Attorney-Client Privilege

by Pamela Samuels Young

  I’d recently opened my own law practice, renting space in the law office of a friend. I left my old firm, O’Reilly and Finney, after my partnership chances nosedived, due in part to the antics of a female attorney who was almost as ruthless as Girlie. But that’s another story.

  As soon as the verdict was in, I could finally dive into my next big case, a sex discrimination lawsuit on behalf of three female sales associates at Big Buy department stores. One of the plaintiffs had recently left me an excited voicemail message about some mysterious documents she’d received. I’d been too busy putting the finishing touches on my closing argument to call her back.

  The mood at the table had lightened considerably by the time we’d finished our meal. Lamarr and his homies were laughing at some off-color joke and getting way too loud. Before I could quiet them down, I spotted Girlie Cortez, minus her client, at the maître d’s stand.

  Lamarr’s eyes followed mine. “I hate that bit”—he caught himself—”I mean female. She knows I didn’t force that girl to give it up. Still, I’d love to hit that one day.”

  The iced tea I’d just sipped spewed all over the table. “Are you nuts?” I said through clenched teeth. “Didn’t I just warn you guys to knock it off?”

  “Chill out, counselor. It ain’t that serious. We just blowin’ off some steam.” Lamarr slouched down in his chair and pouted like the spoiled, overpaid celebrity that he was.

  The hostess was leading my nemesis to a table a good distance away when Girlie did an about face and marched in our direction.

  “Hey, everybody,” Girlie said, sidling up to our table. Her eyes landed on me, but lingered on Lamarr. “Hope you guys aren’t celebrating too early.”

  “Might as well,” Keyshawn said, raising his wineglass in a makeshift toast. “’Cuz we gonna win.”

  Girlie put a hand on her hip and protruded her ample bosom. “Is that right?”

  “Yep, that’s right.” Keyshawn’s hooded eyes moved up and down her body as if he liked what he saw.

  I wanted Girlie to disappear. Her close proximity to these goons could easily lead to another sexual assault allegation. “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked.

  “Not really. See you back in court.”

  The guys ogled her ass as she pranced away.

  I picked up my fork and stabbed my plate so hard they all flinched. “Turn around. Now!” I had to fight off the urge to slap each one of them in the back of the head.

  I never told Lamarr how much I despised Girlie Cortez nor had I mentioned my prior losses against her. Our first match-up was a race discrimination case a few years back. I lost at trial after she withheld an investigation report crucial to my client’s defense. During our second case just last year, I couldn’t understand why my star witness told a completely different story on the witness stand. I figured it out a couple of months later when I saw him holding Girlie’s hand across a dinner table.

  My iPhone vibrated. I recognized the court clerk’s number on the display as soon as I pulled it from my purse. I swallowed hard and held my breath. The jury hadn’t even been out two hours. There was no way they could be done deliberating already. Maybe they had a question.

  My hand trembled slightly as I raised the phone to my ear.

  “The judge wants everybody back in court,” the clerk told me. “The jury has reached a verdict.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Mankowski snagged a patrolman to drive Phillip Peterman to the station in the back of his squad car. Phillip wasn’t officially a suspect yet. Mankowski just wanted him to feel like one.

  “Where’d they put Actor Boy?” Mankowski asked, returning to his desk after making a pit stop.

  Thomas didn’t answer. His thumbs were busy tapping the screen of his iPhone.

  “Please tell me you stopped day trading long enough to get going on those subpoenas?” Mankowski asked with a scowl.

  “Hey, man, my latest stock pick just reached an all-time high. My investment savvy is going to put my kids through college. And yes, I’m almost finished with the paperwork to get Judi Irving and Phillip Peterman’s bank, home and cell phone records.”

  Another detective walked up. “Your perp’s in interrogation room seven. Want me to sit in?”

  Detective Charlie Hopper was a balding, overweight grump who should’ve been put out to pasture decades ago. The last time he’d cracked a case, the first George Bush was president.

  “Thanks, Pops,” Mankowski said, walking past him. “But I think we have this one under control.”

