Guardian of Lies

TWENTY

Larry Templeton’s facial features have always reminded me of those statues of Lenin pulled down by the mobs at the close of the Soviet Union. His bald head and goatee, the forceful jaw and the deep-set eyes, make for a powerful image.

Seated behind his desk, as he is this morning when Harry and I are ushered into his office, we get only a slight sense of Templeton’s diminutive physical stature. This comes from his abbreviated upper body hidden partially behind stacks of case books and files on his desk. He lays down his pen on top of the papers he is working on and beckons us to enter.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please come in, have a seat.” He gestures with a broad sweep of his right arm toward the two client chairs opposite his desk. His other arm appears to be trapped under the desk.

“Looks like a den of iniquity.” Harry is not moving, blocking the way, taking it all in.

There is a thick Persian runner, leading from the door, under our feet. It matches the larger Persian carpet under the desk, which is oak, antique and massive, behind which Templeton sits on a specially built raised chair, like a rajah holding court. All that is missing is the turban.

In the corner near the windows, Larry has erected a carved wooden panel, teak, I would imagine, and very ornate. The framed prints on the walls have the definite exotic influence of the East, sheiks with large headdresses and sickle-shaped Sumerian swords.

Larry’s digs in the DA’s headquarters have never held the appearance of a government office. He has decorated them out of his own pocket since the beginning and has done so lavishly.

“Mr. Hinds, always good to see you. Mr. Madriani. How are you? Linda, you can go. Close the door on your way out.” Templeton dismisses the secretary who has ushered us in.

“Only thing wrong is it smells like Tammany Hall in here,” says Harry.

Templeton brings a finger to his lips to shush him until the door closes. With his secretary outside, Larry smiles, then lifts the smoking offender from under the desk and gives us one of his characteristic looks: devil with a stogie, arched eyebrows, and a polished head. “One in the morning, one in the afternoon, the doctor prescribes them,” he says.

“So that’s what did it,” says Harry.

“I know, don’t say it, stunted my growth. Hinds, you gotta get up earlier in the day if you’re going to try to spring that one on me.”

“How about we go one-on-one, a little basketball?” says Harry. “I’ll give you an edge. Put you on roller skates.”

“I see you’re as sensitive as ever to the plight of the disabled.” Templeton leans back in his chair and smiles at him from behind a veil of cigar smoke. “You haven’t changed.”

“Show me someone who’s disabled and I’ll show you a tear,” says Harry. “But let’s not change the subject. I thought this was a no-smoking zone, county building and all.”

“They don’t ask and I don’t tell. Hope you don’t mind.” Larry doesn’t wait for an answer. He flicks a little ash into an open desk drawer on the other side. “I’d offer you one, but they’re too expensive.”

“What is it, administrative or criminal,” Harry says, turning toward me, “a violation of the no-smoking ordinance?”

“I’m not getting into this one,” I tell him.

“Smart man. Besides, it’s only an infraction. Insulting a midget, now that’s federal,” says Templeton.

“Which title is that?” asks Harry.

“When I find it, I’ll send you the citation.” Templeton reaches out and shakes my hand. “How come you were so blessed as to get this dip-shit as a partner?” he asks.

“Luck of the draw.” I settle into one of the chairs across from him. “You look as if you’re prospering,” I tell him.

“No lack of offenders to prosecute, if that’s what you mean. It’s a bumper crop.” He gestures toward the files stacked on the floor; off to one side of his desk, they climb the wall a good two feet.

Harry turns slowly in place, taking in the Dwarf’s new surroundings, his freshly decorated office. If you can get past the cigar, you can still catch a whiff of the paint. Templeton has moved up in the world since we last met. The office is twice as large and has a corner set of windows to boot.

Harry is busy checking out the Persian runner on the floor, lifting the corner and reading the label.

“Are you a collector?” says Templeton.

“No, but I’ve seen a few of these fenced for fees. This one looks expensive enough to fly,” he says.

“I’d be happy to put you out the window for a test drive,” says Templeton.

“Later,” says Harry. “After you bring in the belly dancers and we see the seven veils.”

“I’ll give you the name of my decorator,” says Larry.

“Don’t bother. I couldn’t afford it,” says Harry. “Just tell me where you keep the magic lamp. I may need to rub it to spring a client one of these days.”

“I hope it’s not this one,” says Templeton. “Because if it is, the genie’s gonna need a new battery. He’s definitely not going to have enough juice.”

“That bad?” I say.

Templeton takes a drag, looks at me, nods slowly and blows a smoke ring in my direction.

“You called the meeting,” I tell him.

“So I guess we should get down to cases.”

Harry picks up on the serious tone and waltzes over to take a seat.

