MD03 - Criminal Intent

by Sheldon Siegel

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow morning. Front page.”

  She tries to sound upbeat. “You’ll become a media darling. Your phone will be ringing off the hook. Who knows? Maybe they’ll ask you to be the new spokesman for Viagra.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that.”

  Her expression turns serious. “What lies is he going to write about you?”

  “I don’t know what angle he’ll take. You can bet it won’t be anything good.”

  She tries to downplay it. “I’m second-guessed in the media all the time. It isn’t a big deal. Most people barely glance at the paper.”

  “He’ll be talking about it on Mornings on Two.”

  “Nobody pays any attention to that stuff.”

  It’s kind of her to try to make me feel better. I replay my conversation with Edwards in my head. I wonder what bombs I might have detonated.

  She gives me a concerned look and asks, “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Can you throw Jerry Edwards in jail for a few weeks?”

  “Sure. Anything else?”

  A back rub would be nice. “Nah. You said you wanted to talk.”

  “I do.”

  “Is this a good time?”

  “As good as any.” She brushes her fingers against her lips and says, “I want you to turn off your cell phone for a few minutes.”

  Bad vibes. I do as she asks. “Are you sure you want to talk about this now?”

  There’s a hesitation. She bites her lip and says, “Yes.”

  I steel myself. We sit in silence for what seems like an hour, but is probably only a few uncomfortable seconds. She leans back in her chair. I lean forward in mine. She swallows. I cough. She scratches her ear. I look at her. She looks away. It’s the mating ritual of desperate, middle-aged people in the early twenty-first century.

  It’s put-up time. I take a deep breath and say, “Do you want to go first?”

  She answers quickly, “No.” Then she adds, “You’re the media star. You go first.”

  What does this mean? I feel like I’m back in high school trying to get up the courage to ask Carolyn to the prom. Does this ever get easier? I take her hand. At first she pulls it away. Then she sees the look in my eyes and reconsiders. She wraps her hands around mine. “Look,” I say, “I know the last few days have been difficult—”

  “This has nothing to do with the last few days. This has to do with where we’re going.”

  I hit a defensive lob. “Where would you like us to go?”

  She hits it right back to me. “Where would youlike us to go?” It’s a lawyerly maneuver. See what the other side has to say. Then you can react. It’s another reason why lawyers shouldn’t date each other. Somebody will write a dissertation about it someday.

  Here we go. “Okay,” I say, “here’s where I’m at.” Her eyes open wide. I lower my voice. “I like you, Leslie–a lot.”

  “I like you, too.”

  I look in her eyes for a hint. Nothing. Judges get a lot of practice at hiding their feelings. It would be fun to watch a group of them play poker. I decide to turn my cards up. “I’m falling in love with you Leslie and I want to make our situation more permanent.”

  Her eyes are open wide. “How permanent?”

  I was hoping for something a little more enthusiastic. Here goes. “Very.”

  A look of genuine alarm crosses her face. “Do you want to get married?”

  Air raid! Begin evasive maneuvers! I start backtracking. “No. No. Not yet, anyway. It’s too soon.” I berate myself for sounding defensive. There are kids with acne who have more polish than I do.

  “Then what are you saying?”

  What am I saying? “I’d like us to be a couple—a real couple—for the world to see. I want to give ourselves a chance to have a successful long-term relationship—a permanent one.”

  She’s still holding my hand. Her eyes twinkle as she says, “Are you asking me if I want to go steady?”

  I guess so. “Essentially, yes.”

  “You’re remarkable, Michael Daley.”

  Is this good or bad? In my experience, it’s usually a bad sign when someone calls you by your first and last names. It’s even worse if they use your middle name, too. I knew I was in serious trouble when my mom called me Michael Joseph Daley when I was a kid. I lean back and remain quiet. Don’t say anything. Let her talk.

  Her eyes lock into mine. “Michael Daley, I think about you all the time. Even when I’m on the bench. I want to be with you. I want to see your smile. I want to read the paper and drink coffee with you at Caffé Trieste on Sundays.”

  This is starting to sound pretty hopeful.

  She swallows hard and says, “And I want you to be there in the mornings to hold me when I’m lonely and scared.”

  She’s never opened up this way before. I squeeze her hands and whisper, “You’ll never be lonely as long I’m around. And you never have to be scared.”

  “Even judges get scared, Michael. And everybody gets lonely.”

  “What are you scared of, Leslie?”

