would be her only meal for the day.

Tonisha was clearly a lightweight when it came to alcohol. Her tongue was running a mile a minute by the time Special asked the waitress to bring her a second apple martini. The more Tonisha talked, the more Special realized things about the girl that she had not picked up while watching the trial on TV.

First, Tonisha suffered from serious self-esteem issues, having been bounced around eight different foster homes, starting at the age of ten. Though she had attractive facial features—wide brown eyes, full lips and nice cheekbones—she distorted her appearance with too much of everything. Too much eye shadow, too much blush, and way too much hair. Although she’d worked as a stripper for years, she didn’t have the street sense Special assumed came with that territory. She was beginning to think that Tonisha might be on the slow side.

They finished their meal—a meal Special insisted on paying for—shared a piece of Tiramisu Cheesecake and headed out of the restaurant. The valet brought Tonisha’s car up first, a beat-up Ford Escort.

“Where you going now?” Tonisha asked, ignoring her car.

“Home,” Special said, rubbing her stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

Tonisha pouted. “I ain’t ready to go home yet. Can I come over?”

That was a no-no. She didn’t want Tonisha to know where she lived. Special could sense that she didn’t want to be alone. The girl was actually pretty pitiful. Special felt a pang of guilt again, but brushed it aside.

“Girl, my house is a wreck. Let’s go to Starbucks. We can sit outside and have some coffee. Just follow me.”

Tonisha smiled and scampered toward her car.

Special deliberately chose the Starbucks that was most likely to put Tonisha in the most uncomfortable position. When she pulled up in front of the Ladera Center Starbucks, the place, as usual, was crammed with people just hanging out. Special parked and walked over to Tonisha’s car, wondering why she hadn’t gotten out yet.

Tonisha rolled down the window. “Can we go to a Starbucks in a white neighborhood? I’m tired of black folks hatin’ on me.”

“You ain’t gotta worry about that. You’re with me.”

Tonisha inhaled and reluctantly climbed out. Special looped arms with her new BFF as they walked up to the Starbucks.

“Save us that table over there,” Special said, pointing. “I’ll go inside and order our drinks.”

When she returned with two Caffè Mochas, Special pulled a flask from her purse, opened it and poured a healthy dose of brandy into Tonisha’s drink.

Tonisha took a sip and smiled. “Whoooo, this is good!”

Special only pretended to spike her own drink.

“
Lyin’, money-hungry skank,
” someone yelled out.

Tonisha tried to scrunch down in her chair. “See why I didn’t wanna come here.”

Special looked around with a daring grimace on her face. “Who said that?” she yelled out.

The heckler didn’t respond.

Special gave Tonisha’s hand a squeeze. “Girl, don’t you let these fools get to you. This is a free country.”

Tonisha picked up her napkin and dabbed at her eyes. “I wish I never would’ve gone through with this,” she said, caressing her coffee cup.

Special had made up a story she planned to tell Tonisha after they knew each other better, but they seemed to be developing a bond much faster than she had expected. So Special decided to share her tale now.

“You shouldn’t feel that way, girl. I had something similar happen to me in college during my sophomore year. I was dating this football player, but he kicked me to the curb for some freshman who wasn’t even cute. But I got his ass back good. I told the campus police he tried to force himself on me. When they expelled him from school everybody was hatin’ on me. So I know exactly how it feels to be ostracized.”

Tonisha’s blank expression conveyed that she wasn’t quite sure what
ostracized
meant.

“So, did the guy really force himself on you?”

Special lowered her voice and checked their surroundings. “No. But that asshole got what he deserved. If he’d had some money, I would’ve sued his ass.”

Tonisha nodded absently.

“I’m just proud of you for standing up for yourself. What these people are sending you through is ridiculous. You’re the victim. They’re treating you like a criminal.”

Tonisha took a sip of her drink. “They’re treating me worse than a criminal.”

They were both quiet, enjoying the warm early evening air.

“Can I tell you something?” Her face held the sad innocence of a little girl.

Special’s heart skipped three beats. Was Tonisha ready to spill her guts already? She looked casually across the table at her new friend. “You can tell me anything.”

“I’m thinking about leaving L.A. and changing my name. I’m tired of all these L.A. haters. I made good money as a stripper. I gotta find a new club where nobody knows me.”

Dang.
“That sounds like a good idea. Maybe you should.”

“That damn Lamarr’s been talking to people and it’s been getting back to me. He’s going around telling people that I got drunk and told somebody I made up the charges against him.”

Did you?

“I ain’t stupid,” Tonisha said. “I’m getting my money. My attorney told me to keep my mouth shut. So that’s what I’m doing.”

Keep your mouth shut? OMG!
Special was getting close. She just had to calm down and take it slow. She slipped her Droid out of her pocket, and pretended to check her email. Instead, she turned on the recorder and set it on the table.

“Your attorney was really good,” Special said. “I would definitely use her if I had a case.”

Tonisha sucked her teeth. “They say attorneys are vultures and they are. Including her.”

“What?” Special lowered her chin, feigning shock. “She got you two-million dollars. How can you talk about her like that?”

“’Cuz it’s true. And she ain’t got me nothin’ yet. She’s just as unethical as the rest of ’em.”

“What makes you say that?”

Tonisha smiled, then swung her head slowly from side to side. Her stiff wig didn’t move an inch. “No way,” she said sheepishly. “I can’t tell nobody this.”

“No problem, girl. I ain’t trying to get in nobody’s business.”

Tonisha seemed disappointed that Special didn’t press her for more.

Special looked at her watch. “I guess I better be going.”

“No, don’t go yet,” Tonisha begged. “I ain’t ready to leave.”

Tonisha looked around, leaned her head close to Special’s and lowered her voice. “Can I really trust you?”

Special frowned. “The way I’ve been standing up for you and you have the nerve to ask me that? I’m offended.”

“Okay, okay,” Tonisha said. “I’m sorry. It’s just hard for me to trust people.”

“Well, you can definitely trust me.”

Tonisha looked over her shoulder. “Okay, but you gotta swear not to tell
nobod
y what I’m about to tell you.”

“Okay,” Special said, trying to play it cool.

“I can definitely relate to what you went through in college,” Tonisha said with a wink. “Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.”

Special gave her a fake laugh. “It’s all about looking out for number one. You were lucky to have an attorney like Girlie Cortez looking out for you.”

“Forget her! I can’t stand her!” Tonisha said. “She better get me my money. If she don’t, I got something on her ass. She’ll be just as unemployed as I am if I start telling what I know.”

OMG!
She was about to get two for the price of one.
Maybe Tonisha and Girlie were working together to frame Lamarr.

Special folded her arms and pretended to be checking out a cutie who could’ve passed for Denzel’s buffed-up brother. In reality, she was trying to contain her excitement. She refused to ask another question for fear of interrupting Tonisha’s flow. The girl wanted to talk and Special was going to let her spill her guts.

Tonisha surveyed the area again. “Let’s go sit in your car,” she whispered. “’Cuz I can’t let nobody hear when I tell you what really went down.”