“I’d shake hands, but both arms hurt,” I tell him.
“Knife in one, all-night drip in the other.” Ortiz describes my injuries to Padgett with a smile.
“I’m ready to leave now.”
“You haven’t finished tying your shoe,” he says. “Then you have to tell us what happened.”
“What happened! I got stabbed. I’m a crime victim.”
“Yes, but what were you doing there? And don’t tell me you were looking for a client.”
“I was.”
“Don’t tell me that. I don’t want to hear that. Espinoza wasn’t your client. Not anymore.” Ortiz looks at his partner. “Clarence Darrow here slides a business card under this guy’s door, telling him he’s got five grand in cash to give to his dead guest.”
“Sounds like an invitation to become a pin cushion,” says Padgett. “They teach you that one in law school?”
“It got me in the door.”
“Why did you hustle him? Espinoza?” says Ortiz. “From what we see, you’re not hurting for clients. The wife tells us you came to her apartment and wanted to represent her husband.”
They have a lot of the answers already. I don’t say anything, and Padgett contributes a little more.
“You left him in the can. At federal detention. We understand your partner here went into cardiac arrest when he called, found out Espinoza was on the street. Anybody ever tell you when you take a client you’re supposed to provide legal services?”
“Who are you working for, the bar?” says Harry.
“We talked to the first-year law student who got him out,” he says. “And seeing as you didn’t collect a fee, you weren’t in it for the money.”
“So tell us,” says Ortiz, “why was everybody so interested in Espinoza?”
“You want to tell him or should I?” says Harry.
“Oh, good. A lawyer with a brain.” Ortiz looks at Harry.
“We heard that Espinoza might know something about the shooting in front of the federal courthouse.” I talk before Harry can.
“And where did you hear this?”
“From your people,” says Harry.
Ortiz shoots him a look.
“Our people?”
“What are we supposed to do? People talk. Some of them work for the government. OK. They’re not supposed to. Still, they talk; we listen.”
“You have the names of these people?” says Ortiz. Padgett is sharpening the point on his mechanical pencil, turning it for some new lead.
“I don’t think they ever mentioned their names,” says Harry.
“Agencies?”
Harry shakes his head. “That either.”
“I see, anonymous phone calls to your office.”
“Something like that,” says Harry.
“It’s an open investigation. How would you like to have a deputy D.A. ask you under oath, in front of a judge?” says Padgett. “Maybe spend some time in the bucket for contempt?”
“They have rooms like this, you won’t hear me complaining. TV, three squares. Probably pick up a few clients in the day room. Sounds like a vacation,” says Harry. “To say nothing of the publicity. Lawyer goes to jail to protect his sources.”
“That’s reporters,” says Padgett.
“Yes, but it’s such a good cause,” says Harry. “I think they’d stretch the rule.”
“That’s right, I forgot. The settlement kings,” says Ortiz. “Accidental death. Let’s talk about that. Who was it you were representing? The wife, the new one, what’s her name?”
“Dana,” says Padgett. “You remember, good looker. Blond. Sassy little thing. Diamond-studded fangs.”
“How could I forget? What did she get, a million, million and a half?” asks Ortiz.
“Something like that,” I say.
“And you,” says Padgett. “How did you take your fees? A check? Or was there some other arrangement?” He cracks a grin. “You know we can always find out.”
“Do that.”
“We understand she’s seeing somebody else,” says Ortiz.
“Besides who?” I ask.
“Give him a break,” says Padgett. “Maybe it was just a momentary lust.”
“Maybe it was business” I say. “Tell me, what do you think of his car?” Padgett’s face gives it up, the kind of expression that doesn’t have to say a word to make a confession. They have been following Fittapaldi. “Yeah, I know. I’m not partial to Jags either.”
“Maybe it was a three-way twist,” he says.
“You mean tryst, don’t you?”
“Twist, tryst. The three of ’em together.”
I turn to Ortiz. “I know this is a stimulating conversation. But can we go now?”
“Not until you tell me about Espinoza,” he says.
“What do you want to know?”
“For starters, why did you go looking for him at this guy Saldado’s apartment?”
“I had Saldado’s name. Espinoza gave it to me when I interviewed him at the lockup.” It’s a little white lie, but this way I keep Joyce’s and Bennie’s names out of it.
“How did they know each other, Espinoza and Saldado?”
“I don’t know the connection. Not exactly.”
“What do you know?” Padgett’s pencil working on the pad now.
“You remember the visas that were stolen a year or so ago? The van down in Tijuana?”
“Why the feds had Espinoza in custody,” says Ortiz.
“Right. I saw the arrest in the paper. Espinoza’s name came up in my interview with Metz, before I handed him back to Nick.”
This catches the two cops where they live: in the curiosity department.
“What did he say?”
“He gave me the name. Said Espinoza was a go-between with some people he was doing business with down in Mexico.”
“What people?”
“Two brothers.”
“Names?” says Ortiz.
“Ibarra. Arturo and Jaime.”
“So these brothers, they were dealers?” says Ortiz.
“Who knows?”
“That’s your business. That’s why you wouldn’t do Metz, isn’t it?”
“He told me they hired him to do some construction work. That’s all I know.”
“But you didn’t believe him,” says Ortiz.
“What I believe doesn’t matter.”
“Sure it does. That’s why you gave Metz back to your friend. That’s why he’s dead. And that’s why you keep nosing around. Or did I miss something?” Ortiz is quick.
Harry claps a couple of times from his chair in the corner. “Now can we all go home so my partner can get the therapy he needs, and the rest of us can get on with life?”
“So when Metz got shot and this guy got arrested, you remembered the name?” Padgett is trying to get his notes straight.
“I told you.”
“Tell me again,” he says.