  She thinks about it for a moment and says, “Being alone for the rest of my life. It’s great to be independent, but it’s better to have someone special to share it with.”

  We’re on the same page. “I want you to share it with me, Leslie.”

  “And I want to share it with you.”

  There’s still a sense of reservation in her tone. “Is there a but coming?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Dammit. With Leslie, everything is complicated. I strain to keep my voice measured. “What is it?”

  “There are just so many issues.”

  “We aren’t kids. We both have baggage. It isn’t going to magically go away if we decide to be together. The real issue is whether being with each other is important enough to us that we’re willing to deal with the baggage. For the record, it’s important enough for me.”

  She looks down.

  I ask, “What’s really bugging you, Leslie?”

  She shifts in her chair and says, “I don’t want to compete with Rosie.”

  We’ve covered this territory. “You don’t have to.”

  “I think I do.”

  I hold my hands up and say, “What more can I tell you? We’re business partners. She’s free to go out with anybody she wants.”

  “There’s a lot more to it.”

  She’s right. “It’s time for both of us to move on with our lives. For what it’s worth, I’d like to move on with you.”

  “And Grace?”

  This one’s non-negotiable. Grace trumps Leslie. “You’re going to have to deal with her. She’s part of the package. If you force me to make a choice, she’s going to win.”

  She becomes defensive. “I would never put you in that position, Michael. I know how much your daughter means to you.”

  “Then what is it?”

  She takes another sip of wine and says, “What if she doesn’t want to be with me?”

  “She isn’t going to move in with you.”

  “I know. But we’ll be spending time together. What if she doesn’t like me?”

  “It won’t happen.”

  “It could. What if she resents me? What if she thinks I’m trying to take her mother’s place?”

  It’s an unpredictable risk. “I’ve gone out with other people. She’s been good about it.”

  “So far. But you never know how she’ll react.”

  “No, we don’t. We never will unless we try.”

  “I have a lot riding on this too, Michael. There’s a huge risk when a relationship will be impacted to a substantial degree by the feelings of a ten year-old.”

  “I can’t control her feelings, Leslie. I can only try to make it easier for her—and for us. We’ll just have to do the best we can. You’re going to have to accept some risk.”

  “It may be more than I can handle.”

  “I’ll understand if that’s what you decide.”
I reflect for a moment and add, “I’ll be disappointed as hell, however.” We might as well get everything out on the table. “What else is troubling you?”

  “If we stay together, I’ll have a host of interesting issues to deal with at work.”

  “We can work around them.”

  “It isn’t that easy. Being a judge is like being a priest.”

  Not quite. “How’s that?”

  “You live under a magnifying glass. You have to think about potential conflicts of interest twenty-four hours a day. You have to pick your friends carefully. You can’t be seen with certain people.” She adds, “And you have to be very careful who you sleep with. Sometimes I think it’s better not to sleep with anybody at all.”

  “As I recall, the celibacy rules for judges are a little more relaxed than those for priests.”

  “I realize that. On the other hand, I can do serious damage to my career if there is even the appearance of impropriety. If I’m seeing somebody and a conflict of interest arises, my career could be over. My judgment and impartiality will be brought into question. There are political issues to consider, too. If I want a realistic shot at the federal bench, I have to be sure nothing unseemly will appear on my résumé.”

  It’s a legitimate concern. “It hasn’t been a problem so far,” I say.

  “I know. But that can change at any time.” She walks over to her briefcase, which is sitting on her small desk in the corner of the kitchen. She takes out a manila folder and hands it to me. She tells me to turn to the second page. “Look at the last item.”

  I study the court papers. It’s her docket for the upcoming week. The case she’s noted is The People vs. Benjamin Taylor. The charge is possession of a controlled substance. The preliminary hearing is Thursday.

  “It’s Carolyn’s son,” I say.

  “Right. Your firm is listed as attorneys of record. It’s a conflict of interest.”

  “I know. I talked to Carolyn about it. We’re going to refer it to somebody else.”

  A look of alarm crosses her eyes. “Carolyn knows about us?”

  “She does now. I had to tell her.”

  “Has she told anybody else?”

  “No.”

  “Have you?”

  “Just Rosie.” I think for a moment and add, “And Grace.”

  She sighs. “This won’t be the last time your firm will have matters in my courtroom.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “And how do you plan to deal with the conflict?”

  “We’re prepared to withdraw from any case where we might appear before you.”

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “I won’tlet you.”

  “Then we’ll have to find another way to handle it.”

  “What would you suggest?”

