THE LINCOLN LAWYER (2005)

by Michael Connelly

  "You're beautiful, Mish," I said, using the name I gave him after he told me of his mishmash of Jewish and Mexican descent.

  "And you say the cops don't have this?" I added.

  "They didn't know about it last week when I got it and I still have the tape. So, no, they don't have it and probably don't know about it yet."

  Under the rules of discovery, I would need to turn it over to the prosecution after Roulet was formally arraigned. But there was still some play in that. I didn't technically have to turn over anything until I was sure I planned to use it in trial. That gave me a lot of leeway and time.

  I knew that what was on the DVD was important and no doubt would be used in trial. All by itself it could be cause for reasonable doubt. It seemed to show a familiarity between victim and alleged attacker that was not included in the state's case. More important, it also caught the victim in a position in which her behavior could be interpreted as being at least partially responsible for drawing the action that followed. This was not to suggest that what followed was acceptable or not criminal, but juries are always interested in the causal relationships of crime and the individuals involved. What the video did was move a crime that might have been viewed through a black-and-white prism into the gray area. As a defense attorney I lived in the gray areas.

  The flip side of that was that the DVD was so good it might be too good. It directly contradicted the victim's statement to police about not knowing the man who attacked her. It impeached her, showed her in a lie. It only took one lie to knock a case down. The tape was what I called "walking proof." It would end the case before it even got to trial. My client would simply walk away.

  And with him would go the big franchise payday.

  Levin was fast-forwarding the image again.

  "Now watch this," he said. "She and Mr. X split at nine. But watch when he gets up."

  Levin had shifted the frame to focus on Campo and the unknown man. When the time code hit 8:59 he put the playback in slow motion.

  "Okay, they're getting ready to leave," he said. "Watch the guy's hands."

  I watched. The man took a final draw on his drink, tilting his head far back and emptying the glass. He then slipped off his stool, helped Campo off hers and they walked out of the camera frame to the right.

  "What?" I said. "What did I miss?"

  Levin moved the image backwards until he got to the moment the unknown man was finishing his drink. He then froze the image and pointed to the screen. The man had his left hand down flat on the bar for balance as he reared back to drink.

  "He drinks with his right hand," he said. "And on his left you can see a watch on his wrist. So it looks like the guy is right-handed, right?"

  "Yeah, so? What does that get us? The injuries to the victim came from blows from the left."

  "Think about what I've told you."

  I did. And after a few moments I got it.

  "The mirror. Everything's backwards. He's left-handed."

  Levin nodded and made a punching motion with his left fist.

  "This could be the whole case right here," I said, not sure that was a good thing.

  "Happy Saint Paddy's Day, lad," Levin said in his brogue again, not realizing I might be staring at the end of the gravy train.

  I took a long drink of hot coffee and tried to think about a strategy for the video. I didn't see any way to hold it for trial. The cops would eventually get around to the follow-up investigations and they would find out about it. If I held on to it, it could blow up in my face.

  "I don't know how I'm going to use it yet," I said. "But I think it's safe to say Mr. Roulet and his mother and Cecil Dobbs are going to be very happy with you."

  "Tell them they can always express their thanks financially."

  "All right, anything else on the tape?"

  Levin started to fast-forward the playback.

  "Not really. Roulet reads the napkin and memorizes the address. He then hangs around another twenty minutes and splits, leaving a fresh drink on the bar."

  He slowed the image down at the point Roulet was leaving. Roulet took one sip out of his fresh martini and put it down on the bar. He picked up the napkin Reggie Campo had given him, crumpled it in his hand and then dropped it to the floor as he got up. He left the bar, leaving the drink behind.

  Levin ejected the DVD and returned it to its plastic sleeve. He then turned off the player and started to put it away.

  "That's it on the visuals that I can show you here."

  I reached forward and tapped Earl on the shoulder. He had his sound buds in. He pulled out one of the ear plugs and looked back at me.

  "Let's head back to the courthouse," I said. "Keep your plugs in."

  Earl did as instructed.

  "What else?" I said to Levin.

  "There's Reggie Campo," he said. "She's not Snow White."

  "What did you find out?"

  "It's not necessarily what I found out. It's what I think. You saw how she was on the tape. One guy leaves and she's dropping love notes on another guy alone at the bar. Plus, I did some checking. She's an actress but she's not currently working as an actress. Except for private auditions, you could say."

  He handed me a professional photo collage that showed Reggie Campo in different poses and characters. It was the kind of photo sheet sent to casting directors all over the city. The largest photo on the sheet was a head shot. It was the first time I had seen her face up close without the ugly bruises and swelling. Reggie Campo was a very attractive woman and something about her face was familiar to me but I could not readily place it. I wondered if I had seen her in a television show or a commercial. I flipped the head shot over and read her credits. They were for shows I never watched and commercials I didn't remember.

