"I want to help you, and I have a personal stake in this." She kicked herself mentally. What would he make of a statement like that? She couldn’t provoke any questions. What if he saw through her to their son? Bobby was off-limits. Kurt could never know about Bobby unless he was acquitted.
"Thank you for wanting to help me. I’m not sure it’s the right thing—but how do I tell that fathead Riesner he’s fired?"
Kurt must have mailed out the substitution of attorneys form he’d signed, along with his cover letter requesting a refund of any unused retainer, the next day. Just before five o’clock the following Monday, when Nina and Sandy were washing the coffeepot and putting away books in the library, the fax burped and began a transmission. First came a letter, then came another letter.
The first letter, from Jeffrey A. Riesner, Attorney-at-Law, said with admirable succinctness:
Dear Attorney Reilly:
I have reported your disgraceful breaches of professional ethics to the State Bar of California. I trust you will be hearing from it soon. A copy of the State Bar letter is enclosed.
The so-called "Substitution of Attorney" that you prepared and manipulated my client into signing is also returned, unsigned by me. I advise you to cease and desist immediately from making any more attempts to contact my client or otherwise disturbing his working relationship with me. For your information, I am considering filing suit against you for tortious interference with a contractual relation.
Very truly yours,
Jeffrey Riesner
She read the attached letter, addressed to the California State Bar. Riesner had drawn, quartered, and beheaded her in impeccable legalese.
Sandy read along in silence. When they were both finished, Sandy said, "You do get him to frothing at the mouth."
"I expected it," Nina said. "The motion to substitute attorneys and supporting declaration is already dictated, Sandy. Type it up first thing in the morning and file the papers to have it heard as soon as possible."
"Another murder case," Sandy said, her lips pursed. Nina waited for the negative reaction.
All Sandy said was, "Bring on the clowns."
A couple of days later, a letter from the State Bar arrived. Nina was told that she was under investigation based on Riesner’s complaint. She was told that the matter was serious. She was given ten days to respond in writing, enclosing all pertinent evidentiary support in her possession. Riesner was right on schedule.
She took out the lengthy declaration she had filed with the Superior Court in preparation for the hearing the next day and read it again. Milne would not take testimony. His ruling would be based entirely on the paperwork and the arguments mustered by Riesner and herself.
It was damn good.
She wore extremely high heels and her stiffest suit, a black number from Nordstrom’s with shoulder pads solid as blocks, for the occasion. "Rip his lungs out," Sandy said as she grabbed an umbrella from the rack on her way out off the office into a heavy downpour.
With all the pugnacity she had stored up, the hearing was an anticlimax. Milne didn’t even want to hear her.
"Mr. Riesner," Milne said, "I think you’ll just have to face the fact that you’ve been fired. Ms. Reilly seems to have covered her, ah, flanks quite well in her declaration. There are no legal ethics violations. Clients do occasionally change attorneys, you know."
"Only when they’re manipulated by money-hungry ambulance chasers—"
"That’s enough."
"She can’t go over to the jail and whore her way into a job—"
"Mr. Riesner," Milne said. "I’m going to sanction you in the amount of five hundred dollars, payable to Ms. Reilly, for the frivolous opposition you’ve made. I’m going to order that you pay the legal fees and costs, if any, incurred by Mr. Scott in being compelled to file this motion. I also order you to immediately refund all remaining retainer money, along with a detailed accounting of moneys already spent. And I’m going to ask you, as a fellow member of the Bar, to apologize to Ms. Reilly for the ungrounded accusations you’ve made."
"In a pig’s eye!"
"What did you say, Mr. Riesner?"
"I said, in a pig’s eye, Your Honor."
"The sanction amount is hereby increased to one thousand dollars, payable within five days," Milne said. "Clerk, please ensure a transcript of this hearing and the Minute Order is forwarded to the State Bar of California. Next case."
"Oh, Mr. Riesner," Nina said from under her umbrella, out in the parking lot as the other lawyer unlocked his BMW.
