The Family Lawyer

  “You tired of me now?” Kirk demanded.

  “I’m real tired of you now,” Sophia said. “And you know what? I wish you’d drop dead, bitch, that’s how much I’m tired of you.”

  He grabbed her arm, pulled her close to him, shoved his tongue down her throat.

  She pushed him away, slapped his face, then opened her car door.

  “Love you, Soph,” he said, chuckling.

  “Fuck you, Kirk,” she spat. “I’m gon’ get you back. Trust.”

  My recording joined an album filled with other recordings of Sophia kissing Kirk, Sophia kissing other men, Kirk buying Sophia jewelry, and Sophia pawning that jewelry.

  I’d started this file four years ago.

  And now I stood on the dark streets of Leimert Park. Forty degrees out here, and frost-covered car windows and blades of grass. The drum circle had quieted. No more laughter, no more pontificating. The smells of weed and cigarette smoke were getting closer. Those shadows in the park were trudging toward me. Water rushed through the sewer. The Birkin bag gained a ton every second it remained in my possession. I threw one last glance around to see that my only company was a giant possum now waddling across the street and disappearing beneath an RV. I squatted in front of the sewer, then dropped the Birkin down it. I took a deep breath, then swiped my eyes with the back of my wrists. But that reclaimed breath caught in my throat.

  Crap, crap, crap.

  A gray Crown Victoria was parked across the street from the RV. I couldn’t see if someone was sitting behind the steering wheel. It wasn’t there before…was it?

  Crap.

  The Elmo bag was still inside the Escalade.

  At the end of the block, a black and white patrol car crossed the intersection.

  My eyes fixed back on the Crown Victoria.

  A ticket was stuck beneath the windshield wipers. Fallen leaves gathered at the wheels. The driver’s side back tire looked flat. The car had been parked for a while.

  I think.

  Crap.

  Not knowing for sure, and seeing that patrol car roaming the streets…

  I couldn’t get rid of the iPad right there, right then.

  I needed another sewer.

  Los Angeles had plenty of those.

  Chapter 30

  I couldn’t sleep—every time I came close, I startled awake, sweaty, breathless, and near tears. I dreamed of handbags and possums, Kirk lunging at me with bloody claws, falling into dark, wet holes, drowning in water that stank of urine. Not a good thing, insomnia and nightmares, since today would be a long day.

  The sun had barely kissed the horizon when my iPhone started vibrating with last-minute e-mails from the foundation. Two glatt kosher meals. Another three comped tickets. Seat changes at the CEO’s table.

  I arrived at my office an hour earlier than normal. My eyes were on my phone as I hurried down the corridor—and right into Detectives Gavin Elliott and Ian Anthony.

  The older man had chosen to wear his undertaker’s suit, and the triangular shape of an iron glistened in places. “Funny seeing you here,” he said to me.

  I offered him a wry grin. “Especially since this is my office.”

  Ian wore his hair Agent Smith–style. He had also dressed for mourning in a midnight-blue suit, dark-gray shirt, and tie. He pointed at my handbag, my carry-all, a cardboard carafe of coffee, and the cell phone. “You look like a Sherpa. Can I take something?”

  “Keys. In here.” I cocked my right hip.

  Ian blushed, then dipped his fingers into my pocket.

  After he’d opened the door, I led them through the offices of Morley, Greenwood, and Lawrence, An Entertainment Company. Only three people were in—Mark stood at the copier, Diana stuffed envelopes for tonight’s seating, and Stephanie tapped at the laptop on her desk. I waved at the trio, but kept moving down the hall until I reached my office with its bright sunlight, mustard-yellow pillows, and distressed wood furniture.

  I dropped the coffee and my purse on the glass conference table. “Hope this won’t take too long. I have an event tonight.”

  Ian said, “We’ll make it quick.”

  Elliott pointed at the carafe. “Is that…public?”

  “Would you like a cup, Detective?”

  “Only if you’re offering.” Elliott said.