  "In the police reports she lists her current employer as Topsail Telemarketing. They're over in the Marina. They take the calls for a lot of the crap they sell on late-night TV. Workout machines and stuff like that. Anyway, it's day work. You work when you want. The only thing is, Reggie hasn't worked a day there for five months."

  "So what are you telling me, she's been tricking?"

  "I've been watching her the last three nights and -"

  "You what?"

  I turned and looked at him. If a private eye working for a criminal defendant was caught tailing the victim of a violent crime, there could be hell to pay and I would be the one to pay it. All the prosecution would have to do is go see a judge and claim harassment and intimidation and I'd be held in contempt faster than the Santa Ana wind through the Sepulveda Pass. As a crime victim Reggie Campo was sacrosanct until she was on the stand. Only then was she mine.

  "Don't worry, don't worry," Levin said. "It was a very loose tail. Very loose. And I'm glad I did it. The bruises and the swelling and all of that have either gone away or she's using a lot of makeup, because this lady has been getting a lot of visitors. All men, all alone, all different times of the night. It looks like she tries to fit at least two into her dance card each night."

  "Is she picking them up in the bars?"

  "No, she's been staying in. These guys must be regulars or something because they know their way to her door. I got some plate numbers. If necessary I can visit them and try to get some answers. I also shot some infrared video but I haven't transferred it to disc yet."

  "No, let's hold off on visiting any of these guys for now. Word could get back to her. We have to be very careful around her. I don't care if she's tricking or not."

  I drank some more coffee and tried to decide how to move with this.

  "You ran a check on her, right? No criminal record?"

  "Right, she's clean. My guess is that she's new to the game. You know, these women who want to be actresses, it's a tough gig. It wears you down. She probably started by taking a little help from these guys here and there, then it became a business. She went from amateur to pro."

  "And none of this is in the reports you got before?"

  "Nope. Like I told y
ou, there hasn't been a lot of follow-up by the cops. At least so far."

  "If she graduated from amateur to pro, she could've graduated to setting a guy like Roulet up. He drives a nice car, wears nice clothes . . . have you seen his watch?"

  "Yeah, a Rolex. If it's real, then he's wearing ten grand right there on his wrist. She could have seen that from across the bar. Maybe that's why she picked him out of all the rest."

  We were back by the courthouse. I had to start heading toward downtown. I asked Levin where he was parked and he directed Earl to the lot.

  "This is all good," I said. "But it means Louis lied about more than UCLA."

  "Yeah," Levin agreed. "He knew he was going into a pay-for-play deal with her. He should have told you about it."

  "Yeah, and now I'm going to talk tohim about it."

  We pulled up next to the curb outside a pay lot on Acacia. Levin took a file out of his briefcase. It had a rubber band around it that held a piece of paper to the outside cover. He held it out to me and I saw the document was an invoice for almost six thousand dollars for eight days of investigative services and expenses. Based on what I had heard during the last half hour, the price was a bargain.

  "That file has everything we just talked about, plus a copy of the video from Morgan's on disc," Levin said.

  I hesitantly took the file. By taking it I was moving it into the realm of discovery. Not accepting it and keeping everything with Levin would have given me a buffer, wiggle room if I got into a discovery scrap with the prosecutor.

  I tapped the invoice with my finger.

  "I'll call this in to Lorna and we'll send out a check," I said.

  "How is Lorna? I miss seeing her."

  When we were married, Lorna used to ride with me a lot and go into court with me to watch. Sometimes when I was short a driver she would take the wheel. Levin saw her more often back then.

  "She's doing great. She's still Lorna."

  Levin cracked his door open but didn't get out.

  "You want me to stay on Reggie?"

  That was the question. If I approved I would lose all deniability if something went wrong. Because now I would know what he was doing. I hesitated but then I nodded.

  "Very loose. And don't farm it out. I only trust you on it."

  "Don't worry. I'll handle it myself. What else?"

  "The left-handed man. We have to figure out who Mr. X is and whether he was part of this thing or just another customer."

  Levin nodded and pumped his left-handed fist again.

  "I'm on it."

  He put on his sunglasses, opened the door and slid out. He reached back in for his briefcase and his unopened bottle of water, then said good-bye and closed the door. I watched him start walking through the lot in search of his car. I should have been ecstatic about all I had just learned. It tilted everything steeply toward my client. But I still felt uneasy about something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

  Earl had turned his music off and was awaiting direction.

  "Take me downtown, Earl," I said.

  "You got it," he replied. "The CCB?"

  "Yeah and, hey, who was that you were listening to on the 'Pod? I could sort of hear it."

  "That was Snoop. Gotta play him up loud."

  I nodded. L.A.'s own. And a former defendant who faced down the machine on a murder charge and walked away. There was no better story of inspiration on the street.

