Page 67 of The Lincoln Lawyer

Finally, the door opened and the guard stepped into my side of the interview room.

“You done?”

“No. I need him to look at these photos.”

I held up the stack.

“Show him through the glass. He’s not allowed to receive anything from you.”

“But I’m going to take them right back.”

“Doesn’t matter. You can’t give him anything.”

“But if you don’t let him come to the glass, how is he going to see them?”

“It’s not my problem.”

I waved in surrender.

“All right, okay. Then can you stay here for a minute?”

“What for?”

“I want you to watch this. I’m going to show him the photos and if he makes an ID, I want you to witness it.”

“Don’t drag me into your bullshit.”

He walked to the door and left.

“Goddamn it,” I said.

I looked at Menendez.

“All right, Jesus, I’m going to show you, anyway. See if you recognize any of them from where you are sitting.”

One by one I held the photos up about a foot from the glass. Menendez leaned forward. As I showed each of the first five he looked, thought about it and then shook his head no. But on the sixth photo I saw his eyes flare. It seemed as though there was some life in them after all.

“That one,” he said. “Is him.”

I turned the photo toward me to be sure. It was Roulet.

“I ’member,” Menendez said. “He’s the one.”

“And you’re sure?”

Menendez nodded.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because I know. In here I think on that night all of my time.”

I nodded.

“Who is the man?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you right now. Just know that I am trying to get you out of here.”

“What do I do?”