  I forced my curled lip into a smile. “Sure.” My hands shook, I hoped not noticeably, as I filled two MGL mugs and placed both, along with packets of cream and sugar, before my guests. I sat across from them and said, “So how can I help you gentlemen?”

  “We never got your fingerprints Sunday night,” Ian began.

  I lifted my eyebrows. “I thought Frosted Flakes took them—he took everything else.”

  The older detective produced a kit from his briefcase. Five minutes later, he had my prints captured on a piece of white cardboard.

  “Anything else?” I asked, wiping my fingers with a wet towelette. “A kidney? A filling from my back tooth? A fallopian tube?”

  Both men laughed, so I joined uneasily.

  Ian fished out his steno pad. “Still upset with your sister?”

  I cocked my head. “About?”

  “About Jonah being with the Oakleys.”

  My heart thudded as I stared at him. I’d told him that while naked.

  “Guess it’s a blow to the ego,” Detective Elliott said.

  My gaze lingered on Ian a moment more, then slipped over to his partner. “It hurt some, but Jonah’s well-being is more important than my ego.”

  “Has it always been that way?” Ian asked. “Melissa gets in trouble, you run to rescue her, and she winds up helping someone else win the game?”

  What?

  “She did that when she met Kirk, right?”

  I shifted in my seat. “Not sure what you mean, Detective Anthony.”

  “She chose him over you all the time, that’s what I mean. Even when she told you time and again that she wouldn’t. She chose to stay with him, despite the hell he gave her.”

  Elliott leaned forward to refill his cup. “That’s gotta hurt.”

  I rested my chin in my hand. “Is there a point to this?”

  “You need to start being honest with us,” Ian said.

  “I have been honest.”

  Ian’s face darkened—he didn’t believe me. “Then, tell me now. Did you and Kirk Oakley have an affair?”

  Chapter 31

  The office fell into silence—even the copier out in the shared space had quieted.

  My pulse raced and for a second, I thought I would die from a heart attack.

  “We asked Melissa the same question,” Detective Elliott said as he stirred his coffee. “She had a very interesting response. Broke my heart, but then there are worse things in life. Like, you know, murder.”

  Once feeling had returned to my face, I said, “I hated Kirk more than I hate sin.”

  “You didn’t answer the question,” Ian said.

  “I love my sister. I love my nephew. I only want the best for them.”

  Elliott turned to Ian. “I don’t think she’s gonna answer your question.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “I didn’t have an affair with Kirk. How’s that?”

  My phone vibrated on the coffee table with text messages. It was Lucas, the events manager at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel.

  “Where were you at nine o’clock on Sunday?” Ian asked.

  I squinted as I recalled that night. “Stuck on the 10 freeway after having an incredible dinner with a good friend.”

  “A lady friend?” Elliott asked.

  I offered him a sly smile. “No.”

  “What’s his name?” Ian asked.

  “Dominic Carducci.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Elliott said.

  “Where’d you have dinner?” Ian asked.

  “Mastro’s in Beverly Hills.”

  “Fancy,” Elliott said.

  “Their rib-eye is the best. So is Dom.”

  “Then what
did you do?”

  “Then I drove home.”

  Elliott said, “That took, what, ten minutes?”

  Both Ian and I laughed. I said, “I live in Marina del Rey, Detective Elliott.”

  “And? So?”

  “The 405?” Ian and I said together.

  The older man waved his hand. “Okay, so that took about…?”

  “A little over an hour. I pulled into the garage around ten-fifteen. Put my leftovers in the fridge, took a shower—”

  “Alone?” Elliott asked. “Or with this Dom guy?”

  Ian studied his steno pad.

  I said, “Alone. Then I watched TV.”

  Ian cleared his throat, then asked, “What did you watch? Netflix? HBO?”

  I shook my head. “Just regular TV.” No downloads. No streaming. No time-stamps.

  “When was the next time you left the house?” Elliott asked.

  “Close to midnight or a little after,” I said. “Mel called, asking me to come over. She didn’t say what had happened. Just that she needed me.”