His turned to face her, livid with fury, his carefully coiffed hair now dribbling like wet noodles onto his forehead. "What the fuck do you want?"
She thought of Riesner and his cigar, sitting behind his cherrywood desk not long before, insulting her and Sandy both, and she said, "I just don’t want you to worry. I’m not holding this against you. You’re entirely forgiven. And if you can’t scrape up the sanction money right away, I’m willing to give you a short extension." Riesner jammed his car into reverse, sending up a stream of rainwater. Nina stepped neatly out of the way, giving him a pleasant wave as his tires burned out into the street.
At the main door to her office building the next morning, she passed her landlord, a spry, elderly man named Mr. Gant who had kept the two biggest offices across the hall for his real estate office. "Hi," she said brightly.
"Howdy there," Mr. Gant said. "Sorry about that article. You just stare down anyone who gives you a hard time about it. Damn reporters." He went on out, giving her a pat on the shoulder.
"Hey, Sandy. What’s this about an article? Something in the paper?" Nina said as she came in and tossed her briefcase onto a client chair.
The Tahoe Mirror lay on Sandy’s desk. Sandy jabbed her finger toward it, as if she didn’t want to have to touch it. "You’ll be wanting to hire a hit man," she said. "I know a good one."
"Your brother or your nephew?" Nina said. "I hope you’re kidding."
"I never kid," Sandy said.
She grabbed some coffee and sat down to the usual pile of pink messages and papers to be signed. Ignoring them, she opened up the paper.
She had made the front page.
SCOTT ATTORNEY CONFLICTS RAISED IN STATE BAR COMPLAINT, the headline said. The byline was Barbet Cain, a reporter who had left several messages on the office voice mail the previous night.
"The California State Bar is investigating complaints of attorney misconduct against Nina Reilly, a local attorney who made headlines last year in the Patterson case," the paper said. Nina read on, her coffee forgotten.
According to the complaint, filed by Jeffrey Riesner, a well-known criminal lawyer and partner in the prominent local firm of Caplan, Stamp, Powell, and Riesner, Reilly has violated numerous ethical rules of the Bar, which regulates attorney conduct in California. If after investigation the charges are found to be valid, Reilly may be subject to court sanctions and disciplinary action, including possible disbarment.
The complaint alleges that Reilly convinced Judge Curtis Milne of the El Dorado Superior Court to allow her to substitute in as the attorney for Kurt Scott, who is currently awaiting trial on murder charges.
Reilly had no business taking on the Scott case, the complaint says, because she used undue influence to cause Scott to fire the competent counsel he already had. Apparently, Scott and Reilly have been involved in a common-law relationship for years and they have an eleven-year-old child.
Additionally, it is alleged that Reilly is a witness who will be testifying at the trial. Assistant District Attorney Collier Hallowell, the prosecutor assigned to the case, refused to comment, stating that the witness list has not been finalized. Although State Bar rules don’t completely bar attorney-witnesses from representing a party in a case, according to Riesner, it is both highly unusual and likely to affect the ability of an attorney to competently represent the client.
In a bizarre turn of events, Reilly was representing the murder victim, Theresa London,
on an apparently unrelated matter at the time of her death.
London was found shot to death on March 30, and Scott was charged with the killing based on eyewitness testimony.
The news that Reilly is the mother of Scott’s son has caused consternation among courtroom insiders. "I don’t think I’d go to a criminal lawyer who is the lover of an accused murderer," one source said. Questions have also been raised regarding what Reilly herself may know about the murders.
"It’s the most appalling conflict of interest," Jeffrey Riesner stated. "It makes me ashamed to be an attorney."
Reilly did not return repeated phone calls to her office.
"Delightful," Nina said between her teeth. So Riesner had surprised her with one trick after all.
The office phone buzzed, and she picked it up. "Mrs. Salazar on line two," Sandy told her, a warning in her voice. Nina punched the button and her client came on.
"Is that you?" Mrs. Salazar said. Nina had just finished drawing up a will for Mrs. Salazar, who had struck it rich with her three husbands and wanted to leave all her money to the local animal shelter.
