Page 23 of Resurrection Walk

“You don’tdeserveshit,” I said. “You missed things and you put your client in prison. It was only a good deal if she was guilty. But she’s not. I could file an action for replevin, which might then blow up into a matter before the California Bar.”

He stared at me and I could tell he wasn’t clear on the definition ofreplevin.

“I could go ask a judge to order you to turn over the files,” I said. “But, you know what, it doesn’t help her cause to make you an adversary.”

If I ever got the Sanz case into a habeas hearing, I might need Silver to explain his moves to a judge.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I’ll give you twenty-five percent of my fee after costs. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” Silver said. “As long as I get to audit the costs.”

He had no idea how creative Lorna Taylor could be in building a case-cost summary.

“Not a problem,” I said. “Now, where are the files?” I didn’t expect the file on a case closed five years ago to be in the office.

“It’ll take me a few minutes,” Silver said. “I have a storage locker in the garage here.”

“Nice,” I said. “I’ll wait.”

Silver got up and came around the desk.

“I want one other thing,” he said.

“No, we have a deal,” I said.

He was getting something out of his pocket.

“Relax, it won’t cost you a dime. I just want a selfie with the Lincoln Lawyer.”

He pulled out a cell phone. He quickly and expertly opened the camera app, held the phone up at an angle, came in close, and wrapped his free arm around my back. He took the photo before I could push him away.

“I’ll text you a copy,” he said.

“No, thanks,” I said. “Just go get the files.”

He headed toward the exit. I reached over to the frame on the outside wall and slid the silver-embossed business card out of the slot. I put it in my pocket. I thought I might have a use for it somewhere down the line.

9

BOSCH AND THELincoln were out front at the curb. I opened the back passenger door, not by mistake, and saw a white bag on the seat. I moved it over and got in, caught the stink-eye from Bosch in the rearview.

“I got the files and I have to spread them out back here,” I said. “So, no disrespect, but I need to know what there is to know by the time we get to Chino.”

“So we’re going?” Bosch asked.

“If you’re up for it. You’re usually… you know, dragging the day after UCLA.”

“Maybe they gave me the placebo. I feel fine.”

I doubted that. I thought he might be hiding the exhaustion he usually exhibited. Or maybe it was the adrenaline from the case that had him running in high gear.

“If you’re sure, then we’re going. If I get through this before we get there, you can pull over and we’ll trade places and you can look through it. Cool?”

“Cool.”

Bosch pulled away from the curb and headed south toward Alameda.

“You know the way, right?” I asked.

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