City of the Dead (Alex Delaware, #37)(60)

“Got it, L.T.”

The two of them left.

Milo said, “Let’s take a stretch.”



* * *



—

We walked past the pop-up, got back on the footpath until it ended at a surprise: a copse of young sycamores ranging from two feet of tender growth to trees six feet tall.

Scattered planting, not a human intervention. Sycamores are native trees, fast growing, always primed for a reboot. A couple more seasons and they’d be towering.

Ten to twenty years.

Milo stood with his back to the mini-grove, pulled out a panatela, lit up, blew perfectly circular smoke rings.

I said, “The kids think robbery. You’re not buying no link to Cordi.”

“There’s gotta be something,” he said. “Don’t know what it is, but stuff just doesn’t happen.”

I wondered about that. A man with temper issues like Tyler Hoffgarden had plenty of opportunities for getting into trouble.

My jacket pocket vibrated; my turn to get a text. Superior Court judge Wendy Abrahamson.

Milo said, “You need to get that?”

“Eventually.” I pocketed the phone.

“Any thoughts about Hoffgarden?”

“Not yet,” I said. “His phone records could tell you a lot.”

He crossed his fingers. “Thanks for that and thanks for coming. Probably a waste of your time but I know you like to look at scenes.”

“I do.”

“I’ll walk you back. Keep you posted.”





CHAPTER


    27


I called Judge Wendy Abrahamson’s chambers from the Seville. Her clerk put her on immediately.

“Thanks for the quick get-back, Alex. This is no doubt bullshit but I got a complaint about you from a lawyer. A case you haven’t even started.”

I said, “Lewis Evan Porer, Deeb versus McManus.”

“Something really did happen?”

“He tried to pressure me into changing the way I work.”

“How so?”

“He kept pushing for me to sit down with him before I met the principals on the pretext of educating me. You know what he was really after.”

She said, “First dibs so he could influence you. Did it get nasty?”

“Not at all, Wendy. I just insisted on sticking with the usual and he didn’t like being told no. The funny thing is, he called a couple of days later and apologized.”

“Did he,” she said. “Sounds like he’s being manipulative.”

“That would be my take.”

“Lewis Evan Porer,” she said. “You’ve got to wonder about someone who introduces himself with his middle name.”

I said, “Has he appeared before you?”

“Never, I guess there’s always a first…entre nous, he did come across like a tool.”

I’ve always wondered about the derivation of that insult. Tools are, by nature, useful.

“What’s his specific beef with me, Wendy?”

“Bad attitude and unprofessionalism leading to potential bias.”

I said. “I wouldn’t let him bias me so I’m likely to be biased.”

She laughed. “The workings of a fine legal mind. So where do we go with it?”

“Up to you. If appointing someone else makes your life easier, no sweat.”

Wendy Abrahamson let several moments go by. No surprise; she’s habitually thoughtful.

“So,” she said, “I’m supposed to let Porer come in and shape court procedure? Naw, I don’t think so, it’ll be business as usual, Alex. Speaking of which, we’re ready to go on this one so you can start interviewing. Porer represents the wife and he impresses me as the type who’ll play around with stays and delays. But no reason you can’t talk to the husband.”

“Bias be damned.”

She laughed. “That should be a slogan.”

“For who?”

“Everyone.”



* * *



—

By the time I got home, a message from “the law offices of Meredith Rinaldi” had been lodged at my answering service. The rest of my calls were follow-ups on ongoing custody cases.

Nothing from Milo.

I called Rinaldi back, got put on hold for a minute or so before a woman said, “Doctor? This is Meredith. I represent Conrad Deeb in his divorce and the judge said it’s time to get going. What’s your process?”

“I meet with parents, then the children, then whichever ancillary sources I think are important.”

“Ancillary being…”

“Teachers, babysitters, nannies, grandparents. Anyone I think could be informative.”

“Sounds like an involved process,” she said.

“Doesn’t have to be.”

“Okay…in this case it’s a kid, singular. Three years old and from what I’ve seen she doesn’t talk much. Would you still need to actually meet her?”

“Yes.”

A beat. “Okay, your wheelhouse. May I have Dr. Deeb call you personally?”

“That would be best. What kind of doctor is he?”