CHAPTER TWENTY
As time ticked away and the late afternoon bled into evening, Jessie felt her chest starting to tighten. They were now in the window when the killer might be locking in on their next victim.
Sam knocked on the door. There was no answer. He was about to try again when they heard someone inside.
“Who is it?” a male voice asked.
“This is Detective Goodwin with the LAPD,” Sam answered loudly. “We’d like to speak to Richard Paulson.”
The door opened and a man stepped out to meet them.
They already had the basics on him even before seeing him, but in person Paulson looked all of his 52 years.
His hair was ninety percent gray and his haggard face was marked by deep worry lines.
He had likely once been good-looking but perhaps because of long hours spent in conference rooms and courthouses, he was pasty and a little paunchy.
He was dressed in khaki pants and a partially untucked dress shirt.
“I’m Richard Paulson,” he said, unruffled. “What has the police knocking at my door?”
His tone suggested that while he would be polite, he was anxious to be done with them.
“We’re investigating several murders and hoped you might have helpful information for us,” Sam explained.
“Murders?” Paulson said, taken aback. “Who was murdered?”
“Two of your clients, Mr. Paulson,” Jessie said flatly. “Maria Cain and Yuki Tanaka.”
“Wait, what?” He looked appropriately dumbfounded.
“We’re sorry to be so abrupt about this,” Jessie said, “but we have reason to believe other killings might be imminent and we need some details from you.”
“You’re saying that they were killed by the same person?” Paulson asked, incredulous.
“It certainly appears that way,” Sam told him. “And we believe their deaths may be connected to their immigration status.”
“I don’t understand.”
“May we come inside?” Jessie asked. “We’ll try to clarify things there.”
“I’m sorry but who are you?” he demanded.
“This is Jessie Hunt,” Sam said. “She’s a criminal profiler working the case with me. Now if we could please come inside.”
Paulson looked reluctant but led them back down the hallway.
The apartment was modest in size but well-appointed with what looked like antique furniture in the living room that they passed by quickly.
He directed them into his office, which was small but had a great view of the Hollywood Hills to the north.
Though the whole apartment couldn’t have been over 800 square feet, Jessie suspected that in a building like this, it rented for a pretty penny.
After they sat down across the desk from him, Sam continued to press.
“I’m surprised that you haven’t heard about the case,” he said. “It’s been all over the news.”
“I’ve been prepping all day. I have several cases set for tomorrow. I’ll be bouncing around among different courthouses all day so I haven’t really paid attention to anything other than that. Please tell me what’s going on.”
Sam launched in. “The short version is that both women were found in their dining rooms, stabbed multiple times, with their green cards lying on plates sitting in front of them.”
“Dear God,” Paulson muttered under his breath.
“Exactly,” Jessie said. “It’s that last element that brought us here. You may have valuable information for us.”
“Like what?”
“Like, did either woman mention any threats having been made against them during the permanent resident application process?”
Paulson paused for a moment to think about it.
“I’m aware of one issue,” he said, “but it wasn’t specifically related to any work I did for them.
The Tanakas once mentioned that there was a man harassing them online about their marriage, as well as his position at the movie studio where he’s an executive.
They said it was some crank. I guess it wasn’t technically a threat and they sounded more annoyed by it than truly worried.
I’m sorry but I can’t remember his name. ”
“Thomas Bradford?” Sam offered.
“Yes, that’s it!”
“We’ve spoken to him,” Sam said. “Any others?”
“I can’t think of anyone, but honestly, I’m not sure why they would discuss those kinds of threats with me. When I met with them, we were always focused on residency issues. Same with the Cains.”
“Speaking of residency issues,” Jessie said, “tell us about that. During the process, was there anyone in the system that made it unreasonably hard for either woman?”
Paulson scrunched up his lips.
“We’re in a little bit of tricky territory there,” he said. “It was one thing to reference potential harassment I was told about that was unrelated to my work for them, but now we’re getting into some areas that may involve confidentiality.”
“How does that involve confidentiality?” Jessie asked, annoyed.
