Page 108 of The Lincoln Lawyer

“How’d you end up with Mickey Cohen’s gun?”

I answered without turning from the window.

“My father was a lawyer. Mickey Cohen was his client.”

Lankford whistled. Cohen was one of the most famous gangsters to ever call Los Angeles home. He was from back in the day when the gangsters competed with movie stars for the gossip headlines.

“And what? He just gave your old man a gun?”

“Cohen was charged in a shooting and my father defended him. He claimed self-defense. There was a trial and my father got a not-guilty verdict. When the weapon was returned Mickey gave it to my father. Sort of a keepsake, you could say.”

“Your old man ever wonder how many people the Mick whacked with it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really know my father.”

“What about Cohen? You ever meet him?”

“My father represented him before I was even born. The gun came to me in his will. I don’t know why he picked me to have it. I was only five years old when he died.”

“And you grew up to be a lawyer like dear old dad, and being a good lawyer you registered it.”

“I thought if it was ever stolen or something I would want to be able to get it back. Turn here on Fareholm.”

Lankford did as I instructed and we started climbing up the hill to my home. I then gave them the bad news.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said. “You guys can search my house and my office and my car for as long as you want, but I have to tell you, you are wasting your time. Not only am I the wrong guy for this, but you aren’t going to find that gun.”

I saw Lankford’s head jog up and he was looking at me in the rearview again.

“And why is that, Counselor? You already dumped it?”

“Because the gun was stolen out of my house and I don’t know where it is.”

Lankford started laughing. I saw the joy in his eyes.

“Uh-huh, stolen. How convenient. When did this happen?”

“Hard to tell. I hadn’t checked on the gun in years.”

“You make a police report on it or file an insurance claim?”

“No.”

“So somebody comes in and steals your Mickey Cohen gun and you don’t report it. Even after you just told us you registered it in case this very thing happened. You being a lawyer and all, doesn’t that sound a little screwy to you?”

“It does, except I knew who stole it. It was a client. He told me he took it and if I were to report it, I would be violating a client trust because my police report would lead to his arrest. Kind of a catch-twenty-two, Detective.”

Sobel turned and looked back at me. I think maybe she thought I was making it up on the spot, which I was.

“That sounds like legal jargon and bullshit, Haller,” Lankford said.

“But it’s the truth. We’re here. Just park in front of the garage.”

Lankford pulled the car into the space in front of my garage and killed the engine. He turned to look back at me before getting out.

“Which client stole the gun?”

“I told you, I can’t tell you.”