Rosie drummed her fingers on the arm of her plastic chair. “Did you see King put the heroin in the bathroom?”
“No. He could have left it there last night or last week. I don’t know.”
“Did anybody else use the bathroom while you were there?”
“Several people.” She explained that the master bath had two entrances: one leading into the hallway, and the other leading into the bedroom.
“Did you see who else went into the bathroom?”
“No. I was trying to stay invisible. I closed the door between the bathroom and the bedroom.”
“Did anybody say anything to you?”
“No.”
“Is it possible that somebody else put the heroin in the bathroom or tampered with it?”
Work with us, Lexy. For our purposes, the correct answer is yes.
She thought about it for a long moment. “I guess.”
Not forceful enough.
Rosie asked whether anybody was angry at King.
“Everybody hated him. He had a huge ego and he treated everybody like crap, but people at the party were going to make a fortune on the IPO.
“How were you and Jeff getting along?”
“Fine.”
“Did you like him?”
“We had a business arrangement. I provided sex and companionship. He provided money and drugs. The sex was okay. The money was good. The drugs were better than the stuff I bought on the street. I was prepared to continue as long as I needed the money. I didn’t have any choice.”
Her lack of emotion was equal parts troubling and sad. I said, “Inspector Lee told us that they found five thousand dollars in your purse.”
“Jeff always paid cash.”
“He seems to think that you gave him a hot shot, took the money, and tried to run.”
“It was consensual. He provided the smack.”
“Why didn’t you call 9-1-1 immediately?”
“I panicked.”
“Were you and King fighting?”
“No.”
“Did he threaten to tell the cops or his wife about you?”
“No.”
“Did he threaten to end your relationship?”
“No.” She clenched her fists. “Can you get me out of here?”
“Not today. We’ll know more after we talk to the D.A.”
“What about bail?”
“At the moment, you’re being held on a ‘no-bail hold,’ which means that we won’t be able to get bail until the arraignment.”
“What are the chances then?”
“Not great—especially if they charge you with first-degree murder. And even if the judge sets bail, you have no money.”
“I have five thousand dollars.”
“It won’t be enough, and you can’t use it because it’s evidence.” And, arguably, it was obtained illegally.
“I’ll wear an ankle monitor.”
“You’re still going to need money.”
If you can’t afford bail, you can buy a bail bond for a non-refundable fee equal to ten percent of the bail amount. The bond agent guarantees that the accused will show up in court. In many cases, it’s the only way a defendant can get out of jail. California recently passed legislation to end the practice of requiring money bail, but the law hasn’t taken effect.
“If you have enough for a bond,” I said, “you won’t qualify for our services.”
Lexy closed her eyes as the reality set in. “What happens next?”
“There will be an arraignment in a couple of days. They’ll read the charges. You’ll plead not guilty. We’ll ask for bail. We’ll go from there.”
“What happens between now and then?”
“You need to sit tight, stay calm, and avoid talking to anybody. I’ll send over an intake attorney with some additional paperwork. We’ll start making arrangements to get you treatment. I want to talk to my contacts at the D.A.’s Office. And I want to remove your listing on Mature Relations.”
6
“THIS CASE IS GOING TO BE PROBLEMATIC”
Rosie took off the wire-framed glasses that replaced her contacts when she was tired. “I’m getting too old for all-nighters.”
I took a sip of bitter coffee. “So am I.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Had you ever heard of a ‘cuddle puddle’?”
“Uh, no.”
“Neither had I. Learn something new every day.” Her tone turned serious. “This case is going to be problematic.”
Yes, it is.
We were sitting in her office at six-thirty a.m. on Christmas Eve. The hallways were dark. The P.D.’s Office was uncharacteristically quiet.
She lowered her voice. “Murder cases are always difficult. They’re almost impossible when the client has a substance problem.”
“I’ll request a medical exam and treatment options. It’s all that we can do for now.”
“You’ll need to watch her closely, Mike.”
“I will. In the meantime, I asked Pete to see if he can get any information about what’s on Lexy’s cell phone. And he’s going to see what he can find out about King.”
“He doesn’t work for us.”
“It’s a Christmas present.”
She pushed out a sigh. “Were you able to take down Lexy’s listing on Mature Relations?”
“Yes.”
“How degrading was it?”
“Very.”
“Worse than our daughter’s app?”
“Yes. Grace gives relationship advice to college kids. Mature Relations focuses on sex.”
“I could make a credible argument that Grace does, too.”
“So could I.”
“You’re okay with it?”
“I would have preferred something more suitable for a family audience, but I learned long ago that I have little control over our daughter.”
Rosie’s eyes gleamed. “Even less now that she’s making more money than we are.”
“Fortunately, she’s much more grounded than I was at twenty. She’s smart, responsible, ambitious, and very careful. Her moral compass is pointed in the right direction. If we’re lucky, she might be supporting us in a few years.”
“If people keep downloading her app, it may be sooner than you think.” She scanned her e-mails. “Is Mature Relations like Ashley Madison for rich people?”
