"She's not actually my secretary, Judge. But she found me. Sorry it took so long."

"Well, you're here. I don't believe we have met before, have we?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, this will betray my age but I actually opposed your father in a trial once. One of his last cases, I believe."

I had to readjust my estimate of her age. She would have to be at least sixty if she had ever been in a courtroom with my father.

"I was actually third chair on a case, just out of USC Law and green as can be. They were trying to give me some trial exposure. It was a murder case and they let me handle one witness. I prepared a week for my examination and your father destroyed the man on cross in ten minutes. We won the case but I never forgot the lesson. Be prepared for anything."

I nodded. Over the years I had met several older lawyers who had Mickey Haller Sr. stories to share. I had very few of my own. Before I could ask the judge about the case on which she'd met him, she pressed on.

"But that's not why I called you here," she said.

"I didn't think so, Judge. It sounded like you have something... kind of urgent?"

"I do. Did you know Jerry Vincent?"

I was immediately thrown by her use of the past tense.

"Jerry? Yes, I know Jerry. What about him?"

"He's dead."

"Dead?"

"Murdered, actually."

"When?"

"Last night. I'm sorry."

My eyes dropped and I looked at the name-plate on her desk. Honorable M. T. Holder Honorable M. T. Holder was carved in script into a two-dimensional wooden display that held a ceremonial gavel and a fountain pen and inkwell. was carved in script into a two-dimensional wooden display that held a ceremonial gavel and a fountain pen and inkwell.

"How close were you?" she asked.

It was a good question and I didn't really know the answer. I kept my eyes down as I spoke.

"We had cases against each other when he was with the DA and I was at the PD. We both left for private practice around the same time and both of us had one-man shops. Over the years we worked some cases together, a couple of drug trials, and we sort of covered for each other when it was needed. He threw me a case occasionally when it was something he didn't want to handle."

I had had a professional relationship with Jerry Vincent. Every now and then we clicked gla.s.ses at Four Green Fields or saw each other at a ball game at Dodger Stadium. But for me to say we were close would have been an exaggeration. I knew little about him outside of the world of law. I had heard about a divorce a while back on the courthouse gossip line but had never even asked him about it. That was personal information and I didn't need to know it.

"You seem to forget, Mr. Haller, but I was with the DA back when Mr. Vincent was a young up-and-comer. But then he lost a big case and his star faded. That was when he left for private practice."

I looked at the judge but said nothing.

"And I seem to recall that you were the defense attorney on that case," she added.

I nodded.

"Barnett Woodson. I got an acquittal on a double murder. He walked out of the courtroom and sarcastically apologized to the media for getting away with murder. He had to rub the DA's face in it and that pretty much ended Jerry's career as a prosecutor."

"Then, why would he ever work with you or throw you cases?"

"Because, Judge, by ending his career as a prosecutor, I started his career as a defense attorney."

I left it at that but it wasn't enough for her.

"And?"

"And a couple of years later he was making about five times what he had made with the DA. He called me up one day and thanked me for showing him the light."

The judge nodded knowingly.

"It came down to money. He wanted the money."

I shrugged like I was uncomfortable answering for a dead man and didn't respond.

"What happened to your client?" the judge asked. "What became of the man who got away with murder?"

"He would've been better off taking a conviction. Woodson got killed in a drive-by about two months after the acquittal."

The judge nodded again, this time as if to say end of story, justice served. I tried to put the focus back on Jerry Vincent.

"I can't believe this about Jerry. Do you know what happened?"

"That's not clear. He was apparently found late last night in his car in the garage at his office. He had been shot to death. I am told that the police are still there at the crime scene and there have been no arrests. All of this comes from a Times Times reporter who called my chambers to make an inquiry about what will happen now with Mr. Vincent's clients-especially Walter Elliot." reporter who called my chambers to make an inquiry about what will happen now with Mr. Vincent's clients-especially Walter Elliot."

I nodded. For the last twelve months I had been in a vacuum but it wasn't so airtight that I hadn't heard about the movie mogul murder case. It was just one in a string of big-time cases Vincent had scored over the years. Despite the Woodson fiasco, his pedigree as a high-profile prosecutor had set him up from the start as an upper-echelon criminal defense attorney. He didn't have to go looking for clients; they came looking for him. And usually they were clients who could pay or had something to say, meaning they had at least one of three attributes: They could pay top dollar for legal representation, they were demonstrably innocent of the charges lodged against them, or they were clearly guilty but had public opinion and sentiment on their side. These were clients he could get behind and forthrightly defend no matter what they were accused of. Clients who didn't make him feel greasy at the end of the day.

And Walter Elliot qualified for at least one of those attributes. He was the chairman/owner of Archway Pictures and a very powerful man in Hollywood. He had been charged with murdering his wife and her lover in a fit of rage after discovering them together in a Malibu beach house. The case had all sorts of connections to s.e.x and celebrity and was drawing wide media attention. It had been a publicity machine for Vincent and now it would go up for grabs.

The judge broke through my reverie.

"Are you familiar with RPC two-three-hundred?" she asked.

I involuntarily gave myself away by squinting my eyes at the question.

"Uh... not exactly."

"Let me refresh your memory. It is the section of the California bar's rules of professional conduct referring to the transfer or sale of a law practice. We, of course, are talking about a transfer in this case. Mr. Vincent apparently named you as his second in his standard contract of representation. This allowed you to cover for him when he needed it and included you, if necessary, in the attorney-client relationship. Additionally, I have found that he filed a motion with the court ten years ago that allowed for the transfer of his practice to you should he become incapacitated or deceased. The motion has never been altered or updated, but it's clear what his intentions were."

I just stared at her. I knew about the clause in Vincent's standard contract. I had the same in mine, naming him. But what I realized was that the judge was telling me that I now had Jerry's cases. All of them, Walter Elliot included.