  “I guarantee you a confession in thirty minutes or less,” Hopper bragged.

  “Yeah, right,” Mankowski said.

  Thomas slipped his iPhone into his pocket and followed Mankowski into the interrogation room. Phillip sat wedged behind a short metal table, his cell phone jammed against his ear.

  “They won’t tell me how Judi’s doing because I’m not a family member,” he griped, hanging up the phone. “I need to get to the hospital. Exactly how long is this going to take?”

  Mankowski spread his hands. “Depends on what you have to say.”

  “It shouldn’t take long.” Thomas pulled up a chair and offered one to Mankowski. He set two cans of Pepsi on the table. “I thought you might like something to drink.”

  Phillip reached for one of the cans, popped it open and took a healthy gulp. “I’m doing you guys a favor. I really don’t have to talk to you without a lawyer.”

  “You’re not a suspect,” Mankowski said. “Why would you need a lawyer?”

  Phillip shrugged. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt your girlfriend?” Mankowski asked.

  Phillip’s face flushed with surprise. “I thought it was a burglary? You think somebody was out to hurt her?”

  “What made you think it was a burglary?”

  “The place was a wreck. The small flat screen we had in the kitchen was missing. That cop wouldn’t let me look around to see what else they took.”

  Mankowski’s brows arched. “They?”

  “That was just a manner of speech. I have no idea how many people it was.”

  “Let’s get back to my initial question,” Mankowski said. “Is there anyone you can think of who might’ve wanted to hurt Judi?”

  The Pepsi can made a crinkle sound as Phillip’s hand tightened around it. “Maybe her husband. Their divorce isn’t final yet. He’s been paying her a grip in alimony based on the court’s temporary order and he’s not happy about it.”

  “So Judi’s married?”

  “Yeah. He dumped her for some bimbo. His name is Robby Irving. He’s a pharmaceutical sales rep. You should definitely check him out.”

  “Does he own that house where you guys were living?”

  “Nope. Judi and I rented it a few weeks ago. We were staying in a condo in Westchester at first, but the rent was too high.”

  “What about you? Did you have any reason to hurt her?”

  Phillip set down his Pepsi and cracked his right knuckles against the palm of his left hand. “Of course not.”

  “Those are some nasty scratches on your face.”

  “And I already told you how I got them. You need to get Robby Irving down here. He should be your number one suspect.”

  “Anybody else?” Mankowski asked.

  “Nobody I can think of.” Phillip paused as if he was torn about how forthcoming he should be. “I don’t know if this is important or not, but Judi had a lawsuit going.”

  “What kind of lawsuit?” Mankowski asked.

  “Discrimination.”

  “Against who?”

  “Her employer.”

  Mankowski drummed his fingers on the table. The way Phillip was parceling out information was beginning to irritate him.

  “Mr. Peterman, we can stay here for the next three hours as you dole out your little tidbits, or you can tell us what we need to know and you can go check on your girlfriend. How d
o you want to play it?”

  Thomas tilted his head and gave Mankowski a glare that told him he didn’t approve of his bullying tactics. They had no legal right to keep Phillip there since he wasn’t under arrest. It was inappropriate for Mankowski to act as if they could.

  “Okay, okay,” Phillip huffed.

  He spent the next few minutes telling them what little he knew about Judi’s sex discrimination lawsuit against Big Buy.

  “Sounds like you had a problem with her suing the company,” Mankowski said.

  “I thought it was a stupid thing to do. She was going to end up getting fired.”

  “Hey, wait a minute.” Thomas grinned and wagged a finger at Phillip. “I recognize you. You’re the Big Buy Guy!”

  A modest grin lit up Phillip’s face. “Yeah, that would be me.”

  Mankowski eyed his partner. “Big what guy?”

  “Big Buy Guy. He does this commercial where he’s running through the store slashing prices.” Thomas started singing the Big Buy jingle.

  “Oh, I get it.” Mankowski leaned back in his chair. “You didn’t like your girlfriend messing up your Big Buy gig by suing the company?”