“Sort of.” Ashley Madison caters to married people looking to cheat. It gained some notoriety when the former governor of South Carolina found an Argentine lover on the site. The tawdry episode had little impact on his political career—he was subsequently elected to the U.S. Congress. “Mature Relations is more tasteful than I expected. The clientele is well-heeled.”
“It’s a hookup site, Mike.”
“It looks like high-end soft-core porn.”
She arched an eyebrow. “How would you know?”
“Research.”
“You expect me to believe that you’ve never looked at a porn site?”
“On occasion. You?”
“On occasion.”
“I’m not satisfying your urges?”
“Most of them.” She switched topics. “What did you think of Sexy Lexy?”
“She’s bright and credible. She isn’t the first person to get chewed up by the tech industry and hooked on opioids. People think the tech kids play foosball all day while they’re raking in big bucks. In reality, it’s like being a lawyer. They work ungodly hours. A few make a ton of money, but many don’t. There’s an insane amount of stress. You know how it goes when people get hooked on booze or drugs. There’s a fine line between recreation and addiction.”
Her expression turned somber. We’d seen the lives of many clients and several colleagues swirl down the drain after they got addicted. “Do you think she was telling the truth?”
“I think so.”
“So do I. She admitted that she’s an unemployed heroin addict. She told us that she met King on Mature Relations—not her proudest moment. Their rela
tionship sounded purely transactional.”
“He was also her source of income, and she needed the money to feed her habit.”
“What’s the narrative? Are you planning to argue that his death was accidental?”
“Ideally, no. That could still be manslaughter, which would be preferable to murder, but not great. I’d rather argue that somebody with a grudge against King planted some spiked heroin knowing that it was likely to kill him.”
“Any evidence?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you have any potential suspects in mind?”
“Everybody who was at King’s house last night.”
“A SODDI defense?”
It stood for “Some Other Dude Did It.” “Why not? There were other people at the party. Some of them used the bathroom upstairs.”
“You’ll need to show motive.”
“That may be the easiest part. Seems everybody in Silicon Valley—including many at the party—hated King.”
“Then you shouldn’t have any trouble proving it.” Rosie’s face rearranged itself into the million-dollar smile that adorned faded campaign posters nailed to power poles around the City. “And if you can’t pin it on somebody else?”
“We’ll argue that Lexy had no incentive to kill her sugar daddy. If that doesn’t work, we’ll say that it was an accident. If the jury buys it, we might get manslaughter instead of murder.” I switched to logistics. “I take it that you’d like me to deal with this?”
“Yes.”
“Can I do it myself?”
“If you have time.”
“I do.” As co-head of the Felony Division, I spent most of my time dealing with administrative and scheduling issues. On many days, I felt more like a traffic cop than a lawyer. Rosie and I had agreed that I could take on a couple of cases a year—if I stayed out of her hair. “I’d like to have Rolanda sit second chair.”
“She’s on her honeymoon, Mike. She won’t be back for three weeks.”
Rolanda Fernandez was one of the best attorneys in our office. She was also Rosie’s niece. Rosie had promoted her to co-head of the Felony Division six months earlier after Rosie had concluded—correctly—that my laissez faire attitude toward bureaucratic formalities was setting a less-than-stellar example for our younger lawyers. For those who insist that irony is dead, I would note that the person that Rosie and I used to babysit and who once worked as our law clerk was now tasked with providing adult supervision to me.
Rosie invoked her cross-exam voice. “I am not going ask her to come back early from Fiji.”
That’s fair. “Neither am I.”
Rolanda and her longtime boyfriend and newly minted husband, Zach, had postponed their honeymoon twice. It comes with the territory when one spouse is the co-head of the Felony Division of the P.D.’s Office, and the other is a baby partner at one of the big firms downtown. The first time, Zach had to drop everything to handle a series of hearings in Houston. The second time, Rolanda couldn’t persuade one of San Francisco’s least sentimental judges to delay the murder trial of a Hunters Point gangbanger. They had scheduled their current trip on the logical assumption that things would be quiet over the holidays. They couldn’t have anticipated that we would be asked to represent a woman accused of killing a tech entrepreneur on Christmas Eve.
Rosie eyed me. “Are you sure that you want to deal with a murder case?”
We had been around the block enough times to know that Lexy’s case would likely consume much of my time for months. Then again, for a trial lawyer, there was nothing more exhilarating than a murder case. It also beat reviewing calendars and court dockets.
“I’m in,” I said.
“Good. You can decide who will sit second chair.”
“I think it might be better if it’s a female attorney.”
“That’s sexist.”
Yes, it is. “It’s in our client’s best interest. And it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve made a staffing decision for a similar reason.”
“You can choose whomever you’d like.”
“Any chance you might be available?”
“No.”
It was worth a shot. I looked at my watch. Six-forty a.m. “You should go home. It’s Christmas Eve. You have people coming over tomorrow.”