  “You can recuse yourself from our cases.”

  “That’s not always going to be feasible.”

  “It isalways feasible. It isn’t always going to be easy. You can find a way to get out of hearing almost anything if you really want to.” I realize it sounds harsh as I say it.

  “I’ll need a reason.”

  I’ve barely slept or eaten in two days. I’m overwhelmed and exhausted. I’m not going to play games. I lay the cards out. “The reason is that you’re sleeping with me. If we make our situation a matter of public record, everybody will understand.”

  Silence. She swirls her wine and looks out at the beacon on Alcatraz. I rest my chin in my hands. The ball is in her court. I’m not going to give her an easy out.

  Finally, she says, “I need to think about it. I’m in the middle of discussions with my colleagues. I may be put up for presiding judge later this year. There’s also the federal bench.”

  I’m not going to put my life on hold. “You’re going to have to tell them about me sooner or later. They’ll find out about us. It’s better to be up-front.”

  “I know. The timing is bad. The people who make these decisions don’t want to deal with a judge who has a relationship with a defense attorney. It’s hard enough being a Democrat. I don’t want to give them a chance to say I lack the moral character to be a federal judge.”

  “Everybody knows you’re a Democrat. The fact that you have a boyfriend has nothing to do with your qualifications as a judge.”

  “This has nothing to do with my qualifications, Michael. It has to do with politics. I’m going to have enough trouble getting an appointment to the federal bench. Getting a reputation as a woman with questionable morals won’t help.”

  “Is that what this is really about? You think being seen with me is bad for your career?”

  She retreats slightly. “No. There are other factors. I’m trying to weigh the risks against the potential benefits.”

  She sounds like she’s deciding a case. “Look,” I say, “this isn’t a civil trial where you look at the merits and assess damages. This isn’t a criminal case where you try to determine whether the prosecutors have proven their case beyond a reasonable doubt. Dating a defense attorney won’t be a gold star on your resume. On the other hand, we’re talking about my feelings, too. I just opened a vein for you, Leslie. I’m willing to withdraw from any case where it might create a conflict for you. You seem hesitant to do the same for me.”

  “I need to think about it.”

  “You’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”

  “I need to think about it a little longer.”

  It would be a mistake to press her for an answer. In my experience, it is usually counter-productive to issue ultimatums. I try to find a middle ground. “I’d like to know soon, Leslie.”

  “How soon?”

  “Pretty soon.”

  “How soon is pretty soon?”

  I hate arguments over semantics—especially with other lawyers. “I won’t wait six months to see if you get the appointment as presiding judge. And I won’t wait a year to see if you’re nominated for the Northern District. I’m not that patient.”

  “That’s fair.” She pauses and says, “I’m sorry, Michael. This is hard on me, too. It’s the best I can do tonight.”

  It’s as far as I can go. I say without conviction, “I understand.”

  She finishes her wine and says, “Do you want to stick around for a little while and listen to some music? You can have another glass of wine.”

  I hear Judy Collins singing Send in the Clowns. “I think I’d better take a rain check. I have a busy day tomorrow. I think it might be better if I went home.”

  # # #

  “Hey Mick,” Pete’s voice whispers. “Where are you?”

  “The Waldo Grade.” It’s almost two in the morning. The reception on my cell phone isn’t good as I churn up the embankment toward the tunnel just north of the Golden Gate Bridge. The fog has come in and I can barely see past the end of my headlights. “Where are you?” I ask.

  “In the alley down the block from Little Richard’s house.”

  “You’re a fun guy, Pete.”

  “Wait until you get my bill.” Notwithstanding his incessant complaining, he’s having a ball. He loves the chase.

  I tell him about my conversation with Jerry Edwards.

  “I’ll look for you in the paper in the morning. It should be a beaut.”

  “Any sign of Kaela Joy Gullion?”

  “No. If she’s got this place staked out, she’s well-hidden.”

  “Any visitors at Little Richard’s place since you got back?”

  “Just one. Cheryl Springer.”

  “What was Daniel Crown’s wife doing at Little Richard’s house?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she was offering a few suggestions for the edits on the movie.”

  “How long did she stay?”

  “About twenty minutes. She looked unhappy when she left.”

  I hope her husband is having his regular cup of coffee when I go looking for him at Willie’s less than six hours from now.

  *****

/>   Chapter 21

  “Life is All About Dealing with Complications”

  “Studio Head Holds Secret Meeting with Movie Star’s Attorneys.”