Attorney-Client Privilege (6 page)

G
irlie had never been a wait-and-see kind of person. She was a successful trial attorney because she anticipated problems—and, more importantly, their solutions—long before they ever materialized.

She welcomed Eli Jenkins into her office and showed him over to her custom-made hot pink leather couch. When the movers had first wheeled it in, the couch had caused a big stir among her stuffier partners. But they eventually saw the wisdom of letting Girlie be Girlie.

Big, bald and burly, Eli was the only investigator Girlie kept on retainer. He never breached confidentiality, and like Girlie, he was smart enough to never get caught.

Girlie took a seat at the opposite end of the couch.

“I was glad to get your call,” Eli said, ignoring the cleavage she was putting on display just for him.

Eli claimed that he never mixed business and pleasure. That did not, however, stop Girlie from trying.

“I was a little disappointed that you were able to pull off a win against Lamarr Harris without my help,” he joked.

Girlie laughed. “Sometimes raw legal talent alone is enough to get the job done.”

Girlie reached for a folder from the coffee table and handed it to him. “I’m representing Big Buy department stores in a sex discrimination case. If the need arises,” she said with a wink, “I’d like to have something I can use against the two sales associates who’re suing the company. Their names, addresses and dates of birth are in that file.”

“What kind of dirt you looking for?”

“Any kind you can find. Preferably something criminal or at least embarrassing enough to force them to drop their lawsuit or take a settlement they might not otherwise accept.”

Eli had once found out that a principal who was suing a Catholic school for wrongful termination was screwing one of the nuns. Eli planted a video camera inside the rectory. When Girlie produced a picture at the principal’s deposition showing his head buried under the nun’s habit, he quickly dropped his case.

“Another plaintiff in the case was recently murdered during a break-in at her home,” Girlie said. She supposedly had some financial records with damaging information about the company. I’d love to get my hands on those documents.”

“Any connection between the break-in and the documents?”

“Not sure, but I doubt it.”

“Any idea who might have them?”

“My best guess is her live-in boyfriend or her attorney, but I don’t know that for sure either. The boyfriend’s name is Phillip Peterman. There’s a little information about him in the file too.”

“I’ll nose around and see what I can find out. Is it okay if I speak directly with Peterman?”

Girlie shook her head. “Hold off on that for now. I’m working on him from another angle. I don’t want anyone to know the company is looking for the documents. But use any other means you find appropriate to locate them. There’s a ten-thousand-dollar bonus if you can find them.”

“Thanks for the additional motivation.” Eli perused the folder Girlie had given him. “What else can you tell me about the plaintiffs?”

“Ida Lopez is a single mother with two daughters. Olivia Jackson is married, no children and a bit of a holy roller. I haven’t taken their depositions yet, so I don’t know much more than that. But I’m sure you’ll find something.”

Eli laughed. “Tru dat.”

“The only problem is,” Girlie continued, “I need the information fast. As in yesterday.”

“I’m already on it.”

He placed the folder inside his briefcase.

“So when are you going to let me buy you dinner so I can reward you for all your great investigative work?” Girlie asked. She’d never met a man she couldn’t entice and it irked her that Eli repeatedly blew her off.

“You’re my best client,” he said with a smile. “There’s no way I’m going to
screw
that up.”

Girlie stretched her arm along the back of the couch. “You have no idea what you’re missing.”

Eli finally gave in and took a long, admiring look at her cleavage. “Actually, I do.”

Girlie was about to end the meeting when another idea came to her. She stared over Eli’s shoulder out of the window.

“There are two other people connected with the case that I’d like you to look into.”

He readied his pen. “Fire away.”

“The first one is Benjamin Cohen. He runs the Center for Justice in South Los Angeles. He helped the plaintiffs retain their counsel and is serving in an advisory role on the case.”

“Got it. Who’s the other person?”

“Vernetta Henderson. She’s the plaintiffs’ attorney.”

Eli stopped writing and looked up. “I’m familiar with Henderson. She’s squeaky clean.”

“A lot of people are squeaky clean,” Girlie said. “Until something mysteriously pops up.”

“You know I don’t go there.” Eli scowled, then broke into a playful grin. “But I have people who do.”

“If you do happen to find something interesting on Vernetta, I’ll be very, very pleased,” Girlie said.

“Pleased enough to double that bonus?”

Girlie’s lips stretched into a devilish smile. “Pleased enough to triple it.”

