Page 28 of Resurrection Walk

WE SAT ATa table in an attorney-client room at the prison in Chino and waited for the guards to bring in Lucinda Sanz. I could hear the muffled sounds of steel doors banging and loudspeaker commands from guards. The sounds of a prison, even a prison for women, were never pleasant, even when muffled by concrete walls and steel.

“How are you going to start with her?” Bosch asked.

“The usual,” I said. “Begin with open-enders and then narrow the focus if we hear something good. But first she’s got to sign the papers or we’re out of here.”

Before Bosch could ask any further questions, the door opened and a female guard walked Lucinda Sanz into the room. I stood up, gave her my best smile, and nodded; Bosch stayed seated. She was placed in a chair across the table from us, then one wrist was locked to a bar that was bolted to the side of the table.

“Thank you, Officer,” I said.

The guard said nothing and left the room. I lowered my eyes to Lucinda and started to sit down. She was a small woman in a short-sleeved blue jumpsuit. She had light brown skin complemented by dark brown eyes and hair tied back in a short ponytail. She wore a long-sleeved T-shirt beneath the jumpsuit, probably for warmth. She didn’t smile back at me and I thought that was because she thought we were detectives. Bosch gave off that air, even at his age. It was a non-court day, so I wore no tie.

“Lucinda, you sent me a letter. I’m Michael Haller, the attorney.”

Now she smiled and nodded.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said. “The Lincoln Lawyer. Will you take my case?”

“Well, that’s what we’re here to talk about,” I said. “Before we start, I want you to understand a little bit about this situation. First off, this is Harry Bosch, my investigator and the one who thinks there could be merit to your claim of innocence.”

“Oh, thank you,” Sanz said. “I am innocent.”

Bosch just nodded. I noticed that she spoke with a slight accent.

“I also need to tell you something up front,” I said. “I am not promising you anything. If you agree to take me on as your attorney, we will diligently investigate your case, and if we find a cause of action that we can take into court, then we will do that. But again, no promises. As you probably know, being innocent is not enough in court. In your situation, you must prove your innocence. In fact, at this point, you are guilty until proven innocent.”

She was nodding before I finished.

“I understand,” she said. “But I did not kill my husband.”

“Your ex-husband, you mean,” I corrected. “But let me finish. If you want me to represent you in this matter, I will need you to sign an engagement form that gives me your power of attorney and allows me to represent you in all criminal and civil matters that may arise from this case. That means if this criminal case happens to lead to a civil case, I am your attorney all the way on that. You understand?”

“Yes. I will sign.”

I opened the file I had placed on the table upon our arrival and removed the engagement letter and agreement.

“There is a fee schedule attached to this that you may want to look at before you sign,” I said.

“I don’t have money,” Sanz said.

“I understand. You don’t need money. I collect only if you collect. I get a portion for my good work in getting you money. But we don’t have to think about that. That is far off in never-never land at the moment. What is important now is seeing if we have a shot at getting you out of here.”

I slid the document across the table to her.

“Before you sign, one more thing,” I said. “The document is in English. Are you comfortable with that and with speaking English with us today?”

“Yes,” Lucinda said. “I was born here. I’ve been speaking English my whole life.”

“Okay, good. I just needed to check because I noticed a slight accent.”

“My parents came from Guadalajara. When I grew up, we spoke Spanish at home.”

I took out a pen and put it down on the document. Because one of her hands was manacled to the bar at the side of the table, I anchored the document with my hand so it wouldn’t slide when she signed it.

“Do you want to read it first?” I asked.

“No,” Sanz said. “I trust you. I know what you did for Jorge Ochoa.”

She signed the document and I slid it back across the table and into the file. She handed me the pen and I put it away.

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