Chapter 35
IN CALIFORNIA, DIVORCES are filed under seal, but the initial pleading of the legal action is public.
Stilwell went to the office of the clerk of the Long Beach Superior Court, where he knew from experience Benito Martinez handled most cases, and asked for the filing on Quigley v.
Quigley. He knew he wouldn’t get the details of what brought about the divorce, but he would get at least two important pieces of information he needed before he made his next move.
The clerk gave him the cover page of the Quigley v.
Quigley case, and he confirmed that it was Alton who started the divorce action.
The date of the filing showed that Quigley had taken the step to dissolve his marriage a month before he transferred to the Catalina sub and met Ilsa Ramirez.
In Stilwell’s mind, that absolved Ramirez of any wrongdoing in her relationship with Quigley.
And it seemed to confirm what Lieutenant Lambert had told Simon about Quigley asking for the transfer.
It appeared that Quigley wanted a fresh start while still remaining in the department and being close—a boat ride away—to his kids.
Martinez was on the fourth floor. Stilwell knew this without having to look at the electronic directory in the lobby. When he walked through the door to the one-lawyer suite, he even knew the receptionist’s name.
“Hello, Marta, you remember me?”
“Of course, Sergeant Stil. How are you?”
She spoke with a thick Spanish accent, as did her boss, and when she said his name, it sounded like “Sergeant Steel.” It could also be “Sergeant Steal,” but Stilwell preferred the former.
“I’m doing well,” he said. “I was wondering if I could talk to Benny for a few minutes.”
“You have an appointment, no?”
“Uh, no appointment. I just need five minutes.”
“Hokey, let me check for you.”
She got up and disappeared behind a wall that was painted with pithy slogans about divorce.
Marriage is the chief cause of divorce.
—Groucho Marx
Half of all marriages end in divorce. Then there’s the really unhappy ones.
—Joan Rivers
They had been up there when Stilwell was a client. At the time, he hadn’t found them humorous.
Marta came back and told Stilwell that Mr. Martinez was finishing up a call and that he’d be available right after that. Stilwell walked over to a little waiting area where there was a couch and two chairs. The moment he took a seat, Marta said that Mr. Martinez was ready for him.
Stilwell walked around the wall of wit and down a short hall to the door that led to Martinez’s office. The attorney stood up from behind his desk when he entered.
“Esteban!” he said. “How are you, my friend?”
“I’m good, Benny,” Stilwell said. “It’s good to see you.”
Martinez always used the Spanish version of his name. He reached across the desk and they shook hands.
“Come,” he said. “Sit down. Tell me your problem.”
Stilwell took a seat in front of the desk. Martinez sat down across from him, revealing the wall behind him, which continued the motif of the reception area.
When I got divorced, it was group sex. My wife screwed me in front of the jury.
—Rodney Dangerfield
The only grounds for divorce in California is marriage.
—Cher
Same quotes as before. Stilwell wondered if Martinez would ever update the walls of the suite. He slid the folded document he had just gotten from the court clerk across the desk.
“I’m not here about me,” he said. “I want to ask about that case.”
Martinez spread the document out flat on his desk, leaned his arms on the edge of the polished wood, and read. He nodded.
“This is my case, yes,” he said. “But, Esteban, you know divorce is filed under seal in California. The judge’s order and attorney-client privilege is invoked.”
“You know that Alton Quigley was murdered,” Stilwell said. “He’s dead and all—”
“Yes, of course. I had to withdraw the case from the court. But privilege follows even in death. Very sad about him. Terrible.”
As Stilwell was formulating a response, Martinez continued.
“This is what I already told the other detectives,” he said.
“Who?” Stilwell asked. “Simon and Trestle? They were here?”
“Here, yes. They asked me the same thing. I told them what I am telling you. This is why I stopped being a cop. Police work is in the gray area. Always, there is blue smoke. That’s what we called it. I like the law because it is set in stone.”
“Don’t tell me that,” Stilwell said. “Every lawyer in this building is looking for loopholes in the law on some case somewhere. The blue smoke, as you call it, is everywhere.”
“Maybe in your world, Esteban. Not in mine.”
“The guy was murdered, okay? And whoever his wife was having an affair with needs to be identified and checked out. If you don’t tell me who it was, you might be helping a murderer go free.”
Martinez laughed. “Please,” he said. “You are trying to make me feel bad in order to get me to break the rules. I cannot do that. I have to have a good conscience. I must feel justified at the end of every day.”
Stilwell thought of a line from a western he loved, Ride the High Country: “All I want is to enter my house justified.” He looked at the stupid quotes on the wall behind Martinez’s head. His eyes dropped from the vacuous words to Martinez’s face.
“Quigley worked for me,” he said. “I was there when he was killed. The woman he had just started dating was shot too. Did he tell you about her or is that privileged too?”
“He did, yes,” Martinez said. “Casually. It had nothing to do with the case, as it was filed before they became involved.”
“She worked for me too. I trained her. They got ambushed. He’s dead and she’ll probably never be able to talk without an electronic device. She definitely won’t be a cop anymore.”
“I am sorry for her. I am sorry for you.”
“But you won’t help me find who did it. Don’t you owe something to him? To your client?”
“I owe him the confidentiality that is the binding of client and attorney.”
Stilwell nodded. He pushed his chair back to get up.
“Were you at Alton’s funeral?” Martinez asked.
Stilwell stayed in his seat.
“I was there,” he said.
“I was there as well,” Martinez said. “But I left before it was over. There was too much hypocrisy.”
Stilwell tried to read what Martinez was saying. He was offering something.
“You mean how his wife didn’t cry?” he asked.
“I would not begin to have an opinion on why a widow would cry or not cry at her estranged husband’s funeral,” Martinez said. “That is a psychological determination. It’s not hypocrisy.”
Stilwell hit on it. The man who’d called him Quigs and choked up as he lamented the lost member of his team.
“Lambert,” he said. “Lambert was the speaker. He’s the hypocrite.”
“It is very unpleasant to hear lies at such a solemn event,” Martinez said. “I had to leave. And I did.”
“He’s the one she had the affair with,” Stilwell said. “It was going to come out in the divorce.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I must leave now for court,” Martinez said. “I have a client waiting.”
“I need to go now too,” Stilwell said. “Thank you for your time, Benny.”
“As I said to you last time I saw you, I hope you never need my services again.”
“Me too.”
Stilwell got back to the Bronco and sat in it without turning the key for several moments as he thought about where he should go with what he knew.
Martinez had obliquely given him something that even Ernie Simon didn’t have, unless he had gotten it from another source.
But it further obscured things in blue smoke and made them even more dangerous.
He felt the need to warn Simon on the off chance he hadn’t realized Lambert was a person of significant interest.
Before he could make the call, his phone buzzed with a call from Ballard. Stilwell picked up, forcing himself to mentally jump back into the Middleton case.
“Renée, what’s up?” he said.
“He’s stalking someone,” she said.