make some calls. I wanted to see what he could find out about the man in room 333 at the Travelodge on Santa Monica. I told him I needed the information yesterday. I knew he had sources and ways of running the name Hector Moya. I just didn’t want to know who or what they were. I was only interested in what he got.
As Earl pulled to a stop in front of the CCB, I told him that while I was inside he should take a run over to Philippe’s to get us roast beef sandwiches. I’d eat mine on my way out to Century City. I passed a twenty-dollar bill over the seat to him and got out.
While waiting for an elevator in the always crowded lobby of the CCB, I popped a Tylenol from my briefcase and hoped it would head off the migraine I felt coming on from lack of food. It took me ten minutes to get to the ninth floor and another fifteen waiting for Leslie Faire to grant me an audience. I didn’t mind the wait, though, because Raul Levin called back just before I was allowed entrance. If Faire had seen me right away, I wouldn’t have gone in with the added ammunition.
Levin had told me that the man in room 333 at the Travelodge had checked in under the name Gilberto Garcia. The motel did not require identification, since he paid cash in advance for a week and put a fifty-dollar deposit on phone charges. Levin had also run a trace on the name I had given him and came up with Hector Arrande Moya, a Colombian wanted on a fugitive warrant issued after he fled San Diego when a federal grand jury handed down an indictment for drug trafficking. It added up to real good stuff and I planned to put it to use with the prosecutor.
Faire was in an office shared with three other prosecutors. Each had a desk in a corner. Two were gone, probably in court, but a man I didn’t know sat at the desk in the corner opposite Faire. I had to speak to her with him in earshot. I hated doing this because I found that the prosecutor I was dealing with in these situations would often play to the others in the room, trying to sound tough and shrewd, sometimes at the expense of my client.
I pulled a chair away from one of the empty desks and brought it over to sit down. I skipped the pleasantries because there weren’t any and got right to the point because I was hungry and didn’t have a lot of time.
“You filed on Gloria Dayton this morning,” I said. “She’s mine. I want to see what we can do about it.”
“Well, we can plead her guilty and she can do one to three years at Frontera.”
She said it matter-of-factly with a smile that was more of a smirk.
“I was thinking of PTI.”
“I was thinking she already got a bite out of that apple and she spit it out. No way.”
“Look, how much coke did she have on her, a couple grams?”
“It’s still illegal, no matter how much she had. Gloria Dayton has had numerous opportunities to rehabilitate herself and avoid prison. But she’s run out of chances.”
She turned to her desk, opened a file and glanced at the top sheet.
“Nine arrests in just the last five years,” she said. “This is her third drug charge and she’s never spent more than three days in jail. Forget PTI. She’s got to learn sometime and this is that time. I’m not open to discussion on this. If she pleads, I’ll give her one to three. If she doesn’t, I’ll go get a verdict and she takes her chances with the judge at sentencing. I will ask for the max on it.”
I nodded. It was going about the way I thought it would with Faire. A one-to-three-year sentence would likely result in a nine-month stay in the slam. I knew Gloria Dayton could do it and maybe should do it. But I still had a card to play.
“What if she had something to trade?”
Faire snorted like it was a joke.
“Like what?”
“A hotel room number where a major dealer is doing business.”
“Sounds a little vague.”
It was vague but I could tell by the change in her voice she was interested. Every prosecutor likes to trade up.
“Call your drug guys. Ask them to run the name Hector Arrande Moya on the box. He’s a Colombian. I can wait.”
She hesitated. She clearly didn’t like being manipulated by a defense attorney, especially when another prosecutor was in earshot. But the hook was already set.
She turned again to her desk and made a call. I listened to one side of the conversation, her telling someone to give her a background check on Moya. She waited awhile and then listened to the response. She thanked whoever it was she had called and hung up. She took her time turning back to me.
“Okay,” she said. “What does she want?”
I had it ready.
“She wants a PTI slot. All charges dropped upon successful completion. She doesn’t testify against the guy and her name is on no documents. She simply gives the hotel and room number where he’s at and your people do the rest.”
“They’ll need to make a case. She’s got to testify. I take it the two grams she had came from this guy. Then she has to tell us about it.”
“No, she doesn’t. Whoever you just talked to told you there’s already a warrant. You can take him down for that.”
She worked it over for a few moments, moving her jaw back and forth as if tasting the deal and deciding whether to eat more. I knew what the stumble was. The deal was a trade-up but it was a trade-up to a federal case. That meant that they would bust the guy and the feds would take over. No prosecutorial glory for Leslie Faire-unless she had designs on jumping over to the U.S. Attorney’s Office one day.
“The feds will love you for this,” I said, trying to wedge into her conscience. “He’s a bad guy and he’ll probably check out soon and the chance to get him will be lost.”
She looked at me like I was a bug.
“Don’t try that with me, Haller.”
“Sorry.”
She went back to her thinking. I tried again.
“Once you have his location, you could always try to set up a buy.”
“Would you be quiet, please? I can’t think.”
I raised my hands in surrender and shut up.
“All right,” she finally said. “Let me talk to my boss. Give me your number and I’ll call you later. But I’ll tell you right now, if we go for it, she’ll have to go to a lockdown program. Something at County-USC. We’re not going to waste a residency slot on her.”
I thought about it and nodded. County-USC was a hospital with a jail wing where injured, sick, and addicted inmates were treated. What she was offering was a program where Gloria Dayton could be treated for her addiction and released upon completion. She would not face any charges or further time in jail or prison.
“Fine with me,” I said.
I looked at my watch. I had to get going.
“Our offer is good until first appearance tomorrow,” I said. “After that I’ll call the DEA and see if they want to deal directly. Then it will be taken out of your hands.”
She looked indignantly at me. She knew that if I got a deal with the feds, they would squash her. Head to head, the feds always trumped the state. I stood up to go and put a business card down on her desk.
“Don’t try to back-door me, Haller,” she said. “If it goes sideways on you, I’ll take it out on your client.”
I didn’t respond. I pushed the chair I had borrowed back to its desk. She then dropped the threat with her next line.
“Anyway, I’m sure we can handle this on a level that makes everybody happy.”
I looked back at her as I got to the office door.
“Everybody except for Hector Moya,” I said.