"Hi, Mrs. Salazar. How are you?"
"I’m surprised you’re still showing your face around here," her client said. "If I had known more about you, I certainly wouldn’t have hired you. Consider yourself fired, and don’t bother sending me a bill—I won’t pay it."
"But, Mrs. Salazar, your will—"
Mrs. Salazar had already hung up.
"—is ready for signing," Nina said into the dead phone. "Okay, fine."
The phone buzzed again. Nina looked at it, then answered. "Do you want to talk to the Sacramento Bee?" Sandy said.
"Are you kidding?"
"You also have a call waiting from Judge Milne’s office."
"I’ll call back soon. I’m tied up."
"Did you see the pile of messages?"
"I’m looking through them now. It’s Riesner’s revenge," Nina said. "I meant to tell you about all this, Sandy."
"Don’t worry about me. Worry about your outraged public," Sandy said.
Nina filed the newspaper in her wastebasket. She had worked hard for the respect that had just been stripped away with that article.
Riesner had humiliated her, but she had to remember—she had won the first skirmish.
19
SANDY BUZZED. "MR. HALLOWELL IS OUT HERE. HE doesn’t have an appointment, but you do, in fifteen minutes."
"I’ll be right out." She opened her door to Collier’s back. Studying one of the Washoe hangings, he wore his usual rumpled gray suit, which blended with the silver in his hair, more silver than last year. Running for office could do that to you.
He turned a friendly smile on her. His eyes were old in his compact, middle-aged body. He looked unguarded, a little uncared-for. He was the kind of man who needed to be married.
He carried a heavy file box under his arm.
"It’s very fine," he said to Sandy. "It looks old. Nineteenth century? Hi, Nina."
"It is old," Sandy said. "My great-grandmother made it. How’d you know that?"
"My wife collected Washoe baskets," he said. "I still have them on a shelf in my kitchen."
"I know where you could get some more."
"No, thanks. I just want her baskets, the way she set them up."
"Sure," Sandy said, and for once Nina thought her irrepressible secretary seemed abashed.
"Come on in," Nina said. He followed her in and dropped into one of the client chairs.
"I apologize for showing up like this. I worked Sunday, and came in about seven this morning. I was sitting there in my office on about my fifth cup of coffee and the messenger came in to pick up this box of reports to take to you. I decided to go outside into actual sunlight and come here."
"It’s good to see you. We’re not at each other’s throats yet, are we?"
"Not yet. You haven’t insisted that your client is being railroaded. I haven’t said the needle is the only way to protect society from the likes of him," Collier said.
"It takes you a while to work up to that rigid, condemnatory mood," Nina said.
"And I have noticed you stay rational far longer than most defense attorneys." He looked at her with interest. He’d never seen her without her suit jacket. He seemed mesmerized by her pale orange sweater.
"You caught me," she said. "Sleeves rolled up, formality out the window."
"You look smaller," he said. "Like a girl who has somehow been forced into playing war with the boys."
Automatically, she reached for her jacket. "We may not enjoy it like the guys," she said. "We prefer not to judge and punish. But when we have to fight, we tend to annihilate the opposition quickly, so you won’t suffer for long."
"I see. I didn’t mean to offend you."
"Well," she said, forgiving him.
"Well. Why don’t we try to talk like pals this morning? I get tired of the gamesmanship. Here." He took off his own jacket, exposing a wrinkled white dress shirt, and hung it on the chair back. "Now we’re even."
"All right, let’s give it a whirl. Thanks for bringing over the reports."
Collier laid his file box on the desk and looked around the inner office. She saw it through his eyes, her oak bookcases, her brown leather couch, her certificates from the Monterey School of Law and various courts, and her prized fiddle-leaf ficus in its brass pot, taking a sunbath in the corner. "Very nice. You know, it’s too bad we can’t be friends. I like you."
