Page 138 of The Lincoln Lawyer

“So you sound chipper,” she said. “Yesterday you were a murder suspect. Today you’ve got the DA by the short hairs. What changed?”

“Nothing. It’s just the calm before the storm, I guess. Hey, let me ask you something. Have you ever put a rush on ballistics?”

“What kind of ballistics?”

“Matching casing to casing and slug to slug.”

“Depends on who is doing it—which department, I mean. But if they put a real rush on it, they could have something in twenty-four hours.”

I felt the dull thud of dread drop into my stomach. I knew I could be on borrowed time.

“Most of the time, though, that doesn’t happen,” she continued. “Two or three days is what it will usually take on a rush. And if you want the whole package—casing and slug comparisons—it could take longer because the slug could be damaged and tough to read. They have to work with it.”

I nodded. I didn’t think any of that could help me. I knew they had recovered a bullet casing at the crime scene. If Lankford and Sobel got a match on that to the casing of a bullet fired fifty years ago from Mickey Cohen’s gun, they would come for me and worry about the slug comparison later.

“You still there?” Maggie asked.

“Yeah. I was just thinking of something.”

“You don’t sound so chipper anymore. You want to talk about this, Michael?”

“No, not right now. But if I end up needing a good lawyer, you know who I’ll call.”

“That’ll be the day.”

“You might be surprised.”

I let some more silence into the conversation. Just having her on the other end of the line was a calming comfort. I liked it.

“Haller, I should get back to my job now.”

“Okay, Maggie, put those bad guys away.”

“I will.”

“Good night.”

I closed the phone and thought about things for a few moments, then opened it up again and called the Sheraton Universal to see if they had a room available. I had decided that as a precaution I would not go home this night. There might be two detectives from Glendale waiting for me.

Thirty-eight

Wednesday, May 25

After a sleepless night in a bad hotel bed I got to the courthouse early on Wednesday morning and found no welcoming party, no Glendale detectives waiting with smiles and a warrant for my arrest. A flash of relief went through me as I made my way through the metal detector. I was wearing the same suit I had worn the day before but was hoping no one would notice. I did have a fresh shirt and tie on. I keep spares in the trunk of the Lincoln for summer days when I’m working up in the desert and the car’s air conditioner can get overwhelmed.

When I got to Judge Fullbright’s courtroom I was surprised to find I was not the first of the trial’s players to arrive. Minton was in the gallery, setting up the screen for his PowerPoint presentation. Because the courtroom had been designed before the era of computer-enhanced presentations, there was no place to put a twelve-foot screen in comfortable view of the jury, the judge, and the lawyers. A good chunk of the gallery space would be taken up by the screen, and any spectator who sat behind it wouldn’t get to see the show.

“Bright and early,” I said to Minton.

He looked over from his work and seemed a bit surprised to see me in early as well.

“Have to work out the logistics of this thing. It’s kind of a pain.”

“You could always do it the old-fashioned way and just look at the jury and talk directly to them.”

“No, thanks. I like this better. Did you talk to your client about the offer?”

“Yeah, no sale. Looks like we ride this one to the end.”