“T
his is absolutely ridiculous. Robby wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Mankowski scrutinized the shapely, gum-snapping blonde standing in front of him and marveled at her resemblance to Judi Irving.

When they’d first entered The Salon Haven in Westwood where Camille Watson worked as a hair stylist, Mankowski had picked her out right away. The curly auburn hair, pert nose and toned body mirrored the photographs of Judi that he’d seen in her living room—that is, if you take off ten years and add three cup sizes.

“Is there someplace we can talk in private?” Detective Thomas asked, after flashing his badge.

“Nope. I’m busy.”

Camille’s tattooed shampoo boy gasped in shock at her insolence. All eyes and ears in the salon waited for the detectives’ next move.

Camille started spraying her client’s hair with a tangy-smelling aerosol that made Mankowski’s eyes water. He waved his hand in front of his face and took a step back.

“We only need a few minutes of your time,” Thomas pressed.

“I watch the Investigation Discovery channel twenty-four/seven,” Camille said boldly. “I’m not under arrest so I don’t have to talk to you if I don’t want to.”

“You’re right,” Thomas replied. “If you don’t want to help your boyfriend, that’s fine with us.”

She picked up another bottle and continued spraying.

Mankowski glanced around the shop and spotted a back door that he presumed led into an alley. “Maybe we can talk out back.”

“Okay, fine,” she said, finally relenting. “I’ll be back in a sec,” she told her client.

She followed the detectives past a row of hair dryers and through a pink door. The alley out back was neater than Mankowski’s house.

“We’re just here to confirm Mr. Irving’s whereabouts during the timeframe we believe Judi Irving was murdered. So can you tell us—”

Mankowski stopped and glanced behind him. The door was open just a crack. “Can I help you?”

Camille’s shampoo boy quickly shut the door.

“What we’d like to know,” Mankowski continued, “is where you were between the hours of ten p.m. Sunday night and eight a.m. Monday morning?”

“I was with Robby.” The fact that she didn’t take a second to try to recall the date meant that Robby had prepped her.

“How can you be so certain?”

“I’m off on Mondays.” She was still holding the spray bottle, punching the air with it as she spoke. “I always cook dinner for Robby on Sunday nights.”

“Where?”

“At his place.”

“How long were you there?”

“I got there around six and left at nine the next morning.”

“Was Robby there with you the whole time?”

“Yep.”

“You’re certain of that.”

“Absolutely.”

“Did Robby ever talk to you about Judi?”

Camille rolled her eyes. “A little. They were trying to work things out without attorneys, but Judi was being unreasonable. He had to pay her way too much alimony. Look, I’ll just slice to the chase. Robby’s a wonderful man, but he wasn’t happy in his marriage so he left.”

Slice to the chase?
Mankowski started to correct her, but let it go. “So Robby was pissed off about having to pay Judi alimony?”

“Well, not
that
pissed. Robby’s not a murderer.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve been dating the man for over a year, okay? I know him like the back of my palm.”

Thomas looked away to keep from laughing. The woman’s misuse of clichés was comical.

“When you’re in a business like mine, you have to be very good with people. I’m excellent with people.”

“Okay,” Mankowski said. “So what did you two do that night?”

“We watched TV.”

“What did you watch?”

That question stumped her. They had obviously neglected to rehearse the details of Robby’s alibi.

“I don’t remember.” Camille scratched her upper arm and looked down at the ground. “I don’t even remember what I watched this morning.”

The woman was a lousy liar.

“Sounds like you might be lying to cover up for your boyfriend,” Mankowski charged.

Camille laughed cynically. “I already told you, I watch a lot of cop shows. Your scare tactics aren’t going to work on me.” She pointed the bottle at Mankowski. “I know how you guys try to trap people. I need to get back to my client.”

“Robby thought he was getting three-hundred-thousand dollars in insurance money,” Thomas said. “That’s quite a motive for murder.”

“Sure is. And what’s good for the duck is good for the duckling. So go talk to Judi’s boyfriend. She barely knew the guy. I couldn’t believe she made him her beneficiary. She obviously doesn’t watch
Snapped
.”

Mankowski had no idea what she was talking about and decided not to ask.

“We’d like you to come down to the station so we can get a statement,” Thomas said.

“You just got my statement.”

“You know,” Mankowski said, “if you watch as much TV as you claim you do, then you know we don’t have to be so nice.”

