He put the menu to the side and looked at me.

"Fillet of sole."

"Sounds good."

He signaled a waiter who had been standing nearby but too intimidated to approach the table. Elliot ordered for us both, adding a bottle of Chardonnay to come with the fish, and told the waiter not to forget about my flat water and lemon. He then clasped his hands on the table and looked expectantly at me.

"I could be dining with Dominick Dunne," he said. "This better be good."

"Walter, this is is going to be good. This is going to be where you stop hiding from me. This is where you tell me the whole story. The true story. You see, if I know what you know, then I'm not going to get sandbagged by the prosecution. I am going to know what moves Golantz is going to make before he makes them." going to be good. This is going to be where you stop hiding from me. This is where you tell me the whole story. The true story. You see, if I know what you know, then I'm not going to get sandbagged by the prosecution. I am going to know what moves Golantz is going to make before he makes them."

Elliot nodded as though he agreed it was time to deliver the goods.

"I did not kill my wife or her n.a.z.i friend," he said. "I have told you that from day one."

I shook my head.

"That's not good enough. I said I want the story. I want to know what really happened, Walter. I want to know what's going on or I'm going to be moving on."

"Don't be ridiculous. No judge is going to let you walk away in the middle of a trial."

"You want to bet your freedom on that, Walter? If I want off this case, I will find a way off it."

He hesitated and studied me before answering.

"You should be careful what you ask for. Guilty knowledge could be a dangerous thing."

"I'll risk it."

"But I'm not sure I can."

I leaned across the table to him.

"What does that mean, Walter? What is going on? I'm your lawyer. You can tell me what you've done and it stays with me."

Before he could speak, the waiter brought a bottle of European water to the table and a side plate of sliced lemons. Enough for everybody in the restaurant. Elliot waited until he had filled my gla.s.s and moved away and out of earshot before responding.

"What is going on is that you have been hired to present my defense to the jury. In my estimation you have done an excellent job so far and your preparations for the defense phase are on the highest level. All of this in two weeks. Astonishing!"

"Drop the bulls.h.i.t!"

I said it too loud. Elliot looked outside the booth and stared down a woman at a nearby table who had heard the expletive.

"You'll have to keep your voice down," he said. "The bond of attorney-client confidentiality ends at this table."

I looked at him. He was smiling but I also knew he was reminding me of what I had already a.s.sured him of, that what was said here stayed here. Was it a signal that he was willing to finally talk? I played the only ace I had.

"Tell me about the bribe Jerry Vincent paid," I said.

At first I detected a momentary shock in his eyes. Then came a knowing look as the wheels turned inside and he put something together. Then I thought I saw a quick flash of regret. I wished Julie Favreau had been sitting next to me. She could have read him better than I could.

"That is a very dangerous piece of information to be in possession of," he said. "How did you get it?"

I obviously couldn't tell my client I got it from a police detective I was now cooperating with.

"I guess you could say it came with the case, Walter. I have all of Vincent's records, including his financials. It wasn't hard to figure out that he funneled a hundred thousand of your advance to an unknown party. Is the bribe what got him killed?"

Elliot raised his martini gla.s.s with two fingers clenching the delicate stem and drank what was left in it. He then nodded to someone unseen over my shoulder. He wanted another. Then he looked at me.

"I think it is safe to say a confluence of events led to Jerry Vincent's death."

"Walter, I'm not f.u.c.king around with you. I need to know-not only to defend you, but to protect myself."

He put his empty gla.s.s to the side of the table and someone whisked it away within two seconds. He nodded as if in agreement with me and then he spoke.

"I think you may have found the reason for his death," he said. "It was in the file. You even mentioned it to me."

"I don't understand. What did I mention?"

Elliot responded in an impatient tone.

"He planned to delay the trial. You found the motion. He was killed before he could file it."

I tried to put it together but I didn't have enough of the parts.

"I don't understand, Walter. He wanted to delay the trial and that got him killed? Why?"

Elliot leaned across the table toward me. He spoke in a tone just above a whisper.

"Okay, you asked for it and I'll tell you. But don't blame me when you wish you didn't know what you know. Yes, there was a bribe. He paid it and everything was fine. The trial was scheduled and all we had to do was be ready to go. We had to stay on schedule. No delays, no continuances. But then he changed his mind and wanted to delay."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I think he actually thought he could win the case without the fix."

It appeared that Elliot didn't know about the FBI's phone calls and apparent interest in Vincent. If he did know, now would have been the time to mention it. The FBI's focus on Vincent would have been as good a reason as any to delay a trial involving a bribery scheme.

"So delaying the trial got him killed?"

"That's my guess, yes."

"Did you kill him, Walter?"

"I don't kill people."

"You had him killed."

Elliot shook his head wearily.

"I don't have have people killed either." people killed either."

A waiter moved up to the booth with a tray and a stand and we both leaned back to let him work. He deboned our fish, plated them, and put them down on the table along with two small serving pitchers with beurre blanc sauce in them. He then placed Elliot's fresh martini down along with two winegla.s.ses. He uncorked the bottle Elliot had ordered and asked if he wanted to taste the wine yet. Elliot shook his head and told the waiter to go away.

