“You want us to pull the GPS off the car, too?”
I thought about that for a moment and my plans for the next day. I decided I wanted to taunt Marco, show him I was unbowed by his little visit and unspoken threat.
“No, leave it. For now.”
“Okay, Mick. And for what it’s worth, the guys are really sorry.”
“Yeah, whatever. I gotta go.”
I disconnected. I had noticed out the windshield that Earl was cutting through Beverly Hills on Little Santa Monica Boulevard on the way to my house. I was starved and knew we were coming up on Papa Jake’s, a hole-in-the-wall lunch counter that made the best steak sandwich west of Philadelphia. I had not been there since the nearby Beverly Hills Superior Court was shuttered in the state budget crisis, and I had lost business that would bring me to the area. But in the meantime I had developed a Legal Siegel–type craving for a Jake steak with grilled onions and pizzaiola sauce.
“Earl,” I said. “We’re going to make a stop for lunch up here. And if that DEA agent is still following, he’s about to learn the best-kept secret in Beverly Hills.”
23
After the late lunch, I was through for the day. My calendar was clear and I had no further appointments. I considered heading back downtown and seeing if I could line up a visit with Andre La Cosse to go over some things related to the upcoming trial. But the occurrences of the past few hours—from Legal Siegel’s lecture to the meet with Sly Jr. and the surprise visit from Marco—led me toward home. I’d had enough for the time being.
I had Earl drive to the loft so he could get his care where he had left it after coming in for the staff meeting. I then drove home, stopping only long enough to change into clothes more appropriate to hiking through the wilds of Fryman Canyon. It had been a long while since I’d seen my daughter in the goal at practice. I knew from the school’s online newsletter that there were only a few weeks left in the season and the team was getting ready for the state tournament. I decided to go over the hill to watch and maybe escape from thoughts on the La Cosse case for a while.
But escape was delayed—at least on the ride up Laurel Canyon Boulevard. Jennifer called me back and told me she had received my message and my direction to step back from the search on Marco.
“I’d asked for some court files on other ICE cases because the stuff on PACER seemed incomplete,” she explained. “I bet one of those counter clerks called him and told him.”
“Anything’s possible. So just stick with Moya for now.”
“Got it.”
“Can you get me whatever you’ve got by the end of the day? I’ve got a long drive up to the prison tomorrow and I could use the reading material.”
“Will do . . .”
There was a hesitancy about the way she said it. As though there was something else she wanted to say.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I am still wondering if we are going the right way with this. Moya is a better target for us than the DEA.”
I knew what she meant. Casting suspicion on Moya in the upcoming trial would be a lot easier and possibly more fruitful than throwing the light on a federal agent. Aronson was getting at the fine line between seeking the truth and seeking a verdict in your client’s favor. They weren’t always the same thing.
“I know what you mean,” I said. “But sometimes you gotta go with your instincts, and mine tell me this is the way to go. If I’m right, the truth shall set Andre free.”
“I hope so.”
I could tell she was not convinced or something else was bothering her.
“You okay with this?” I asked. “If not, I can handle it and you just deal with the other clients.”
“No, I’m fine. It’s just a little weird, you know? Things are upside down.”
“What things?”
“You know, the good guys might be the bad guys. And the bad guy up in prison might be our best hope.”
“Yeah, weird.”
I ended the call by reminding her to get the summaries of her research to me before I hit the road to Victorville the next morning. She promised she would and we said good-bye.
Fifteen minutes later I pulled into the parking lot at the top of Fryman Canyon. I grabbed the binoculars out of the glove box, locked the car, and made my way down the trail. I then left the beaten path to get to my observation spot. Only when I got there, the rock I had positioned had been moved, and it looked like someone had been using the spot, possibly to sleep at night. The tall grass was matted down in a pattern that would fit a sleeping bag. I looked carefully around to make sure I was alone and moved the rock back to the way I’d had it.