Blood Defense

ELEVEN

Orozco was right. Jerry Ratner, the DA on the case, was furious. “Problem is, Castaneda didn’t just say he wasn’t sure anymore. He fingered someone else who looks a lot like Orozco-and the guy doesn’t have an alibi.” Jerry threw the file on his desk. “Castaneda was practically the whole ball game.” Jerry peered at me. “I don’t suppose you’d know how Castaneda happened to have this epiphany?”

“I don’t know any more than you do, but I can make the same guesses.” The only question was, how did those gangbangers find such a good fall guy for him to point to? But I didn’t think Jerry was in the mood to ponder it right now. “Look, it’s not my place to tell you how to do your job, but if you take this dog to trial, you’ll probably lose. Don’t you think it’d be better to let it get dismissed and refile when you get more evidence?”

I was doing my job, taking care of my client, but I was also talking sense, and Jerry knew it. He looked miserable, but he nodded. “We’ve got him on the gun possession, though.”

“He’ll plead for a county lid.”

Jerry got red in the face. “One year? Fuck that.” But after a moment, he sighed. “Get him to take low term. He at least has to get state prison out of this. I’d rather dismiss than let him fart around in county jail for a year.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

As it turned out, it was an easy sell. Orozco preferred state prison to county jail. A lot of defendants did. Living conditions were better, and bangers like Orozco always had lots of familia there.

When I walked into the courtroom, I saw that Randy was the bailiff on duty. I went over and handed him my cell phone. “You may as well take it now.” Somehow, my phone always seemed to ring when he was on duty. He took it away from me so often, I told him he should share the bill.

Randy took my cell and dropped it on his desk. “Gee, Sam. If only there was a way you could stop that from happening.”

“I know, right?” I shrugged. “At least this way we know I’ll be safe this time.”

Randy pulled the lockup keys out of his desk. “Glad you’re taking a plea on Orozco. Can’t get that piece of garbage out of here fast enough.”

As Randy headed to the holding tank, I glanced at his desk and noticed the custody assignment sheets. I quickly flipped through the pages. Then my phone lit up with a call. I didn’t recognize the number. Probably the press.

Randy came out of the holding tank with Orozco and saw me at his desk. “What are you doing?”

“Someone called; I was just trying to see the number.” I moved to counsel table and Orozco walked over, a shit-eating grin on his face. I turned away and opened my file so I wouldn’t have to talk to him. It’d be good to say adios to Mr. Orozco.

Judge Mayer came out, and Jerry took the plea and waivers through gritted teeth. The judge gave Orozco an icy glare as he accepted them. With the exception of Orozco, there was no joy in Mudville. The judge pronounced the sentence of two years in state prison.

“Your Honor,” I said. “My client would like a ‘forthwith.’”

The judge nodded. “My pleasure. The sheriff’s department is to have Mr. Orozco transported to state prison forthwith.”

When I got back to the office, Michelle was at her computer and Alex was reading over her shoulder. She looked up. “How’s Dale doing? And what happened with Orozco?”

I told her about Orozco and that Dale was shell-shocked. “It’s going to be rough on him in there. Did you happen to catch my news hits?”

Michelle smiled. “Yep. You did great. Nice sound bites.”

“Gracias. Has the DA sent over any discovery yet?”

“No,” Michelle said. “But they sent over an e-mail confirming that the arraignment’s tomorrow at eight thirty. Want me to call?”

“Don’t bother. They’ll give it to me in court.” I sat down on the edge of Michelle’s desk. “Alex, you check the girls’ Facebook pages, Twitter feeds, every site you can think of that’ll give us information on them, their friends, their family-you get the drift. Michelle, get us the contact information on where they worked: Paige’s restaurant, her modeling agency, and her agent, if she has one. And get Chloe’s studio people, her agents, managers-everyone who had contact with her.”

I brought them up to speed on what Dale had told me about the girls. “So we’re looking for possible enemies, rivals, jealous exes. We want fall guys. Someone else we can point the finger at. I’m not sure we really want to find Mr. Perfect-”

“Unless we can show he has no alibi,” Alex said.

I pointed to him. “Exactly. We just need to find out who he is so we can check that out-”

Alex had been taking notes on his iPad. “And I could start sniffing around Chloe’s studio to check into who her dealer might’ve been-”

“Hold off on that for now. We don’t want to make any moves until we see some discovery and find out what we’re dealing with.” I headed for my office.

“I hate to go all Fashion Police on you,” Michelle said. “But the press is definitely going to be in that courtroom tomorrow, right?” I nodded. “Do you know what you’re going to wear?”

It sounds like a silly question. It’s not. The image is the message. I have to look successful, even a little flashy. Because if I look good, my client looks good-good as in “not like a murderer.” Also, I needed to steal focus from Dale. He’d be in his orange jumpsuit for this appearance. The less anyone saw of him looking like an inmate, the better. Especially since the victim’s side of the courtroom was going to be dazzling. Lots of celebrity supporters-some legitimate friends of Chloe’s, some just looking for free camera face time. I had to give our side as much shine as I could to balance things out.

“I figured I’d wear my usual: the black pencil skirt and the silk pinstriped blouse.” Skirt by Tahari, blouse by Calvin Klein. They were the only designer-ish clothes I had.

Michelle nodded. “Good enough.”

“Alex, did you get Dale’s suits and shirts?” Part of the reason I’d asked him to stay behind while the cops searched his house was to collect all the clothes we’d need to dress Dale up for his future court appearances. Alex nodded. “What do you think? Will they work?” After today, Dale had to look like a million bucks every single time the camera found him.

“Not bad. He did pretty well for someone on a cop’s salary. I can work with it.”

I wasn’t surprised. Dale had style.

Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a killer.