  Phillip took a long gulp from the Pepsi can. “I just didn’t think the lawsuit was a good idea.”

  They continued to grill Phillip about Judi’s lawsuit, his whereabouts while she was being assaulted and Judi’s impending divorce. For the most part, his story stayed consistent.

  “Would you be willing to provide a sample of your DNA?” Mankowski asked.

  “DNA?” Phillip cracked his knuckles again and reached for the Pepsi, but didn’t take a sip. “Why would you need my DNA?”

  “Just routine,” Thomas said. “We’d like to rule you out.”

  “Judi scratched her assailant,” Mankowski added. “We want to know if your DNA matches the skin and blood we found underneath her fingernails.”

  Thomas shot Mankowski a chiding glare. His partner was sharing a little too much information. But Mankowski wanted Actor Boy to know that they had him. A worried perp was much more likely to make the kind of mistake that would leave him cornered.

  Phillip visibly shuddered. “I…uh…I’m not comfortable providing my DNA.”

  Mankowski smirked. “Why not?”

  “I’d just rather not, okay?” Phillip cracked his knuckles for the third time. “You need to get her husband down here and get his DNA.”

  “Alright, Mr. Peterman,” Mankowski said, sliding a pen and notepad across the table. “Give us the name and number of your agent so we can confirm your whereabouts last night. Then you can go. But we’ll definitely need to speak to you again. If you plan on taking any out-of-town trips, we’d appreciate it if you give us a call first.”

  Mankowski winked.

  “I’ll give you my agent’s cell phone number,” he grumbled. “But just so you know, he’s out of the country. He left for Paris this morning. He won’t be back for six weeks.”

  “How convenient,” Mankowski said. “But I’m pretty sure cell phones work in Paris too.”

  Phillip scrawled down a number, ripped the paper from the pad and sailed it across the table. “Are we done?”

  “Nope,” Mankowski said. “We need a photograph.”

  “Of what?”

  “Those scratches on your cheek.” Mankowski pulled a tissue from his shirt pocket and slapped it on the table. “Wipe off your makeup.”

  “I don’t have on makeup,” Phillip said testily. “It’s a medicated cream.”

  “Whatever. Just wipe it off.”

  “I’m not sure I want to—”

  “You know what?” Mankowski said. “You’re really beginning to make me think you have something to hide.”

  Thomas stepped outside and returned with a camera that he handed to Mankowski, who took pictures of Phillip’s face from three different angles.

  Afterward, Thomas found a patrolman to drive Phillip home, then met Mankowski back at his desk.

  “Did you see how nervous he got when I asked for his DNA?” Mankowski said. “I think Judi scratched his face while he was bashing her in the head.”

  “He was sure trying hard to steer us in the direction of her husband,” Thomas replied with a nod. “If he did do it, he must be sweating bullets not knowing whether she’s going to survive and identify him.”

  Thomas called the hospital to find out Judi’s condition.

  “Good news,” Thomas said, hanging up. “She’s critical, but stable. We might be able to talk to her tomorrow.”

  They had already placed a guard outside her room and given the hospital strict instructions that no one, especially Phillip Peterman, should be allowed in to see her. Mankowski, meantime, tried to reach Harold Gold, Phillip’s agent.

  Mankowski slammed down the phone. “Asshole gave us a wrong number.”

  “That,” Thomas said, “speaks volumes.”

  Mankowski turned to his computer to look up the agent’s office number on Google.

  “Well,” Thomas said with glee, “at least we have this.” He held up a plastic bag containing Phillip’s empty Pepsi can.

  “Criminals are so stupid,” Mankowski said with a satisfied smiled. “That arrogant prick is going to piss in his pants when he finds out we have his DNA. Let’s drop that off at the lab, then go have a little talk with Judi Irving’s almost ex-husband.”

  CHAPTER 6

  By the time we made it back to the courtroom, Girlie and To-nisha were already seated at the plaintiff’s table.