Templeton leans forward, braces his hands, short armed on the surface of the desk, the cigar still between his teeth. “Before I go any further, I have to have your word that nothing said here will be repeated outside this room. Do I have your word?”

Harry and I look at each other. “What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I have to have your word.” He takes the cigar from his mouth.

“That would depend on what you have to say,” I tell him. “If you tell us you have hard evidence that somebody other than our client did the deed, you can be sure that before they strap her to the gurney and insert the needle I’m gonna mention it to somebody.”

“No, no. I don’t want you to misunderstand. You’re not going to be hearing that your client didn’t do the crime. Based on all the evidence we have so far, which is, in a word, ‘overwhelming’…”

“Please try not to scare us,” says Harry. “I break down easily.”

“I’ve noticed. No, everything we have points to your client. You’ve seen the prints on the dagger, the toxicology report, and the fingerprint evidence on the medication bottle. And there’s more, the coins she took, the pawn tickets in her purse.”

“What about the coin from the probate estate?” says Harry. “The seller on that one was a man. What do you have on this guy John Waters?”

“No doubt an alias,” says Templeton. “A dead end.”

“What do you mean a dead end? Have you checked it out?” I ask.

“We’re still looking at it. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. She could have passed the coin off to somebody else. Or had help at the house with the murders. The fact is that the only person who had any contact with this guy Waters was the purchaser of the coin and he’s dead. According to the executor the buy was made in cash, so there’s no check or account that we can trace. Like I say, a dead end. So let’s get back to the toxicology report,” says Templeton.

“What, now you’re going to show that she tried to poison him?” I say.

“I’ll concede the point; given the amount of the drugs in his system she merely tried to put him to sleep. Under different circumstances, given the evidence, we might even be talking today about reduced charges, dropping the special circumstances, something less than a capital offense.

“That would be pretty generous,” says Templeton, “considering that Pike’s murder took place during the commission of another crime, the robbery. If that was all there was, I might have entertained a pitch for something less. But we can’t forget the maid. We have multiple murders here. And that one is very hard to swallow.”

“How could we forget?” says Harry.

Templeton looks at both of us. “No, either Pike woke up after she medicated him or the medication didn’t work. At the moment we’re not sure. But either way, it’s clear. Pike stumbled in on them in the midst of the burglary, probably while they were in the process of stealing the coins. They killed him, took his computer and perhaps other items of personal property. At this point we can’t be entirely sure of what’s missing. We’re still looking, but you can be sure we’ll find it.”

“You keep saying ‘they.’” I tell him.

“Excuse me?” Templeton looks up at me.

“You said, ‘They killed him.’”

“Well, yeah,” says Templeton, “we haven’t caught up with the codefendant yet. But we will.”

“You’re telling us there was a second perpetrator?” says Harry.

“Well, yeah. You didn’t know that?”

Harry shakes his head.

“At first we thought she might have done it alone, but then a couple of weeks ago we figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” I ask.

“Whoever it was entered by way of the back door,” says Templeton. “It appears your client tried to unlock it for him, but the maid must have locked it again. Both sets of fingerprints were found on the knob. The lock was picked for entry, so her helper appears to have come prepared and had some skills. We found scratches on the tumblers, both the dead bolt and the door lock.

“And we’ve talked to some of the hired help and others who knew your client. It seems she was seen all over town, Del Mar as well as other places, almost always in the presence of other men, talking to them. Sooner or later we’ll find the right one.”

“What are you saying?” I ask.

“Well, you’ve seen the woman,” he says. “She’s gorgeous. Catch me at a weak moment and who knows, maybe even I would have helped her out.”

“She may be petite, but you’d need a ladder,” says Harry.

“Let’s not get personal,” says Templeton. “You can dress her like a nun when you bring her to court, but there’s no denying she’s knock-dead gorgeous. And if I can’t get at least half the judges in the county, the male half, to take judicial notice of her good looks I’ll quit.”

“Okay. So she’s pretty,” I tell him.

“Pretty!” Templeton’s voice goes up a full octave. “Your partner must be quite the lady’s man.” He looks at Harry. “If all he can say about Katia Solaz is that she’s ‘pretty,’ his date card must be full every night.”

He waits for me to say something, but I don’t.

“As I was saying, according to all the witnesses we’ve spoken to, she never had a problem finding men to talk to. Fact is, unless I’m mistaken, isn’t that how you met her? The first time, I mean.” When I look up, Templeton’s glowing face is boring in on me.

“What?”

“I was informed from one of the police reports that that’s how you and Ms. Solaz first met. What was it, she approached you in a grocery store and started talking, is that right?”

“Yes.” What else can I say?

“How did she do it, just walk up to you?” he says.

“She was looking for something. I don’t remember,” I lie.

“I’ll bet she was,” says Templeton.