"Okay," I said when we were left alone. "Let's go back to the bribe. Who was bribed?"

Elliot took down half his new martini in one gulp.

"That should be obvious when you think about it."

"Then I'm stupid. Help me out."

"A trial that cannot be delayed. Why?"

My eyes stayed on him but I was no longer looking at him. I went inside to work the riddle until it came to me. I ticked off the possibilities-judge, prosecutor, cops, witnesses, jury... I realized that there was only one place where a bribe and an unmovable trial intersected. There was only one aspect that would change if the trial were delayed and rescheduled. The judge, prosecutor, and all the witnesses would remain the same no matter when it was scheduled. But the jury pool changes week to week.

"There's a sleeper on the jury," I said. "You got to somebody."

Elliot didn't react. He let me run with it and I did. My mind swept along the faces in the jury box. Two rows of six. I stopped on juror number seven.

"Number seven. You wanted him in the box. You knew. He's the sleeper. Who is he?"

Elliot nodded slightly and gave me that half smile. He took his first bite of fish before answering my question as calmly as if we were talking about the Lakers' chances at the playoffs and not the rigging of a murder trial.

"I have no idea who he is and don't really care to know. But he's ours. We were told that number seven would be ours. And he's no sleeper. He's a persuader. When it gets to deliberations, he will go in there and turn the tide for the defense. With the case Vincent built and you're delivering, it probably won't take more than a little push. I'm banking on us getting our verdict. But at minimum he will hold out for acquittal and we'll have a hung jury. If that happens, we just start all over and do it again. They will never convict me, Mickey. Never."

I pushed my plate aside. I couldn't eat.

"Walter, no more riddles. Tell me how this went down. Tell me from the start."

"From the start?"

"From the start."

Elliot chuckled at the thought of it and poured himself a gla.s.s of wine without first tasting from the bottle. A waiter swooped in to take over the operation but Elliot waved him away with the bottle.

"This is a long story, Mickey. Would you like a gla.s.s of wine to go with it?"

He held the mouth of the bottle poised over my empty gla.s.s. I was tempted but I shook my head.

"No, Walter, I don't drink."

"I'm not sure I can trust someone who doesn't take a drink from time to time."

"I'm your lawyer. You can trust me."

"I trusted the last one, too, and look what happened to him."

"Don't threaten me, Walter. Just tell me the story."

He drank heavily from his winegla.s.s and then put it down too hard on the table. He looked around to see if anyone in the restaurant had noticed and I got the sense that it was all an act. He was really checking to see if we were being watched. I scanned the angles I had without being obvious. I didn't see Bosch or anyone else I pegged as a cop in the restaurant.

Elliot began his story.

"When you come to Hollywood, it doesn't matter who you are or where you come from as long as you've got one thing in your pocket."

"Money."

"That's right. I came here twenty-five years ago and I had money. I put it in a couple of movies first and then into a half-a.s.sed studio n.o.body gave two s.h.i.ts about. And I built that place into a contender. Another five years and it will no longer be the Big Four they talk about. It will be the Big Five. Archway will be right up there with Paramount and Warner's and the rest."

I wasn't antic.i.p.ating going back twenty-five years when I told him to start the story from the beginning.

"Okay, Walter, I get all of that about your success. What are you saying?"

"I'm saying it wasn't my money. When I came here, it wasn't my money."

"I thought the story was that you came from a family that owned a phosphate mine or shipping operation in Florida."

He nodded emphatically.

"All true, but it depends on your definition of family."

It slowly came to me.

"Are you talking about the mob, Walter?"

"I am talking about an organization in Florida with a tremendous cash flow that needed legitimate businesses to move it through and legitimate front men to operate those businesses. I was an accountant. I was one of those men."

It was easy to put together. Florida twenty-five years ago. The heyday of the uninhibited flow of cocaine and money.

"I was sent west," Elliot said. "I had a story and I had suitcases full of money. And I loved movies. I knew how to pick 'em and put 'em together. I took Archway and turned it into a billion-dollar enterprise. And then my wife..."

A sad look of regret crossed his face.

"What, Walter?"

He shook his head.

"On the morning after our twelfth anniversary-after the prenuptial agreement was vested-she told me she was leaving. She was going to get a divorce."

I nodded. I understood. With the prenup vested, Mitzi Elliot would be ent.i.tled to half of Walter Elliot's holdings in Archway Studios. Only he was just a front. His holdings actually belonged to the organization and it wasn't the type of organization that would allow half of its investment to walk out the door in a skirt.

"I tried to change her mind," Elliot said. "She wouldn't listen. She was in love with that n.a.z.i b.a.s.t.a.r.d and thought he could protect her."

"The organization had her killed."

It sounded so strange to say those words out loud. It made me look around and sweep my eyes across the restaurant.

"I wasn't supposed to be there that day," Elliot said. "I was told to stay away, to make sure I had a rock-solid alibi."