  "Earl?" I said. "Take the seven-ten. We're running late."

  TWELVE

  Sam Scales was a Hollywood con man. He specialized in Internet schemes designed to gather credit card numbers and verification data that he would then turn and sell in the financial underworld. The first time we had worked together he had been arrested for selling six hundred card numbers and their attendant verification information-expiration dates and the addresses, social security numbers and passwords of the rightful owners of the cards-to an undercover sheriff's deputy.

  Scales had gotten the numbers and information by sending out an e-mail to five thousand people who were on the customer list of a Delaware-based company that sold a weight-loss product called TrimSlim6 over the Internet. The list had been stolen from the company's computer by a hacker who did freelance work for Scales. Using a rent-by-the-hour computer in a Kinko's and a temporary e-mail address, Scales then sent out a mass mailing to all those on the list. He identified himself as counsel for the federal Food and Drug Administration and told the recipients that their credit cards would be refunded the full amount of their purchases of TrimSlim6 following an FDA recall of the product. He said FDA testing of the product proved it to be ineffective in promoting weight loss. He said the makers of the product had agreed to refund all purchases in an effort to avoid fraud charges. He concluded the e-mail with instructions for confirming the refund. These included providing the credit card number, expiration date and all other pertinent verification data.

  Of the five thousand recipients of the message, there were six hundred who bit. Scales then made an Internet contact in the underworld and set up a hand-to-hand sale, six hundred credit card numbers and vitals for ten thousand in cash. It meant that within days the numbers would be stamped on plastic blanks and then put to use. It was a fraud that would reach into the millions of dollars in losses.

  But it was stunted in a West Hollywood coffee shop where Scales handed over a printout to his buyer and was given a thick envelope containing cash in return. When he walked out carrying the envelope and an iced decaf latte he was met by sheriff's deputies. He had sold his numbers to an undercover.

  Scales hired me to get him a deal. He was thirty-three years old at the time and had a clean record, even though there were indications and evidence that he had never held a lawful job. By focusing the prosecutor assigned to the case on the theft of card numbers rather than the potential losses of the fraud, I was able to get Scales a disposition to his liking. He pleaded guilty to one felony count of identity theft and received a one-year suspended sentence, sixty days of CalTrans work and four years of probation.

  That was the first time. That was three years ago. Sam Scales did not take the opportunity afforded him by the no-jail sentence. He was now back in custody and I was defending him in a fraud case so reprehensible that it was clear from the start that it was going to be beyond my ability to keep him out of prison.

  On December 28 of the previous year Scales used a front company to register a domain name of SunamiHelp.com on the World Wide Web. On the home page of the website he put photographs of the destruction and death left two days earlier when a tsunami in the Indian Ocean devastated parts of Indonesia, Sri Lanka, India and Thailand. The site asked viewers to please help by making a donation to SunamiHelp which would then distribute it among the numerous agencies responding to the disaster. The site also carried the photograph of a handsome white man identified as Reverend Charles, who was engaged in the work of bringing Christianity to Indonesia. A personal note from Reverend Charles was posted on the site and it asked viewers to give from the heart.

  Scales was smart but not that smart. He didn't want to steal the donations made to the site. He only wanted to steal the credit card information used to make the donations. The investigation that followed his arrest showed that all contributions made through the site actually were forwarded to the American Red Cross and did go to efforts to help victims of the devastating tsunami.

  But the numbers and information from the credit cards used to make those donations were also forwarded to the financial underworld. Scales was arrested when a detective with the LAPD's fraud-by-trick unit named Roy Wunderlich found the website. Knowing that disasters always drew out the con artists in droves, Wunderlich had started typing in possible website names in which the wordtsunami was misspelled. There were several legitimate tsunami donation sites on the web and he typed in variations of these, always misspelling the word. His thinking was that the con artists would misspell the word when they set up fraud sites in an effort to draw potenti
al victims who were likely to be of a lower education level. SunamiHelp.com was among several questionable sites the detective found. Most of these he forwarded to an FBI task force looking at the problem on a nationwide scale. But when he checked the domain registration of SunamiHelp.com, he found a Los Angeles post office box. That gave Wunderlich jurisdiction. He was in business. He kept SunamiHelp.com for himself.

  The PO box turned out to be a dead address but Wunderlich was undeterred. He floated a balloon, meaning he made a controlled purchase, or in this case a controlled donation.

  The credit card number the detective provided while making a twenty-dollar donation would be monitored twenty-four hours a day by the Visa fraud unit and he would be informed instantly of any purchase made on the account. Within three days of the donation the credit card was used to purchase an eleven-dollar lunch at the Gumbo Pot restaurant in the Farmers Market at Fairfax and Third. Wunderlich knew that it had simply been a test purchase. Something small and easily coverable with cash if the user of the counterfeit credit card encountered a problem at the point of purchase.