“It was nothing like that,” I tell him.

“Right,” he says. “And your heart didn’t go pitty-pat either, I’ll bet. Well, if she met her lawyer that way you can figure she may have found men to do other things for her in the same way. Spread a little honey around and bees will come.”

The blood drains from my head as I filter all the details. The cops showed up at our office door with my business card, the one they found in Katia’s purse when they arrested her. I had given it to her that morning at the grocery store in Del Mar. The police asked me if I was her lawyer, and if not, how she came by my card. I explained it to them, and they left.

If the cops have been busy looking for a co-conspirator, it begs the question. Why have they never returned to ask me if I had an alibi for the night of the murders? My mind starts to race. Where the hell was I? I have a sudden compulsion to tear through the pages of my calendar. I can’t remember.

Harry and I sit stone faced, staring at the Dwarf from across the desk.

“You look surprised.” Although this is not directed at one of us in particular, Templeton seems to be looking at me as he says it.

“Do I?”

“Surely you didn’t think she did it alone?”

“I don’t think she did it at all,” I tell him.

Templeton ignores me. “She would have needed help to blank out the camera at the side of the house and to take down the motion sensors. You didn’t think we bought into the concept of coincidence, did you? Hell, she couldn’t possibly have carried all those coins herself. We got an estimate from a coin expert, just on the stuff we know is missing, and the weight would have been more than a hundred and forty pounds. That’s more than she weighs, and it doesn’t include the stuff she took, the coins she hocked along the way on her bus trip. No, there’s no question, somebody entered the house from that side, and they left the same way when they were finished.”

This would, of course, explain what happened to the large cache of missing coins and Pike’s computer. According to the police, Katia’s co-conspirator has them.

“And there’s a good chance that whoever it was set her up,” says Templeton.

“What do you mean?” I say.

“Well, think about it. He left with the lion’s share of the coins, and he avoided having his picture taken on the security cameras coming and going. You notice he sent her out through the front gate, right into one of the security cameras that was still working. Guess he figured somebody had to take the rap. So now he’s got most of the gold, and she’s left facing the death penalty, twisting in the wind, as you might say.”

He allows this to settle on us like mustard gas.

“Bullshit,” says Harry. “If what you’re saying is true, she’d be mad as hell. You don’t think she would have told us by now?”

“Maybe there’s a reason for that,” says Templeton.

“What?” says Harry.

“I don’t know. Mr. Hinds, maybe you should talk to your client. You are, of course, free to make of this evidence whatever you can in her defense. Personally, I don’t think it will make a difference,” says Templeton.

“Spare us your heartfelt assessment of our case,” says Harry.

“Of course, but there is one more item, the reason I asked you to come over here today. A bit of a wrinkle that’s developed.”

“What wrinkle?” I say.

“Do I have your word that what I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room?”

I look at Harry. He nods. “Go ahead.”

“It better be good,” says Harry.

“Ordinarily I’d let you flounder for a few weeks, push and shove over the items in dispute. I could leave you with the illusion that they’ve simply been misplaced. But that would be deceptive.”

“And, of course, you’d never do that,” says Harry.

“Never,” says Templeton.

“You’re talking about the missing photographs?” says Harry.

“Six of them, I believe. They were taken from your client and inventoried when she was arrested.”

“Where are they?” I ask.

“That’s the problem.”

“Don’t tell me they’ve been destroyed,” I say.

“No, at least not as far as we know.”

“What do you mean as far as you know? Listen,” says Harry, “either deliver them up or tell us where they are.”

“That’s the problem. I can’t.”

“Why not?” I say.

“I can’t tell you that either. What I can tell you is that you would be wise to take the matter into court at your earliest opportunity. File a Brady motion. I won’t oppose it. Give you my word. Get a ruling from the court if you can.”

Brady v. Maryland is the seminal case in criminal discovery. Under the U.S. Supreme Court ruling, the government is required to deliver to the defense any and all exculpatory evidence. Even if the evidence by itself may not prove innocence, if it tends in that direction the state must turn it over.

“Personally, I think the photos are probably irrelevant and immaterial,” says Templeton. “It’s hard to see how you could fashion a defense around six photographs. Of course, I don’t know what the photos represent. Maybe you could enlighten me,” he says.

“Last time I looked, Brady is a one-way street,” says Harry. “We don’t have to truck information in your direction.”

“I just thought as long as we were sharing things,” says Templeton. “And, of course, as far as I’m concerned you’re entitled to look at the photographs.”

“But you can’t just give them to us?”

“Sorry,” he says.

“I don’t get it,” I tell him. “If you think the photos are immaterial, why wouldn’t you oppose a Brady motion?”

“File it and find out,” says Templeton. “That’s all I can tell you. You won’t get the photographs any other way.”