Page 29 of Resurrection Walk

“Thank you,” I said. “We now have an attorney-client relationship. This includes Mr. Bosch as my investigator. You can tell me anything right now and it will never be revealed outside of these four walls.”

“I understand,” Sanz said.

“And I also need to make you aware of what’s at stake here so that you can decide what the risks are and whether you want us to proceed.”

“I’m already in prison.”

“Yes, but you have a sentence that you are serving and will eventually be released from. If we move forward with a motion to reexamine your case in what is called a habeas petition, there is a risk involved. There can be three outcomes. One is that the petition is denied and you serve out your sentence. Another is that your conviction is vacated and you are set free. But there is also a third possibility: that a judge vacates your conviction but you are held to stand trial. And if that happens, you could be convicted by a jury and face a much harsher sentence — up to life without parole.”

“I don’t care. I am innocent.”

I paused for a moment to consider how quickly she had responded. No hesitation about the risks. She had said it without blinking or taking her eyes off mine. It reassured me that if this case eventually did land in a trial, Lucinda would be able to look at the jury — whether from the defense table or the witness stand — with the same indomitable stare.

“Okay,” I said. “I just want you to be aware of the risks of moving forward.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Okay, then, like I said, we have attorney-client privilege now. Anything you say remains confidential. So I need to start by asking: Is there anything you need to tell me and that I need to know about this case?”

“I did not kill him. That’s what you need to know.”

I held her eyes for a long moment before continuing. Again, she didn’t look away as liars often do. It was another good sign.

“Then, hopefully, there is something we can do for you,” I said. “I have a few questions and then Mr. Bosch will have more. We have about forty minutes left and I want to make the best of them. Is that okay, Lucinda?”

“Yes, okay. But people call me Cindi.”

“Cindi. Okay. Cindi, why don’t we start with you telling me how you came to hire Mr. Silver as your attorney back when you were arrested?”

Sanz had to think for a moment before responding.

“I didn’t have money for a lawyer,” she finally said.

“So he was appointed?” I asked.

“No, I had the public defender. But then Mr. Silver, he went to them and he volunteered. He said he would take my case.”

“But you said you had no money. I saw that you signed a document with credit card information.”

“He told me he could get the credit cards for me and I could pay that way.”

I nodded and knew that my early assessment of Silver as a weasel had been spot-on. Lucinda Sanz was in trouble from the start.

“Okay,” I said. “Now, looking over your sentence, you got midrange plus the gun enhancement and that totaled eleven years. With good behavior, you’d do about nine years max. So here you are, more than halfway through your sentence, and your letter to me indicates a desperation to get out. Is there something going on in this place? Are you in danger? Do we need to get you moved?”

“No, this place is good. Very close to my family. But my son, he needs me now.”

“Your son. That’s Eric, right? What’s going on with him?”

“He’s with my mother in the old neighborhood.”

“How old is Eric?”

“He’s going to be fourteen.”

“Where’s the old neighborhood?”

“Boyle Heights.”

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