  Lamarr hadn’t uttered one word during our short walk back and I could see the fear in his eyes. For him, this was the fourth quarter with a minute left on the clock. If the jury’s verdict came back in favor of Tonisha, his future on the field was anyone’s guess. As for his endorsement deals, he could kiss them good-bye. At least for the immediate future. Memories would eventually fade, but it would take time. Just ask Kobe, Ben Roethlisberger or Michael Vick.

  Across the room, Tonisha rocked back and forth in her chair, while Girlie held her hand. Win or lose, the two of them would be hitting the talk show circuit so hard, they’d make Gloria Allred look camera shy.

  A side door opened and the bailiff led the jurors to their seats.

  Judge Pedrano wasted no time. “Madam Foreperson, have you reached a verdict?”

  A middle-aged white woman with short, curly hair rose from her seat. “Yes, we have.”

  I was shocked that Juror No. 1, a bashful-looking fifth-grade teacher, had been selected as the jury forewoman. None of the jurors made eye contact with me or Lamarr. Even the dental assistant no longer smiled Lamarr’s way.

  Juror No. 1 cleared her throat. “In the matter of Tonisha Cosby versus Lamarr Harris, Los Angeles Superior Court Case Number LC-983388, we find Lamarr Harris liable for sexual assault and award Tonisha Cosby two-million dollars.”

  “Two-million dollars! Hell naw!” Lamarr pounded the table with both fists. “This is some bullshit!”

  One of his homeboys yelled some indecipherable expletive from the gallery. The entire room buzzed with chatter.

  The unarmed bailiff was at our table in an instant, peering down at Lamarr like an angry school principal.

  Judge Pedrano banged his gavel in quick, successive raps. “Order! I want order in this court!”

  He aimed his gavel directly at Lamarr. “Young man, that kind of outburst is unacceptable in my courtroom. If it happens again, you and anybody else who’s out of line will end up in a holding cell.”

  Tonisha apparently didn’t believe the judge’s admonition applied to her. “Thank you for believing me,” she cried out in hiccupping sobs. “Thank you so much!”

  Lamarr’s chest heaved up and down and I thought he might be hyperventilating. I had explained the risks of going to trial and had even tried to convince him to settle shortly after Tonisha went public with her allegations. Back then, Tonisha probably would’ve agreed to drop her case for a tenth of the jury award. But Lamarr refused to pay the lyin�
�� ‘ho a dime. Days later, Girlie Cortez entered the picture and settlement was out of the question.

  It took a few more minutes before the judge regained control of the courtroom.

  I rose from my seat. “Your Honor, I would like to poll the jury.”

  The poll revealed that nine jurors voted in favor of Tonisha, with three for us. To my surprise, the dental assistant went against us. The Lutheran minister, a security guard and a grocery store clerk voted for us. Tonisha needed nine of the twelve votes to prevail. If we’d had just one more juror on our side, Lamarr would be the one celebrating.

  “Let’s go,” I said, when the judge had finished thanking the jurors for performing their civic duty.

  Lamarr gripped the edge of the table. “You gotta get me a new trial. She just fucked up my career.”

  No, you fucked up your own career.

  The chances of the California Court of Appeal overturning the verdict was about as likely as Lamarr appearing on a Wheaties box tomorrow morning.

  “I know an excellent attorney who specializes in appeals.”

  “I don’t want another attorney. I want you.”

  It was nice that Lamarr still had confidence in me, but I was ready to punt. I had my Big Buy clients to think about. Not to mention the rest of my caseload.

  I instructed Lamarr and his buddies to wait in the courtroom while I dashed off to the ladies’ room. I wanted to freshen up before facing the throng of bloodthirsty reporters waiting outside.

  Girlie exited the ladies’ room as I approached. “I’ll be giving you a call to discuss our next case,” she said sweetly.

  Her words stopped me cold. “What next case?”

  “Your sex discrimination lawsuit against Big Buy. I’m representing the company.”

  Once her words registered, a slow grin radiated across my face. No case is a slam-dunk, but if half of what I knew about Big Buy was true, this case was pretty darn close. And those documents Judi Irving had called me about could only be icing on the cake.