Somewhat startled, Nina said, "I like you too. But at the moment I happen to be on one side of a war and you’re on the other. You attack, I defend, and if I’m lucky, I counterattack. We’re only human. We have to mobilize our emotions in line with the fight, or we’re weakened."
"I used to see it like that. I don’t anymore. I try to represent the victim in seeking justice. I try to prevent further harm. There’s nothing personal about it."
She had heard that old D.A. standby, "I represent the victim," before, but Collier had an earnest sincerity she believed. Unfortunately, so did most of his juries. "You’re light-years ahead of me," she said. "For me it’s often personal."
Collier said, "I guess that means you won’t have a drink with me after work."
"What?"
"Why not? Agree not to talk law at all. Talk about you, and how you like it up here in the mountains. Talk about the Washoe. Talk about ... I don’t know, just talk."
"I don’t think so. I wouldn’t feel right. I mean..." The sentence she didn’t finish would have sounded something like this: It’s complicated enough, without having to worry about how a friend on the other side is doing.
Collier may have mastered the difficult art of staying both disinterested and committed in his courtroom work, but she hadn’t.
You’re an admirable opponent, she thought, a worthy challenge; and perhaps he caught some of that thought in her eyes.
"Forget it," he said gently. "No problem. Let’s talk about the Terry London case. First of all, congratulations on wresting it away from Jeff. But watch out for him. He never forgives, and he never forgets. He’ll find a way to express his unhappiness."
"It’s too bad it turned out that way. With someone else I might apologize, but he’d bite my head off and feed it to his... exotic statuary."
He laughed at the characterization, a long-drawn-out growl ending in soft, friendly barks. "Now to business," he said. "Somewhere in that pile of papers on your desk you have Judge Milne’s Order substituting you in as defense counsel of record. I guess you know Scott’s already been arraigned in the Superior Court."
"I’ve just started reading the transcript of the preliminary hearing. This big package here is Jeff Riesner’s file on my client. After I’ve skimmed through everything, I’ll call you and we’ll set up a pretrial conference with Milne," Nina said.
"Okay."
Sandy buzzed again. "Your eleven-thirty is here."
"I’ll be a few more minutes," Nina said. She put down the phone.
She walked over beside Collier, who was exploring her view of Mount Tallac. The eastern sun washed its jagged and tremendous flanks with golden light.
She looked at him, while he looked at the mountain. In spite of herself, she was seeing him outside his role. What she saw was a reflective, complex, somewhat sad and lonely man.
"The snow’s melting fast," Collier said. "I hiked up there with my wife one summer. We spent the night on top during the Perseid meteor shower on a warm, windless night. We watched them shoot across the sky."
"I’m sorry," Nina said, picturing him snuggling inside a sleeping bag with the woman he loved, watching the night sky spraying silver. "About your wife."
"So am I," he said. "She was only a little older than you. I can’t understand how it could happen. I lie awake at night, wondering how it could happen."
"How did she die?"
"She was a probation officer. Anna Meade. You may have heard the story."
She had heard the story from another defense lawyer a few weeks after her arrival at Tahoe. His wife had been killed by one of her case clients. She had suffered....
"Do you have children?" Nina said, inadequately.
"Nope. No luck in that direction. No luck at all." He ran a hand over his eyes, walking back to the chair. "Sorry, Nina. It’s been three years, but now and then I still lose it."
"Don’t worry," Nina said, handing him a tissue. "I have an unlimited supply."
"Anyway, Jeff was really after me to stop you from taking over. I decided not to become involved. Then I saw the news article, and realized you do have very close ties to Scott...."
"Old ties, yes."
"To be blunt, I think you’ve made a mistake." He tossed the tissue into her wastebasket, missing, and bending down to pick it up and heave it again. "I speak as one who wishes you well, no matter what I try to do to you in court."
"I know how to take care of myself."
"We have some camcorder tape that we are still working with," Collier said. "Terry London made it just before her death. The copy still isn’t ready, but it’s part of the discovery you’re entitled to. I think you may want to come over to my office and see it right away."
Invasion of Privacy Page 18