Camille’s face puffed into a pout. “Okay, fine. But I can’t do it until my off day. Can I get back to my client now?”

Mankowski didn’t speak until they had climbed back into their sedan. “I don’t believe she was with Irving that night. She’s covering for him.”

“I agree,” Thomas said. “Which makes Robby Irving just as much of a suspect as Phillip Peterman.”

S
pecial flitted around the kitchen as if she was organizing a dinner party for twenty. Clayton would be arriving any minute and she wanted to make sure everything was perfect.

It surprised her how much she enjoyed cooking for Clayton. She was used to men wining and dining her at the city’s best restaurants. Now, she was turning out to be quite the chef since her conversion to Islam.

Her physical appearance had also changed. Her makeup was much more understated, just the way Clayton liked it. Just mascara, blush and a light-bronze lip gloss. The decision to give up her fake eyelashes had been tough, but the whole natural look was growing on her. Who would’ve thought she could look sexy without showing any cleavage? Tonight she was wearing a form-fitting black turtleneck and her black skinny jeans.

The doorbell rang and Special skipped to the door.

She reached out to give Clayton a hug even before he had stepped across the threshold. He barely hugged her back.

“Hey, babe,” he said, wearily.

Clayton worked as an engineer for a small defense contractor, a job he seemed to be growing more and more disenchanted with. He was constantly talking about quitting and starting his own business.

Clayton took a seat in the living room and Special brought him a glass of apple juice.

“It’s fresh squeezed,” she said proudly. “From my new juicer.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“And I made—”

“Sit down.” Clayton patted the couch. “We need to talk.”

Special’s entire body tensed. “Talk about what?”

“About us.”

She didn’t move for another three seconds. “Let me go turn off the oven.”

In the kitchen, she opened the oven door and set the casserole dish on the stovetop. Her mind raced as she tried to recall the past few days. Had she done something wrong? A cuss word had slipped out every now and then, but other than that, she’d been a model Muslim woman. She walked tentatively back into the living room.

“Okay,” she said, sitting down on the couch, a respectable distance between them. “What’s up?”

“You know how much I enjoy being with you and how much I like having you in my life, right?”

Special stopped breathing. He was prepping her for some really bad news.

“And you know I’ve decided to dedicate my life to the Community. That means there are rules and principles that I’m—well, both of us—are required to follow.”

Now she was completely confused. “What are you talking about? We’ve been doing everything we’re supposed to do. Going to meetings three or four times a week, praying five times a day. I’ve changed my diet and I don’t even cuss anymore.”
Well, almost.

“I’m talking about the big thing we’ve been doing that’s straight-up wrong.”

Special’s face clouded. “What big thing?”

Clayton gave her a skeptical look that told her to stop playing dumb. “Special, we can’t have sex anymore. Not until we’re married.”

Fear eased out of her body and astonishment skidded into its place.

Special laughed. “Boy, stop playing.”

Clayton frowned. “I’m not playing. I’m serious.”

She waited a beat, expecting him to explain this joke, but he didn’t.

“Oh…uh, okay,” was the only response Special could muster.

“I don’t expect it to be easy,” Clayton continued. “For either of us. But I want to follow Allah’s will in every way.”

“Okay,” she said again, still shell-shocked.

“Let’s pray.” Clayton took both of her hands, lowered his head and closed his eyes. “Oh great Allah, we come before you as mere servants, humbled by your power. Strengthen us, Allah, so that we may be the worthy servants you deserve. . .”

Special opened one eye and pinned it on Clayton.
This has to be a joke?
Maybe this was some kind of test to see if she was really serious about Islam.

Once he’d finished praying, Clayton instantly seemed like his old self. “Whatever you’re cooking smells good. I’m going to wash my hands.”

As Clayton disappeared down the hallway, Special stayed put, still a bit dazed. This was crazy. She did not wait three decades to find the man of her dreams just to become a friggin’ nun. Christians fornicated all the time. They just went to church Sunday morning and asked Jesus for forgiveness. It was no big deal.

A naughty smile suddenly graced her lips. They weren’t planning to get married for another year. There was no way Clayton could go without sex that long. He was the most sexual man she’d ever dated. Her smile grew increasingly wider. Since Clayton was putting her to the test, she’d turn the tables and come up with one for him.

And she’d make sure there would be no way he could pass it.