The Gods of Guilt(41)

“Who are we seeing?”

“A woman. I need her to tell me what she knows.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know.”

That was the problem. Kendall Roberts was being subpoenaed in the Moya appeal just as I was. I barely knew what I was bringing to the case, let alone what Roberts had.

We were in luck. There was a red curb and a fire hydrant directly in front of the 1950s ranch house at the address Cisco had given me.

“Park here so she sees the car.”

“We might get popped on the hydrant.”

I opened the glove box and took out a printed sign that said CLERGY and put it on the dashboard. It worked more often than it didn’t and was always worth a try.

“We’ll see,” I said.

Before getting out of the car, I pulled my wallet out and took my laminated bar card from one of the back slots and slid it into the plastic display window in front of my driver’s license. I worked out a quick plan of action with Earl and we then got out. Cisco had said Kendall Roberts’s arrest record ended in 2007. My hunch was she was out of the life now and probably clinging to the straight and narrow. I hoped to use that to my advantage—if the woman was even home in the middle of a weekday.

I put on my sunglasses as we approached. My face had been on TV and billboards scattered around town last year in the lead-up to the election. I didn’t want to be recognized here. I firmly knocked on the door and then stepped back next to Earl. He had on his Ray-Ban Wayfarers and his standard black suit and tie. I was in my charcoal Corneliani with the pinstripes. Still, standing shoulder to shoulder, both of us wearing shades, I was reminded of the black guy/white guy combo in a popular series of movies I had enjoyed with my daughter during better times. I whispered to Earl.

“What were those movies about the two guys who hunt aliens for a secret govern—”

The door was pulled open. A woman who looked a bit younger than the thirty-nine Cisco reported for Roberts stood in the doorway. She was tall, lithe, and had reddish-brown hair that fell to her shoulders. As far as I could tell, she wore no makeup and didn’t need to. She was wearing gray sweatpants and a pink T-shirt that said GOT FLEX? on it.

“Kendall Roberts?”

“Yes?”

I started to pull my wallet out of my inside coat pocket.

“My name is Haller. I’m with the California Bar and this is Earl Briggs. I wonder if we could ask you a few questions about a situation we’re investigating.”

I flipped my wallet open and briefly held it up so she could see my bar card. It had the Bar’s scales of justice logo on it and looked fairly official. I didn’t allow her too long a look before flipping the wallet closed and returning it to my inside pocket.

“We won’t take too long.”

She shook her head.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “I have nothing . . . legal going on. There must be some mis—”

“It’s not regarding you, ma’am. It involves others, and you are on the periphery of it. Can we come in, or would you like to accompany us to our office in Van Nuys for the conversation?”

It was a gamble offering her another location that didn’t actually exist, but I was betting she wouldn’t want to leave her home.

“What others?” she asked.

I was hoping she wouldn’t ask that until we got inside. But that was the rub. I was bluffing, trying to act like I knew something about something I knew nothing about.

“Gloria Dayton, for one. You might know of her as Glory Days.”

“What about her? I have nothing to do with her.”

“She’s dead.”

I can’t say she looked surprised by the news. It might not have been that she knew Gloria was dead, but that she had a knowledge that Gloria’s life could lead to a bad end.

“In November,” I said. “She was murdered and we are taking a look at how her case was handled. There are ethical questions regarding the conduct of her attorney. Could we come in? I promise we won’t take much of your time.”

She hesitated but then stepped back. We were in. It was probably against her instincts to let two strangers into her home but she also probably didn’t want to keep us—our business—out on the front porch for the neighbors to see and wonder about. I went through the doorway and Earl followed. Kendall directed us to a living-room couch and she took a chair opposite.

“Look, I am very sorry to hear about Glory. But let me just say that I haven’t had anything to do with that world in a very long time and I don’t want to be dragged back into it. I don’t know anything about what Glory was doing or how her case was handled or what happened to her. I had not talked to her in years.”