“I appreciate that, Ted,” I said. “Keep me in mind next time you need an attorney.”
“Will do, Counselor.”
He clicked off and I clicked off. I then grabbed my first baseman’s glove out of the hallway closet and headed out the front door.
Having given Earl the day off with pay, I drove myself toward downtown and Dodger Stadium. Traffic was light until I got close. The home opener is always a sell-out, even though it is a day game on a weekday. The start of baseball season is a rite of spring that draws downtown workers by the thousands. It’s the only sporting event in laid-back L.A. where you see men all in stiff white shirts and ties. They’re all playing hooky. There is nothing like the start of a season, before all the one-run losses, pitching breakdowns and missed opportunities. Before reality sets in.
I was the first one to the seats. We were three rows from the field in seats added to the stadium during the off-season. Levin must have busted a nut buying the tickets from one of the local brokers. At least it was probably deductible as a business entertainment expense.
The plan was for Levin to get there early as well. He had called the night before and said he wanted some private time with me. Besides watching batting practice and checking out all the improvements the new owner had made to the stadium, we would discuss my visit with Gloria Dayton and Raul would give me the latest update on his various investigations relating to Louis Roulet.
But Levin never made it for BP. The other four lawyers showed up-three of them in ties, having come from court-and we missed our chance to talk privately.
I knew the other four from some of the boat cases we had tried together. In fact, the tradition of defense pros taking in Dodgers games together started with the boat cases. Under a wide-ranging mandate to stop drug flow to the United States, the U.S. Coast Guard had taken to stopping suspect vessels anywhere on the oceans. When they struck gold-or, that is, cocaine-they seized the vessels and crews. Many of the prosecutions were funneled to the U.S. District Court in Los Angeles. This resulted in prosecutions of sometimes twelve or more defendants at a time. Every defendant got his own lawyer, most of them appointed by the court and paid by Uncle Sugar. The cases were lucrative and steady and we had fun. Somebody had the idea of having case meetings at Dodger Stadium. One time we all pitched in and bought a private suite for a Cubs game. We actually did talk about the case for a few minutes during the seventh-inning stretch.
The pre-game ceremonies started and there was no sign of Levin. Hundreds of doves were released from baskets on the field and they formed up, circled the stadium to loud cheering and then flew up and away. Shortly after, a B-2 stealth bomber buzzed the stadium to even louder applause. That was L.A. Something for everyone and a little irony to boot.
The game started and still no Levin. I turned my cell phone on and tried to call him, even though it was hard to hear. The crowd was loud and boisterous, hopeful of a season that would not end in disappointment again. The call went to a message.
“Mish, where you at, man? We’re at the game and the seats are fantastic, but we got one empty one. We’re waiting on you.”
I closed the phone, looked at the others and shrugged.
“I don’t know,” I said. “He didn’t answer his cell.”
I left my phone on and put it back on my belt.
Before the first inning was over I was regretting what I had said to Lorna about not caring if the Giants drilled us 20-zip. They built a 5-0 lead before the Dodgers even got their first bats of the season and the crowd grew frustrated early. I heard people complaining about the prices, the renovation and the overcommercialization of the stadium. One of the lawyers, Roger Mills, surveyed the surfaces of the stadium and remarked that the place was more crowded with corporate logos than a NASCAR race car.
The Dodgers were able to bite into the lead, but in the fourth inning the wheels came off and the Giants chased Jeff Weaver with a three-run shot over the centerfield wall. I used the downtime during the pitching change to brag about how fast I had heard from the Second on the Casey case. The other lawyers were impressed, though one of them, Dan Daly, suggested that I had only received the quick appellate review because the three judges were on my Christmas list. I remarked to Daly that he had apparently missed the bar memo regarding juries’ distrust of lawyers with ponytails. His went halfway down his back.
It was also during this lull in the game that I heard my phone ringing. I grabbed it off my hip and flipped it open without looking at the screen.
“Raul?”
“No, sir, this is Detective Lankford with the Glendale Police Department. Is this Michael Haller?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you have a moment?”
“I have a moment but I am not sure how well I’ll be able to hear you. I’m at the Dodgers game. Can this wait until I can call you back?”
“No, sir, it can’t. Do you know a man named Raul Aaron Levin? He’s a -”
“Yes, I know him. What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid Mr. Levin is dead, sir. He’s been the victim of a homicide in his home.”
My head dropped so low and so forward that I banged it into the back of the man seated in front of me. I then pulled back and held one hand to one ear and pressed the phone against the other. I blanked out everything around me.
“What happened?”
“We don’t know,” Lankford said. “That’s why we are here. It looks like he was working for you recently. Is there any chance you could come here to possibly answer some questions and assist us?”
I blew out my breath and tried to keep my voice calm and modulated.
“I’m on my way,” I said.
TWENTY-THREE
Raul Levin’s body was in the back room of his bungalow a few blocks off of Brand Boulevard. The room had likely been designed as a sunroom or maybe a TV room but Raul had turned it into his home office. Like me he’d had no need for a commercial space. His was not a walk-in business. He wasn’t even in the yellow pages. He worked for attorneys and got jobs by word of mouth. The five lawyers that were to join him at the baseball game were testimony to his skill and success.
The uniformed cops who had been told to expect me made me wait in the front living room until the detectives could come from the back and talk to me. A uniformed officer stood by in the hallway in case I decided to make a mad dash for the back room or the front door. He was in position to handle it either way. I sat there waiting and thinking about my friend.
I had decided on the drive from the stadium that I knew who had killed Raul Levin. I didn’t need to be led to the back room to see or hear the evidence to know who the killer was. Deep down I knew that Raul had gotten too close to Louis Roulet. And I was the one who had sent him. The only question left for me was what was I going to do about it.
After twenty minutes two detectives came from the back of the house and into the living room. I stood up and we talked while standing. The man identified himself as Lankford, the detective who had called me. He was older, the veteran. His partner was a woman named Sobel. She didn’t look like she had been investigating homicides for very long.
We didn’t shake hands. They were wearing rubber gloves. They also had paper booties over their shoes. Lankford was chewing gum.
“Okay, this is what we’ve got,” he said gruffly. “Levin was in his office, sitting in his desk chair. The chair was turned from the desk, so he was facing the intruder. He was shot one time in the chest. Something small, looks like