  “And you went in blind like that?” Elliott asked.

  I nodded. “Of course I did. She’s my sister.”

  The cell phone vibrated and shimmied across the conference table.

  “Should you get that?” Elliott asked, pointing at the device.

  I nodded. “I should—the hotel’s calling me about tonight.”

  Ian stood from the couch, then waggled the print card. “Thanks for cooperating.”

  I walked them back down the hallway to the frosted door. What had Melissa told them?

  Elliott thanked me again for the coffee, then exited.

  Ian squeezed my arm and whispered, “It’s okay.”

  This visit had told me that nothing would be okay ever again.

  Chapter 32

  I was numb from the knowledge that my life had changed.

  But I didn’t have time to cry.

  The California Constitution Foundation had paid my firm big bucks to throw a great party. Mr. and Mrs. Goldstein needed their glatt kosher meals. The fussy music executive required an extra seat for his tireless assistant. The guy who worked the teleprompter needed another extension cord. And I looked like the last, beaten-up bag of dog food on the grocery store shelf.

  At two o’clock, the traffic on the 405 freeway flowed. I called Melissa as I drove—what had she told Detective Elliott about me?—but she wouldn't answer. I reached my condo in under twenty minutes to change into the perfect dress, another Diane von Furstenberg, this one red, white, and blue. I’d only been home for ten minutes, and had barely changed when the doorbell rang.

  Ian and Detective Elliott stood at my door with their satchels and shit-eating grins.

  My mind went ka-BOOM, and I blurted, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  Ian’s gaze paused at my boobs then stopped at my hips. “Great dress.”

  “I’m about to get out of here—I’m working.”

  “We need to talk to you again,” Ian said, not budging.

  “Can this wait? I need to get to the hotel by five—which means I need to leave here in ten minutes.”

  Elliott leaned forward. “The longer we stand here, then…”

  I groaned and opened the door wide.

  Elliott whistled as he wandered to the living room window. The light over the turquoise ocean was aflame with oranges and reds. A prelude to one of our epic sunsets. “That the Pacific over there?”

  “Since the second day of creation,” I said with my arms folded.

  Ian settled on the love seat. “Sorry for coming over right now. Couldn’t be helped.”

  “You live a pretty fancy life, don’t you?” Elliott asked, settling in the armchair. “Glamorous job. Condo on the water.” He ran his hand over the chair’s nubby fabric. A perfect slice of sunlight fell across his cheap Oxford.

  I could feel his loathing ooze toward me. I said, “I work fourteen-hour days. About twenty percent of my clients stiff me. Brides are crazy people. And I have a bad back from carrying boxes of Jordan almonds across a wet grassy golf course back in 2007. Yup, it’s all glamour.”

  Elliott leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Probably wondering why we’re here.”

  I shook my head. “I thought it was a social call.”

  He chuckled. “We have some good news and some bad news.”

  “A few test results came back,” Ian said. “So first, the good news: the DNA from the underwear and fingerprints taken from the lipstick and sunglasses came back today. None of those results match Melissa.”

  I glanced at my watch: three twenty. “That’s terrific news.”

  “We thought you’d like to hear that.” Then, the older cop pulled from his satchel a plastic evidence bag. He tossed it on the coffee table. “Recognize these?”

  Chapter 33

  My spine rippled as though someone was pulling apart the vertebrae, click-click-click.

  Gray. Silk. Boy shorts. Fancy panties for a fancy lady living a fancy life.

  I owned about a dozen pair of these boy shorts in different colors—including gray.

  “Are these yours?” Ian asked, an edge to his voice. “The DNA tests say that they are.”

  “If you haven’t guessed, Miss Lawrence,” Detective Elliott said, “this is the bad news.”

  How…? But…My…?

  “For the second time,” Ian said, “I’ll ask this question again: Did you have an affair with Kirk Oakley?” His blue eyes had hardened into cold, blue stones again.