This, of course, did not mean I would keep all of the cases. Each client would be free to move on to another attorney of their choosing once apprised of Vincent's demise. But it meant that I would have the first shot at them.

I started thinking about things. I hadn't had a client in a year and the plan was to start back slow, not with a full caseload like the one I had apparently just inherited.

"However," the judge said, "before you get too excited about this proposition, I must tell you that I would be remiss in my role as chief judge if I did not make every effort to ensure that Mr. Vincent's clients were transferred to a replacement counsel of good standing and competent skill."

Now I understood. She had called me in to explain why I would not be appointed to Vincent's clients. She was going to go against the dead lawyer's wishes and appoint somebody else, most likely one of the high-dollar contributors to her last reelection campaign. Last I had checked, I'd contributed exactly nothing to her coffers over the years.

But then the judge surprised me.

"I've checked with some of the judges," she said, "and I am aware that you have not been practicing law for almost a year. I have found no explanation for this. Before I issue the order appointing you replacement counsel in this matter, I need to be a.s.sured that I am not turning Mr. Vincent's clients over to the wrong man."

I nodded in agreement, hoping it would buy me a little time before I had to respond.

"Judge, you're right. I sort of took myself out of the game for a while. But I just started taking steps to get back in."

"Why did you take yourself out?"

She asked it bluntly, her eyes holding mine and looking for anything that would indicate evasion of the truth in my answer. I spoke very carefully.

"Judge, I had a case a couple years ago. The client's name was Louis Roulet. He was-"

"I remember the case, Mr. Haller. You got shot. But, as you say, that was a couple years ago. I seem to remember you practicing law for some time after that. I remember the news stories about you coming back to the job."

"Well," I said, "what happened is I came back too soon. I had been gut shot, Judge, and I should've taken my time. Instead, I hurried back and the next thing I knew I started having pain and the doctors said I had a hernia. So I had an operation for that and there were complications. They did it wrong. There was even more pain and another operation and, well, to make a long story short, it knocked me down for a while. I decided the second time not to come back until I was sure I was ready."

The judge nodded sympathetically. I guessed I had been right to leave out the part about my addiction to pain pills and the stint in rehab.

"Money wasn't an issue," I said. "I had some savings and I also got a settlement from the insurance company. So I took my time coming back. But I'm ready. I was just about to take the back cover of the Yellow Pages."

"Then, I guess inheriting an entire practice is quite convenient, isn't it?" she said.

I didn't know what to say to her question or the smarmy tone in which she said it.

"All I can tell you, Judge, is that I would take good care of Jerry Vincent's clients."

The judge nodded but she didn't look at me as she did so. I knew the tell. She knew something. And it bothered her. Maybe she knew about the rehab.

"According to bar records, you've been disciplined several times," she said.

Here we were again. She was back to throwing the cases to another lawyer. Probably some campaign contributor from Century City who couldn't find his way around a criminal proceeding if his Riviera membership depended on it.

"All of it ancient history, Judge. All of it technicalities. I'm in good standing with the bar. If you called them today, then I'm sure you were told that."

She stared at me for a long moment before dropping her eyes to the doc.u.ment in front of her on the desk.

"Very well, then," she said.

She scribbled a signature on the last page of the doc.u.ment. I felt the flutter of excitement begin to build in my chest.

"Here is an order transferring the practice to you," the judge said. "You might need it when you go to his office. And let me tell you this. I am going to be monitoring you. I want an updated inventory of cases by the beginning of next week. The status of every case on the client list. I want to know which clients will work with you and which will find other representation. After that, I want biweekly status updates on all cases in which you remain counsel. Am I being clear?"

"Perfectly clear, Judge. For how long?"

"What?"

"For how long do you want me to give you biweekly updates?"

She stared at me and her face hardened.

"Until I tell you to stop."

She handed me the order.

"You can go now, Mr. Haller, and if I were you, I would get over there and protect my new clients from any unlawful search and seizure of their files by the police. If you have any problem, you can always call on me. I have put my after-hours number on the order."

"Yes, Your Honor. Thank you."

"Good luck, Mr. Haller."

I stood up and headed out of the room. When I got to the doorway of her chambers I glanced back at her. She had her head down and was working on the next court order.

Out in the courthouse hallway, I read the two-page doc.u.ment the judge had given me, confirming that what had just happened was real.

It was. The doc.u.ment I held appointed me subst.i.tute counsel, at least temporarily, on all of Jerry Vincent's cases. It granted me immediate access to the fallen attorney's office, files, and bank accounts into which client advances had been deposited.

I pulled out my cell phone and called Lorna Taylor. I asked her to look up the address of Jerry Vincent's office. She gave it to me and I told her to meet me there and to pick up two sandwiches on her way.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I haven't had lunch."

"No, why are we going to Jerry Vincent's office?"

"Because we're back in business."

Six

I was in my Lincoln driving toward Jerry Vincent's office, when I thought of something and called Lorna Taylor back. When she didn't answer I called her cell and caught her in her car. was in my Lincoln driving toward Jerry Vincent's office, when I thought of something and called Lorna Taylor back. When she didn't answer I called her cell and caught her in her car.

"I'm going to need an investigator. How would you feel if I called Cisco?"

There was a hesitation before she answered. Cisco was Dennis Wojciechowski, her significant other as of the past year. I was the one who had introduced them when I used him on a case. Last I heard, they were now living together.

"Well, I have no problem working with Cisco. But I wish you would tell me what this is all about."

Lorna knew Jerry Vincent as a voice on the phone. It was she who would take his calls when he was checking to see if I could stand in on a sentence or babysit a client through an arraignment. I couldn't remember if they had ever met in person. I had wanted to tell her the news in person but things were moving too quickly for that.