Pro Bono

Chapter 5

5

W arren called his insurance agent, who gave him the number to call to have a rental car delivered to his building so he could get to work. At the moment Warren & Associates consisted of Charlie, Martha Wilkes, and Martha’s dog, Alan. Occasionally Martha would recruit her wife Sonya, who had worked as a paralegal, to help out on demanding cases.

Warren & Associates took on a variety of clients and cases. Warren did a large business in divorces, child custody, and estate planning, which tended to bring him the sort of clients who could and would pay his fees. A few times a year he had sued insurance companies when their treatment of their clients or others was particularly outrageous or defended clients from meritless and predatory lawsuits from business rivals. He shied away from criminal defense, only agreeing to step in for a current client on a temporary basis—getting the defendant bail, and sometimes attending their indictments while referring them to the best specialists.

This morning he came in and stopped at Martha’s desk. “Good morning,” he said. “I assume that Vesper Ellis hasn’t returned my call?”

“No, she hasn’t.”

“Anything else that’s urgent?”

“Not yet,” she said. “You know that whenever I say that, the phone rings.”

“True, so let me quickly fill you in on my evening.”

“Okay.”

“I worked on the Vesper Ellis thing until nine or so, and then stopped at Bernardine to pick up a take-out dinner.” Then he told her about being followed, attacked, shot at, and having his briefcase stolen.

She said, “God, Charlie. Do you know why?”

“No.”

“Do you need a rental car or anything?”

“Got one, thanks.”

The telephone on her desk rang, and she said, “Law Offices,” then, “One moment please,” and then pushed Hold and said, “Sergeant McHargue?”

He took the receiver and said, “Hello, Sergeant. This is Charles Warren.”

“Yes, sir.” The voice seemed to belong to someone large. “I wondered when you can be free to meet me at your home.”

“I’m at my office right now, but I can be there in fifteen to twenty minutes, depending on traffic.”

“I’ll see you there.”

He hung up and handed the phone to Martha. “I’ve got to meet him at my place. Then I’ll get back here and see if we can get through to Mrs. Ellis. They’re probably robbing her right now.”

“You know, after having your briefcase stolen last night, do you think it might be smart to scan the papers Mrs. Ellis brought in? That way we can do what we need to with them, and still have them locked in the safe.”

“I think it’s a great idea.” He put his sport coat back on. “See you later.”

Martha said, “I’ll get the papers scanned while you’re out. If you need to see the first ones, they should be up before you get finished with the cops.”

It took Warren twenty minutes to reach his building, and the man who was probably Detective McHargue was there waiting for him. McHargue was about six foot two and broad-shouldered, and he was wearing a coat and tie, which nobody in LA but cops and lawyers did. He had a face that Warren thought of as reassuring—not quite smiling, but not unfriendly. He was at an unmarked car talking to a pair of men in dark blue coverall suits like a forensic team. Warren parked on the street and approached.

McHargue said, “Mr. Warren, I’m Detective McHargue. These officers and I would like to start by taking a look at your car.”

“Right over here,” Warren said.

As they walked toward the entrance to the garage, McHargue said, “We’ve read the report, so we know what to look for. One thing is that the person who took your briefcase might have left a print or two on your car.”

Warren pressed his remote control and the iron gate rose to admit them. “That sounds good. I should mention that when I went to dinner I gave the car to a valet parking attendant, so his prints will be on the car too.”

“Do you mind if we take the car to the station so they can have a closer look at everything?”

“That’s fine,” Warren said. “I’ve got a rental car.”

“I figured you wouldn’t mind. The flatbed is on its way. Can you give these officers the key? Don’t forget to hold on to your other keys.”

“Thanks,” Warren said. He handed McHargue the car fob, and McHargue handed it to one of the men in overalls. The two examined the car closely from hood to trunk. McHargue walked all around the car and used his phone to take a few photographs—the trunk, the broken window, the interior where the glass had sprayed.

As they finished, the flatbed tow truck arrived and backed up the short, wide driveway. One of the two cops guided the driver with hand gestures, and the other drove the car out. While Warren and McHargue looked on, the men loaded the car onto the flatbed and drove off.

McHargue returned his attention to Warren. “It looks like three shots hit your trunk. Is that what you heard?”

“I think I heard a fourth, but I was accelerating to get out of there, and taking a turn. If there was a fourth shot it must have missed.”

“Do you happen to own any firearms?”

Warren said, “No. It’s not that I object to them, but I work long days, and I own my firm, so I don’t have a lot of time to do things like go to a firing range. A gun would just be another thing I spent money on that I never used, like my skis and scuba gear, and I’d have to lock it up.”

“It doesn’t matter, really. But I was thinking, if you wanted to shoot a driver who was speeding away from you, then you’d want to aim for a window. This guy aimed too low. There’s not one shot through the back window.”

“Maybe he was just trying to scare me off so I couldn’t get a good picture. I got a few, but the officer last night said the car was stolen.”

“Yes,” McHargue said. “Do you have anything going on in your firm or your life right now that might explain any of this?”

Warren shrugged. “I’ve been wondering about that. Nothing in my personal life. No married women or anything.”

“How about legal cases?”

“I don’t think so. I had a meeting with the other attorney in a case yesterday afternoon, and he agreed to settle for what we had demanded instead of fighting it in court. I’m sure he wasn’t happy, but this is what civil lawyers do. Sometimes a client is in the wrong and the job is just to make sure the settlement he pays is fair. The lawyer gets paid for his work, and his client will pay for the damages, and tomorrow morning the alarm clock goes off and we go on to the next client’s problem.”

“Any of those opposing clients who might want to scare you off?”

“Not that I know of. There is something odd. Yesterday afternoon, a new client came to me with a collection of financial statements because she suspects some of her money might have been diverted. After she left, I spent a few hours reading through the monthly reports, and I think she’s probably right. I left the office late, and on the way home I stopped to pick up a take-home dinner at Bernardine, planning to do some more work on her case. I had all my notes in my briefcase. When the parking attendant brought my car, that was when all the following and chasing and the attack happened.”

“About your briefcase that was stolen, anything else in it besides the notes?”

“Nothing. I don’t usually carry anything home with me except things that I need to work on that night.”

McHargue was nodding. At first he said nothing, and then, “How long have you been in practice?”

“Seven years.”

“Has anything like this happened before?”

“No.”

“If anything about that case—or anything else—starts to look like it might be the cause of what happened—give me a call.”

“Sure will,” Warren said.

“For the moment we’ll be looking at other incidents to see if there’s been anything similar lately that we can connect with it, or see if the lab turns anything up.”

McHargue got into his unmarked car and drove off. Warren watched him for a few seconds. He had no hope that the two men would be found. He had already reconciled himself to the loss of his briefcase and notes. It was time to chase down Vesper Ellis so he could get to work on her problem.