“I will. You might want to head over to the Hall and see if you can talk to our D.A. about Lexy’s case.”
“What makes you think she’ll be there at this hour?”
She pointed at her computer. “She’s being interviewed on TV at her office right now. She just said that she has sufficient evidence to convict our client of murder.”
7
“TELL YOUR CLIENT TO PLEAD GUILTY”
The District Attorney of the City and County of San Francisco flashed a politician’s smile, extended a willowy hand, and spoke to me in a tone oozing fake sincerity. “Good to see you again, Mike.”
“Good to see you, too, Nicole,” I lied.
Nicole Ward was sitting behind a Lucite-topped desk in her immaculate corner office on the third floor of the Hall of Justice at seven a.m. As always, her makeup was perfect, her hair coiffed, and her Elie Tahari silk blouse looked as if she’d purchased it at Bloomingdale’s earlier that morning.
My guess was that she had come to the office solely to appear on TV and expound upon Lexy’s case. Christmas Eve was usually a slow news day, and the savvy operator knew that her interview would run on the morning, afternoon, and evening newscasts. Not surprisingly, she had proclaimed that SFPD had irrefutable evidence that Lexy had murdered King.
“I didn’t expect to see you here on Christmas Eve,” I said.
“I’m always working.”
Your deputies are always working. You go on TV. I feigned admiration of the framed college graduation photos of her twin daughters. Jenna was a law student at Yale. Missy was in medical school at Northwestern. Already knowing the answer, I asked, “Going to court?”
“Not today.”
Not ever. “Fundraiser?” The next election was almost a year away, but she was already testing the waters for a mayoral run.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Mike.”
“Were you on TV?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
I’m shocked. “CNN?”
“Just local today.” She was a master of the humble-brag. Her smile finally disappeared. She scrunched her prim nose as she looked me up and down. “Have you been up all night?”
Uh, yeah. “We picked up a new case.”
“Which one?”
The one that you were pontificating about on TV twenty minutes ago. “Alexa Low.”
“Sexy Lexy qualifies for a P.D.?”
“Yes.”
“I was told that she isn’t some small-time hooker from the Tenderloin. She’s a Cal alum who works for a tech startup.”
“Worked,” I said. “She’s unemployed.”
“I understand that she and King hooked up on Mature Relations.”
She knew more than she was letting on. “Millions of people are on Mature Relations. I suspect that their vetting process isn’t terribly rigorous.”
“It isn’t.”
I couldn’t resist. “How do you know?”
“My office has made it a priority to investigate fraud in the online dating industry. You’d be surprised how many people get screwed.”
I resisted the temptation to make a double entendre. “Do you know anybody on Mature Relations?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” She pointed a slender finger at the somber African-American man sitting in the chair next to mine. “What about you, DeSean?”
“Not as far as I know.”
DeSean Harper was the tight-lipped head of the Felony Division. About my age, the Bayview native had graduated at the top of his class at Cal and Harvard Law School. Smart, meticulous, and tenacious, he was among the most respected prosecutors in California. Unlike his boss, he was a straight shooter. Many of us were silently hoping that he would
succeed Ward if she moved up the political ladder.
He touched the sleeve of his powder-blue oxford cloth shirt. “Ask your brother about it. The tech boom has been a bonanza for sex sites and P.I.s.”
“So I understand. Will you be handling Ms. Low’s case?”
“For now.”
Ward glanced at her watch. “How can we help you?”
“I was hoping that you might provide information about my client’s case.”
“She was arrested six hours ago.”
“I presume that Inspector Lee has consulted with you about the charges.”
“We haven’t decided.”
“Come on, Nicole.”
“She’s already guilty of possession of a controlled substance.”
“King provided the smack. She has no criminal record. It would be overkill to charge her with possession.”
“She solicited sex.”
“It was consensual. You can’t charge everybody who hooks up on Match or Tinder.”
“We found five grand in her purse. If she got it from King for sex, it’s solicitation. If she stole it, it’s theft. Either way, it’s a bad look.”
“You’re seriously going to charge her for possession or for having consensual sex? That’s a bad look, too, Nicole.”
“There’s also the fact that King is, for lack of a more discreet term, dead. As a result, we’ll be charging her with murder. We’ll make a final determination of the degree when we have more facts.”
“It was an accident.”
“She gave him a hot shot of heroin.”
“Which he provided. And he asked her to inject him.”
“Says your client.”
“You think she jammed a needle into him without permission? King probably had a medical condition that was triggered by the smack. Either way, she didn’t mean to kill him.”
“She tried to flee.”
“She went to get help. Besides, she had no motive. He was her source of income.”
“Maybe they had a falling out.”
We volleyed back and forth for another five minutes, but neither Ward nor Harper would give an inch or supply any additional information. Finally, I recited the standard defense-lawyer catechism. “You have a legal obligation to provide evidence that might exonerate our client. We’ll also need copies of the police reports and the names of everybody who was at King’s house last night.”
Higher Law Boxset, Volume 3 Page 54