“We’re not asking you to share the particulars of their application or any potentially unflattering personal or financial information.
We just want to know if anyone made the process harder than it typically is, if anyone seemed like they had it out for either woman. ”
“Look,” Paulson said, squirming in his chair, “I’m just not comfortable with throwing out the names of people who are difficult to deal with. That could tar them unfairly.”
Jessie was getting increasingly agitated and decided it was time to let it show.
“Are you sure that you don’t mean that you have to work with these people, and that mentioning them to us might hurt your business? It sounds like you’re putting your professional comfort ahead of solving two murders.”
“That is a scurrilous accusation!”
“That doesn’t make it untrue,” Jessie noted.
“You’re asking me to breach client confidentiality,” he balked, sounding wounded.
“I still don’t see how,” Sam demanded, sounding equally put out.
“The entire application process, even interactions on their behalf with government functionaries, is subject to attorney-client privilege, unless they waive it.”
“These women are dead,” Jessie pointed out.
“But their husbands aren’t,” he shot back, “and they’re the ones who paid me.”
Jessie leaned back in her chair, trying to stay cool.
“We can certainly reach out to them,” she said.
“I doubt either would object to sharing their information if it led to catching their wives’ killer.
But in the interim I can’t help but wonder why you’re being so difficult, Mr. Paulson.
One would think you’d happily jump through hoops to help us solve this case. ”
The man sighed heavily. It looked like he had the weight of the world on his slumped shoulders.
“I don’t think I’m being difficult so much as I’m being professional,” he said huffily. “And considering what I have to deal with, I think I do a pretty good job.”
“What do you have to deal with?” Jessie wanted to know.
“Do you know how exhausting it is trying to help these people work the system to get access to all of the benefits of our country? It’s a slog for which I never truly get the appreciation I deserve.”
Jessie’s back stiffened at that answer and she was about to pursue it further when Sam beat her to the punch about something else.
“Don’t they pay you handsomely?” Sam pressed. “That seems like all the appreciation you should need.”
“I don’t get paid as much as you might think,” he countered. “Yes, many of my clients are wealthy, but this isn’t criminal or corporate law. There’s a ceiling on what I can earn, even with a complicated case.”
Sam’s interruption made Jessie reconsider her question. She decided that for now, she’d hold back. Instead, she tried one more time on the application process issue.
“I just want to be clear with you, Mr. Paulson,” she said very deliberately.
“It’s 5:09 on the evening of Sunday, September 24th.
At this time, you’re refusing to give us any leads about people who may have made processing these women’s applications more challenging and whether they might hold a grudge.
Now, if we learn tomorrow or at any point in the future that the killer is one of those people and you kept quiet when you could have helped us, it will reflect very poorly on you.
I’d imagine it could impact—hell, potentially destroy—your practice.
I know that I wouldn’t want you as my immigration lawyer if you put cozy relationships with prejudiced bureaucrats above my interests.
And when I’m done, that’s how this situation will be perceived by the public, and more importantly, potential future clients. ”
She stood and nodded to Sam that she was ready to go. He seemed surprised, but followed suit. She started for the door, hoping playing hardball might make Paulson reconsider. He called out from behind her.
“I’ll see if I can refresh my recollection,” he said with a hint of petulance. “If I think of anyone whose actions seemed borne out of animus rather than simple laziness, I’ll let you know.”
“You do that,” Jessie said without turning around. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
By the time Sam caught up to her, she was already out of the apartment and walking back down the hall to the elevator.
“Why the sudden departure?” he asked. “It felt like, with a few more minutes of pushing, he might have caved.”
“Because something he said made me less interested in bureaucratic challenges to his clients’ applications than his own attitude.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
“Remember him saying how tiring it was to help his clients ‘work the system’ to get the “benefits of our country’? Those sounded less like the words of an advocate and more like those of a member of Thomas Bradford’s Traditional Citizenry group.”
“I guess that slipped by me,” Sam conceded as they stepped into the elevator.
Jessie turned to him and waited for the doors to close before responding.
“I think there’s more to this guy than we thought and I intend to find out what.”