  Four years ago, when he and Melissa had just started dating, Kirk and I bumped into each other at the Raven in San Francisco. Packed dance floors. Music videos playing on the walls. Disco ball throwing shards of light. Color exploded in time to Biggie Smalls and Kanye West. Friendly, Kirk and I bought each other drinks. Danced. Drank. Drunk. Touched. Pulse racing. Light-headed. Slipped into the bathroom. Ten minutes. Done. “It was before Mel and Kirk eloped,” I said, my voice weak. “Kirk and I had sex in a bathroom at a club up in the Bay Area. We were both drunk. There was nothing intimate about it. I didn’t give him my underwear that night. Knowing Kirk, he stole these when they came to visit once. Our…ten minutes together four years ago meant absolutely nothing to me. It was no affair and afterward, I’d hoped that…”

  Melissa would’ve canceled their wedding?

  Kirk would’ve found another mark?

  “Hoped that what?” Ian asked.

  I clasped my neck and shook my head. “I’m innocent.” The words wriggled and poked in my throat like burrs.

  Kirk and Melissa eloped to Las Vegas after dating for five weeks. They returned to Los Angeles two weeks later. Didn’t take long for her to get pregnant and for him to start sneaking out to lunch with a family court attorney named Anne, and then, drinks with Riley, and of course, everything with Sophia. He’d smirk at me, dare me to speak out so that he could tell Melissa about our fling.

  I had swallowed my anger, causing waves of nausea to wash over me. He made me sick. I made me sick.

  Detective Elliott stood from the couch. “You’re gonna have to miss tonight’s party.”

  “What?” It came out as a shriek. “Why?” The natural light that I loved so much was now blinding me.

  Ian also stood. “We need to have this conversation down at the station.”

  “I didn’t kill Kirk,” I blurted. “But I know who did.”

  Ian and his partner smirked at me, then smirked at each other.

  “I figured it out with the PI,” I said, barely breathing. “That’s who Dominic Carducci is. You know him—he was a hotshot in the Robbery-Homicide Division. I had him investigating this case long before you two even knew who Kirk Oakley was. Which is why Reverend Oakley told me to keep quiet about what I found.”

  “That’s a little convenient,” Elliott said.

  Tears burned in my eyes. “I promise: I’ll come down to the station after my event tonight. I’ll bring Dom and we’ll give you everyt
hing you need.”

  Elliott glared at me. “We’re supposed to trust a woman who slept with her sister’s husband?”

  “He was barely her boyfriend then, and yes, you have to trust me.”

  The older man laughed, then shook his head.

  I raised my chin. “I’ll give you my passport. I have no intention of running except to the Beverly Wilshire Hotel.”

  Detective Elliott canted his head. “And then to the Caribbean to open a shaved ice stand?”

  So he had been listening to my conversation with Melissa. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll give you everything tonight. I promise.”

  Chapter 34

  What the hell was I gonna do?

  Wanting to cry, I paced the carpet with my eyes closed—the living room was now too hot and too bright, and the lingering scent of Detective Elliott’s cologne made me want to puke. Dying was a possibility. I could just open one of the many windows and jump.

  Or…

  The expandable file folder containing dirt on Kirk and Sophia sat hidden on a shelf in my closet. But Reverend Oakley had been clear—if I talked, Jonah would disappear from our lives forever.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  I looked through the peephole to see Ian standing there and squinting as though his eyes hurt. I gritted my teeth and threw open the door. “I’m on my way out.”

  He rushed past me without waiting to be invited. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “You’ve been a tremendous asshole to me lately, and I don’t—”

  He grabbed my hand. “I followed you.”

  I paused and tugged my hand out of his. “What? When?”

  “Last night.” He dropped his postman’s bag onto the coffee table. “Good thing I was nearby, too.” He pulled a large plastic bag from his satchel, then placed it on the table. “Because you dropped something.”

  That Leimert Park sewer.

  My eyes had burned with tears as I shoved the Birkin through the sewer grate. Plop! The bag was $10,000 down the literal drain, with gunpowder, gun oil, little drops of blood, and Kirk’s DNA all over its inside. But now, it was back in my condo.